#anyways washing my sheets again for the second times this week

[forkpigeon3146]

thought one of my cats was being weird and sniffing everything because of the new kitten we got (even though she's being quarantined in a seperate room)

nope. she found a mouse

and after catching said mouse, put it in my bed, alive.

thank you, so much, miss betty /s

[trebeksfault]

habs game day baruch hashem

[peachdues]

rejoice everyone, my sex drive as returned with a vengeance.

MDNI. Explicit sexual content.

Inside your apartment offers little relief from the suffocating heat and humidity.

The air is thick with the scent of sex, musky and heady. Sweat sticks your hair to your forehead, slides down the side of your neck to join the thin sheen coating the rest of your skin. Above you, Sanemi fares no better, the ends of his hair having turned a muted gray from the moisture that’s gathered just above his brow.

The coarse hairs around his base are matted down against his skin, soaked from a combination of your cum and his. Still, the faint stimulation his groin offers against your clit with every feeble turn of his hips makes your thighs twitch and spasm where they lay draped over his.

One last, shallow thrust later and Sanemi stills. You hardly notice the shock of cold left behind as he pulls out and collapses next to you in a sweaty, panting heap. His little finger sneaks across the mussed blankets and interlocks with yours. It’s the only contact either of you can tolerate now; he knows it’s too hot for anything more.

“Jesus,” he pants, his voice hoarse from exertion. “That was fuckin’ incredible.”

Two weeks into your relationship with Sanemi and the novelty of it hasn’t worn off.

Despite the exhaustion sitting heavily in your limbs, you can’t help but smile. It’s what he says every time after you’ve finished, and it’s always with the same, breathless wonder.

Content, you roll to your stomach, kicking the blankets away where they tangled around your shins. You bury your face into the lumpy pillow and sigh, marveling at the gush of fluid from between your thighs that further dampens the sheets below.

You don’t mind; Sanemi will wash your sheets for you, anyway, like always. Besides, it may be hot and stuffy inside your apartment, but the warmth left behind by him is a welcome one; tangible proof of how thoroughly he’d just claimed you.

Sanemi is nothing short of thorough.

Exhausted though you are, you can’t help the flutter in your stomach as you feel his hand smooth up the back of your thigh, his fingers gently massaging your hamstring, and then your ass.

If he were to straddle your backside right now and slide into you from behind, you wouldn’t know how to object; wouldn’t want to, anyway.

He’s only taken you from behind twice in the weeks since you’ve begun sleeping together, but it’s rapidly become your favorite position by far. The first time had been slow; a lesson more than an indulgence, with Sanemi gently bending you over the side of your bed, his hands guiding your hips into place and pressing on your spine to deepen the arch of your back.

The second time had reduced you to tears.

There’d been no manipulation of your body that time. Instead, he’d shoved a pillow under your belly and mounted you, those big, strong hands of his holding you down by the small of your waist as he’d rutted into you, hard and deep. At first, you’d only managed a few, gasping squeaks, too focused on the way Sanemi’s thick tip battered away at that spot deep inside that made your toes curl.

One hand pinned your wrists to the small of your back while the other wound gently through your hair. With a firm tug, he pulled your head back, pausing only to press his lips softly to the crown of your head in quiet reassurance.

Then, came his command. Scream, baby. Show me how good I’m makin’ you feel.

Right on cue, Sanemi slammed his hips forward, pushing right into that painfully wonderful spot that made you see stars. He drew back and hit it again and again, and you couldn’t help but wail for him while your eyes rolled into your head, your throat, burning.

You’d ended up making an embarrassing mess atop your sheets, one that made your legs jerk and twitch so violently that Sanemi had been forced to pin them down by pressing his feet to your calves. Yet, he’d seemed to delight in your ruin, if his rumbling baritone groans had been any metric to go by. Certainly the increased force behind his thrusts as he fucked you harder into the mattress meant he hadn’t minded. Not one bit.

But if Sanemi wants to have you again, now, he doesn’t act on it. Instead, he finishes his appreciative knead against your ass and sits up, running a hand through his hair. From the corner of your eye, you spy him as he pretends to look back at you, half-asleep atop the messy heap of your pillows and blankets.

His quiet exhale of approval gives him away. He’s not admiring your post-sex beauty; his attention is locked squarely on the mess he’s left between your thighs.

He’s admiring his handiwork just as much as you are.

[bloomness]

could i get track thirteen with hawks?? 👀👀👀👀👀 congrats on 500 bloom baby <33

if you want to by beabadobee ft. keigo [hawks]

event m.list

જ⁀➴ having insomnia is hard but keigo makes it easier

contains: gn!reader, pre-relationship/situationship, stubborn!reader

word count: 1.8k

“if you wanna take me”

“go ahead and try my head”

you can see the city lights blinking outside your balcony door from your spot in bed. they twinkled big and small, slow and fast, leaving a reflecting sparkle in your eye. the moonlight slips out through the crack between the blinds that you could never quite fully close. it shone over your fan, which was creaking just a bit too loudly with every turn. it lit up your bedside table, exposing the layer of dust that had been accumulating on top of it for over a week, a task you’d been telling yourself you'd do but had yet to come around to. the moon lit up your hands, still, cold—but not from the fan, from emptiness. 

you turned over on your mattress. the pillows that you spent—what now felt like useless—time fluffing huffed softly underneath you. you flicked off an crumb from the blanket that you had washed twice before making your bed to ensure cleanliness. 

your eyes darted across the night-dimmed room, tired but awake and it all felt like a joke. 

you had tried it all. different flavors of teas, medication, mediation, exercising, everything. but nothing seemed to help seize the running thoughts that occupied your nights and prevented you from a restful sleep.

“experience is nothing compared to” 

you threw your sheets off of you and shuffled to the edge of your bed, your head hung in your hands as you silently hoped keigo wouldn’t show up to find you in such a humiliating state. but (unwillingly) knowing the persistent hero, he would. 

“the sleep paralysis in my bed”

finally, you decide you’ get up and try to do something productive around the house. you slip on your house slippers and step out of your bedroom and into your kitchen.

the kitchen light flickers on, illuminating your sparkling, clean kitchen. Earlier you had spent forty-five minutes scrubbing all the counters, fifteen mintues washing all the dishes, ten minutes sweeping and mopping the floor, all in hope of crashing out from exhaustion afterwards. it had not worked.

“experience is nothing compared to”

you shuffled over to the fridge and opened it. your eyes searched the levels, drawers, and side doors of the cool box, but to no avail, it still being as empty as it was when you had checked it just an hour ago. 

your eyes floated over to the kettle resting on the stove. you could try for tea again, but you knew in the end that’d be helpless.

you then looked to the cupboards. maybe you could make something to eat? but you aren’t hungry, it’d be a waste of food and you need to go grocery shopping anyways. 

the clock hung above the archway read 3:32. it ticked softly as you ran your hand over your face, exhaling a low groan. 

“the nights I'm always up so late”

suddenly, you heard a thud, one that sounded like it emitted from something made of metal. there was a clang, then a click, and then a soft swoosh. the sounds of cars driving by and street lights beeping momentarily filled your apartment distance before there was another click, and it went silent. 

you sighed and flicked off the kitchen light, moving to the origin of the noise with no urgency.

your bedroom door is already open, so it doesn’t take you longer than a second to spot him, leaning against the door frame to your balcony with a dopey grin plastered on his face. 

the night's light shines against the back of his lean figure, a vibrant glow outlining the blend from the furry edge of his cherry-stained wings to his rugged corduroy jacket. the set up almost made it seem like the universe was making the petty number two hero out to be an angel sent down from heaven personally for you. 

keigo’s the first to speak up today. “you just had to pick the highest floor to live on, huh?” his voice is teasing, but you know his intentions are nowhere near that. he stretches his arms up as he takes a stepped onto your carpeted bedroom floor, pushing the balcony door shut behind him. “that’s okay,” he yawns and walks to your dresser, finger dragging along its edge as his eyes scan the product placed on top of it. “not much of a problem for me, of course.” his head tilts up at you, amber eyes finally making contact with yours.

“hawks.” you deadpan, body still—unable to move—between the threshold of your bedroom door. 

you try not to make it obvious that you’re shocked he’s here. this wouldn’t be the first time he did this. or the second. or the third. the truth was, this exact situation has played out more times than you’d like to make the effort to count. but for some reason, every time he said he’d show up, you refused to believe it until he was standing right in front of you.  

“uh uh.” keigo waves his finger. “it’s keigo, ‘member? not on duty when i’m with you, babe.” 

“you’re in uniform.” 

“ah,” he huffs out a laugh and swiftly approaches you. “you’re funny tonight.” he comes to stand right in front of you, his forearm resting up above on the wall you shared. you could see the way his body just barely leaned forward, and the way his head tipped down as his eyes raked down your facial features. 

“if you wanna love me”

you feel your face burn under his attendant gaze. “what?” you muttered, bringing a cooling hand up to your cheek as you peered up at him. 

“how many hours?” keigo asked gently. he didn’t need to explain himself any further. you knew exactly what he meant as soon as the playful hint in his golden eyes flashed off. the ‘fun and cheerful hero hawks’ was now being temporarily masked with ‘serious keigo’, someone that he claimed only you were lucky enough to see—like you’d believe that.

“try to get inside my brain”

you look past him. “doesn’t matter.”

keigo taps his finger against the wall, “matters enough for me to break into your bedroom at three in the morning.” he half shrugs, like the fact that he’s here so late, in the middle of his shift, when you're both clearly exhausted, isn’t that much trouble for him at all. 

you mentally brace yourself before providing an answer, “i took a nap earlier but.. i haven’t been able to sleep since last night.”

you could feel the rhythm of the tapping steadily increasing above you. “and have you been eating?”

“keigo…” the question is personal, too personal to be considered causal, as if anything about this situation was causal.

but he urged on, “answer the question, dove.”  you caught a flash of genuine worry spread cross his face.

you shudder at the old nickname and waver. “i’ve been eating well.” keigo gives you a look so you assure, “i promise.”

keigo bites the side of his cheek while nodding slowly before kicking off the side of the wall and making his way to the side of your bed. once there, he begins fluffing your half-deflated pillows.

you blinked. “what are you doing?”

he hardly glanced up at you. “come on, do we have to do this every time? ’m making our bed, love.”

“'cause if you want, you could stay with me in my bed”

“keigo..” you hurry over to the spot beside him, reaching to stop his working hands. “don’t. you shouldn’t.” you grab his wrist, holding them still. and even though you both know well that he is a helluva a lot stronger than you and could pull you off if he wanted, he stops. 

“if you want to”

“y/n..” his voice is even softer now, lilt mirroring one of someone super desperate—pleading. he looks down at you, shoulders slump, typical big smile dripping from his face. “why won’t you let me do this for you?” 

“only if you want to”

it’s a question not to be answered. it’s a question you can’t answer. you don’t like handouts and you absolutely refuse to take them from anyone, that’s the way you are. but your relationship with keigo felt like only that. 

“if you want, you can go ahead and fix my head”

he was helpful, so helpful—more so then you’d like to say out loud. he was kind, sweet, and charming when he wanted to be. and it crushed your pride to let him into your home like this, into your heart like this. 

“if you want to”

“let me do this for you.” he said, correcting his words from before. 

“only if you want to”

“keigo, no—“ 

“just one more time.” that what he says every time. 

“keigo—“

“please.” 

his feathers flutter behind him, and he looks down at you with those sun-glassed eyes. 

your eyes narrowed before eventually falling onto the ground, silently admitting defeat. 

you didn’t have to look up to know that keigo was back to sporting his proud smile. after a minute of tidying up he says, “tucked the pillows nice and soft for ya,” he held his hands out as if to present the dynasty of keigo fluffed pillows in your own bedroom. “go ahead, hop on in.” 

you held back from punching his shoulder—to exhausted to anyways—and simply rolled your eyes, climbing into the bed without a mouthy complaint. 

“there we go.” keigo watches as you situate yourself under your blanket and gently rest your head back on the now full pillows. “how we feeling? need anything? water? a snack?” 

you shook your head, sinking deeper into the mattress—which felt way softer than it did twenty minutes ago. 

“how about the temperature? too hot?” he asked cautiously. “too cold, maybe? dunno about you but i feel a little draft coming in here.” he chuckled sheepishly.

you held back the smile trying to push past your lips and patted the spot beside you invitingly. “you’re.. really stupid, you know that?” you prodded, useless teasing mimicking keigo’s from earlier. 

keigo didn’t falter for a second, immediately climbing under the covers and puzzling his body right with yours. his arms wrapped around your waist, and he placed his chin onto your shoulder “am i?” he whispered the question along your neck. “cause it looks like i got what i wanted.” he murmured as his wings came around to warm you up. 

you didn’t reply. you didn’t put up a fight, not now. it was too easy now to let yourself drift off into darkness as keigo voluntarily shielded you from the horrors of a restless night.  

“if they try to, only if they try to”

some things are bigger than pride. you’d come to realize that eventually.

note: lysa!!! thank you for putting in a request. okay sooooo this is actually my first time writing for hawks so i’m so sorry if it’s a little ooc but i did try my best to encapsulate this dorks personality. i really think he’s lowkey sooo slick and he knows it! but it’s okay cus he’d never take advantage of you (unless it’s cuddling you to sleep, he’ll always do that)

taglist: @stargirlygirl @megumismyhusband @kitkat13001 @peachesvault

[nashusglasses]

2. (let me hear you say) please (m)

+ based off nsfw prompts: 25. “On all fours, right now!” + 53.  “Don’t test me.”

note: happy thirsty thursday! these prompts are from this list. if you'd like, send me two prompts and a lads man for next week :)

note 2: Caleb nation this one's for u!!!!! I saw someone edit the lads men in sweatshirts and literally lost my mind when I saw Caleb like tell me he's not the most college romance love interest EVER ToT!!!!!!!!!!! anyway i went clubbing the other week and my personal headcanon is that Caleb doesn't like going but he sees u looking pretty n sparkly under the lights and all of a sudden the loud music isn't so bad <3

PAIRING. caleb/reader GENRE. established relationship/sort of college AU? WARNINGS. recreational drug use, alcohol consumption, oral (f receiving)/face sitting SUMMARY. “If I make you come in two minutes, will you do anything I tell you to do?” WORD COUNT. 1.2k

You have two tells to indicate when you’re drunk or high (or a nice mix of both). One: you don’t stop talking.

Two: you get inexorably horny.

Caleb is the (un)fortunate victim to both these whims.

All you remember is being offered whiskey neat, Tara slipping moon rocks into your palm, garish neon lights in your periphery as you danced to the music. Bodies on sweaty bodies on gyrating bodies. Caleb stuck to your back the entire time, and he’d done his due diligence in ordering a ride back home when the clock hit 1:30 and you couldn’t stop whisper-yapping into his ear about how good he looked in black. 

You high-tail it to your bedroom once you make it past the front door. Caleb barely slips your heels off your feet when you plop onto the bed, shimmy your skirt and panties off and wail dramatically:

“Oh my god. I think I’m gonna die if you don’t put your mouth on me.”

“I won’t let you die. Does your head hurt if you lie down like that?”

“A little.”

“Get on all fours.” You take ten seconds to process the fact that he’s actually indulging you, and another five to realize you haven’t followed his instructions yet. You think there’s cotton in all corners of your brain. “Now,” he says, half-exasperated. 

He has to grab your hips and haul you over because he knows it’ll be another 500 years for you to process everything. You barely stick the landing. You settle on your elbows, wiggling your butt in what you hope is a tantalizing motion. 

“Like what you see–ow! Did you just bite me?”

“No,” he lies. You twitch from the feel of his teeth on your asscheek. “Probably a ghost.”

You immediately conjure up a blurry image of hot ghost anal. You’re both very intrigued and slightly disgusted. “That sounds hot.”

Caleb snorts. You feel the bed dip underneath you, warm breath on your mound. You’re about to ask what he’s up to when two hands grab your hips down to lick where you’re embarrassingly wet.

Your tongue is a brick behind your teeth. “Oh god–”

“Let me hear you.” You both know you have it in you to be louder. But your head fogs over into stillness so calm all you can do is roll your hips downwards to show he’s got you feeling good. Caleb takes the bait easily. He sucks on your clit till your brain finally connects to the muscles in your jaw and you mewl, clawing at the sheets. “‘Atta girl.”

He slaps your ass as a reward. You squeal with the sting. “Ugh. Do that again.”

“You’re so needy.” He slaps it again regardless, and you hum in satisfaction. “If I make you come in two minutes, will you do anything I tell you to do?”

You laugh. You’re most definitely coming in less time than that, and the kiss he leaves on your cunt nearly tips you too far. “Depends on what you’re asking for.”

Caleb feigns contemplation with prolonged silence. You can’t see him but you know he’s grinning. “Washing the sheets when we’re done.”

Trust him to come up with something so pedestrian, but you know he’s got the ick for all the sparkles you’re rubbing into the bed every time you shift on your forearms. “Oh my god you’re such a loser.”

“Hey.” He licks at you in punishment, wet tongue for even wetter pleasure. “Don’t test me. Maybe I’ll just leave you here.”

“No–!” 

When he makes the move to slide away, you steel your knees and drop down. Exactly where Caleb wants you, because he grips your ass and eats you out in such spectacular fashion you’re two flicks away from sobbing. “You’re so easy,” he taunts. You’d bite back with a snarky response, but your brain lags reality to four frames per second.

“Mm,” is all you say. You’re always greedy with his mouth. You know he gets off to your desperation. “You just do it so well.”

“Do what?”

He draws a lazy pattern with a taut tongue, warmth unfurling from your gut down to your toes.  “That,” you moan, “just like that.”

You burn with every kiss he leaves on your aching clit. Caleb lets you settle into the muted noise inside your head, laser-focused on the way he tastes you like you’re his favourite flavour of the night. Your thighs are starting to tingle into jelly.

He lets up with a deep breath. “You’re so hot like this,” he groans, and your eyes roll back when he shoves his tongue as deep as he can go.  

“Fuck. Close–!”

You’re almost tempted to beg for his fingers, but he obeys your command with so much fervour you nearly pass out. He seizes the meat of your thighs, skin smarting where his nails catch to bring you in deeper. You choke on your next inhale. “Caleb–ngh–!”

You tense from the promise of an explosion, rock a slow rhythm into his face and you feel him groan. “Ride my face harder,” he calls. A dangerous feeling in your core flickers at the command.

It starts on your knees. Settling your weight back and forth till Caleb takes the lead, adjusting every stroke with a pliant jaw until he can hear you keening from the back of your throat. Your head is hazy with each heavy movement. “Feels…”

“Nn?” (He purrs. The sound rips straight through you.)

“Feels so good,” you whine. “God you’re gonna make me come.”

Your shoulders are starting to ache. But the pain fizzles into a swelling ache where Caleb guzzles on your most sensitive spots, and you revel in the nasty sound of him slurping up on your slick. “Oh don’t stop–yes–!”

Every single cell in your body splits into a frenzy for an orgasm Caleb coaxes out so easily, and you shriek through wave after wave of literal bliss. 

Your thighs are shaking. You’re vibrating down to your fingernails. You realize you’re probably smothering Caleb’s nose but you can’t stop grinding down into his mouth. “Oh my god,” you heave through the come down, burying your face in your hands. “Caleb–ngh–fuck, please–”

He leaves one last kiss on your clit. “You’re so sensitive tonight.”

He’s not wrong. You swear you can feel every single thread on this bedsheet. But your mind is still garbled with post-orgasm euphoria and all you can mumble is: “I don’t want to do the laundry.”

Caleb slips out from underneath you, helping you flop onto your back before sitting on the edge of the bed. He strokes a gentle rhythm on your cheek. You want to say something about his boner. You also want to tell him he’s the bestest boyfriend ever and that his cologne smells so, so yummy and that you want to merge existences till your souls are irrevocably intertwined with one another.

“You should at least take your makeup off,” he sighs. “You’re just gonna complain in the morning about how dirty you feel. Wait. Are you crying?”

You sniff away the sudden wave of tears. “You’re the literal god of giving head.”

Caleb shakes with laughter, then pulls at your dead arms. “I’m glad you think so. Come on, get up.”

“But you’re still hard.”

“Don’t mind that. I need you in the bathroom. Think you can wash your face without me?”

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you mumble, completely ignoring him. You sit upright, fall into his chest, and pass out immediately.

.

.

.

(When you wake up in the morning, the sheets are changed and your eyelashes are mascara-free. You start to cry again.)

[benz12313]

Delirium Part 3/3 - Ridoc x Reader 🌶️

{Images are not my own}

Summary: You and Ridoc have been dancing around each other for months, just on the cusp of becoming something more. All it takes is a rough week and a bit of liquor to have you become putty in his hands, and he's been dying for the chance to carry you to his bed. [Takes place during Iron Flame]

Warnings: morning after/aftercare, some angst, fluff, happy ending, Ridoc being a sweetheart, nothing particularly explicit, swearing

Part 1/3 - Part 2/3

Authors Note: This final part made my heart ache writing it, but honestly? I absolutely love how it came out. Thanks for showing this mini-series some love! Now that it's over let me know if you'd like to be added to either of my other taglists. I've got two; All Ridoc Fics and my ongoing fic, Surface Tension's. Either message me or comment! Thank you again, it's nice to have my writing shown some love! :)

Word Count: 2,606

Ridoc’s POV

My body ached, and I nearly groaned and stretched, until I felt the weight resting on my arm. Memories from last night crashed through me, blurry and confused due to the alcohol, but when I opened my eyes to confirm them I froze. Y/N was here. She was really fucking here. Looking divine and sleeping like the dead, makeup smeared over her face and my pillows, and head resting peacefully on my arm while she was huddled in the sheets. Good thing too, because there were scattered piles of fucking snow around the room, letting me know just how thoroughly I’d lost my control last night. 

You know… Aotrom’s voice rang through my head, teasing and I fought back a groan at whatever smart-ass statement he was about to make.

“Not now Aotrom.” I snapped and he chuffed, but for once quieted as he felt my quickly rising panic.  

Not because I regretted anything. Fuck no, I would never regret a single thing about what happened last night. But I knew she would. She was the one who’d run away every time things got too real. She was the one who’d be eye-fucking me one minute and then reminding me, painfully, the next minute that we were just friends. Friends who had now crossed that line and…fuck, just how many marks did I leave on the poor girl? 

My eyes washed over her after lifting the sheets gently, and guilt consumed me. Bruises on her hips and ass in the shape of fingertips, bite marks on the top of her perfect fucking breasts and along her neck, hickies covering her from her neck down to her thighs. And gods, her collarbone was deep fucking purple where I remember making my claim on her last night. A moment of particularly eager loss of control where all I could fucking cling to was the thought of making her mine.  

Well fuck. 

I let out a breathy sigh, and gently pulled my arm from beneath her. She didn’t even stir. My heart ached. Sure, I liked fooling around as much as the next rider. Being always on the cusp of death made one eager to enjoy what life they did have, but this was different.

She was different.

I would gladly give it all up for her, to be able to call her mine. To hold her, love her, absolutely fucking worship her like the goddamn princess she is. One more glance over and I decided. If she was gonna run from me anyway, I would at least make sure she was taken care of first.

It was gonna take a little field trip first though. Let’s just hope he was awake. 

Y/N's POV

My muscles ached, my head pounded, everything outside the blankets was freezing, I felt oddly empty, and unconsciousness pulled at me to stay under in it’s tight embrace. Warmth ran along my hips, trying to coax me awake, but I grumbled into the pillows and snuggled deeper, the scent of the unfamiliar bedding soothing me. 

I don’t care who’s bed I was in. They could fucking wait for me to be ready to wake up. 

I don’t know how long I had fallen back into unconsciousness, probably seconds, but when I awoke, warmth and wetness was running along my aching core and I halfheartedly swatted it away. 

“Ngh.” I whined, barely there. 

“Princess, gotta let me clean you up okay?” A soothing voice muttered, carefully being quiet. Voice barely above a husky whisper, mindful of my hangover.

I knew that voice. Shit..I fucking know that voice, much too well. My eyes flew open, luckily the room was dark so I could see without adjusting, but I found him immediately. Ridoc. 

Shit.

Shit.

SHIT. 

He grinned sheepishly up at me, where he was sitting on the end of the bed, wet rag in hand, and cleaning up between my thighs. The events from last night crashed through me, overwhelming me.

How did I actually let this happen? Even with the alcohol?

Fantasies are one thing, fantasies are safe. Fantasies don’t throw wrenches into friendships and throw the easy dynamic of our squad to the fucking wind. Tears pricked my vision, emotion overwhelming me and Ridoc cursed. 

“Shit, Y/N, are you hurt?” I met his panicked gaze and my heart ached. I was full on sobbing now, everything too much. I couldn’t even tell him that no, my body ached (deliciously) but I wasn’t hurt. I’d just ruined fucking everything. No big deal right? I shook my head as that’s all I could manage.

“Hey? Hey? Okay.” He threw the rag to the side before scooping me up and pulling me onto his lap. “I’ve got you. Just let it out. I’m here.” He cradled me tightly, my face buried in his bare chest as I sobbed. His hand threaded through my hair, holding me secure and his other arm wrapped around my back, cradling me gently. I flashed back to how he’d held me last night, just like this, like something breakable as he’d pounded into me. I sobbed harder. 

“I…ruined….everything!” I wailed and he stiffened, but then continued running his fingers along my scalp. 

“No. Princess, shh. Nothing is ruined.” He whispered, voice gentle, and so sure of himself that I had to pull back and examine his face. He was carefully neutral, and so serious that it threw me off, making me stop sobbing immediately. Not a hint of a smirk or playfulness. Nothing. 

I’d only seen him this serious one other time. When we learned that Violet had been lying to us and keeping secrets. He’d been so hurt that she hadn’t trusted us. He ranted for days about it when it was just us. 

“Yes it is-“ I tried and he shook his head, eyes narrowing on me. 

“It’s only ruined if we let it be.” He assured, gulping as I realized he was lightly trembling. Was he…nervous? Scared? He wiped the tears off my face and sighed, like he was trying to get the weight of the world off his chest. “You can walk right out that door now and pretend that nothing happened if that’s what you want. I can handle our friends. No one will say a fucking word if that’s what you need. Just…please…don’t think you’ve ruined anything.”

I opened my mouth and closed it again. Open. Close. Open. Close. What the fuck was I supposed to say to that? Did I want to leave? 

‘…if that’s what you want?’

What the fuck did that mean? My head swam, aching, and not in a good way. 

“What…what do you want?” I asked, voice small. It was a question I’d been wanting to ask for weeks. Months if I was going to really be honest with myself. 

He froze beneath me, as still as the little animal figurines he’d make for me when he was bored. The ones made of permafrost that I’d kept safely tucked away in the back of my wardrobe, the coldest part of my room. I looked up to his face again and he was biting his lip, terror in his gaze. I realized it then.

He hadn’t expected me to ask. That much was obvious. My heart broke as I realized he’d really expected me to run. To throw what happened last night away, chalk it up to a lapse in judgement, and try to forget about it. He hadn’t predicted I’d ask him what he wanted, that I’d care enough to ask. 

But I couldn’t just throw last night away without at least asking him. Sure, it was easily the greatest sex of my life…but it was more than that too. The tender seconds, thrown in amongst intense pleasure? The way it was so mind altering, not because of what he was doing, but because it was him. The way he’d reduced me to absolute, fucking, delirium where all I could comprehend was Ridoc? No. It didn’t matter if my instinct was to run, to forget everything, to laugh it off and ignore our friends teasing until they eventually forgot about it too. 

I knew with aching clarity that I would never be able to. 

I had to stop running from him. 

I had to put myself at his mercy if I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life with the constant question of what could have been. 

He was quiet, until he shook his head lightly, making my heart stop and fear clutched my throat, choking me. “I can’t…”

“I can’t tell you what I want.” His words were whispers as his thumb ran along my jaw, eyes anywhere but meeting my own. His eyes finally found the courage to meet mine and they went soft. “Don’t look at me like that.” He laughed, short and hollow, the sound suspiciously resembling my previous sobs. 

“I can’t tell you because then I’ll never be able to let you go. To let you walk away and protect your heart how you need to. I can’t tell you because then last night was real, not alcohol induced horniness. Not a mistake. Not two friends dancing over the line of being something more.” Frustration creeped into his voice and I clung tighter to him as he fucking glared at me now. “I can’t tell you because I know with fucking certainty that you’re gonna decide to throw me away like everyone else does. And if I let myself be vulnerable for a fucking second it will destroy me Y/N. You will destroy me. So no, I won’t tell you what I want. I’ll wait for you to tell me what it is you want and do whatever I need to with whatever you give me.” 

My heart raced at the painful truth in his words. The following words left my mouth with aching certainty before I could even think them. 

“I want you Ridoc Gamlyn.” He froze, the anger that had crept up gone, and his mouth fell open in shock. I continued, “I can’t pretend. I’m sorry but I can’t. I just…I’m sorry for crying…for scaring you…I just, I woke up and I remembered and I thought that you’d hate me for what we’d done. Or that I’d let feelings get involved and I’d have to watch you just…I don’t know…move to the next pretty face…and I’d have to bitterly watch and pretend to be happy for you…and it would just ruin everything with the squad…and fuck this is all hurting my head too much Ridoc.” Fresh tears streamed down my cheeks and Ridoc sighed. 

A small smile creeped on his face as he wiped away my tears again. “I knew you liked me.” Then his grin was teasing, and my heart lurched.

My Ridoc was back, sitting underneath me, quickly beginning to grin like a fool. Eyes drinking me in so warmly that I had to hide my face in his chest to cover the heat creeping up my cheeks. I squealed in surprise when he suddenly lifted me, and erupted in giggles when he gently plopped me back down on his pillows. 

“Ridocccc.” I groaned, shooting him heatless daggers as he went back to where he’d been between my legs when I’d first woken up. He laughed and picked up a small tub of what looked like some sort of tincture. In fact he had a few different unlabeled containers piled to the side on his bed as well as a fresh set of sweatpants that I recognized as my own. “What are you doing?”

“Taking care of you Princess. After care is important, I know it’s a little…delayed…but I’m still a gentlemen.” He flashed me a grin, before gently tossing a water canister next to me, within reach. “And I feel a little bad, I was a little…eager…to finally get my hands on you.” 

“I remember.” I giggled and he laughed, gesturing with a nod and an absent hand wave to look at myself. I did, my eyes widening before warmth crept between my thighs. Remembering just how good it had felt when he’d made the dozens of marks that now covered my body. My thighs clenched at the memory and he laughed, lighthearted, despite the satisfied smirk on his face. 

“You should see your neck, if you think that's bad.” He chuckled, before opening the little tub in his hands. “Drink your water. Bodhi leant me this bruise cream-“

“Bodhi? Why does Bodhi have bruise cream laying about?” I asked incredulously and his ears turned light pink. 

“Dude’s into some kinky shit…anyway-“

“Why do you know that?!” I asked and Ridoc sighed, looking anywhere but my face as he began rubbing the cream on my skin, and I couldn’t help but relax at the soothing warmth. 

“Just drink your water woman. Goddamn…too early for so many questions.” I hummed in response to his embarrassed mutters, but my throat was scratchy and water sounded amazing. 

So I sipped the water, as Ridoc gently massaged the tincture into my skin. I relished in his touch and then he was slipping a fresh pair of panties and the pants onto my hips. Then he moved upwards, straddling my waist as he applied more tincture.

We didn’t speak, didn’t really need to, as I watched him with affection in my gaze. He’d gently kiss over some marks, soothing almost as well as the tincture would. When he was finished he slipped one of his own shirts over my shoulders, the fabric soft, and practically drowning me in its size. It smelled so much like him though that I couldn’t complain. 

And then he was cleaning off my makeup after grabbing another container, that I finally recognized as my cleanser. He didn’t stop there though, applying my moisturizer and spf as well, nearly bringing tears to my eyes as my chest filled with emotion. He handed me a muffin without a word; blueberry and dusted with sugar on top, my favorite, before sitting me up and beginning to gently comb through my hair. He pulled it into a haphazard ponytail before slipping out from behind me as I munched on the muffin, thankful that the churning that had begun in my stomach lessened. He then moved around me, grabbed my boots, and sank to his knees in front of me, making my heart race. 

“We going somewhere?” I asked softly and he nodded, a pout covering his lips. 

“As much as I’d like to keep you locked in here all day, doing everything that I’m now allowed to do to you…” His gaze heated for a moment before he gave me a single peck on the lips, sighing sadly, “Our friends haven’t seen us since last night, its nearly lunch hour, and you need something more than a muffin to get your energy back.” 

I whined, wanting his lips back and he chuckled, giving in and giving me one more chaste kiss before working on my boots. Slipping socks on, then tugging the boots on and deftly tying the laces. Then he was off me completely, and pulling his own shirt on, much to my dismay. 

“If we have to.” I pouted as I stood, immediately falling back down again. The ache between my thighs catching me off guard and causing Ridoc to laugh. “What did you do to me?!”

“Don’t worry Y/N,” He teased, pulling me up into his arms. “I’ve got you."

@xadenswhore @littlemissmelodie @jobroho @the-lake-is-calling - I hope I got everyone, if I missed you I'm sorry!

[buckybarnesslutshop]

Hi guys! I’m on some Bucky bs again (if ur my moot, im lookin at you two, don’t even try to tell me to sleep rn we both know there’s only one way lol /hj) (your honor, it’s only 2 am!) But I’m feelin some stuff here we go

So anyways. Bucky is protective. Bucky is possessive. And Bucky is SO traumatized. I want to take care of him. I always grew up as the “mom friend” and generally assume that role everywhere I go, and despite the fact that I want him to take care of me, sometimes i’m like nah bro. Nah. Sit yo ass down I’m taking care of YOU.

So just imagine, let’s say he’s come home from work (you can decide if this is congressman, ceo, lawyer, mob, or whatever bucky you want) and it’s maybe mid week and it’s already been so tense. He’s got a lot on his plate. You guys, well maybe you’ve had a petty argument or maybe you’re fine, but regardless, you’re each other’s rocks.

So Bucky assumes, when you mention a shower together, that it’s sexual. He’s not mad, but he doesn’t plan to go many rounds. He wants to take care of you, but the second you get to the bathroom, you tell him to wait while you get the water running. He’s like oh ig I’m not in charge cool.

And then you get in. And you reach for his shampoo. and however you make the logistics work, you wash his hair. Scrubbing nice and softly, massaging his head. His eyes shut, mouth parted slightly as he just enjoys the sensation and lets go of his stress some.

“Fuck Doll this is so nice, feels like heaven. Can’t remember when I last relaxed like this,” he mutters, voice almost light. You’re on to conditioner now.

“That’s the point baby. You’re so stressed, you’ve got so much goin’ on. You need this. You deserve this,” you say.

And the rest of the night, you carefully and gently finish his hair with some product (get that wavy post end credit scene hair babes) and he didn’t realize it but you just washed the sheets, washed his favorite night time pajamas, and as he gets dressed, you make that calming tea he secretly likes. And he looks at you with those soft, no-longer-tense, loving eyes. And you just hold him. As long as he wants.

Yeah. I’m feelin soft tonight.

-S🌻

[littlxpxtal]

The Beach

TYRANTS || STORY MASTERLIST

PAIRING: rafe cameron x fem!reader

WARNINGS: MDNI 18+ Content, swearing, sexual content, drug and alcohol use, violence

WORD COUNT: 3k

If I told you that I loved you

Tell me, what would you say?

If I told you that I hated you

Would you go away?

Now I need your help with everything that I do

I don't want to lie, I've been relying on you

Fallin' again

I need a pick-me-up

I've been callin' you "friend,"

I might need to give it up

April

Fuck you

I hover my thumb over the send button for a long breath. When I exhale, I press send, click my phone off and toss it onto my bed. It lands face down.

I walk over to my bathroom, shutting the door behind me and striping down.

The pogues went back to the cut, sending JJ off into the swamp lands with a backpack full of food and camping gear. We are hoping in the next few days we can figure something out to make sure he can come back home safely.

While I shower, I think of all the new information I learned about the mission, and how getting the rest of the gold out was the next goal, but they would have to do it very strategically.

My mind wanders to rafe for a second, and I wonder if he’s back from his trip. Then I remember I hate him, and don’t want to hear back from him. I think about how after my shower, i'm going to block him. I should’ve done that after sending the message anyways.

I’m not entirely sure why it took me so long to send it. I drafted that text the same night JJ and I talked about rafe. I think it just took me a bit of time to finally be able to let go, and let him know I refuse to be treated like this.

There was a small part of me that hoped he already blocked me, so he wouldn’t even see the message from me.

Tomorrow is the last day of spring break, and my family will be back on the outbreaks by nightfall. I think about how I’ll try my best to be asleep by the time they get back tomorrow so I can avoid any questions.

The pogues helped me clean everything, washed bed sheets and dishes, took out the trash and wiped everything down. There was no trace of life in the house, not even from me.

I make mental to do lists of what I still need to do before graduation, what i should wear to school this week, and what color to polish my nails. My mind wanders and runs a million miles a minute as I step out of the shower, ringing my hair into the towel, and plopping it on top of my head. I lotion my body and face up, then wrap myself in a robe.

When I walk out of my bathroom, a shriek spaces my lips.

Rafe is sitting on the edge of my bed, and he’s playing with one of the trinkets from my book shelf.

“What’re you-“ I hold on tightly to the doorknob, ready to run back into the bathroom if needed. I couldn’t read his expression at all.

“You shouldn’t leave the door that leads from the outside, directly into your bedroom, unlocked. Especially when you’re home alone.” He says coyly.

“I think we are privileged enough to know that we don’t really have to worry about those kinds of things here on figure 8, now do we?” I tilt my head, and take in his presence. He’s wearing a hoodie with the hood up. His eyes are on my body, wrapped up in a silk sobe.

“Why are you texting me all crazy like that for, hm?” His eyes finally flicker up to meet mine. They are cold and hard. I glance over to scan my room, find anything to pique my interest enough to not give into the urge to look back at him. My heartbeat raced and I felt my mouth get drier by the second.

“I had been wanting to say it for days, but I figured it would be best if I waited until you were done with your trip so I didnt bother you.’ he scoffs and stands up, taking a step towards me. I responded with a small step backwards, my breath hitching in my throat.

“You think some text behind a screen would’ve ruined my trip? You think saying “fuck you” to me, is something I would get worked up about?”

my lips trembles, my body is reacting in a way as if im getting scolded, or reprimanded for speaking back to an adult.

I don’t speak, my body freezes and he takes another step towards me, his head dipping down.

“You think I care about the fact that you helped hide maybank here at your house?” I hyelped, and my hands trembled. I looked down at the ground, and he’s finally close enough where I can smell his cologne.

He hooks his finger under my chin, and I flinch. My back is pressed against the doorframe, and he leans forward, pushing my chin up, and y eyes meet his,

“Cat got your tongue?” He coos, his eyes look manic, and there’s a slight tremor in his hand.

“I think you do care. And it would’ve ruined your trip.” I finally croak out, letting out the breath I had been holding.

“And I mean it. Fuck you rafe. Fuck you and the mind games you play with me. Your not even my boyfriend and you like to control everything, and if i'm not doing something you Like, you use move onto another one of your girls. Like im disposable, like i dont matter. And I know i Fucking matter to you.”

I dont really mean to say the last part, but it came out anyways. I was just being honest.

He doesn’t respond for a while so we stand in silence, and he stares down at me, his finger still holding under my chin.

He leans down and presses a soft kiss to my lips. I dont object, but I dont open my mouth for more.

“You dont mean it” his whispers, his lips brushing against mine.

“Yes i do” I mumble, my brain getting light from the feeling he brought in my mind.

his other hands reach up and trailing down the valley of my chest against the robe. His fingers make it down to where the rob is tied, and he glances up with a smirk.

“Tell me, y/n, did you finally sleep with him? Did you get back at me?” He hot breath fans against my chest, and he lowers on his knees, slowly pulling open the tied pieces of my robe.

”What Don't you get about the fact that JJ and I don't do that. Never have and never will.” I try my best to pretend I am unaffected by the way his fingers trail up my inner thigh, right to the line of my robe, barely hanging open. His lips press right below my naval, and a whimper escapes my lips.

“It would’ve ruined my trip” he whispers, using his hands to open my legs, I press harder against the wall, the towel on my head finally dropping to the ground, I pull my wet hair to one side, looking down at rafe. His pupils are blown, his bottom lip between his teeth, waiting for my response.

“I know it would’ve” I say with a smirk.

”you give me a constant headache” he grumbles, pressing another kiss to the inside of my thigh.

”You Make this whole thing so hard. Would be easier if you just stopped overreacting” I retaliate, bending my knees slightly, opening up my thighs more. He grips my hips and Iicks a strip up my slit.

“Wheres the fun in that?” He says with a chuckle before diving in, suckling on my clit, his fingers burned deep into my hips. I moaned out in pleasure, my hands entangling themselves in his hair.

He hums with pleasure against my heat, and I find myself panting, my head hung low, bottom lip between my teeth.

“So did you fuck her again?” I ask, hissing as he sucks hard on my clit in response.

“Nah” he responds quickly, before his mouth attaches back to my folds, his tongue lapping up and down rhythmically.

I whimper a few times, and he looks up to my eye contact with me.

“You’re easy to piss off” he says against my pussy.

”sounds like you do it on purpose” I groan and bcuck my hips against his face. He releases his mouth, its covered in my slick, and his eyes are still blown out. His right hand trails down, and he runs two fingers between my folds, pushing into my hole, just teasing it slightly. I breath out heavily and he smirks.

“You’re fun to play with” he drawls out, his eyes focuses on the way his fingers are sliding into and out, deeper with each pump. My legs start to shake as he curls his fingers inside. Once they are fully inside , he quickens his pace, the silence in the room filled with the wet sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of me.

“‘M not a fucking toy” I grit out, pulling his hard harder, squeezing my eyes shut as I feel myself reaching my peak. He doesn’t respond, and instead brings his mouth back up to my clit, flicking it with his tongue, swirling around in circles, clockwise then counterclockwise.

“Fuckkkkk” I groan out, seeing white behind my closed lids. I cum all over rafes face. I dont get to ride it very long, before he’s dragging me over to the bed, and pushing my face down, ass up. He pulls the robe full off my body, and presses my face down into the pillows, I feel himself line his cock up with my entrance, and he pushes in.

”Rafe” I groan, holding out the sheets with all my might. I finish riding out my high as he pounds into me from behind, his hands gripped on both sides of my hips.

Profanities slip from his mouth, accompanied with a few whimpers of my name.

I gain enough strength to push my self up, so im in tabletop position, while he still pumps in and out of me. I turn my head and look back to see the hoods of his eyes are hanging low, his jaw is slack, his tongue peaking out the side, and drips of sweat are beading on his forehead. A whimper erupts from his mouth, and he grunts after, his eyes snapping open to meet mine, as if he sensed me looking at him.

“This what you wanted? Huh?” I bat my lashes innocently and bit my bottom lip.

”Wanted to piss me off so much I just had to come over and fuck you just to get you to shut the fuck up? Huh pretty girl?” My eyes roll back and my head hangs down. He’s tsks his tongue, leaning forward, one hand gripped tightly on my hips, the other gathers my hair in his fist, and he yanks me back, my shoulders pressing up against his chest. He cocks his fist down to the right, angling my head up and back to look up at him. His pace hasn’t faltered once, and the continuing sound of my pussy squelching against his throbbing cock is only getting louder, I can no longer contain my moans, and I squeeze my eyes shut as they spill out of my mouth. He takes this opportunity of my open my mouth to spit in it. My eyes shoot open, and we hold eye contact for a second before I swallow and he smiles.

“All you have to do is ask nicely you know?” His grip on my hair still tight, and his dick is ramming into my harder than before.

“That doesn’t sound like something I’d do.” I whisper, looking deep into his eyes. His smile never faulters, and he leans down and kisses me.

“Don’t ever say that shit to me again” he says, breathing into my mouth, his eyes shut, still pounding relentless into me.

“What? Oh, Fuck you” I whimper out. Everything happens so quickly.

His eyes snap open and they darken, he lets go of my hair, pushing me down by my shoulder too the bed.

”Don’t.” He gives my ass a hard slap, making me yelp out.

”Ever” he pulls his dick out, and grabs my hips, flipping me onto my back.

”fucking” he pushing my legs open, and wraps them around his hips.

”say that” his right hand reaches up and wraps around my throat, putting just enough pressure.

”again” he growls the last word before ramming himself into me.

I lift my head up and attach my mouth on his shoulder, sucking harshly to cover the moans I wanted to scream out. His head rests against mine, and he grunts.

“You gonna be a good girl for me now?” He breathes out heavily, and looks down at me. We make eye contact and I pout, refusing to give in. His hand is still on my throat, and he gives it a squeeze. I groan in response, shutting my eyes.

“Look at me” he commands. My eyes flutter open and he has a smirk on his face.

“I’ll only be a good girl if you promise to stop fucking other girls”

His hips stutter a second before he completely stops. The grip on my throat is released,and he pushes himself up on both hands, hovering over me, my legs still tightly wrapped around his hips.

“Is that what you really want?” He asks sincerely.

I wiggle my hips to try and get him to keep going, but he doesn’t budge.

“I dunno. Can we just keep fucking?” I please, grabbing onto his bicep and reaching up to kiss his neck.

“Sure” he whispers before thrusting again.

We dont say anything the rest of the time, until Rafe is about to cum.

”’m close”

”Not inside me” I protest.

”Fucking duh” he grumbles into my neck before pulling out and finishing on my stomach. He immediately stands up, grabs a tissue and starts cleaning me off.

Once he’s done, he passes me my robe, and he puts his clothes back on.

“Well, are we like good now?” He asks, checking his pockets for his wallet and keys.

”Yea, we always were”

”Right” he says, scratching the back of his head. “Im just gonna” he points towards the door he snuck through. I nod my head in understanding, and watch him leave. I turned off my bedside lamp, and laid in silence.

My moment of self loathing was interrupting by my phone ringing.

Sabrina

I answer immediately

“Sab?” I say into the phone, sitting up.

”Y/N, you need to get down to the beach right now. Like NOW”

I furrow my brow, take my phone from my ear to check the time. I was 9:27pm

”I dont know Sab I was about to go to bed honestly.”

”Bitch, it’s the last night of spring break. And mostly everyone is back, and we’re partying on the beach. Get here NOW” she yells the last part into the phone before hanging up. I hurriedly pack a bag with miscellaneous illegal items, slip on a hoodie and shorts then run out the door. I check Sabrina’s location to see where on the beach she was, and it was decently close for me to make it on foot.

When I arrive, I see a mix of faces, those I get along with, and those who I simply pretend dont exist on a regular basis. Before Sabrina sees me, I catch a glimpse of rafe. He’s taking a drag of a cig while Kelce talks to him and Topper. Topper looks semi interested, while rafe looks like he couldn’t care less. His face looks angry and hard. And hot. Like. Really fucking hot.

Before I could analyze his face more, Sabrina yells out my name, and his head whips in my direction. I look away before our eyes meet, and smile when they land on Sabrina.

“Hi baby, I missed you” she cried out, standing up to greet me with a hug. She’s sitting on a towel that topper brought. I smile down at them and look around to see where I can set up. Conveniently, there’s a spot next to rafe in between him and some random kook.

“Why dont you go sit by rafe and cheer him up a bit. He’s in one of his moods.” Topper jokes, nudging his head over. I give a fake smile and trudge over, laying my towel down without acknowledging him.

When I sit down, he gives me a Look.

“What? We’re you saving this for someone?” I say with a smirk. He gives me a fake smile, and laugh then rolls his eyes.

I pul out the bottle of wine I stole from my parents bar and take a big gulp. I hand it out to him, and he takes it, drinking a small mouthful before passing it back.

We get along cordially, mainly because we dot actually talk to each other. We just silently pass the bottle back and forth between each other, while people chatter among us.

When the night gets late, and everyone starts slowly leaving the beach, it ends up just me and rafe, my head laying on his lap, staring at the stars as he stroked my hair and looked out into the ocean.

”This is nice” he mumbles. I nod my head in agreement and he looks down.

His face is sad, and his eyes are brimmed with tears.

“Y/N, I dont think I can be the person you need.” He whispers, and a tear slips down from his face and lands on my cheek. He wipes it away then looks back out into the ocean.

“Could you try?” I as. My face is hot and flushed from the alcohol, and I was probably going to say something I would later regret. But i don't care. I wanted him to want to try for me.

“You might have to teach me”

“Okay” I whisper. “Rafe?”

”Yes, Y/N?”

”Can you take me home? And will you stay with me?” He smiles.

“Of course”

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Tags: @ltristessedureratoujours @davinashifts333 @tomholland792

[emperorangel]

⋆｡°𓆟 Pretend Like It's The First Time

Choso x GN!reader. no curses/college AU. Friends to lovers. Choso and Yuji are amateur boxers. Fluff and a little angst. Dubious consent kinda, since you were both drunk but I don’t go into detail like at all.

Synopsis: Last week, in a drunken haze, you slept with your best friend. You don’t remember much, but it was good. After that night though, Choso and you haven’t really spoken. It’s almost as if he is avoiding you. Then you show up at his boxing gym. Word count: 4K A/N: Goth Choso is real to me, I need him BAD

Finally, you regain conscience. Sunlight peeking through the curtains waking you. A throbbing pain pulses inside your head. For a second you’re not even quite sure where you are. The sheets of this bed aren’t yours, yet they are familiar. Weird. Something big and warm lies next to you, and you hold on to it tighter completely disregarding who or what it could be. You’re cold, where’s your shirt anyway? 

Then the thing moves with a groan and you freeze.

Choso, your close friend and classmate, is waking up right next to you. Well, actually you’re waking up next to him. Now you recognise the room. You’ve watched movies here, taken naps and had long talks. But never woken up naked and dazed.

He rubs his eyes and seems just as shaken and confused as you are. Did you…? His eyeliner is smudged, you must’ve taken care of business immediately for him not to clean his face before bed like he usually does. After staring into nothing for a bit the memories of last night rush back. Fuzzy, but you remember now. Even if you hadn’t been able to recall anything, the marks on both your and Choso’s bodies were telltale signs of what went down last night. Fuck, he got you good.

You slide out of bed, mumbling something about the bathroom and collect your scattered clothes from off the floor. 

Once in the bathroom you rest one hand on the edge of the sink, the other holding your head. Turning on the light had proven to be a mistake. It felt like you were being hit with a stun grenade. 

At least you’ll get to play dress up coming Monday, picking between smearing concealer all over your neck or wearing something that hides all those hickeys. God forbid you walk onto campus like this. 

Your reflection stares back at you full of judgement. 

Water. You need water. Forming a cup with your hands you quickly drink before the liquid makes its way through your fingers and down the drain. After that you wash your face for good measure. The cool water clears your mind a little.

Should you take a shower? You want to, but maybe that would be overstaying your welcome. You shiver. Oh my god what have you done?

But it wasn’t bad. No, not bad at all. Quite a surprise, actually. You never anticipated Choso being such a freak. Sure, you’ve thought about scenarios like this, maybe more than you would like to admit. But you would’ve never taken such a risk as you did last night. Not sober, anyway, as has become apparent.

Right there you make a vow to yourself to not speak of this again. Having sex with your friends is what ruins lives. And you don’t want to lose Choso.

Once you’ve freshened yourself up you slip out of Choso’s apartment, not saying another word. 

The day you first met Choso started as an awful one. After hearing the words “group project” spat out of your professor’s mouth you groan and hide your face into your hands. You don’t even get to pick your teammates. You’re not the only one upset, all around you you hear small noises of protest from your classmates. Nobody likes them, and yet for some reason professors love to hand these kinds of assignments out. 

The list with group divisions appears on the giant screen in front of the lecture hall. Great, you’ll be stuck with a guy you don’t know at all and a girl that literally never shows up.

You peer over your shoulder, finding the aforementioned guy already looking your way. He’s got dark brown eyes -accentuated by eyebags that will probably never go away no matter how well he sleeps- that somehow still manage to pierce through your soul. His black hair is always done up in these spiky pigtails. Probably some alternative hairstyle that is really cool in his scene, or something. But what really sticks out about his appearance is the black stripe across his nose. A tattoo, you assume. Unusual but admittedly, it suits his face. He’s tall, wearing thick platform boots every day and all-in-all has a reputation of being kind of scary. Help…

The first time working together had you nearly puking in the college library toilet out of nerves. But you sucked it up, and decided to be brave. Plus you really needed to pass this class, so it’s not like you have a choice… How scary can this be? He’s just a guy after all.

Later you found out that despite his intimidating aura, Choso is actually pretty chill. He’s patient with you, soft spoken and while he isn’t really able to properly explain it to you he really understands the study material.

As expected, your missing third member never shows up. But you don’t even need her, Choso and you manage just fine. If anything you’re thankful for miss flaker to stay out of this, spending time alone with Choso is much more fun than you ever imagined. 

After a week you catch yourself getting excited for a class you would normally rather jump into traffic for. You weren’t falling for your mysterious, goth classmate were you? Well, by the way your heart flutters when he greets you, you could confirm that -shit- you were.

Getting to know Choso proved to be difficult though. While he spoke about school and assignments just fine, he initially didn’t reveal anything about himself. It felt like trying to break through a concrete wall with just a kitchen fork. What movies did he like? What are his favourite songs? It was all so close yet just out of reach. 

But once you got him to mention his brothers you could piece together some of Choso’s personal life. Talking about himself didn’t seem to be his strong suit, but talking about his brothers? That was a whole different story.

“Oh yeah, I went to their concert with my brother.” So he likes that band… score. 

“I saw that movie with Yuji once, it was good.” You added it to your watchlist later that evening.

He has ten brothers, which is insane, and a dad who is kind of an ass (evidently). Choso’s the oldest, which could explain why he seems somewhat nurturing at times, and most of his brothers are scattered around the country doing their own thing. Half-brothers, really. But to Choso they are family all the same.

The youngest, Yuji, lives with his grandfather just around the corner from Choso’s place and they see each other a few times a week. Even though you’re curious about him, it would take a while before you actually met Yuji at a movie theater.

After a month the group assignment is done -with a passing grade at that- and you fear that this is where you go your separate ways again. Choso always sits alone -he doesn’t seem to mind it- and you expect him to go back to his quiet and mysterious persona now that you’re not forced to get along.

And at first he does. 

A week goes by and neither of you speak to each other, and you fear all those times you got him to open up the past month were just a facade. Weirdly enough, you really miss him. There was way more where that came from and you’re not ready for Choso to fade into obscurity again. So when he suddenly spawns in front of you with your favourite drink when you were sitting alone on campus, you’re nearly unable to hide your excitement. 

By the end of the year you’re as close as friends can be, and it silently kills you inside. Waiting for Choso to make the first move is like watching paint dry, you might reach the goal but it’ll take you a century to get there. Maybe he doesn’t even like you that way, and the fear of losing such a great friend keeps you from doing anything impulsive. Still, the way his gaze lingers on you longer than is socially acceptable, the moments where your knees touch and neither of you pull away, the quiet nights together in his apartment where nothing really happens yet still there’s a certain tension in the air… It all must mean something, no?

Parties were never really your idea of fun, but when a girl from your class invites you to one you decide to go. It would be a good way to get to know other people on campus, but you don’t want to go alone…

Choso agrees to come with you, even though he probably wouldn’t have gone if you weren’t going to be there. Your classmate had invited him -she acted like he was going to bite her head off- and he had politely declined before. 

But here he’s stood on the doorstep of the specified address, next to you. 

“You look nice.” He says, doing a quick up-and-down look before clearing his throat and turning away.

Inside it’s crowded, looks like the hosts invited more people than their home could support. Choso’s hand rests on the small of your back as you shuffle through the crowd. The warmth of his palm seeps through the fabric of your top. It’s such a small gesture, but it gets you way more worked up than you’d like to admit. Whenever Choso does something like this, it reminds you just how touch starved you really are. 

The kitchen is much emptier, and Choso has the space to let go of you. Bummer.

Drink, you need a drink to let loose. You’re way too on edge for this. Choso isn’t helping at all. At the door you noticed he was wearing eyeliner, and fuck does it look hot. Why didn’t he do so more often?

After a few shots you feel better, lighter. The world is not spinning quite yet but walking in a straight line takes more concentration than it would sober. It’s time to dance. 

Choso slips back in front of you when he notices you’re on your way out, grabbing your hand to not lose you. At first glance it looks like he’s just leading you around like a guard dog, which yeah, he is. But he also probably just doesn’t want to be left alone at a party where he hardly knows anyone. 

Choso’s palm is pressed against yours, your fingers intertwined as you squeeze past wasted college students. The music is turned up to the max, people are singing along and stumbling around a make-shift cardboard dance floor.

The music sucks, but you don’t care. Throughout the night you fluctuate between the shoddy dance floor and the kitchen to drink. Song after song plays, yet they all sound kind of the same. This doesn’t make them less danceable though. 

The world spins and you can’t think straight anymore, choso’s face also looks quite flushed. His pupils are blown out, you blame it on the alcohol. 

“Why’re you not dancing?!” You yell above the music. “This isn’t really my thing!” He slurs back. 

You scoff and grab his hands, moving them along with your drunken dance moves. “At least try to have some fun!”

He rolls his eyes with a smirk and follows your lead, moving around a bit more than before but still putting in minimal effort. More songs pass, the people around you all seem to know the lyrics. They scream along, or at least try to. Most of them have lost their voice by now. What time is it anyway? Doesn’t matter, you’d like another drink. 

A new track starts playing, seemingly a different genre than most of the other songs that have appeared tonight since Choso’s head perks up. You chuckle at his sudden reaction. “You know this one?!”

“Yeah!”

“Will you dance with me then?!”

Choso laughs and nods, finally putting some energy into his steps. In your intoxicated haze it feels like you’re absolutely tearing up the dancefloor, all the while not letting go of Choso’s hands. Finally he seems to have shaken off the edge as well. He should let loose more often. In truth though, he wouldn’t mind standing by and watching you, as long as he gets to be around you he’s content.

One of his hair ties is nearly falling out, the bun unravelling before your eyes. You rest your arms on his shoulders, pulling closer and tiptoe to release his hair. Your fingers brush through his black strands while your head rests under his chin. Choso’s heart is nearly beating out of his chest, or are you imagining things? Ugh it’s hard to make sense of anything right now. How many drinks have you had anyway…

You look up when you feel his hands hesitantly move to your hips. Choso stares back down, his bangs sticking to his sweaty forehead and his face flushed pink. You hold his face, your thumb tracing across his tattoo and before you’re even aware of it yourself you kiss him. You can feel his breath hitch before he reciprocates. Kissing back slowly, but growing more passionate by the second like a starved man.

All the other people around you seem to disappear, you’re only aware of Choso. The rest of the night is kind of a blur, as if you were possessed by a far hornier version of yourself that is usually pushed far away. 

The rest is a blur.

Sure, you remember bits and pieces and also take note of the fact that you’re even more flustered around Choso now, but it’s not much. 

But after that day you woke up in his bed, covered in his marks, he disappeared again. Just like he did in the first month you met. You tried calling him, but he didn’t pick up and on campus he avoids you. 

Pissed off, you decide to face confrontation head on. It’s been a week and at least now you know Choso’s not that scary. You want to know where you stand. Have the ‘what are we?’ talk, maybe slap him across the face for going ghost again. You’ll see how you feel when you get there.

Choso’s usual gym wasn’t very crowded this evening. There were 6 people total, including you, Yuji and him. Your arms rest on the half-wall that separates the sports area from the rest of the gym. Watching Choso beat the punching bag over and over, you didn’t notice Yuji basically spawning behind you. He gently baps you on the head with one of his boxing gloves, finally catching your attention. “What are you doing here?” He asks, clearly confused. You scoff internally. Is it that unbelievable to see you in a gym?

Yuji is young, about four years younger than Choso, maybe. Still in highschool and a talented athlete. If Choso jumps high, Yuji jumps higher. If Choso punches hard, Yuji punches harder. It appears he’s able to outdo his brother in everything. Not that Choso seems to mind. Actually, he seems very proud of the pink haired kid’s abilities. 

“I have some business to discuss with your brother. College stuff, very boring.” You lie and fix your hair. 

“I hope you’re not asking him for help, ‘cause he sucks at explaining.” Yuji turns toward Choso, who is still laser focussed on killing the poor punching bag. “And then, uhm. You kind of add this and it’ll, uhh…” Yuji lowers his voice by an octave to mock the way his brother tutors him.

“I know.” You chuckle, dragging out your vowels. “Nah, we’re just reviewing something. Like I said, very boring.” 

Yuji didn’t need to know that you pulled all of this out your ass. He nods with an understanding pout. 

“Choso! Catch!” The boy yells as he throws a boxing glove toward his brother, conveniently right when he’s taking a sip of water. Choso manages to catch it without spilling the bottle all over himself. But when he turns to face his assailant he nearly chokes. 

You, of all people, coming here was something he didn’t expect. Were you here to chew him out? Say you’ll never want to see him again after what happened? His mind was racing as he reluctantly came over. Dragging his feet and keeping his eyes to the ground.

“Here.” He gave Yuji his glove back and turned to you, meeting your eyes only briefly.

“Choso, can we talk later? I’ll be waiting outside, by the back door.” You say, pushing yourself away from the wall. He mutters an “okay” and turns to Yuji, who really wants to spar. You curse yourself, Choso getting all worked up and sweaty was something you’d love to see again. But no, you force yourself out of the building.

You close the door behind you and let the cool evening air wash over you. There are already some stars in the dark blue sky and a half moon greets you kindly from space. 

The gym building, old as it is, has those indented windows with a slope you can sit on. They’re not meant to be sat on, but everyone and their mother does it anyway. 

Moths and other bugs swarm the single streetlight posted near the back door. You take your place on the forbidden window seat and wrap your arms around your legs. Choso should be here soon, it’s not like him to ghost you after you’ve confronted him directly. Besides, Yuji would pressure him to go see you. His younger brother is too dense to sense the tension between the two of you, but he knows you’re good friends and won’t stand for Choso chickening out of a conversation like he tends to do so often.

Your head perks up when the door opens, but you deflate when two strangers appear. They pat each other on the back and plan a night out for tomorrow. Then they fade into the evening. It’s Friday after all. Usually you’d be planning something with Choso by now. Maybe if you set this right there’ll be room for plans again. 

With a low sigh you scratch some of the brittle cement from between the bricks. You’ve been sitting here for about fifteen minutes now. 

When the door opens a second time you don’t react, expecting it to be another random gym bro. But when Choso clears his throat you freeze. 

Damnit, you promised yourself you wouldn't make this awkward. But the way he stands here before you, hair loose and damp from the shower, strands sticking to his forehead and his face still tinted pink from exercising , it only reminds you of last week. 

It seems Choso’s words also caught in his throat, because he turns away from you, poorly hiding how red he’s turning and leans against the wall next to your window. 

For a moment it’s quiet, with the exception of the bugs trying to break into the streetlight. The soft dink! Dink! Dink! Of their bodies against glass is annoying enough for you to open your mouth and break the silence. 

“How’d the sparring match go?” You ask to lighten the mood.

“I lost.” He simply replies, still not looking at you. You don’t have to know that he couldn’t concentrate on beating up his brother. 

“Ah.” Silence again.

“So, uhm.” you mutter, rapidly trying to collect your thoughts. “About what happened,  you know…”

Choso crosses his arms tighter and chews some loose skin off of his bottom lip, his eyes glued to the ground. 

“Oh, yeah. Sorry about that, I-”

“No, no it’s okay.” You pause for a second, taking a deep breath before continuing in a softer tone of voice. “I liked it.”

“Hm?” 

You know damn well Choso heard you, why is he making you say it again? The possibility of him simply not registering your words doesn’t really dawn on you. 

Leaning your head against the cold bricks somewhat cools you down. Blood rapidly rushes anywhere but your brain and the pounding of your heart combined with the warmth of your cheeks is insanely distracting. 

“I keep thinking about it. About you. And…”

You backtrack and shake your head. What are you doing, saying things like this? That promise you made to yourself about taking this to the grave didn’t last long at all. 

“Agh, sorry for even bringing this up.” You slide off the windowsill and prepare to run away from your feelings once more. “Goodnight.”

“No.” Choso grabs you by the wrist before you get the chance to leave. You turn to face him, stomach doing a somersault. He held your wrists like that last week too, only then you were being pressed into a mattress getting your world rocked. 

“Me too.”

“What?”

“I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re always in the back of my mind, even more than before.”

“More than befo-  Choso what are you saying?” 

All this time he had been feeling the same. You had turned yourself inside out over absolutely nothing! The sly bastard. 

His dark eyes meet yours, but he doesn’t seem to have the courage to hold eye contact and quickly looks away again. He lets your wrist go with a sigh.

“I’m sorry I avoided you.” He says. “I was afraid of what you’d say.”

You nod knowingly. “Yeah, same here.”

Choso finally meets your gaze, looking not too different from a kicked puppy. “Please tell me you meant something behind everything we did that night. I can’t go on pretending like it all never happened.”

Neither could you. Going back to normal after fucking the guy you wanted to fuck for months on end? Impossible. You’d probably pass away from heart failure, or something. 

You violently shake your head. “No, Choso, I… I really like you. I meant everything, even if I wasn’t sober.”

“Really?” 

You’ve never seen him so relieved, he’s almost crying. He embraces you, and if he didn’t look so happy you’d think he was trying to crush you to a pulp. “I like you too. So much.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

You smile into his shoulder and snake your arms underneath his to hug him back. His face hides away in the crook of your neck and for a moment you’re just stood there, frozen. 

Choso shifts his weight, turning his head to look at you. His eyes dart between your eyes and your lips and you chuckle. Pulling yourself impossibly closer to him, you tip-toe and bring your face toward his, eyes locked on his lips. 

“Sorry,” He pulls away, leaving you internally screaming. It’s almost as if he did that on purpose to tease you. God this guy stressed you out in the best way possible. “Can we pretend like it’s the first time?” 

“Of course.” You reply, your voice not more than a whisper. You don’t remember much of the actual first kiss anyway. 

He chuckles softly while trying to find a comfortable angle, tilting his head left, then right. When his nose bumps into yours he decides to just gently hold your face in place. His thumb swipes across your cheek when his eyes meet yours. Then he leans in and kisses you. Tender, softly and oh how you’ve missed him.

Reluctantly you break the kiss, holding his chin and swiping across his lower lip with your thumb. He’s like putty in your hands. 

“Hey, Choso. Please don’t avoid me next time there’s a hard conversation to be had, okay?” 

He nods with a groan. “I’m sorry. I’ll work on that.”

You hum affirmatively. “We’ll get back to that tomorrow. It’s late.”

“How about I take you out, as in like a date. To apologise.” Choso’s eyes darted toward his feet. He really, truly feels awful about his behaviour. You tilt your head, pretending to consider his offer. As if you haven’t been waiting for this moment the second you realised how you felt. But after everything, playing around a little like this is the least you’re allowed.

“You Promise?” 

“I Promise.”

A/N: Like half of this came to me in a vision. I was listening to a lot of goth love songs writing this, Temptation by New Order and I'm Addicted by Selofan kind of stuck out to me as the most Choso-esque. I really like Enchant Me by Faithful Dawn as well. I wanted to link one of these at the top but could not for the life of me imagine any of these getting played at a generic house party so I just kind of left it up to you to imagine the song that catches Choso's attention mwahh. I have a whole playlist for him and would loooove to ramble on and on about music but this author's note is getting too long so maybe another time.

[bullet-prooflove]

The House On The Quarter: Tim Gutterson x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @fallmoreinloveeveryday @elenavampire21 @floralfloyd @lamaudite

Companion piece to:

Lucky - Tim's assignment doesn't go to plan.

Stars - Tim's not like the other guys.

The Good Book - Tim makes you a promise you don't think he can keep.

Sharpnel - You make sure Tim has a piece of you when he's airlifted to Germany for surgery.

Germany - Tim meets you during a three hour layover in Germany.

Tim begs Art to let him to attend the law enforcement conference in Louisiana. It’s been three months since he last saw you and he’s desperate at this point because the phone calls, the texts they just don’t cut it. Things have gotten harder since he got you suspended, you’re doing all the grunt work these days, trying to pay your penance and he’s stuck working all the shit shifts because that’s what the newbie does down here in Kentucky.

“Do you want another Raylan on your hands?” He petitions Art in his office. “Because that rule breaking, it’s down to the fact he didn’t attend any conferences, he never learned all the new policing they’re talking about or how to play nice with others. You wouldn’t even have to pay for my hotel, I’ve got a friend down there I can stay with.”

It’s two weeks later he turns up on your doorstep, his dufflebag slung over his shoulder, the sounds of the French Quarter in his ears. The way your face lights up when you see him, there’s nothing in this world quite like it.

Things get a little wild after that. Scattered clothes and knocked over lamps, you don’t even make it to the bed, he fucks you right there in the living room hallway, his jeans by his ankles as he takes you on the sideboard.

“How long have I got you for?” You ask him in the aftermath as you lay entwined together on the rug, his flannel shirt draped over you, your fingertips ghosting over the scars that are seared into chest from the shrapnel he took overseas.

“All night and the next couple of days if you’ll have me.” He tells you, his eyes closing as he buries his face in your hair. There is nothing that relaxes him more than having you tucked in against him and he feels himself start to drift as he holds you closer.

“Oh Tim, I’ll have you every which way I can.” You whisper and he can feel your smile against his skin as your lips chase along the curve of his jaw.

It’s later that evening when he’s helping you wash up the dinner plates that he brings up the house, the little white one on the Quarter you’d had your eye on back before he joined the Marshals. He’d blown past it on the way into town, heart sinking when he saw the ‘For Sale’ sign had been taken down.

“I saw that the house has gone.” He says as he dries his hands on blue and white chequered tea towel. Your hair falls over your face, hiding it from his view as your shoulders stiffen just for a second.

“Yea it sold last month.” You say finally as you pick up the set of plates and slot them back into the cupboard. “It was a silly idea anyway, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

He does, you thought that you’d found a place for the two of you, somewhere you could build a life together. He’d fucked that up when they’d assigned him to Kentucky and that dream you’d had of that house and a dog, well…

He’d gone and damn destroyed it.

“They’ll be other houses.” You say but he can hear the sadness in your voice because that house, it was the one, he feels it in his bones.

You spend two blissful days together attending the conference. His mornings are filled with sunshine and laugher, his evenings making love to the sound of jazz emitting from the trumpet player outside. It’s everything that’s been missing from his life and everything he has to give up again by the time Thursday rolls around.

“I don’t want to go.” He tells you that morning, his thumb ghosting over the curve of your cheek as he lays beside you in tangled up sheets. “I don’t want to leave you again.”

Everytime the two of you part, it’s like something inside him breaks. His heart, his soul, he doesn’t know what, all he knows is it gets harder and he’s not sure how much more he can take. He’s not sure how much you can take either.

“You’re not leaving me.” You remind him, your fingertips ghosting along the light dusting of stubble on his cheek. “You’re just saying goodbye until the next time.”

It’s on his way out of town he drives past that house again, there’s a moving truck outside, another couple carrying boxes, a golden retriever bouncing around their feet. His eyes start to sting, his chest aching because this is the future he snatched away from you when he joined the Marshals.

The one you should have had with him.

Love Tim? 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.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[runningincircl3s]

Sinematic

Vinny Mauro x Reader

Chapter 8

chapter warnings: mentions of a vibrator lmao and flashbacks to sex (nothing too graphic!)

this chapter is a little all over the place i'm sorry!! i'm not sure if i'll post the next chapter (WHICH IM SOOOO EXCITED FOR BTW)(ONE OF MY FAVS I'VE WRITTEN FOR THIS STORY) early next week? i'm going to paris for the week with my best friend and we leave on monday night so i could post it in the morning? but ik i'll be lazy and post it on sunday instead hehe :) anyways happy monday!! <3

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Your head was pounding. Your mouth was dry. It hurt to open your eyes. 

You groaned, turning over, only to be met with something solid and warm beside you.

Oh god.

Your eyes snapped open, but the moment you moved, a sharp pain shot through your skull, forcing you to wince. You swallowed, your throat scratchy, before daring to peek over your shoulder.

Vinny?

He was still asleep, his curls a mess against the pillow, face relaxed and peaceful. His arm was draped loosely over his stomach, his breathing steady. The sheets had fallen down to his waist, exposing his bare stomach.

Was he even dressed?

Panic flared in your chest.

No. No, no, no, what did we do?

You tried to think back, but your memories were hazy, blurry around the edges. You remembered the movie, the shots, laughing way too much. But that’s where it ended. 

“Vin…”

“Mmm?”

“Are you awake?” 

“…No.”

Vinny stirred beside you, letting out a low groan before cracking one eye open. His gaze flickered to you, still tense beside him, and a slow, sleepy smirk spread across his lips.

“Morning, sunshine.” He rasped, voice thick with sleep.

You swallowed hard. 

“Vin…”

His smirk widened. 

“You look stressed.”

“Did we…?”

Vinny’s brows furrowed for a second before realisation hit, and he let out a soft laugh. 

“No, relax, we didn’t do anything.”

You exhaled sharply, relief washing over you. 

“Are you sure? Nothing happened between us?”

He chuckled again. 

“Yeah, I’m sure. Nothing happened between us, but something clearly happened between you and the tequila”. He chuckled, “No, you passed out on the couch so I brought you up. I was gonna leave, but you asked me to stay.”

“Oh.” You blinked, feeling your face heat up. “Right.”

Vinny stretched, groaning slightly. 

“You feeling okay?”

“No,” you grumbled. “I feel like I got hit by a bus.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you try to keep up with AJ’s drinking games.”

You rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling. 

“Shit. What time is it?”

Vinny grabbed his phone from the nightstand, squinting at the screen. 

“Almost ten.”

Your heart sank. 

“Shit!” You bolted upright, immediately regretting it as your head throbbed in protest. “I have a photoshoot at eleven!”

Vinny frowned. 

“You sure you’re feeling up for that?”

“I have to be,” you groaned, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, rubbing your temples. “I already rescheduled once. Plus, I need the money.”

Vinny sat up behind you, watching as you scrambled for your phone. 

“Is it really that big a deal?”

“Yes, Vin, it is a big deal. I need the money. I’m already behind on rent, I can’t afford to miss it.”

Vinny was quiet for a moment before he shrugged. 

“So move in here.” He said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. 

“What?” You froze, wondering if you heard him correctly. 

He stretched his arms above his head before flopping back onto the pillows. 

“You’re here more often than not now, it’s like you live here already. Plus, I have a spare room that needs taking, and it would save you some stress looking for another place, and I wouldn’t need to look for a new roommate who might try to kill me in my sleep.”

You turned to stare at him, trying to gauge whether he was joking. 

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” he said simply. “Why not?”

You blinked, your brain trying to catch up. 

“Vin, you can’t just invite me to move in like it’s no big deal.”

He raised an eyebrow. 

“Why not?”

“Because…” You hesitated. “You’ve only just forgiven me, what if it doesn’t work out? It’s a massive deal!”

Vinny just shrugged. 

“Not really. You already slept here the last two nights, and whilst I was on tour. You keep a toothbrush here, it’s like you’ve moved in anyway, might as well make it official.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. He wasn’t wrong.

Still, moving in with Vinny? That would be dangerous. The lines between friendship and something more were already blurry as it was. If you started living together…

“I’ll think about it.” You muttered, standing up.

Vinny smirked. 

“Take your time. Offer stands.”

So of course, a week later, you let him know your final decision. 

You were about to be living with Vinny Mauro. 

…

“So now you’re moving in with him?! Girl, two months ago he wouldn’t even speak to you? What’s going on here?” Angela asked over the phone.

You were on facetime with her as you finished packing up your things to take to Vin’s house. The guys had been kind enough to give you their merch boxes to use for packing, and AJ had even rented a van to help you move. Over the last few weeks, you and AJ had become close. You loved him, he was like the brother you never knew you needed, he was chaotic, funny, kind, and always lit up the room wherever he was. You loved havung him around.

“I needed a place to go, Ang. They keep putting up the rent, and I would’ve had to move anyway.”

“You could’ve asked me!” She frowned.

“You have a one-bedroom apartment. I didn’t think you’d be interested in getting a bunk bed.”

“You never know! I would’ve taken the top bunk.” she giggled. Then her voice softened. “So this is purely platonic?”

“Yep.” You smiled, shoving your framed lyric sheet- your birthday gift from Ricky- into a box. “I think we are better as friends. I can still feel the tension sometimes, but he’s like that with everybody, isn’t he?”

“Uh-huh,” she confirmed, dragging out the word, clearly unconvinced. “I just don’t want you to get hurt if you’re expecting him to come back to you and then he starts dating someone else.”

“Has he been talking to other girls?” You asked, trying to sound casual. But Angela’s silence told you all you needed to know.

“Well…”

“Not that I care!” you cut in quickly. “I’ve still been talking to Ciaran every now and then. He wants to see me again, so maybe I should!”

“Y/n, the last time I checked, you weren’t really into this guy. This isn’t just because Vin’s been talking to other women?”

So he has been.

“No!” you scoffed, a little too loudly. “I’m happy just being his friend. I’ll admit that sometimes I still get that feeling around him, but if he’s seriously not interested, then that’s fine! It actually makes my life easier.”

“Babe,” Angela sighed, her voice gentle. “It’s okay to still have feelings for him. But you’re about to move in with him. If he hurts you, even unintentionally, you’re stuck seeing him every day.”

“It’s not forever. This is just temporary until I get back on my feet, book more jobs, and, y’know… maybe find the love of my life and then move in with them!”

“I’ve been trying for years, girl. Wouldn’t recommend it.” She laughed.

A knock at your door interrupted your conversation. You glanced at the time. They were early.

“Who is it?” Angela asked.

“AJ and Vin!” you said, jogging to answer the door. You cracked it open to find AJ grinning mischievously and Vinny standing beside him, hands stuffed into his hoodie pocket.

“Can I see them?” Angela asked.

You rolled your eyes but handed the phone to AJ. 

“Ang! Wassup!” AJ greeted, grinning at the phone. 

“Hey, can you give me to Vin, please?”

“Wow. Not ‘AJ, how are you?’ Not ‘AJ, I miss you’? It’s been two years, Miss Undead.” He sighed dramatically, before finally handing the phone over.

Vinny smirked as he took it. 

“Hey, Ang.”

Angela’s expression shifted into something sharper. 

“I don’t know what your plan is here, mister, but I’m not buying it.”

“What plan?” Vinny furrowed his brows, stepping outside your apartment so nobody else could hear. 

“You spent the entire week on tour with Ruby, and now, suddenly, y/n is moving in with you?”

Vinny frowned. 

“That has nothing to do with this. Y/n can’t afford her rent, and I have a spare room. We might not be together or anything, but I still care about her.”

Angela stared at him for a long moment. 

“Sleep with one eye open, Vincenzo Mauro. I don’t know if I can trust you.”

Before he could respond, you came outside, lugging a heavy box. 

“What are you doing out here?”

“Oh, uh… the signal was bad in there,” Vinny said quickly, taking the box from you as he passed your phone back.

You shot him a skeptical look. 

“C’mon, Vin! Put that drummer strength to use.” AJ laughed, grabbing a box himself.

…

The afternoon sun streamed through the windows as you and Vin worked to set up your new room. It had been hot all day, so Vin had long since ditched his shirt, leaving him in just his sweatpants as he crouched down, working on putting together your bed frame.

You weren’t proud of how many times your gaze had drifted to his bare back, the way his muscles flexed with every movement, the slight sheen of sweat on his skin. Anyone would stare, you told yourself.

“Y’gonna help or just stand there gawking?” Vin smirked, not even looking up as he reached for another screw.

You rolled your eyes, snapping out of it. 

“You seemed to be handling it just fine without me.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. 

“Alright, princess, help me get the mattress on this thing then.”

Together, you wrestled the mattress onto the frame, both of you slightly out of breath by the end of it, surprised at how heavy it was.

“There,” he said, stepping back and placing his hands on his hips, admiring his work. “One fully functioning bed.”

He paused, then leaned down and gave the frame a quick shake. It creaked and wobbled, just a little, just enough to maybe be concerning.

“Okay… maybe semi-functioning.” He glanced at you with a mock seriousness. “If you bring someone home, tell them no rough sex on this thing, alright? I don’t wanna be woken up by the sound of snapping wood and someone screaming.”

You blinked, caught completely off guard by how casually the words came out of his mouth.

“Vinny!” You gasped, half-scandalized.

He just shrugged, grinning like it was nothing. 

“What? I’m just saying. I wouldn’t trust that frame with anything besides missionary.”

You opened your mouth, ready with a snarky comeback, but nothing came out.

Instead, a memory resurfaced. 

You felt it all like it was yesterday.

It had been some hotel room, you’d forgotten which city. One of those nights where you both still high with energy of the show, and neither of you had been interested in sleeping.

The door had barely closed before he had you pressed against it, kissing you like he was starving. Clothes came off in a trail leading to the bed, the two of you too needy and desperate to care.

You remembered how he tossed you onto the mattress, grinning like the devil as he crawled over you…

“You’re gonna break the damn thing.” You’d whispered, breathless, laughing into his mouth as the frame gave a loud creak beneath with every thrust of his hips.

Vinny had paused, bracing himself on his hands, and looked down at you with that crooked smirk of his.

“Oh?” He said, cocking a brow. “Is that a challenge?”

You didn’t get the chance to answer before he was moving again, faster, deeper. His hands gripping your thighs, spreading you wider. Your back arched, and the bed banged against the wall with each thrust, the headboard slamming so hard you were shocked it didn’t leave a dent. 

You remembered grabbing at his shoulders, nails digging in, the sound of your laughter tangled with your moans.

“You’re actually gonna break it!" You gasped, unable to keep the smile off your face.

His lips brushed your ear as he growled, 

“Good.”

God, he’d ruined you that night.

And now he was out there, shirtless and smug, talking about missionary like he hadn’t once (well, many times actually) flipped you over and made you forget your own name…

You blinked, coming back to the present just in time to see Vin reach into a box he really shouldn’t be. 

He assumed the box labelled ‘bedroom’ would’ve been the one to look in for your sheets, but his fingers brushed against something unexpected. 

Something smooth and solid. 

Something that definitely wasn’t a sheet or pillowcase...

He stilled for a second before he slowly pulled it out…

A sleek, unmistakable wand vibrator. His breath hitched slightly, his mind flooding with images he really, really shouldn’t be having right now.

You noticed the sudden pause and looked up, only to see the expression on his face. Slightly wide eyes, a momentary twitch in his jaw before he masked it with a teasing smirk.

“Well, speaking of sex,” he mused, twirling the toy in his hand, “What do we have here?”

Your stomach dropped as you registered what he was holding. 

“Vinny. Put. that. back.”

He let out a low chuckle, tilting his head as he examined it. 

“I mean, I figured you would have one, but damn... Why is it so big?”

Your face burned as you lunged for it, but he held it out of reach, still grinning. 

“Hey! Don’t be embarrassed, I’m just saying… This thing could probably power a small boat.”

“Vinny, I swear to god, thsi isn’t funny!”

He finally handed it over, laughing as you shoved it back into the box. 

“Hey, good for you, no shame in the game! Just hope you don’t leave it somewhere I could accidentally grab it in the middle of the night thinking it’s a flashlight.”

“C’mon it’s not as if I’m just gonna leave it lying around the house!” You groaned, trying to ignore how your face was burning. “Now, can you shut up and help me finish making the damn bed?”

Still grinning, he helped you pull the sheet onto the mattress. His fingers twitched slightly when they brushed yours, and his gaze lingered just a second too long as he handed you the pillows.

“You got any more?” He asked, his voice slightly lower now, and he didn’t meet your gaze. 

“More what?”

“Y’know…” He nodded towards the box. 

Your face burned. 

“Vin…” 

“Oh you do!” He smirked. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Think of all the fun we could’ve had when we were-”

“Vinny I swear...” You cut him off, hitting him with the pillow you were holding, “I fucking hate you.”

Was this really such a good idea?

As you continue unpacking and making your room feel like home throughout the afternoon, you try to shake off Vinny’s teasing. He, on the other hand, seems to have recovered just fine, acting as if he hadn’t just dug through your things and found something very personal. 

To him, it was funny. You on the other hand, were mortified.

You shoot him a look when you catch him smirking at you again, clearly still thinking about it too. He just shrugs like he’s innocent, tossing another one of your sweaters onto the bed, adding it to the growing pile as you both sort through your clothes.

You’re still figuring out how much closet space you’ll need, as Vin had offered to buy you a new one (totally not because he and AJ broke your old one when moving it from your apartment.)

“Is it starting to feel like home yet?” He asked, stretching his arms behind his head with a loud exhale. His shirt is still nowhere in sight, and the stretch makes every inch of his torso even more distracting, enough to make you pause with the jeans in your hands.

You glance around at the half-finished room, at the open boxes, the still-bare walls, and the bed you’d made together. But then you glance at him.

Your heart squeezes unexpectedly.

When you were on tour spending months waking up in different hotel rooms in unfamiliar cities, losing track of what day it was, you never found yourself feeling homesick. Not really. 

Because how could you when he was always there. When he would make you laugh so hard you’d cry, shaking his wet hair over you when he’d come out of the shower, stealing bites of your lunch, make you dance with him when a song you both like would play. When he’d tap you on the shoulder whilst you were in the zone, editing photos on your (or Ricky’s) laptop, just to tell you a random thought he'd had before going back to playing whatever game he was in the middle of. 

With him, it never mattered where you were. The two of you could be on the opposite side of the planet together, but you’d still feel like you were at home. 

Because it was him. 

“I guess,” you ended up saying, instead of possibly turning his life upside down again, “It does.” 

But he was Vinny. And he could see when you were trying to cover something up. 

“Y’know,” he starts, clearing his throat, “It’s almost like nothing happened… It could be like you said yes. Like you did come back with me after tour.” 

The words made your heart stop in your chest. 

God, you wished it were that simple.

“Vinny…”

“I know,” he cut in quickly, shaking his head like he regretted saying it the second it left his mouth. “Forget it. That was stupid. I-”

“Vin,” you interrupted gently, “We’re friends. I’m happy with that. You’re happy with that too, right? I just don’t want to rush back into something and risk screwing it up all over again. We barely got back to good… I can’t hurt you again. I can’t lose you again.”

It hurt to say, every syllable felt like blades in your throat, because a part of you did want to pretend. A part of you did want to rewind time and just… choose him.

But everything had already happened. You couldn’t un-hurt him. You couldn’t rewind anf fix the moments that broke you both.

“Is that okay?” You asked quietly.

He didn’t look at you. Just nodded once. 

“Yeah... I was just kidding anyway.”

But he wasn’t, and you both knew it.

Silence settled between you. Not angry, not even tense, just heavy. Like grief. Like something important had been set down and left there between you.

Then your stomach growled. Loudly.

Vin blinked, lips twitching into a smirk.

“Guess that answers my question.”

You looked up. 

“What question?”

“If you wanted to eat soon.” He gave you a soft, smile. “I’ll cook.”

“Okay, sure.” You forced your own smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

And just like that, the conversation finished. The moment passed, and you didn’t talk about it again.

But you both felt it, lingering like smoke in the air,  the things that could’ve been. The version of this life where you said yes, where you risked it all and went home with him after the tour last year.

You knew that conversation would never really be over, not until you both sucked it up and put your hearts on the line, but that kind of honesty was terrifying. What if you both wanted different things? What if you tried, and it didn’t work out? You wondered what if he realised you weren’t what he wanted after all? And Vin was afraid, what if he was too much for you?

Nothing scared you more than losing each other again, so you both pushed the thought aside and buried it deep, but you both knew it would come back again.

And you were afraid of what would happen when it did.

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

@collapsedglasshouses @miss570 @dominuslunae @sunshine-lvrr @death-ofpeace-ofmind @blade-dressed-in-red @amelia-acero @kait16xo @oobleoob @pipidoll @justdamnpeachy @bluehairpunklol @renegadebirch

[moanologue]

Say It Again

Chapter 8 - Seductive Detective

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

Rating: Mature

Category: M/M

Fandom: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)

Relationship: Steve McGarrett/Danny "Danno" Williams

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

I wake up at 6:12 AM, my sheets a sweaty, twisted mess from the Honolulu heat that the ceiling fan barely touches. My boxers stick to my thighs, and my thoughts are a runaway train, none of them safe, all of them loud. The faint coconut sunscreen from yesterday’s case clings to my skin, mixing with the stale coffee on my nightstand from a late-night paperwork grind. Gracie is with Rachel for the weekend, leaving the apartment too quiet, just me and this reckless idea burning a hole in my head.

“This is insane,” I mutter, dragging a hand over my face.

My hand slowly drifts down, trying to outrun the guilt if I take my time. It doesn’t work. Doesn’t stop me either.

So three hours. Three fucking hours I give myself like this is some undercover gig where seduction is the mission and failure is not an option. I make coffee, take two sips, dump the rest, my stomach’s in knots anyway, caffeine will only make the shaking worse. I pace the apartment in a towel, running through lines in my head like a goddamn actor. What do I say when he sees me? How do I look at him without giving everything away too soon?

I crank the shower hotter than necessary, until the steam curls around me like a second skin and the heat forces a flush to my chest. I stand there longer than I should, letting it soften me. Letting it prepare me. I wash slow, fingers working the cedarwood body wash into my arms, my stomach, my thighs, letting the smell soak into my skin like a fucking spell. I imagine his face the last time he smells it, eyes flicking toward me, nostrils flaring just enough for me to notice. He doesn’t say anything, but I feel it. I feel him feel it.

After the shower, I don’t just towel off, I exfoliate. I trim the hair at the nape of my neck. I shave with a fresh razor, not because I have to but because I need that clean line along my jaw. I do it slow, pulling the skin tight with my thumb. When I nick my cheek, I swear under my breath ‘cause it ruins the illusion. I patch it up and move on.

I floss, brush my teeth twice. Then I go back into the bathroom twenty minutes later and brush them again.

Standing in the mirror, I pluck a few stray hairs from my brows, even out the lines. I check my chest hair, trim it down with the precision of a guy who pretends not to care but cares a whole fucking lot. I know how it looks when I sweat through a shirt, how it shapes against the fabric. I want it to look natural. Controlled chaos.

After that I moisturize. Yeah, I moisturize. The expensive stuff too - the one Gracie got me for Father’s Day and makes me swear I’d actually use. I work it into my arms, neck, even behind my ears. Steve notices things like that. He doesn’t say it, but he notices. He smells things. Watches hands. Picks up on what’s not said.

I lay out three shirts on the bed, all variations of the same plan: tight fit, rolled sleeves, something that says “fuck me” without actually saying it. My eyes keep drifting to the light blue one. The one Steve noticed last week, when he stood in my kitchen flipping eggs like a smug bastard, telling me it’s my “power color” with that half-smirk. I can still hear his voice, low and certain: “Blue’s better. Trust me.” I hated how right he was, how it clung to my shoulders, hugged my chest just enough to make his eyes linger. I grab it, fingers brushing the soft cotton, and iron it with a focus I don’t usually bother with, pressing every seam like I’m smoothing out my own nerves. I try it on once, take it off, put it back on after standing straighter, shoulders back. Third button undone. No more, no less. It shows just enough chest to look effortless, like I didn’t spend an hour obsessing over it. I lean into the mirror, whispering things like “Hey, partner,” and “Got plans after this?” just to test how my voice sounds when I say it. Practicing inflection like a lunatic.

The tie takes fifteen minutes alone. I knot it three times before I get the looseness right, casual, like I throw it on in a rush, but still tight enough to look like I care. I tug it slightly off-center, then stand back and imagine Steve grabbing it. Pulling me in. I swallow, and undo it again, redo it. The final result: deliberate mess.

Pants are a battle. The charcoal pair fits best. They cup my ass like a secret and stretch across my thighs like they were made to be gripped. I do squats in them. Literally. Just to test the way the fabric shifts when I move. I adjust the waistband more than once, shifting my half-hard cock until it’s comfortable…or uncomfortable enough to notice. I mutter curses at my reflection. My breath fogs the glass.

The socks. I try black, navy, gray. End up with navy, because they match the tie. It makes no logical sense, he’s never once commented on my socks, but I imagine him catching that flicker of blue when I cross my legs and noticing. Just noticing.

The cologne, I overthink. Two sprays? Three? Nah, I go with four. One spritz on each wrist, dabbed together, one at the throat, one low on my stomach where his breath might land if he ever…no, when he bends down. I stare at my reflection, pupils a little blown, neck flushed. The bottle shakes in my hand. I’m already too keyed up.

Then the hair. Twenty-five minutes. Gel, water, brush, fingers. I try neat, then messy, then neat again, then settle somewhere in between. I mess it up on purpose and then spend five minutes trying to make it look like it wasn’t on purpose. My vanity mirror’s covered in fingerprints by the end of it from how many times I lean in and back out again, checking the angles. I keep imagining his hand in my hair, tugging, testing if it’ll hold.

By the time I’m finally done, something between put-together and just-fucked, but there’s a fine tremble in my hands, and I have to grip the counter to stop it. My whole body is tight.

I force myself to eat half a protein bar, just so I don’t pass out. Then I sit on the couch for exactly five minutes, doing nothing but breathing. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Like a man about to walk into battle. Or a confessional. Because this shit isn’t just seduction. It’s a confession wrapped in silk and cedar and blue cotton. A prayer dressed up as provocation. And I want him to read every word of it, written all over my body.

And three hours later, I am at HQ, freshly showered and still carrying that restless energy under my skin. I catch my reflection in the Camaro’s window on the way in. Hair too neat, so I rough it up with my fingers, leaving it just messy enough to look intentional.

It is Sunday. No cases, no emergencies, just the hum of the AC and the faint crash of waves outside. I have no reason to be there. But Steve? He’ll be there, hunched over his desk, married to his damn reports like they are his life’s mission. Probably color-codes his highlighters for fun.

I stand outside the glass doors of Five-0’s HQ for a full minute, heart pounding like I’m about to kick down a door on a raid. My palms are damp, and I wipe them on my slacks, the fabric crisp against my skin. I push the doors open, hinges barely whispering. The office is dim, sunlight cutting through the blinds in sharp, golden stripes across the floor, dust motes floating in the air. It smells like industrial cleaner and Steve’s coffee obsession.

I walk to his desk, steps slow, like I’m crossing a line I can’t uncross. His black leather chair, worn smooth from years of him sitting there, is still warm when I sink into it. It smells like him: ocean salt, cedar cologne, and something raw that makes my pulse trip. I lean back, spread my legs just a little wider than necessary, feeling the stretch of my slacks, the way the shirt pulls tight across my chest. I loosen my tie further, letting it hang like a challenge, and rake a hand through my hair, messing it up on purpose.

What am I doing? I think, staring at the ceiling. This is Steve. My partner. The guy who’d jump in front of a bullet for me and then yell at me for it. But the thought doesn’t stop the heat in my gut, doesn’t stop my fingers twitching to touch him.

I wait, every second pulling tighter.

Six minutes later, the door opens. Steve walks in, coffee in one hand, manila folder in the other, his black tee and tactical pants hugging every damn muscle. He stops dead when he sees me.

I don’t look at him right away. Just let my fingers trail down my chest, slow, brushing the exposed skin where the third button is undone. The air feels cool against my heat. “You’re late, Commander,” I say.

Silence, thick and charged. His boots hit the floor slowly. One. Two. Three. Closer. My pulse is a drum in my ears.

“Is this a joke, Danny?” He sounds too calm.

I meet his eyes, lips parting. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

His gaze lazily drags down me. It lingers on my chest, the shirt is thin, and I know he can see the hard outline of my nipples. I laugh, shaky. “What, you gonna keep staring, or you gonna say something? Am I a good boy, Steve?”

He doesn’t blink. Steps closer, reaches out and presses a finger to my nipple, rubbing lightly through the fabric. The sensation hits like a spark, and I suck in a breath, gripping the armrests.

He leans in, lips brushing my ear, his breath warm. “You’ve been… very good.”

I almost moan. My whole body feels like it’s burning. “Steve,” I whisper, barely hearing myself.

His hand curls into the armrest, knuckles grazing my thigh. His voice is tighter now. “Why are you doing this, Danny? Why now?”

I look at him. His eyes dark, pupils blown, and in them my own reflection, jaw clenched. My tie is half-off, dangling from one shoulder, and I feel raw. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you,” I say. “Because you haven’t touched me in days. Because I’m losing my damn mind, and I need you to do something about it. Right now.”

He doesn’t move, just stares, his chest rising and falling too fast. So I lean forward, our foreheads touching, breath mixing. “Do whatever you want with me,” Words spill out. “Hit me, kiss me, fuck me. I don’t care. Just-”

His mouth hits my collarbone, teeth grazing just hard enough to mark me. Warm tongue follows, dragging slowly over the reddened skin, soothing the sting before he bites again, harder this time. I gasp, hips jerking in the chair, head falling back. The sharp and perfect bite burns, his tongue swirling over the spot, tasting the heat of my skin. My pulse hammers under his lips, and I feel his breath hitch as he sucks lightly, drawing a low moan from my throat. His hands grip my shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle, holding me in place as his lips press harder against my collarbone, sucking gently before releasing with a soft pop. My chest heaves, and I tilt my head further back, exposing more of my neck as his lips linger, brushing lightly over the sensitive skin just below the bite.

He pulls back, breathing hard. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says in a hoarse whisper, his tongue flicking out to wet his lower lip, leaving it glistening.

“Didn’t say it would hurt,” I shoot back, grinning despite my pounding heart. “Don’t make me beg, Steve.”

His eyes burn, and he stands tall, towering over me. “Get up.”

I stand before I can think, the chair creaking. He doesn’t touch me yet, just looks. My lips swollen, shirt half-open, tie a mess.

“On the desk,” he says in a quietly commanding way. “Hands flat. Don’t speak unless I tell you to.”

I nod, trembling, and turn to face the desk, planting my hands on the cool wood. My fingers spread wide, anchoring me, the grain rough under my palms. Shirt hangs open, sleeves catching at my elbows, the tie swinging loose against my chest. My slacks pull tight across my hips as I stand there, legs slightly apart, feeling exposed, vulnerable, but so damn alive. My chest heaves, the air catching in my throat, and I can feel the weight of his gaze on my back.

“You want this?” He sounds low and rough, in a way that makes you obey without thinking.

“I need it,” I say, my shoulders tensing as I lean forward slightly, elbows bending just enough to shift my weight onto my hands. “I want you, Steve. Always have.”

He steps behind me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him, his breath steady, brushing the back of my neck. My spine stiffens, then relaxes, my body caught between anticipation and surrender. I bite my lip, the slight sting grounding me as I wait.

His hand presses between my shoulder blades, guiding me down. I bend forward, my chest lowering toward the desk, hips pressing back against the edge. The wood is cool against my forearms as I brace myself, elbows locked, hands still flat, fingers curling slightly against the surface. My shirt slides further open, exposing more of my chest, the fabric catching on my shoulders like it’s clinging for dear life. My legs stay spread, just wide enough to feel the stretch in my thighs, my slacks taut, outlining every line of my body. I can feel my pulse in my throat, my stomach, everywhere.

“You’re shaking,” he notices.

“I know,” I say, not caring. My head tilts slightly, hair falling into my eyes, and I don’t bother to shake it away. I feel raw, cracked open, every nerve screaming for him.

His fingers trace my spine, starting at the base of my neck and gliding down, over each vertebra. Down, down and then up again. My back arches slightly under the touch, instinctive, my hips shifting back just a fraction, pressing harder against the desk. His hand pauses at the small of my back, then slides up again, teasing, making my skin prickle. I exhale shakily, my elbows bending a little more, lowering my chest closer to the desk, my weight shifting forward.

“You do all this just to get my attention?”

I laugh, breathless, my head dropping forward, forehead nearly brushing the desk. “Well, it works, doesn’t it?” I shift my hips again, feeling the edge of the desk bite into my thighs.

He leans in, his chest brushing my back, close enough to make me feel the heat of him. His lips graze my neck, then my ear, his breath hot and steady. “You think I haven’t noticed you?” he says. “You think I haven’t been watching you strut around in those damn shirts, driving me insane?”

My knees buckle, just for a second, and his arm shoots around my waist, catching me, holding me up. His grip is firm, fingers digging into my side, his other hand sliding under my shirt, spreading across my bare chest. My head tilts back, resting against his shoulder, my body sagging into his hold, my hands still braced on the desk but trembling now. “You’re insane,” he says softer, lips brushing my temple.

“Then fuck me like I am,” The words slip out again. My hips rock back against him, instinctive, and I feel him, hard, aching, pressed against me through our clothes.

He goes still, his grip tightening for a second. Then, slowly, he pulls me upright, turning me to face him, my back now against the desk, hands sliding back to brace myself on the edge. My legs are still spread, one knee bent slightly, my foot flat on the floor, the other hooked loosely around his calf, pulling him closer. My shirt hangs open, tie dangling off one shoulder, chest exposed, heaving. Navy blue eyes lock on mine, hands resting on my hips, fingers digging in just enough to make me feel it.

“Danny,” he says, almost breaking, “you’re killing me.”

“Then do something about it,” I say, leaning forward, my hands gripping the desk behind me. “Don’t make me wait, Steve.”

He kisses me. Teeth clash, tongues meet, and I loudly moan into it. His hands slide up my sides, under my open shirt, palms hot against my skin, thumbs brushing my ribs. I arch into him, my back curving, hips pressing forward, my legs tightening around him as he steps closer, pinning me against the desk. His lips press firmly against mine, moving with slow, deliberate pressure, his tongue sliding along my lower lip before pushing deeper, exploring my mouth. My hands grip his shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle, pulling him closer as my head tilts slightly to deepen the kiss, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps against his lips. His teeth graze my upper lip lightly, tugging it before releasing, and his hands slide higher, thumbs brushing just below my collarbone, making my chest tighten.

“You taste like coffee and sin,” he growls against my lips, his hands sliding higher, fingers grazing my chest, making me shudder.

“You taste like everything I’ve been running from,” I whisper, my head tilting back as his lips move to my jaw, my neck.

He stops for half a second, eyes searching mine, then kisses me harder, deeper, like he’s trying to erase every doubt. His lips lock onto mine again, firmer this time, his tongue sweeping against mine in a slow, controlled rhythm, his hands sliding to my lower back, pulling my hips tighter against him. My fingers tangle in his hair, tugging lightly, urging him closer as my lips part wider, letting him take control, my breath hitching when his teeth scrape my lower lip. The desk hits the backs of my thighs, and his hands are under me, lifting me onto it. I sit back, legs spreading wider, pulling him in, my hands gripping his arms as pens and papers scatter to the floor. I don’t care. My knees bend, feet hooking behind his thighs, locking him against me, our bodies pressed together, clothed but so far from untouched. I can feel him, hard and desperate, grinding against me, and I match it, my hips rolling, seeking more. He bites my neck, just below my ear, and I gasp, “Do it again.” My head tilts to the side, giving him more access, my hands sliding up to grip his hair, tugging lightly. His teeth sink into the same spot again, a sharp nip that makes my breath catch, followed by his lips closing over the skin, sucking gently as his tongue flicks over the tender area.

Another sharp bite - the collarbone, enough to be painful. A third, right by the mark on my shoulder. My back arches, chest pressing into his, my shirt slipping further off one shoulder. “Yours,” I pant, head spinning, my hands dropping to brace myself on the desk again, elbows bent, body leaning back slightly. “I’m yours, Steve.”

He pulls back, looking at me. I must look ruined, and I want him to see it. His eyes burn, chest heaving, hands still on my hips, fingers digging in.

“Not like this,” he says. “Not… all the way.”

I flinch, my heart dropping, my hands tightening on the desk. “Why the hell not?”

His fingers brush my cheek, gentle now, tracing my cheekbone. “Because if I do what I want to you right now, Danny, you won’t walk straight for days. And I want to take my time with you.”

I swallow hard, throat tight, my body still trembling from his touch. “That’s the point,” I say, half-joking, half-pleading, my hips shifting forward, brushing against him.

He smirks, but it’s tight, restrained, his hands steadying me on the desk. “Not yet, babe.” He leans in, softly kisses the corner of my mouth, hands sliding to rest on my thighs, thumbs brushing the creases of my slacks. “I want you too much to rush this.”

My heart twists, and I nod, wordless, trusting him, my hands still braced on the desk, my body leaning back slightly, legs still hooked loosely around his.

He doesn’t leave me hanging. He drops to his knees, his hands lifting my shirt, exposing my stomach inch by inch. I lean back further, elbows bending, weight shifting onto my forearms, my hips tilting up slightly as I sit on the edge of the desk. My legs spread wider, one foot resting on the floor, the other hooked over his shoulder, pulling him closer. His lips press firmly against my stomach, moving in a slow line from my navel upward, his hands steadying my hips as his breath brushes my skin. His tongue traces a small circle just below my ribs, and his lips close over the spot, sucking lightly, making my hips jerk slightly against the desk.

When his mouth grazes the waistband of my pants, I gasp, my head falling back, hair brushing the desk. My hands grip the edge, my chest heaving as I try to breathe. He doesn’t go further, just presses one last kiss there, right above the button, his hands steadying my hips as I tremble. I can feel his breath on my cock through the fabric, and I swear I almost sob.

He stands slowly, towering over me again, his hands resting lightly on my thighs. I’m still leaning back, propped on my elbows, shirt open, tie a mess, bite marks blooming across my skin. He leans in with a low growl. “Next time, Danny, you won’t get to beg. I’ll take everything.”

He kisses my throat, lips pressing against the pulse point, tongue flicking lightly over the skin as his hands slide up to cup my face, thumbs brushing along my jaw before he steps back. “Go home,” he says. “Before I lose the last shred of self-control I’ve got.”

I don’t move right away, still propped on the desk, my chest heaving, slacks too tight, body buzzing. My legs are still spread, one foot on the floor, the other dangling, my shirt hanging off one shoulder, bite marks like bruised petals across my skin. What the hell just happens? I stare at the empty doorway as his footsteps fade. I feel alive, aching, and completely, impossibly owned.

[sammys-magical-au]

@codex-week shortfic; day 1 - tending wounds ~

Warnings: blood, injury, trauma, mentioned canon-typical violence

- The war left many wounds on the people it effected, some of these wounds were visible, others were not. On this particular night, Cody and Rex tended to both.

~~~

Heartbreak is One Thing, My Ego’s Another

“You’re hurt.”

Rex’s observation, admittedly, caught Cody by surprise, but the moment he pointed it out, the pain kicked in.

“I’m fine,” he winced nevertheless, sinking onto the almost ridiculously soft bed Senator Amidala had offered him at the Varkykino Lakehouse, “they’re just scratches.”

Cody wasn’t sure how long it had been since the war had officially been called off. Days? Hours? Minutes? It certainly didn’t feel like a very long time.

Clearly it hadn’t been long enough for the fresh battle wounds on his body to heal over, as he noticed with a grimace that a couple of them had started bleeding again. And that was just on his arms and torso - he didn’t dare think about the wounds that couldn’t be seen on his legs.

Without speaking, Rex abruptly stood up and walked into the adjoining bathroom.

Cody didn’t ask what he was doing, even when he heard the water in the sink come on and run for a few minutes. He wasn’t sure if that was because he just knew Rex well enough to know what he was up to, or if he was so tired he didn’t have the energy to ask.

It must have been the latter, as he was mildly surprised when Rex returned with a few towels soaked in warm water and began gently washing Cody’s battle scarred skin.

“What’re you-?” Cody began.

“You’re hurt,” Rex repeated, more forcefully than before, and this time Cody winced for a completely different reason, “I’m cleaning you up so you don’t get an infection - or at the very least so that you don’t get any more blood on Senator Amidala’s nice sheets.”

Cody was still for a moment before letting out an irritated sigh and pushing Rex’s hands away from him.

“Cody,” Rex said firmly.

“Just stop, Rex,” Cody hissed, “I can look after myself.”

He risked a glance out of the corner of his eye and saw Rex’s expression go from frustration to heartbreak in less than a second.

“You’re angry with me.” He said quietly, and a sudden, immense pain flared in Cody’s chest that was different from that of his physical wounds.

“I don’t want to be.” He choked out, realizing the heat building in the corners of his eyes was because of tears.

“You’re allowed to be, Codes,” Rex murmured, reluctantly reaching out to touch Cody’s shoulder before apparently deciding against it, “I… I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I just up and left you and that I didn’t tell you in person. I’m sorry I didn’t try to contact you while the war was still going on. I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk when Ahsoka and I were back on Coruscant for the mission to rescue Echo-”

“Rex, stop,” Cody cut him off, “please… I don’t want you to apologize.”

“Well I’m apologizing anyway, whether you want me to or not. I just want you to know that I didn’t feel good about leaving you like I did. There was just… no time.”

Cody nodded, feeling the tears drip from his chin onto his chest.

“I know there wasn’t,” he rasped, “that’s why I don’t want to be angry at you.”

A brief silence stretched out between them, only broken by a wet sniff from Rex, and Cody jolted in surprise when he realized Rex was crying too.

“Codes,” Rex croaked after another moment had passed with nothing said, “do you still love me?”

Cody had Rex’s tear-stained face cupped in his ash-covered hands before he’d even finished the sentence.

“Of course I still love you!” He gasped, his chest constricting as he fought sobs, “Rex, I will always love you. Even if you don’t love me.”

“What are you talking about?” Rex whimpered, “why wouldn’t I love you, Codes? You mean everything to me! Being without you was like being without part of myself!”

Cody tried to respond to that, but all that came out when he opened his mouth was a strangled sob, so instead he pressed his forehead to Rex’s, squeezing his eyes shut as they both cried for a while, their sobbing and sniffling being the only sounds in the room.

The lakehouse was so big, it almost felt like there was nobody else here, but instead of being thankful for the privacy, Cody almost felt isolated.

Rex was the one to silence them both with a kiss, one that tasted of the salt from their tears and the dust from Utapau. When their lips parted, Rex went back to cleaning Cody’s wounds, without even saying a word about it, and this time Cody simply let him - he was too exhausted to protest even if he’d wanted to.

Neither of them said a word until the sound of two quiet sets of footsteps approached the door to their room, and Cody and Rex looked up in almost perfect sync to see Echo and Fives enter.

The state the twins were in now was still a shock to Cody, neither of them looked the way they had when they were shinies.

Echo’s hair was gone, and his skin was marked by ghostly pale blotches from the trauma his body had endured on Skako Minor. Aside from that, his legs now ended at the mid-thigh, his flesh and bone replaced by prosthetics. The same was true for his his right hand.

With Fives, the change was less obvious, but Cody knew him well enough by now to see that the old shimmer that had always been in his eyes had dimmed, to the point of almost going out completely, and his smile didn’t quite seem as genuine as it used to.

“What are you two doing?” Rex asked, sounding uncharacteristically annoyed with the pair - Cody was used to him being a bit exasperated with Echo and Fives’ antics, but he’d always rolled his eyes with a smile in those instances. Now, he almost sounded like he wanted them both to leave.

“Erm…” Fives mumbled awkwardly, looking at Echo and then back at Rex and Cody.

“Can we sleep in here?” Echo spoke up, his voice softer but carrying more confidence, as always.

“No-” Rex began.

“Yes.” Cody said at the same time.

He and Rex looked at each other, both equally confused.

Echo and Fives took Cody’s word over Rex’s, tiptoeing into the room like two naughty cadets who’d been caught stealing ration bars.

Rex rolled his eyes - not with a smile - and Cody gave him a perplexed look.

Why was he so annoyed by Echo and Fives’ presence? Usually it was Cody who wanted the two of them to fuck off, while Rex was the one asking them to stay.

Another silence fell over the room, this one even more uncomfortable than before the twins had arrived, as Echo and Fives awkwardly shuffled together on the sofa opposite the bed, looking just as out of place amongst the lavish furniture as Cody felt.

“Rex.” Cody said finally, when the tension in the room became almost unbearable, and Rex let out a heavy sigh.

“Oh, get over here, both of you,” he grumbled, beckoning for Echo and Fives to join them on the bed without turning to look at them, “but no funny business, I’m not in the mood.”

“As if we are.” Echo muttered pointedly, only to nervously bite his lip as Rex whipped his head around to glare at him.

Fives crawled onto the bed first and flopped face-down on the mattress, sprawling out so that he nearly took up all the space, even with the bed being as large as it was.

“Scoot over!” Echo hissed, raising his leg to kick Fives in the side with his metal foot. Fives yelped and immediately rolled over so that he was up against Cody and Rex.

Rex ignored this, continuing to gently clean Cody’s wounds.

Fives and Echo looked at each other, and Cody saw Echo give a slight shake of his head before Fives spoke.

“Were you two crying in here?”

“FIVES!” Echo snapped, slapping him on the arm.

“That’s none of your business,” Rex growled, “now would you be quiet?”

“And what are you so grumpy for?” Fives shot back, “war’s over, isn’t it?”

“Fives,” Echo repeated, “we don’t really know that for sure yet.”

“Don’t we?” Fives argued, “General Grievous is dead, is he not?”

“No thanks to General Kenobi…” Cody couldn’t help but mumble, and suddenly all eyes were on him.

“What?” Echo demanded.

“He left me on Utapau to deal with Grievous,” Cody explained, “something to do with whatever happened to General Skywalker and Lionel Saabem on Coruscant. He just told me he had to return immediately and that it was up to me to defeat Grievous. He definitely seemed apologetic about it, but more of a warning would’ve been nice.”

He chewed his lip in irritation for a moment as Rex, Echo, and Fives all gave each other worried looks.

It was Rex who spoke first.

“Codes, you… you did defeat Grievous, didn’t you?” He asked softly.

“Of course I did!” Cody grumbled, “because I know how to do my job!”

A beat, and then Rex suddenly erupted in laughter, his head snapping back and his arms wrapping around his torso as great peals of it came out of him. Cody watched in enamoured silence as his nose scrunched up in that adorable way that he loved, the way it always did when Rex laughed this hard, and one of his hands came up to cover his mouth as he snorted.

“What?” Cody said finally, finding himself chuckling as well, “what’s so funny?”

“I think he’s lost his mind, Commander.” Echo supplied, though there was a giddy twinkle in his eyes as he said it.

“I don’t know!” Rex exclaimed after a moment when he was able to speak again, wiping tears - of mirth rather than sadness - from his face, “I just can’t stop laughing!”

He leaned into Cody’s chest with a sigh, and Cody put one arm around him.

Next to them, Fives and Echo looked at each other, then back at Cody and Rex.

“So… if the war’s over, are you two gonna get married now or what?” Fives asked.

“FIVES.” Echo groaned in exasperation.

“Well, at least it’s good to know I can still make you laugh like this.” Cody commented, ignoring the twins for a moment.

Rex chuckled softly, twisting his head to capture Cody in another kiss.

“No need to worry about that, Codes,” he murmured, “you’re the only one I want to make me laugh like this.”

And just like that, all was forgiven.

[forwhump]

a/n; some belated robin backstory 🥲 for doughnut, who I promised this to months ago & then FORGOT IM SO SORRY IM JUST AN AIRHEAD I WASNT INTENTIONALLY BEING A DOUCHE I LOVE YOU MORE THAN ANYTHING (I remembered out of nowhere within like ten minutes of finding out liam died so that’s why it took even longer)(I loved 1d 💔)(& bleach finally animated my WORST CHARACTER DEATH so I’ve had a really hard week)(if I was still 13 I’d be institutionalized)

word count: 4k (I only feel like I need to add a word count when these are especially long so idk why everything I’ve posted recently has been especially long that’s my bad 😔)

tw/cw: kidnapping, captivity, implied rape/noncon, drug use, misgendering, transphobia, dehumanization, medical torture, lobotomies, mentions of the military, passing threats of violence against pregnant women, implied human experiments

When Robin’s a kid, just a couple weeks after his dad dies, his mom brings home a new baby. A girl.

She’s really little but she shrieks at a pitch so loud and so shrill that sometimes it gives him headaches. Other times, it puts him in such a bad mood he has to rip all the sheets off his bed or all the posters down from his walls. She doesn’t really do anything but scream or sleep and still, his mother dotes on her, treats her like she’s the most precious thing in the world.

Robin doesn’t get it. He doesn’t even really like her. He’d wanted a brother, anyway.

The baby’s first word is mama, which Robin doesn’t think is all that impressive. Her second word, however, is Rob, and he doesn’t know until he gets home from school and she squeals so loudly it makes his ears ring, clapping her little hands together.

“Rob!” She squeals. “Rob!”

“She’s been waiting all day for you,” his mother says with a smile.

He drops his backpack so he can pick her up, and she squeals again as she clings to him. “Rob!”

He doesn’t even try not to cry because he doesn’t realize he’s started crying until his mother wipes away his tears. After, of course, she takes a picture that she later has framed. A picture that he takes down and hides.

When Robin’s old enough, care of the farm falls pretty solely on his shoulders. He’d been expecting it — man of the house, all that. His sister’s very much a girl, all blonde and giggly, pink and frills, and their mother gets her into pageants when she’s still really small and pageantry comes with a pretty intense base level of maintenance. When mom washes her hair, it’s a whole day event. It’s kind of absurd.

When she first starts trying to follow him out onto the farm, he thinks it’s just to bother him. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s chosen to do something for the sake of being annoying. She asks, then she begs, then she just puts on her boots and tries to follow. When he ends up locking her in the basement to keep her inside, she tries tantrums, then she stomps to their mother and pouts.

“Take your sister with you,” she chastises.

Robin groans loudly. “She’s just gonna get in the way!”

She stomps a small foot and cries, “I can help!”

“No, you can’t!” Robin tells her. “You’re just a baby! And you’re scared of the horses!”

“You can’t tell me what I can’t do!” She shrieks. “I can help!”

“You can’t help!”

“Stop screaming,” their mother says, “both of you.”

“I can help, mama,” she whines.

“She’ll break a nail and throw a fit,” Robin groans.

“I don’t care!”

“You’d better care,” Mom says. “Be careful.”

She brightens, immediately done crying. “So I can go?”

“No,” Robin says, and her face falls again.

“I can help,” she whines. “Let me show you!”

“Let her show you,” Mom says.

Robin groans the whole way out. She skips beside him.

He eats his words, in the end. Even if it’s just to prove Robin wrong, she ends up being a big help. Not with the horses, not at all, but with almost everything else.

Turns out it’s because her motives aren’t to prove Robin wrong at all — she just wanted to get out to the cows. As soon as she’s finished, once Robin’s back is turned, he’s saying something like, “I can’t believe you weren’t totally useless,” and he looks back around and she’s gone, out to pasture. He finds her frolicking with the cows, laughing delightedly.

It’s like that for a few months. She follows him out, helps with actual farm work as quickly as she can, then disappears out to pasture to hang out with the cows. For the rest of their lives there together, in their childhood home, their jobs change; she tends to her cows, and Robin does everything else. It isn’t exactly fair, but Robin had grown up fully expecting to have to do all of it himself.

They settle into their routine, and they stick to it for years.

As soon as Robin’s eighteen, he enlists. He doesn’t hesitate. He’d always known he was going to.

His mom knows. She’s proud of him. He doesn’t tell his sister, because she won’t be.

When she finds out, she throws every plate in the house at him. Breaks every one.

The moon hangs low above the farm, casting everything in watery silver light. She sits on the fence in her boots and a pageant dress, this one so white and sparkly it kind of glows in the moonlight and it makes her look, frankly, like a ghost. She’d taken the pins out of her hair and it looks spectral, a cloud around her.

They’ve been passing a series of increasingly potent celebratory joints back and forth — she’d won a world title tonight, something that warranted a series of increasingly potent celebratory joints back and forth — and her ghost is really starting to crack him up.

“You’re being a dick,” she says, but she’s giggling helplessly. “I look so beautiful.”

“I can’t even look at you,” Robin says, and he isn’t lying, turned away as he laughs. “It’s making me mourn.”

She laughs so loudly she almost falls backwards off the fence, and that sets Robin off again.

He leaves next week. Six days exactly, the day after his very last high school exam. He hasn’t told her yet, and he doesn’t want to, especially not now, but he’s running out of time. He can’t leave without saying something, anything, but he’s tempted.

It’s almost like she’s read his mind. “Can I talk to you about something?” She asks carefully, and something in her tone makes Robin’s shoulders tense.

“If you’re pregnant you’re getting thrown down the stairs, girl,” he says. She snorts. “Mom’s gonna be pissed.”

“I’m not pregnant,” she says.

“I’m leaving on Friday,” Robin responds. He doesn’t mean to.

Uncomfortably quick, her face goes blank. “What?”

“Fuck,” Robin says. “I didn’t mean to tell you that.”

“What do you mean, you leave next week?” She asks slowly.

Robin looks away, out at her cows. “I fly out,” he says, “after exams.”

“Fly where?” She asks, now completely flat.

He doesn’t look at her, but he tries to smile. “My first tour.”

She doesn’t say anything for such a long time that he finally turns again, he looks at her.

She swings, and her fist gets him hard between the eyes. She doesn’t say another word to him as she leaves, and she doesn’t say goodbye to him before he goes. After that, he didn’t really expect her to.

War is hell.

Men are monsters.

The first time Robin gets to come home, it’s so good to be home. It’s the most unbelievably light thing he’s ever experienced, like taking his first, clean breath. He almost starts to understand the military appeal; the comedown after is the high.

When he gets home, his sister is trying not to be weird around him but she is, very blatantly. He thinks it’s because of how they left things; he’s wrong.

“Can we talk?” She asks, and there’s something so severe in her face that he thinks she’s probably cutting contact with him. It’s kind of a low blow. It stings.

He sits across from her, anyway. Waits.

For a long time, she doesn’t say anything else. She doesn’t look at him. She doesn’t lift her head.

“Okay, what’s going on?” He asks finally. “Are you okay?”

She exhales loudly, but her voice is so small he can barely hear her when she says, “yes.”

“Then what’s up?” He probes. “What’s going on? You’re not pregnant, are you?”

“No,” she says into her hands, “I’m not always pregnant,” and takes another deep breath. Robin waits. He gives her the time she needs, watches the way her shoulders move as she takes deep breaths, watches the way her hands tremble, hiding her face. Robin keeps his voice level and his hands steady and he waits, but he’s waiting for the worst. He isn’t sure exactly what he’s expecting, but he’s expecting it to be bad. He isn’t expecting, “I’m trans, Rob.”

She still doesn’t look at him. She still doesn’t lift her head. Robin says, “what?”

“I’m trans,” she tells her hands.

“Trans what?” Robin asks, and she does lift her head, then.

“What?” She says, like she can’t tell if he’s serious. “Gender?”

“What?” Robin repeats.

“Oh my god,” she says. “I’m a boy, Robin.”

“What?” He says, because he still doesn’t get it. Then, “oh.”

“Yeah,” she says, and — well, he says, actually. He says it, and he drops his head again, covering his face with his hands and the sheet of his hair. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“What?” Robin repeats. He’s gotten himself stuck in a weird loop. He’s thinking faster and a lot more than he usually does. “What’s — why are you sorry?”

“I don’t know,” she says. He says. He’ll get better at that. He’s an adaptable guy.

“Gonna have to stop overthinking,” Robin tells him. “Guys don’t do that.”

His back stiffens. He doesn’t lift his head. “What?”

“It’s why we sleep better,” he explains.

Reluctantly, he lifts his head. He’s always had a deceptively sweet face, kind of doe eyed, but when he looks at Robin he looks so scared, genuinely scared, that it kind of hurts Robin’s feelings. “Rob,” he croaks.

“Can’t doubt yourself like that,” Robin tells him, trying to shrug off the tension, and when he still can’t quite meet his eye Robin stretches a foot out across the carpet to kick him in the ankle. “Guys don’t do that.”

He barely looks at him from beneath his eyelashes, but he looks at him, and that’s progress. “This isn’t a joke,” he says.

“I know,” Robin agrees.

“I’m serious,” he says. “I’m seriously coming out to you right now.”

“I know,” Robin agrees again.

She covers her face again, and — he covers his face again, and it isn’t until Robin really looks that he realizes his shoulders are shaking. That he realizes — “do you have a…name? A new one?”

He hesitates for a long time before finally pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. With a sniffle, he says, “Wren, I think.”

“Wren,” Robin considers. He looks across their mother’s favourite gaudy rug at Wren, tries it on for size. “It suits you,” he decides, and Wren chokes out a sound that’s obviously a sob but that he had tried hard enough to hide that Robin lets it go. “All the names in the world, though,” he says. “You still picked a bird.”

He sniffles again. “We still had to match.”

Robin feels that really low in his chest, a lot warmer than he would’ve expected. “I’ve always wanted a brother,” he says.

When he finally comes home for good, none of the colours are as bright as he remembers them being.

Wren had moved out while he’d been away, and the house is a lot bigger than he remembers it being. It’s too quiet. He can hear too much when it’s quiet.

Wren comes to stay for a few nights, to welcome Robin home, and he brings his girlfriend with him, introduces her. Julie. She’d probably be very beautiful if Robin’s type were outrageously scary people.

All tattoos, everywhere, and piercings studded with diamonds that catch the light whenever she moves. Her hair is like ink and all her tattoos are thick, black, and she looks a lot like Wren’s opposite in a way that’s endearing for a long time. He likes Julie in the beginning; she’s cordial to him.

She’s less cordial over time, slowly but surely. Then comes a time she’s rude, that she’ll snatch Wren’s phone out of his hands to tell Robin to get fucked on the other end. Once, Wren shows up in the middle of the night to post his bail and take him home. He spends that night, then the next few on their couch, and Julie doesn’t say a word to him once. Doesn’t even look at him.

It comes to a head at his mom’s house. He’s there because Wren is supposed to be there, but he never even gets to see him; he only sees his bitch girlfriend, sneering down the doorstep at him.

“I don’t think you like me very much,” he accuses.

“I don’t,” she says.

“Oh.” He already lnew she didn’t, so he doesn’t know why he’s surprised. That she’s so fuckin’ blunt about it, maybe. “Fuck you, too.”

“You’re a loser,” she tells him, and folds her arms. Robin’s quite a bit bigger than she is, but it doesn’t feel like it then. She’s an imposing little thing. “What’s there to like?”

“Okay,” he says tightly, “you suck, and —“

“You’re a cancer,” she says, “and I want you to leave Wren alone.”

That one hits Robin like a punch in the chest. He almost takes a step back, then pivots, because who the fuck does she think she is? Why should Robin cower? “Fuck you,” he says again. She just raises her eyebrows, smirks, and it’s so smug that it actually makes Robin hot all over. “Fuck you. He’s my brother.”

“Yeah?” She asks, and he doesn’t like her fuckin’ tone. “Because, from where I’m standing, it really seems like that didn’t matter to you all that much until Wren started making a lot of money.”

It makes all the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “You have no idea —“

“Did he tell you we had to move?” She asks.

He’s still fuming and it crackles in his ears. “What?”

“Do you remember his apartment?” Julie says. “How excited he was? How much he loved it? But we had to move,” she tells him, “because we couldn’t keep up with it anymore, because such a substantial chunk of your brother’s income goes to funding his junkie brother’s crack habit.”

He tenses his jaw so tightly his teeth click. “You’re a bitch.”

“I’m not kidding,” she says, “and I’m telling you as gently as I think you deserve. You’re ruining his life. Leave him alone.”

Robin tries.

Really, he tries. He does what’s best for everyone and clears out his mother’s purse before making a home for himself in the gutter. He sleeps in the street and sits in the sun during the day, usually high. High if he can help it, anyway.

He sustains it for as long as it takes Wren to find him. He isn’t quite sure how long that is. He thinks he might have lost a lot of time.

Wren looks different. This Wren still has his Wren’s hair, his Wren’s abnormally large eyes. He’s still a pretty boy, but he’s a pretty boy, right? His jaw is a bit more defined. He’s got more angles, sharper angles, less softness and curve. He wouldn’t look out of place in an eighties hair band. How long has Robin been gone? How long has he been sleeping?

“You look good,” he says.

“You look like shit,” Wren tells him blandly.

“Yeah,” Robin agrees, scratching his neck. He accidentally opens a sore he didn’t know was there and scratches a little harder. “Where’s Julie?”

“Left me,” Wren answers.

“Oh,” Robin says, and stops scratching. “Why?”

He raises his eyebrows. “Why do you think?”

He flinches. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

“Well, y’know,” he says, scratching his forearm, “there’s other fish in the sea.”

Wren’s face falls. Sighing, he looks away, half hidden by his hair. Robin has half a mind to wonder if that’s why he hasn’t cut it. “I can’t do this shit with you anymore,” he says.

“What shit?” Robin says.

“All of this,” he says, but he turns back to reach out towards Robin and forcefully pry his hands away from the sides of his face. “And stop fuckin’ pickin’ your face.”

Contrarily, Robin’s skin doesn’t stop itching so he doesn’t stop scratching.

Wren doesn’t stop taking care of him, either.

For a while, Robin has a really good thing going, honestly, and there’s something comforting about being at home again with his mom and his brother. He doesn’t notice, for a long time, how much it eats away at Wren, because it eats away at him so slowly. He gets quieter.

Five months after Wren decides he’s done taking care of him — and takes care of him, still — Robin clears all of the big bills out of his wallet before he wanders out onto the farm to grovel and ask to borrow a measly fifty bucks. He never quite makes it that far.

The cows are out, so it isn’t hard to track Wren down, but Robin never quite makes it over to him. He’s sitting in the grass, back against a fence post. Daisy has her head in his lap, and he’s got a hand between her ears, but it’s still. He’s staring off into nothing. It looks like he might be crying.

And that makes Robin so dreadfully uncomfortable he turns right back around and goes inside. Because that’s probably a little bit his fault, right?

He doesn’t leave then, but he notices it more. Wren stares off into space a lot. Cries when he doesn’t think anybody else is around. Never mentions to Robin all the money that vanished from his wallet.

Robin leaves a week later.

It takes Wren three months, this time, to track him down.

Robin’s been sleeping on the floor of an abandoned apartment building, and it’s kind of surreal, waking up to Wren, cross legged on the floor with him. It’s a relief to see him. “Can I b-borrow a c-couple bucks?”

The way Wren looks at him makes him miserable. He tells Wren it’s their mother, it’s the way mom looks at him, and it is, to a degree. His mother still looks at him like she’s proud of him, her son the soldier, her son the patriot, but the way Wren looks at him is worse. Wren’s disappointed in him, and that could almost make him throw up.

He’s trying to get Robin to come home, to get clean, and Robin’s trying to get some money out of him. He’s having a hard time focusing, he’s shivering, but not with cold, with a sort of fever that makes his skin crawl too tightly over his restless bones. When the door explodes open, Robin registers it a second after it’s already happened. The soldiers he doesn’t even see until they’ve already swarmed the room, covered every exit, pulled Robin to his knees by his arms and his hair. They knock his blanket loose, and he shivers until one of them grabs Wren by his braided hair, wrenches his head back, points his gun.

Not everything comes into focus, but it tries. This is really happening and this is really bad.

Their captain is a big guy that looks more like the Hollywood movie version of a soldier than a soldier. He has an arrogance to him that puts Robin on edge, that he’s only ever seen in very dangerous, very powerful men. The way he looks at Wren makes Robin sick.

When he knocks Wren unconscious, it’s with a wet cloth and a gloved hand over his mouth.

Robin begs. He hasn’t been above begging for a long time. The way the captain is looking at Wren — he’s seen what happens to people who get looked at like that.

And this is Robin’s fault.

This is all his fault.

It makes him think of Julie. He can’t remember the last time he saw her, or even the last time he really thought about her, but he thinks of her now. You’re ruining his life, she’d told him once.

She was right.

For a long time, he’d been ruining. Now, it’s in ruins at his feet. And it’s all Robin’s fault.

They try to make him watch, but he struggles and vomits himself into unconsciousness.

They take him to a weird, grey place tens of minutes below ground. They give him weird, grey clothes and they throw him into a weird, grey prison.

Wren isn’t there.

He meets Hal, and he meets June, and he begs them, too. They have to know something, anything. Maybe they heard one of the soldiers say something, even in passing.

They look at him like he’s crazy. They don’t even believe him.

Robin spends his first week in his weird, grey prison completely hysterical. Then a couple of men, dressed almost liked orderlies but masked, all in black, come to haul him away, kicking and screaming. They drag him through this weird, grey hellscape to a surgical room from a nightmare, entirely black. They strap him down to a black surgical table. The surgeons that hover around him wear black masks and caps and gloves.

One of them takes a long, black needle. He holds it up, into Robin’s field of vision, before he turns the point into the inner corner of his eye. “This will probably hurt,” he explains, “but you won’t think to complain.”

“What the fuck?” Robin shouts. He thrashes, but he’s restrained to that table so tightly he can’t turn his face away, not even an inch. “What the fuck! Get the fuck away from me!”

“This will make your development easier,” another says. He speaks with the slow, flat voice of an old movie mad scientist and Robin’s heart physically aches in his chest. Never, not once in his life, has he been so scared it’s made his heart ache. “It’s in your best interest.”

“Get the fuck away from me!” Robin screams.

But he’s still. He tries to thrash, to turn away, and he can’t. He can only watch that needle close in on his eye, and scream as it pierces it.

He screams until he can’t.

[angelthefirst1]

Welp...Bethylers.🐇 ✝️♾️✝️🐇

From what I'm seeing in 104 and the trailer for 105, I would say she's close.

VERY CLOSE!

Could we really get her back on resurrection Sunday? ✝️

It's very possible, and I'm excited because wow, they are laying it on thick.

Still and Alone are on repeat once again, but this time, it's with Rick and Michonne, so it's important. Due to the Sheriff's hat.

The following are from episode 104 and the trailer for 105. To show you just how much Beth is being repeated.

Identical mirror head wounds for Rick and Beth...

Rick and Beth's story is mirrored/flipped, so he gets the head wound on the opposite side, and it's after he leaves the building that collapses with the elevator.

A mystery figure appears in a Coda after Beth gets the head wound it's Morgan.

And a mystery figure appears in the same episode Rick gets a mirror head wound...

Remember Morgan picked up the cross ✝️ and the rabbit foot in the church ✝️ in Coda?

Rabbit 🐇 Easter 🐣 resurrection of Christ.

The cabin with alcohol...🍸

Rick and Michonne will visit a cabin and drink alcohol next week.

Pine vista with the lake...

Green Wood is also mentioned when they go to the lab/gym.

Golf club sheets where a community was living.

While Rick and Michonne find a similar layout in a new building in 105...

The boots (Michonne finds Rick's boots) and the prosthetic hand...

Home sweet home...

Everyone we know "will be" dead - You don't know that.

It's Bullshit...

You don't get to treat me like crap because you're afraid...

I know you look at me and just see another dead girl...You don't know nothing!

Entering the clean house...Roomba

Chandelier trap (note the chandelier above)

Changing clothes...

I'm going to leave a thank you note...

Why did you come after me? What changed your mind?

Say it! Don't Ah-ha...

"Oh" You're the love of my life!

I'm not going to leave you...

The elevator

System failure elevator has 10 minutes left of emergency power.

Elevator has 2 minutes left of emergency power...

10.2 get well soon.

Proof they put Beth on the back seat of the car after Grady and that Beth's return will lead to a cure.

They think she's a hybrid, aka Zombie, but she's associated with fire 🔥 so the flammable liquid is her.

She will return as Christ to bring the last judgment of fire 🔥 and destroy the fake cure of the Mark of the beast and beast kingdom before the Millennial Kingdom begins.

The whole end scene when the building collapses and Rick and Michonne get out in the nick of time is a repeat of the CDC collapse.

The building Rick and Michonne are in has AI and all the modern tech just like Vi at the CDC.

It's about to be destroyed and the group run for the cars. One of which is yellow.

While the high tech building they destroy is connected to the CDC, it's also connected to Grady, so by connection, they were working on a cure at Grady.

At the CDC test, subject 19 (Beth was 19 at Grady) took 2 hours, 1 minute, and 7 seconds till resurrection...

21 days = 7x3 = 3 missing weeks.

Dr Jenner shoots his test subject in the head...

For Beth, it will be reverse shot in head resurrection after 3 weeks.

Instead, it will be Grady that collapses most likely from an earthquake.

When Jesus died, there was a massive earthquake, so...

Anyway Danai says she wrote this episode, i say hogs-wash, she re-wrote this episode!

The elevator timer says Beth is about to Get Well Soon.

[loflr]

So Far, so Good

Hi all, Brian here again.

We're now about 10 weeks into our new dynamic, so I thought I might do a brief, "State of the Union" post.

Well, my weeks have certainly changed. When I took over certain jobs from Diane, I wondered how long it would take for the transition from a) reminding me to do them, through to b) completely forgetting about them and on to c) punishing me for not doing them. I have been very pleased, and a little surprised, to see that for many jobs, we are at the second stage already. I hope very much that we won't arrive at the third, since that would mean that I was neglecting my work. I don't think that it would occur to Diane now to put the bins out for collection, to do the dishes, mow the lawn, clean the bathrooms, etc.

I now have a routine which starts after my first cup of tea of the day. First, I will tidy up after breakfast, shake the crumbs from the toaster outside and put it away, then empty the dishwasher and load it with the detritus from breakfast, then wipe down the work tops.

I'll then go upstairs to get myself washed and dressed (no more hanging around in PJs for half the day), although, if it's early I might waste a few minutes playing on the Internet. Then I'll make the bed and tidy my clothes stand.

On Wednesdays I clean her bathroom, and on Thursdays I do mine. This is the only time in the week where I look like the chap in the classic FLR poster, i.e. naked with an apron on! In an attempt to stay dryish, I do the bathrooms wearing a T-shirt and nothing else. Any resemblance to this mythical bloke is stretching credibility just a bit, as these guys are always the thick end of forty years younger than me! Diane is very strict about the cleaning cloths being washed and hung up to dry, and not left laying around. On at least one day, now that the weather is starting to improve, I will mow the lawn, then make sure that all of the tools are put away. I wouldn't like to guess how many times I go to the shops in an week. I make sure that I always volunteer if we need anything and she will now only shop if she is going somewhere anyway. For example, if she was going to a garden centre which happened to be near a supermarket, she would probably pick up anything which we need. Planned visits to the shops are almost always my responsibility although occasionally we might do it together. There will always be some up small tasks that I can pick up; if it's a bathroom day I'll probably vacuum the bedroom and upstairs hall when I've finished.

I estimate that I wash up cups and dishes at least three times per day. If it's a family occasion, with visitors, like Easter, then I might spend 5 or 6 hours in the kitchen. I will normally cook on at least three evenings, and after every meal I will clear the kitchen and then take Diane a cup of tea. One day per week I will probably strip at least one bed, change the bed linen, and bring the old sheets downstairs; Diane still does the laundry. I have asked her if I can do this for her, but this is a job that she wants to keep for herself. At least twice a week I will clean the cooker hob, the extractor hood and the tiling around it, and do a reasonably deep clean of the burners.

I try to find at least one new sizable task each week. One week it was deep-cleaning the cooker, which had to be repeated the following week because it got so much use over Easter. Another week I tidied the shed and took two car-loads or junk to the tip, and another I power-washed the patio, in preparation for sunny days in the garden. Last week I cleaned behind our bed, which is a heavy great lump of a thing which hasn't been moved for some years, so that was quite a job. The other day I got some weed killer and tackled the weeds on the driveway and patios. While we're watching TV, and after our last cup of tea of the day, I will put the dishwasher on so that we have plenty of cups for the morning.

I have just recently started filling her car with fuel once a week, and getting it cleaned once a month.

That's a summary of my list of chores, but I do plenty of other tasks, now that Diane had taught me how to "look with my housewife eyes". This means that bins are emptied and cleaned as soon as they get nearly full, along with dozens of other "bits and bobs".

So why am I doing all of this? There is a very good case to say that I should have been doing this for the last 50 years, or at least some of it. Like I often say, I can't change the past, but I can do something about the future. Primarily, I do all of this to make Diane happy, with the assumption that if she's happy, then I will be too. However, Diane's happiness is the main goal, any benefit that I might get is purely incidental. Every week during our check-in I ask if I can do more, but there are some jobs that she doesn't want to let go of. Still, she knows that she can, whenever she chooses.

This has been a big commitment for me, so it would be nice to get some reassurance that it is working. In just two short months I have noticed how Diane has become significantly more assertive than she was. At first, she didn't like to tell me to do things, preferring to ask. It took her a while to become confident that I would actually do what she told me; that's the result of 50 years of my laziness. She is now quite happy to give me tasks whenever she sees fit, and although she is still polite, these are much closer to commands than they are to requests, and they certainly aren't optional. I have to say that I like this. I don't know the reason why (I'm sure that a psychiatrist would), but I am a lot happier doing a chore if I feel that I am submitting to her while I am doing it. When I'm working on a task, especially long and unpleasant ones, I get a buzz from knowing that this was a something that I was told to do, that she is higher in the pecking order than me and that the job is my responsibility because I am lower in the food chain than her. This is the same even for those jobs which I choose to do without instruction from Diane, like cleaning the cooker. I got a buzz from knowing how pleased she would be when she saw it.

I am delighted with how my training is proceeding. Diane now reckons that not only do I have the hands of a housewife, I am starting to see the home through a housewife's eyes.

There are some areas where I am still unsure as to whether or not they are working properly yet. The thing which first attracted me to FLR was what Diane and I call Rule #3: "Diane will take immediate corrective action if my behaviour falls below her expectations". I rely totally on rule #3 to let me know if she is happy with me, or if I have upset her in some way. The logic is that I am a dreadful communicator and I am completely unable to pick up on non-verbal cues, but I know that if she is not happy with me, then she will immediately say so. The fact that she hasn't done so means that all must be well.

I am still not confident that this is happening, and I get the feeling that she might let some of my mistakes go rather than making a fuss. She sometimes mentions something during our Friday check-in about my behaviour earlier in the week. This leaves me in a quandary: I can't really guarantee that all is well just because she hasn't pulled me up for something, but then again, if our relationship is to be truly female-led, then it is not my place to be telling Diane that she should be disciplining me more regularly through the week. That sounds to me like "topping from the bottom"; she is the female, she is the boss, it is up to her what she does and when she does it. I fully accept that, but it still leaves me in this awkward situation of not being certain, at any given moment, whether things are Ok between us or not. I don't want to give the impression that I am serving Diane diligently with one eye on the prospect of punishment, that really isn't what's happening here. I am relying on Rule #3 to overcome our earlier communication problems, and rules #1 and #2 are the price I pay, and I truly enjoy doing all that they entail. But, where does that leave me if I can't rely on Rule #3?

I have no idea how to square that particular circle. I would welcome the advice of more experienced couples as to how to handle this. Perhaps someone like @flrindia or @cat-boulder might like to chip in? I suspect you have come across this problem before. Maybe I am just making things too complicated, we are certainly both greatly enjoying our experience of FLR so far.

Brian