#but who knows i think he's more over that now

[inkskinned]

lately i've been a feminist killjoy.

2. i pirate all my media, and therefore am not familiar with most tv commercials. i went to a superbowl party. around me were appetizers and bean dip and wine and the rolling movement of people talking - and meanwhile i was sitting there, stonefaced and bonechilled. the extraordinary, willful, in-your-face sexism and racism of advertising. what an odd whiplash: the warm and smiling hosts handing me nachos - in the background, some casual repetition of conservative gender roles. more than once i had to turn to my girlfriend - are you seeing this?

3. often i think of how rainbow capitalism is a canary in a coal mine. i think of what one google employee said when they took down their "don't be evil sign" - he mentioned that while it hadn't really done anything, the removal of it was... eerie. it isn't that i needed pride-themed fast fashion items from target. it's that the pushback to said items has now resulted in the company's looming silence. it's that the pushback worked. target is now among the list of companies aiming to "roll back" DEI initiatives. a false friend, i guess - but a bellwether nonetheless.

4. i remember five, ten years ago rolling my eyes at the faux-feminist faux-activist stuff advertisements would put out. i mean, who can forget that pepsi ad, oh my god. i remember girlboss anthems and lukewarm representation. but it did seem like someone was, you know, trying to be thoughtful. but if we follow the money, i think it's fair to say it used to be a good idea to at least appear "politically correct." now though - who cares? look at the man we chose for politics.

5. i am working my girlfriend through her first watch of FMA: Brotherhood. it should be a sweet deal, and instead, i oscillate from peaceful to pacing. the ads drive me insane. i've been counting - at least three involve a man silencing a woman in some way. two involve a white man silencing a woman of color. in my least favorite, she's sitting at her desk, trying to say the same thing he's saying. but he keeps fucking interrupting her. ha ha. don't even ask me what the ad is even for. i don't understand the plot of the thing. i think the whole idea is just "man talks over a woman. buy our product" but with like, somehow worse pacing.

6. on national tv, in front of millions of viewers, kanye posts an ad for his website that is selling a single white T shirt, a product titled HH. a swastika is emblazoned on it. people can't even talk about how fucking terrible that is - their videos get flagged as soon as they actually say what's happening. i am sitting at home staring at my stupid phone, just quietly stunned. we can make a rapist president, but we cannot say the word rape on most social media platforms. elon can nazi salute on television without consequence, but you can't use the word "female" in your research grant request without being flagged. the enormity of it all is impossible to grasp.

7. there's a company called "his", which sells things for erectile dysfunction. the ads are trucks and masculinity and very gender affirming. the same company has a "hers" line, which is a barely-tested weight-loss injection developed and sold by recently-rebranded absolutely evil company Eli Lilly. in the ad, women who are "overweight" grapple with their barely-visible stomach and smile, beautifully at peace while delivering their own "treatment."

8. i read a lot, though. i spend a lot of time online. someone recently said i write almost exclusively from a place of panic, which they didn't like. it made me laugh though - can any artist say differently right now? still. still! i sat on that couch and watched how casually bigotry is repeated, with no real audience reaction. am i just radicalized and unfortunately very easily annoyed? am i the problem here? can't i just like, relax and let it happen?

9. we stand in line at the movie theatre. i make some snide remark about how the poster we're looking at is basically "sexy trophy smiles knowingly at our hero, nerdy boy". from behind me, some guy snorts down his nose. feminist killjoy.

10. the thing is. i don't want to be like this. it's just like. in my fucking home.

[gurugirl]

DILF [2] | older!harry

→ MAIN MASTERLIST ←

Summary: Harry and Y/n meet again months later on Valentine's Day. It's unexpected, but very much welcome.

A/N: First part here! This isn't really super focused on Valentine's Day, it just happens to takes place on Valentine's Day.

Word Count: 6.4k

Warning: age gap, smut, alcohol consumption (light), spanking, a touch of jealousrry

. .

Y/n wasn't big on Valentine's Day. She'd never dated anyone long enough for it to be of much importance. Though she did fondly remember the little heart-shaped candies and tiny Valentine's cards that would get shared in school when she was little, things were different as an adult.

So, instead of celebrating the holiday (if it could be called a holiday), she'd be going out with her single girlfriends and celebrating being a single girl instead. A single girl with a few drinks in her belly and a little dancing to get the blood flowing. Tara tried to do some kind of seductive dip to the beat of the song while Warren and Y/n laughed.

"This is how you do it!" Warren shouted over the loud club music and grooved her way down with the beat. She was the one with all the rhythm. Y/n and Tara were fighting for their lives to keep rhythm, but they were having fun, nonetheless.

"Priya commented on the post. Look…" Tara held her phone out to Y/n to look at the comment on her Instagram account.

"J said Y/n's looking yummy tonight!"

Y/n laughed and looked at Tara. "J? Oh my god, I haven't talked to him in ages. Let me respond!"

She took Tara's phone and typed a comment.

"You both should come out with us!"

After another round of drinks and dancing, Priya and J had joined the group at the club. Y/n wasn't necessarily interested in J. In fact, she hadn't really been interested in anyone since Harry. It'd been a couple of months since she'd seen him. Their night together was engraved under her skin and in her brain. She thought that with some time she'd forget about the older man, but her fingertips tingled and her chest grew tight whenever she thought about him, which was daily.

She didn't know why she had never called him. Maybe she was just stubborn, hoping he'd find her somehow and reach out himself. She had his number, but he didn't have hers. When he dropped her off at her place the morning after, he gave it to her and told her to call him.

And the more time that had passed, the more awkward it felt to randomly reach out to him. Now the window was surely closed, and she'd blown it. Which she regretted. She regretted that she was stubborn and wanted him to chase her that time. Wanted him to work to find her—which wouldn't have been all that hard. She had every social media account known to man, and everything was public. All he had to do was type her name into a Google search bar, and he'd find a dozen ways to contact her.

But she didn't call, and he didn't search her up, and that felt like the end of that. Unfortunately. It was unfortunate because he'd been so good. So exceptional compared to every other man she'd been with (if she could even call anyone who came before Harry a man). She was way more into him than she realized. Of course, by the time she realized it was too late, and now she was kicking herself.

"Hey, you here with us?" Tara took Y/n's hand and moved her away from the dance floor.

"Yeah. What do you mean?"

"You were zoned out there for a sec. Staring off toward the exit. You okay?"

Blinking her eyes and looking around, she nodded. "I'm good. Just started thinking. Sorry. Maybe I need a water. Probably should slow down a little anyway."

"Of course. Yeah, go get water. And stop thinking. I know who you're thinking about. He's in the past now. Okay?"

Tara knew that Y/n was kind of stuck on Harry. She'd confided in her a couple of weeks later. She hadn't wanted to admit it, but it was eating away at her.

"You're right. I'll be right back."

No sooner had she stepped away from Tara than J was on her heels. "I'll come with you!"

The oak bar was cast in reds and pinks for Valentine's Day. A sappy, upbeat song played loudly as she waved toward the bartender to order a water. J stood next to her, leaned into the veneered wood. "Just water?"

Yn nodded. "Need to cool off a little. Not interested in getting sloppy, ya know?"

She tried to ignore the way he was looking at her, turning her head to peer around the space and pretend she wasn't aware of where his eyes were wandering. She could deal with J. He was nice enough, and she knew he wouldn't push or anything. He was a bit too mild for that.

When her water was handed to her, the pink straw inside was tucked next to a stirrer with a heart at the top. Lifting the glass to her mouth, she took a drink as J slid in a little closer. "Do you wanna dance?"

She really didn't want to, not with him. It wasn't that he was ugly or unlikable or anything… she just didn't want to give him the wrong impression. Leading men on wasn't her style.

But before she even had the chance to tell him no, she saw a familiar hand attached to a familiar arm placed down on the bar next to her. She slowly turned, looking upward at the man whom she'd just been thinking about. He wasn't smiling as he leaned closer to speak. "You never called."

Turning so she could face him, she placed her elbows behind her on the bar top and lifted her brows in an attempt to feign complete control and calm. "Correct."

She watched as Harry looked past her to J and then back down at her. "Who's this?"

"A friend. Why? Jealous?"

She didn't know what angle she was going for with her hard-to-get act, but that's all it was—an act. Deep down, under her cool facade, she wanted to finish unbuttoning his shirt, the top three buttons already free, so anyone could see what he was working with underneath.

"Jealous of a boy? No."

Y/n reached for his button and pressed at it, her eyes on his. "Now, Harry. Honestly… He's my age. Isn't that what you wanted? For me to find someone my age. Thought you'd be happy for me."

"Thought you said he was just a friend."

She laughed and looked back at J, who was just standing by silently, looking between Harry and Y/n. Far too mild. She turned back to Harry. "See? You are jealous."

"Why didn't you call?"

Clearing her throat, she shifted her footing to get a little closer. "Because I wanted you to find me. I worked so hard to get you to crack that night we met and thought maybe you could put in a little effort if you were interested."

"That's not how it works," he spoke as he dipped his head closer, placing his other palm down on the edge of the bar to cage her in. "I gave you my number. You didn't give me any of your contact info. Didn't want to overstep. Ball was in your court."

"I'm easy to find, Harry. All you had to do was Google my name."

"I know. That's why I'm here. Saw your post on Instagram."

She lifted her brows, and a smile pulled at her mouth. "Is that so? And did you select this outfit just for me?" She reached again for his shirt, letting her pointer finger trail down the cotton edge along the button slits before she ran the pad of her finger on his warm skin.

Harry looked down at her hand and then back into her eyes. "Was gonna go on a date tonight. That's why I'm dressed like this."

She blinked, moving her hand away.

"Hey, uh… should we like… go back? Or, uh…" J spoke tentatively as he stepped closer.

"She's with me. You're welcome to go wherever you please, though," Harry responded, his gaze locked on Y/n's.

"I think—actually, um…" J stumbled on his words.

Y/n lifted her hand and looked over at J. "It's fine. Harry and I have a lot to discuss. You can go back to our table."

J opened his mouth and searched Harry's face, then looking back at Y/n and nodding, he scuttled away like a dog with his tail between his legs. She felt a little bad. Clearly, he thought he might have had a chance even though he never did.

"See? A boy. Couldn't even form a sentence. What are you doing with him anyway?"

"We were having fun is what we were doing. Hanging out with people my age. Why do you care anyway? You said you were gonna go on a date. Where is she?"

"I don't know where she is. Maybe at home. I didn't want to go out with her, so I cancelled."

"Then why did you plan a date?"

"So I could try and move on from you."

She hadn't expected that level of honesty from him, but his confession had her heart thumping hard in her chest.

"Coming here to find me doesn't make it seem like you want to move on."

He shook his head, his eyes shifting downward over her dress before pinning them back on hers. "I didn't think we were done yet. Really expected you to call."

"And I really expected you to figure out how to find me. Should have been easy."

"You like the chase, then. Is that what you want? For me to chase you? Follow you around like a puppy dog?"

She laughed softly. "I don't think being a puppy is quite your style. But I do like that you came all this way just to see me."

He edged his hand toward her arm, running a thumb over her skin. "I'm too old to play games, Y/n. If you expect me to run after you, jump through hoops just to see you, and beg you for your time, then I'm not your guy."

"But you came here to see me."

"Yes, I did. Consider this your freebie cause I won't do something like this again. Ball's in your court now. What do you want? To go back and play with that little boy I sent away? Or to stop fucking around and come back home with me tonight again?"

Her lips parted as heat rose up her spine. A wanton need wrapped itself around her throat as she swallowed thickly. She enjoyed being the one with all the power and feeling like she was in charge. But it was different with Harry. Despite everything, he was the one calling the shots. And she wanted him so bad she could taste it. After all, he'd ditched a date so he could come find her.

"You like me." She grinned.

The tension outlining his posture softened as he rolled his eyes, and she watched as the edge of his lips turned upward. "What gave it away?"

"I like you, too. But my place is closer this time."

Y/n's friends were already watching the whole thing go down before she returned and told them she was heading out. Tara smiled. "We'll talk tomorrow."

Her apartment was only a few minutes' drive away. The small talk they'd been making before they stepped inside her place all but vanished the moment Harry pushed her to the wall and placed his knee between her thighs with a desperate kiss.

She even gasped in surprise when he moved her and she felt the plaster of her wall behind her back. He ran a rough palm up her bare thigh, the skirt of her dress shifting upward until the stretchy material was at her hips and he groped her ass.

"Wanted to do this the second I saw you standing at the bar. Show everyone who's taking you home…" he spoke against her mouth as his thumb caught on the slinky elastic string of her thong. She felt his thigh inching up between her legs as he moved in closer.

She was pinned to the wall as he worked his mouth down her neck and continued kneading at her ass. But then she felt the material of his pants against the crotch of her panties as his thigh pressed solidly into her.

A small, weak-sounding whimper fell from her mouth when he nudged against her, signaling for her to move her hips. The spot where his mouth kissed and sucked over her throat had her head spinning and it was almost involuntary as she began to rub herself on his thigh. She gripped onto his shoulders when he began to guide her hips.

It was kind of pathetic, the way they hadn't even made it into her bedroom. Barely'd made it past her door before they were all over one another. And now, there she was, grinding her pussy against his thigh like she was in some kind of dire need, a pitiful girl so wrapped up in desperation that she was reduced to humping his thigh like a pup in heat.

The most embarrassing thing was how good it felt. His lips on her skin, his thick thigh pressed against her, his hands on her ass. "Oh god…"

Harry moved his face and looked down at her with a smirk. "Making a mess, Y/n. Guess your tough girl act was all fake. Now look at you…"

Slowing her hips, she reached up to his face. "You started it."

A boyish dimple scored into his cheek as he lifted his brows. "Did I now? Clearly, you like it. Soaking right through my pants."

"Mmm… You like it too, though. Love how wet I get, don't you?"

He licked his lips and shook his head like he couldn't believe how tenacious she was, even when pinned against her wall. "So sure of yourself, Y/n. When my day started, I imagined I'd be doing this with someone else by the end of it. Bet she'd get just as wet for me."

Y/n let out a serrated breath, though she never stopped grinding over his thigh. "Doubtful. You wanted me. Practically dragged me out of the club 'cause you knew that other chick wouldn't do it for you like I can."

"Do what for me? Huh? Hump my thigh like a desperate, horny little girl?" He teased as she moaned at the way he nudged his leg up harder.

"You wanted me a little desperate, and that's what you got. You knew nothing was gonna feel as good as me. You missed it."

"Maybe. Maybe I kept imagining you every time I got off for the past two months. Maybe the only reason I agreed to a date with that other woman was because she kind of resembled you. Wanted to pretend I was fucking you again."

Y/n let out a moan. "I want you to fuck me."

"Do you deserve that, Y/n? After that little stunt you pulled? Huh? Leaving me high and dry like that? Wasn't nice."

"I wanted to call you. I'm sorry I didn't."

"Hmm… but you wanted to play games. Not sure sorry cuts it."

He moved his leg away, and Y/n stumbled forward, her hands on his shoulders as he pulled her dress back down over her thighs.

"What can I do to make you believe me?" She looked at him with rounded eyes, hoping that he wasn't changing his mind as he pushed away and took a step back.

"Not sure. Maybe that's something you're gonna have to have to figure out. This is a lot of work, you know? Telling you what to do and how to do it. Might be nice for you to try and use that brain of yours for once."

She scoffed as he grinned at her. She knew he was mocking her, and it was meant to be playful, but still. "For once? You don't think I use my brain?"

He shrugged as he paced into her living room, and she watched him look around like he was assessing. Following behind him, she kept her eyes on his strong build and turned a light on. It was clear he was sporting a thick erection under his pants at that point. She smiled when she stepped toward him.

Taking his belt, she gripped at the leather and pulled it through the buckle before she opened his pants and cupped around his length. "You can fuck my mouth. I won't even complain. I'll let you use me however you want."

She got onto her knees and kept her eyes on his as she peeled his underwear down. His big cock had been straining against the material of his boxers and it nearly hit her in the face when it was released. She cooed and gripped around the base of him to lift it upward and began kissing gently along the underside and down to his sac.

Harry stitched his brows together, and his lips parted as he watched her. He placed a hand at the back of her head and moaned. He didn't really care about an apology, but he was going to make damn sure she understood he wasn't into the little games. He'd had plenty of that kind of thing when he was younger. When he was closer to her age, and he'd never been a fan of it.

If she really did want to be with him, or at least date a while, she'd need to learn that he wanted things clear and well communicated. "That's a good girl. Keep going."

She stroked from root to tip as she tongued along his skin, making a wet path as she went. But suddenly, he grasped her chin and tilted her head back before he shoved his thick head past her lips and slid it down her tongue, bumping against the roof of her mouth as he went. She steadied herself, quickly, gripping his muscled thighs as he held the back of her head and worked himself in and out.

He was going easy on her, not pressing his full length down her throat. Not yet. "Let's put that pretty mouth to good use. Show me you can work for it, yeah?"

Harry thrust in, his mushroomed crown glided over her tongue and back out to her soft lips before he did it again, a little deeper that time, the slit of his cock kissing the back of her mouth just before it curved into her throat. He kept his eyes on her face and the way her lips wrapped around him just right.

"Fuck you're so pretty, Y/n." He thumbed at the edge of her lip as he drove into her, feeling the saliva from her mouth coating his cock. He moaned when she blinked her eyes up at him. "Didn't want anyone else to suck my cock but you. Didn't want to even touch anyone else. Know that?"

She hummed over him in answer as he pushed deeper, making her gag lightly as the metal on his buckle clanked with his movements. "I know you know that. Proved it to you by making a fool of myself, stalking your Instagram so I knew where you were gonna be. Got me all wrapped up in you after just one goddamn night."

Y/n felt her eyes blur as tears roll down her cheeks when he nuzzled his dick in deeper and she swallowed around his tip with an embarrassing wet spluttering sound. She'd let him choke her with his cock if that's what it took. After hearing his confession, she only wanted to show him how much she had missed him and how sorry she was for not calling.

So, she leaned into him further, squeezing her eyes closed as she tried to force the rest of him into her throat. The gagging and gargling noises she made were loud. It sounded like someone was being waterboarded.

"Fuck…" he gasped as she sputtered around him. He bent his knees the slightest as he let her suck and swallow around him. She was treating his cock so good he didn't know if he should just let her continue milking him like that until he was nutting down her throat or if he should reward her by returning the favor.

But damn did she feel good on his dick. She was giving it her all, and he'd decided she was forgiven.

Pulling her back, his wet dick slid past her lips and hung heavy in front of her face as he helped her stand up. She inhaled sharp breaths between little coughs as she wiped her face. "Was it okay?"

"Better than okay. You're a fuckin' star, Y/n. I need you in your bed, though. Got a condom?"

Knocking her head up and down affirmatively, she blinked her bleary eyes. Harry followed her to her bedroom and watched as she pulled a small box of condoms from her underwear drawer, and he took it from it before he pointed at her dress. "Clothes off. Then get your ass on the bed."

The thrill of having him there made her shaky. She yanked at her dress and removed the fabric before shedding the rest of her underthings.

Harry kicked his pants and his boxers off before his shirt joined the pile of clothes on the floor. He watched her climb onto her bed and sit at the middle in wait. He tossed the box of condoms onto her mattress (secretly pleased it was unopened, unused) and crawled after her on the bed, adjusting her legs and pushing her thighs apart before he thumbed her clit smoothly.

"Do you deserve to come? Think you deserve my cock?"

Y/n blinked at him as she nodded. "Yes. I just want to be good. Make you come too. Please…"

He grinned as he let his eyes coast down her denuded body. She rolled into his thumb before he took his other hand and pressed his middle finger inside. Everything that touched her pussy was glistening wet. The gushy sound his finger made as he fucked into her was lewd. She spread her legs apart further for him and dropped her mouth open as she kept her eyes on his.

She was so pretty like that. Naked and spread apart for him, lusting for him, wanting him. He added another finger and pumped into her harder. Her tits swayed as her pussy swallowed his fingers whole. She was so confident and bold it had his insides pulsing with need.

With his eyes pinned to hers he dipped down to replace his thumb on her clit with his lips and his tongue. Y/n fell backward to her mattress and moaned from the pleasure. His tongue stroked her clit and pressed flat over it before he pulled at it and repeated all while he fucked her as deep as his fingers could reach.

He held her down as she arched her back. His chin and his nose were wet, slurping and groaning into her as he worked her so close to the edge she was already seeing stars. "Yes… right there… right there…"

But he suddenly moved away. His fingers, his mouth, his body. She sat up to look at him and watched in satisfaction as she saw him digging into the box of condoms. His face was flushed and matched the shade of heat on his heaving chest.

He rolled the tight rubber down his shaft and then looked at her with dark eyes. "Turn over. Hands and knees."

With a smirk, she got to her knees and made sure to let her eyes linger on his cock before she turned and placed her palms flat onto the mattress. "Like this?" She wiggled her ass at him.

Harry moaned deeply and placed his hands on the curve of her hips, smoothing his palms over every inch slowly. "Exactly like this."

She felt him lean over her back, his mouth at her ear as he palmed at her tit. "How do you feel about me spanking you a little?" His dick was warm between her thighs as she pushed back against him.

"Whatever you do, I'm gonna love." She reared back again and turned her face to look at him as he sat back. She watched him raise his arm before his palm struck her bum with a sting.

She keened sharply and jolted forward. He did it again in the same spot as he locked his irises with hers. "Other side now."

As promised, he landed his hand over the globe of her ass again, once and then twice, a burning sensation left behind making her inhale sharply.

Then he kneed in closer and she felt him line up his dick with her entrance, fitting himself into her slowly before he plowed in with one thick, harsh thud that had her bending forward face down.

She yelped into the soft comforter when he issued her another spanking, one to each side, as he began to thrust in and out of her, long and languid with heavy palms burning into her skin.

The bite of pain blossomed with heat and curled outward, spreading along her flesh until she could almost feel the detail of his fingerprints searing into her, marking her. He groaned as he drove in deep, glutes flexing as he forced his cock through her sensitive insides.

Her bottom was stinging, aching, burning with every smack of his hand… until it wasn't. Until the gooey, pleasurable warmth of her walls that stretched around his cock deliciously melded with the sharp barbed pain of his swats… That was—it felt like her body was thrumming with a lusty, satisfying ecstasy that sent liquid fire through her veins.

"Fuck, oh god, fuck…" she mumbled into the blankets as her body was spanked and fucked and swatted and pounded. She loved it.

Harry halted, planting his palms down on the mattress to catch his breath, cock buried whole into her. They were both panting, reeling… Y/n's muffled moans pulled a smile onto his lips.

"Apology accepted," he spoke quietly as he kissed the center of her back between her shoulder blades and then reached forward to gently wrap his big hand around the front of her neck to lift her head.

"Hear me?" His deep voice sounded in her ear.

She nodded, the column of her throat bobbing into his palm, eyes still closed as she let out a feminine grunt that was probably meant to mean yes.

"You okay?"

Again, she nodded slowly, this time her eyes fluttered open. "Mmhmm. Yes."

"Hurt?" He punctuated his question with a rock of his hips forward, nudging into the end of her sharply.

She hissed, and her spine bowed. "Yes."

Slowly, he began to thrust, sliding out and in when he felt her swallow thickly before her moans vibrated into his palm. She was dripping. Every time his hips met her skin, it wetted his lap and the front of his thighs.

She had been all he wanted. Ever since the morning he dropped her off. Thought for sure he'd hear from her by the way she was acting around him. All flustered and soft and dreamy-eyed as she looked at him. Pouted when he said he couldn't come in but gave her his number. And then she just never called.

That was a hit to his ego. That he thought he somehow had the upper hand with her. But now he had her drooling, moaning, and sobbing his name as he railed her deep. He would see to it that she didn't leave him hanging like that again. He'd give it to her so good she wouldn't be able to even think about another man. At least for a little while.

But Y/n was feeling the same kind of way about him. And now he was at her place, in her bed, fucking her with his big cock like he had something to prove.

"Mmm… Harry…"

"Yeah?" He pushed in firmly, swiveling his hips to let her feel all of him. "Is that good?"

"Fuck… it's deep—sh…shit!"

Letting go of her neck, Harry used both hands to guide her rhythm as he fucked into her, tilting her into an angle that had the big crown of his cock hitting a tender spot inside her. She tensed and clawed at the blankets in response to how he commanded her movements.

He loved watching her pussy slickly spread apart on his cock, how tight it wrapped around him, how wet she made everything, the way her ass wobbled. He was tempted to give her another swat but thought better of it, knowing that he'd already done a number on her backside. Her skin was raised just enough that he could feel the small welts from his hands. He didn't want to break the skin.

His abs clenched as he plowed his dick through her, their bodies clapping together, her bed wrenching under them from the force of his thrusts. She was mumbling nonsense, straining to keep herself steady as he worked her over him with his hands gripping the meat of her hips tight.

But he slowed his motions, loosening his hold on her as he pushed in deep and stilled. He stared down at the space where they were connected as he thumbed softly at the flesh of her ass. When he was buried in like that, he couldn't see the end of the condom at the base of his shaft, so it looked like he wasn't wearing one. The dirty thought trickled warm down his chest and made his cock throb before he pulled himself out.

He pulled her up and helped her turn before he positioned her flat on her back, her tits spreading softly as she looked up at him with a dazed expression. He sat back on his haunches. "Still okay?"

She nodded, a smile slowly turned her lips upward. "I'm fantastic."

"Good. Gonna pull you up like this…" He took her thighs and dragged her up so her hips were off the bed and the backs of her thighs were draped over the tops of his. "Fuck you nice and deep, work your clit til you come. How's that sound?"

"Mmm…" Y/n nodded and squeezed her tits as she bucked her hips upward. "Yes."

He grinned down at her. He loved how confident she was. How unashamed of her body she seemed to be. Liked the way she carried herself. It was sexy to see a woman happy in her own skin.

He reached down and slowly stroked her clit, eyes connected to hers to watch her expression soften and then her brows arch as she parted her lips and moaned. "Yeah?" He murmured with a grin.

"Yes… You're so good. Fuck…" she turned her head to the side and closed her eyes, a soft gasp fell from her lips as he slid his fingers in circles on her clit and mushed into her swollen hood. She pushed her breasts together and arched her back before shifting her head to look back up at him. "Fuck me. Please."

"Want my cock, Y/n?" He nudged his hips forward, poking his condom-covered tip to the tight ring of muscle that would stretch nicely around him once he pushed his way back in.

"I need it," she pleaded in a breath, canting her hip toward him.

The harsh line of his brow as he took all of her in, spread out for him, was that of a man ready to devour. Y/n watched as he wrapped his long fingers around his base and shifted his pelvis, dipping his thick cock head just inside of her.

"Fffuck…" she stretched her neck and moaned as she took every inch he fed into her.

He slid deeper, taking his time as if he hadn't just been pounding into her and pushing her to her limit moments before. He moved his thumb over her bud as he went, her arousal smeared filthy on his fingers and all over her pussy lips.

Y/n shifted her sight to Harry's face, admiring his handsome features and the way his lips parted, how his muscles tensed as he rolled into her. He was enjoying her body, reveling in the way he felt inside of her. "Does it feel good? My pussy's good for you?"

"Your pussy feels incredible. Even with this fucking condom…" he laughed softly. "The kind of pussy I'd chase after and make a fool of myself for."

With their eyes connected, Y/n felt her heart ravaging behind her ribcage. She understood what he meant. Because, while she didn't think he'd made a fool of himself, he had chased after her to find her at the club. And he said that wasn't something he normally did. She was grateful he had, though.

His rough palm pushed her hand to the side so he could grope her tit. He continued working at her clit as he stuffed himself in to the brim and they both panted hot breaths as their connected bodies throbbed in unison.

He pressed down as he circled her wet bud, and the extra friction had her skin buzzing, pulsing with desire. Heat stretched over her thighs and curled viciously through her insides.

Harry slowly inched back and then pushed in deeper, his thighs flexing as he plunged wetly, gently smacking into her. A breathless sob fell from her mouth as she took him to his root over and over again.

His slow thrusts were deliberate, calculated. Every stroke of his rigid cock through her soft walls, every press of his thumb on her sensitive clit, every brush of his fingertips on her nipple had her rippling around him, trembling. The luscious stretch of her pussy around him as he drove in and dragged out made his tip leak into his condom.

Y/n began circling her hips to press harder into his thumb, using her leverage to get him deeper, to feel the biting pressure of his thumbprint. The soft, wet spread of her pussy around his shaft ached and squeezed and slushed.

His moan vibrated deep from his chest as he felt his balls tighten when he buried in and pressed himself flush to her. The shadows in her bedroom cast a moody expression over his features. He tilted his neck back, angling his face toward her ceiling as if he were in ecstasy.

And the languid thrusting suddenly turned into a heated pace. Harry's eyes darkened on hers when he looked back down at the girl he was fucking. He stroked her clit and released her breast, yanking her hip to meet his powerful thrusts. He battered her tender insides with his brutally thick column of rigid flesh. The sounds of plapping skin, her mattress springs bouncing, Harry's rhythmic grunts and groans as he drove in faded to a white noise as Y/n realized she was going to come from that, just from the expert thrust of him inside her.

She cried his name and her body shivered with every harsh plunge of his cock, the orgasm dotting white stars behind her eyes. Harry's own desperate moans were a giveaway that he was about to come just as hard.

"Fuck!"

Her body bounced and gushed as he drove in and in. The deep, ragged sounds he made were erotic, and a convulsive shudder wracked his powerful frame, followed by an agonized sound of ecstasy. His cock jerked inside her and then he was coming long and hard, spurting hotly into her clutching cunt.

Somehow, she'd found herself lying on top of him. He'd brought them to lie back together, and her chest was pressed to his. She felt his hand on her naked back, slowly caressing her skin as their hearts began to slow and calm.

"Mmm…" Y/n smiled as she nuzzled into his chest.

His hand drew down over her ass gently. "How's this feel?"

Lifting her head to press her chin into his pec, she raised her brows. "Sore. But that's what you wanted. To show me I was a bad girl. I deserved it."

Harry pushed a breath through his nose. "You're not a bad girl. Just stubborn. But now you know better than to play games."

Y/n shifted her gaze toward the edge of the room and pushed herself up from him as Harry watched her get off her bed and traipse to her dresser. "What are you doing?"

She turned to him and lifted her phone before pressing a few buttons, and then Harry's phone rang from his pants.

"There. Now you have my number, too. We've got no excuses anymore."

He reached his hand out toward her as she walked back to her bed and curled up next to him. "You shouldn't need an excuse. If you want to see me, then that should be enough."

She placed her palm on his chest and angled her head back to look at him. "I'm sorry I didn't call. I mean it when I say that. I regretted not reaching out. I promise no more games."

"Mmm…" He ran his hand down the back of her head. "Sounds like I finally fucked some sense into you then."

Y/n laughed. "Guess I needed that, too."

"I think you did. So did I, to be honest."

"You needed some sense fucked into you?"

Harry chuckled, his handsome smile making her heart flutter as he shook his head. "No. I meant I needed to fuck some sense into you. I'm already chock full of good sense. Don't need any more."

"Can't argue with that. So what now? You gonna stay the night with me?"

"Yep. Then, tomorrow, we'll make plans for a date. A real one."

"Why not make plans now?"

"Because we're gonna do it tomorrow. Cause I said."

"What if I'm busy tomorrow?" Y/n teased and bit her lip.

"Are you busy tomorrow?" He grinned.

"Hmm… It looks like all my plans have suddenly been canceled. Guess I'm all yours."

. .

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[beloveds-embrace]

(dukedom au, but you are gone for a week cue four men yearning)

The estate feels terribly empty without you.

At first, John tells himself it is only because the house is large and his duties are many. It is a fine excuse- an easy one. He can pretend, for a little while, that his mood is not soured by the absence of your voice at breakfast, by the fact that your perfume no longer lingers in the halls, by the cold, empty side of the bed where you normally sleep.

A week. A mere week, and yet John feels as though you have been gone an eternity.

The others are no better.

Johnny, usually so full of mirth, lingers in the kitchen longer than necessary, creating dish after dish that no one eats. He sets out a plate for you at every meal, stares at it as if willing you to appear. Sometimes, in a fit of frustration, he abandons the dining table entirely and takes his meals in the kitchen, where the staff quietly shuffle around him, their own hearts aching for the absence of their beloved duchess.

Kyle keeps himself busy, burying himself in the estate’s affairs. He goes over reports he has already read twice over, polishes the silverware himself when he thinks no one is looking. John finds him in your sitting room one evening, carefully dusting the spines of your books, though that is hardly his duty.

And Simon, ever so composed, ever so unreadable, is perhaps the worst of them all. He disappears for hours at a time, taking long, aimless rides through the countryside, returning only when the moon has risen high in the sky. He never says where he goes, and no one dares ask, but John knows it is longing that chases him from the estate. When he is not riding, he is haunting your parlor, sitting in your chair by the fire, fingers tracing over the embroidery of the cushion you had so painstakingly stitched by hand.

John had thought himself a patient man. He had been patient when you were wed, when you were shy and uncertain in his home. He had been patient when you discovered his lovers, when you had laughed instead of recoiled, when you had slowly, slowly, let yourself be drawn into their warmth.

But this- this absence of you-

John is not patient now.

He receives your letters, of course. Short, sweet things, penned in your careful hand. You speak of your relative’s health, of the weather, of how you miss the estate and the men who reside in it. You ask if Simon is eating properly, if Kyle is getting enough sleep, if Johnny is not overworking himself. And John- you ask of him too.

I dream of you, my love. I think of you often. Of all of you. Do you think of me?

John exhales, rubbing a hand over his beard as he stares at the parchment. He is sitting at his desk, the candlelight flickering, casting long shadows over the room.

Do you even need to ask?

He folds the letter carefully, setting it atop the others in his drawer. The mere thought of you dreaming of him makes his body ache in ways he cannot put to words, even as he pens a reply for you. He does not mention how empty and lifeless the the estate is without you- you must be worried already by your relative’s health and tired still from the long journey. He can’t put more on your plate.

Though, he hates how the days pass slowly.

By nightfall, John sits alone in the drawing room, a fire crackling low in the hearth, but the seat beside him is empty. Your embroidery frame remains untouched. He glances at it, at the last piece you had been working on- a delicate bloom of violets, only half-finished- and finds himself running a finger over the fine thread.

“Ridiculous.” He mutters under his breath. And yet, he does not move from his place, staring into the fire as if waiting for the sound of your footsteps.

In the kitchen, Johnny kneads dough with more force than necessary, his arms sore from the effort. He does not complain, but his movements are sharp, restless.

Johnny knew he would miss you. He had expected it, had braced for it when he kissed your cheek in parting and told you to travel safely. But knowing it and feeling it are two different things.

The kitchen is too still. He finds himself setting out two teacups in the morning instead of one, expecting to hear your soft voice asking what was for breakfast. He catches himself reaching for the honey you like, only to stop halfway and set it back down with a sigh.

He spends more time than usual baking, filling the kitchen with scents of warm bread, sweet pastries, things you love. The staff enjoy it, of course, but they aren’t you. They don’t smile at him with that particular look in their eyes, don’t sneak tastes of jam off the spoon when they think he isn’t looking.

On the fourth evening without you, Johnny sits at the long dining table, his hands folded in front of him as he stared at the empty chair where you usually sat.

“I should’ve gone with her.” He mutters, drumming his fingers against the polished wood.

“You wouldn’t have been allowed,” Kyle replies, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed. “She wouldn’t let you drop everything just to follow her like a lost pup.”

Johnny huffs, but he doesn’t argue.

Kyle, ever dutiful, remains composed, but there is an air of unease about him. The routine of the estate is well-kept, yet something is missing. Someone is missing. He finds himself checking the front gates more often than usual, as if expecting your carriage to appear earlier than usual.

Kyle keeps himself busy. He always did, and this week is no exception. The house still needs running, duties still need tending. But even as he works, he feels the weight of your absence like a missing piece of a puzzle.

He notices it in the small things. The way the household staff move, more subdued, missing the warmth you carried into every room. The way the evening routine feels… off. You had a habit of lingering in the hallways after supper, speaking softly with the maids, the footmen, offering a kind word or a knowing glance when someone needed it.

Without you, the house feels colder.

Kyle does not sigh or linger by windows, does not wallow the way Johnny or John do. But on the fifth day, when he enters the library to set fresh candles, he pauses by your reading chair. One of your books lays open, a silk ribbon marking your place. He reaches for it, smoothing a hand over the page before exhaling slowly and setting it back down.

That night, he locked the doors a little later than usual, waiting- just a little longer- for the sound of your return.

Simon, meanwhile, says nothing. He does not pine aloud, nor does he linger like the others. And yet, there is no denying that your absence gnawed at him.

He had been the last to fall for you, the last to let you into his heart. He thought himself made of colder things, of old scars and solitude, yet you had settled into his life as if you had always belonged.

And now, you were gone.

Simon finds himself drawn to your rooms, not stepping inside, but lingering just outside the threshold. He will not enter without you there. But he stands in the hallway sometimes, late at night when even the candles had burned low, and simply… listens.

There is no sound beyond the distant hoot of an owl. No soft breathing, no rustle of your gown as you move through the rooms.

He closes his eyes.

“Come home soon, Duchess.” He murmurs, voice lost to the empty halls.

The estate is not whole without you.

By the seventh day, they are restless.

John stands at the front of the house, hands clasped behind his back as he stares down the road. Johnny hovers in the entrance hall, pacing. Kyle has ensured everything is perfectly arranged for your return. Simon has taken to standing in the courtyard, watching the horizon.

And then- at last- the distant rumble of carriage wheels.

They do not rush, do not appear desperate, but the moment your carriage comes into view, relief ripples through them.

The door opens. You step out, your gaze sweeping over them- soft, surprised at the intensity of their presence. And then you smile, and it is as if the week of longing melts away in an instant.

John steps forward first, taking your gloved hand and kissing it, but his grip lingers. Johnny barely restrains himself from pulling you into an embrace. Kyle exhales, tension easing from his shoulders. Simon says nothing, but the way he looks at you speaks volumes.

“You’re home, Duchess.” John murmurs.

Your smile widens. “I am.”

And at last, the house is warm again.

Dukedom au masterlist

[bi-writes]

ok wait pause i have a question. first date, but like, real, you are my girlfriend date ? or like how'd they define their relationship (⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

he's...fun.

it's just sex. mind-blowing, back-numbing, pussy-destroying sex. this man is pushing 40, and you swear you've never felt so out of breath. you convince yourself it's the military thing--he's used to pushing himself, exerting energy, testing the limits of his stamina. but holy shit, you'd think after round four, this man would take a quick nap or something, but no.

he's still balls-deep, hitting it from the back since you can't even keep yourself upright any longer. your skirt lays haphazardly thrown onto the floor, and oh--there's your panties, too, ripped to lacy shreds.

holy shit, this man is more than ten years older than you, and you've never been so out of your fucking mind--

"tha' the spot, love?" his voice is so condescending. he knows he's got you brainless. there's drool staining your lips, and you paw at the sheets for a better grip, but it's useless.

"y-yes, captain."

the low groan that leaves him makes you smile. he might have the upper hand, but if you really wanted to, you could make him come right now, too fast, too much.

you're in bliss. everything is bliss. you're still recovering from what must be the fifth or sixth orgasm--not as good as the second or third one, but still enough to make you cry fat, pleasured tears. you're shaking, in a good way, sinking to your stomach on the bed and pressing your face into his pillow.

"hmm..." your voice is soft and gooey, and when you take a deep breath, you get a long whiff of him. he smells good. clean. earthy. you tasted cigar smoke in his mouth earlier, and you can smell it here, too. just as you relax, you feel the weight of him on your back, and then his lips. he's kissing along your shoulder to your neck and then up your jaw. you tilt your head to give him room, your eyes shutting as his beard scruffs against your skin and his mouth laps at your chin. "i gotta go, john."

you giggle when he lays his entire body on top of yours, trapping you there. you reach up and grip the back of his neck, whining as he flattens his tongue against your jaw and swirls it there.

"john...i gotta go."

"why?"

"mmm..." you thumb at the hair along his scalp, shaking your head. "don't do this, john."

"not doing anythin'."

"we don't sleep over, john."

"what, is tha' some kind of rule? sounds mad."

you turn over a little, looking up at him. you cup his beard in both hands, giving him a chaste kiss.

"don't ruin it, john," you say softly. "this is supposed to be fun."

he tilts his head to the side. he looks so funny without a hat. you've seen him in a beanie, a boonie hat, a cap, you love them all on him. he looks nice like this, too, though--ass naked with his dog tags dangling against his sweaty pecs.

john's eyes twitch a little at your indifference. he settles on his side, leaning over you, and just as you move to get up, he reaches and grips at your face with a big paw of a hand. you clutch at his forearm, big and solid, and your lips pucker as he pulls you closer to him.

"y'r a bad liar, love," he mutters, shaking his head. "fear doesn't suit you."

"i'm not fucking scared."

"who was it?"

you glare up at him, struggling a bit under him. it's a stupid thing to think that you could get away from him. john is not moveable. he's a big fucking tree trunk of a man, with roots that burrow, and you are truly naïve if you think he'll let you up without an answer.

"shut the fuck up, john," you spit at him, but all he does is raise a brow. he's immune to your bite. he's not phased by your sour attempt at insulting him. in fact, it's what drew him to your bed in the first place--certified brat-tamer, captain john price. "you think you're so fucking smart. think you know everything, just because you've got a few years on me, well let me tell you, john--not everything is a fucking lesson learned. you're a military muppet with a decent cock, and that's all you'll ever be to me."

"tha' right?"

"you'll never put me first. you've got one woman, and that's the job, and that's fucking fine, john, but don't make this something it's not. you're lonely, and old, and your failed relationships don't make you wiser, they make you delusional for thinking that doing this again could ever--"

your breath falters when he kisses you. he squeezes your jaw a little harder, forcing your mouth to open, and you moan, squeezing your thighs together when he licks into your mouth and holds you there for him to play with.

"i do have other obligations. my men, the job..." he brushes the hair out of your eyes, and he presses his forehead to yours when he sees the tremble of your bottom lip and the wet look in your eyes. "but i don't do casual, sweetheart. it's all or nothing f'me."

your hand grips his wrist, squeezing tight, and you blink up at him. he's so close. he's right here. blue eyes, greying beard, a sad expression. he's not afraid of dying alone, but he is afraid of wasting time.

"please don't do this to me, john." your voice cracks, and he shrugs. he's sorry, but he's not sorry enough. not enough to let you go--and you're not strong enough to tell him no. it has to be him, but it won't be.

"it's alright," john whispers, but he knows it won't be. he's known you not but a few weeks, but he's made up his mind. he doesn't understand casual. even from the moment he saw you in that bar, it wasn't fleeting, it was definitive. it would be his. you would be his.

even if you were actually someone else's. even if you were bound to someone else. even if you weren't alone, it was already decided.

john's teeth are stuck here, right here, in the hollow of your throat. his fingers are twisted between the chords of your heart and in the spaces between your ribs. if he lets go, he'll break you apart.

so he's never going to let go.

[madamechrissy]

Your best friend's dad Toji headcanons

Pairings: Toji Fushiguro x fem reader

Content warnings- ABSOLUTELY NO MINORS interacting with this, heavy NSFW! Big age gap (Toji late 30s, reader is 21) some manipulation (both of em lol) masturbation (toji) and oral sex (both recieving) obsessed Toji, the oneshot will be much more in detail lol. If you don't like Toji being called 'daddy' don't read lmao, taboo ass themes.

Gonna be a full oneshot, comment to get tagged when it drops!

Your best friend's dad Toji who used to be so affectionate, but the past couple years he's been... closed off, indifferent to you? He had Megumi so young, it was more like he played a big brother role, really, you used to talk to him about anything. But lately he just grumbles a hello and pats your head, much to your dismay.

Your best friend's dad Toji is so hot you've had this crush on him forever, but of course you try to hide it, and eventually you have it under wraps- when you're about nineteen or twenty you start catching his looks, the ones he doesn't think you see, and you may or may not wear next to nothing when you stay the night, just to sleepily smile at him in the morning, watching dark green eyes dilate.

Your best friend's dad Toji can't stop thinking of all the ways he'd treat you so good, when he listens to you crying about a break up, thinking these pathetic dudes probably couldn't even get you off, in fact he's sure that they haven't. You don't look well fucked, like you should, with your shy little smile and the way your tits just sway in those tank tops with no bras, driving him insane to no end, so that now he just avoids you.

Your best friend's dad Toji has lost how many times he's stroked his cock to the thought of you, especially when you sleep on the couch, you spend all kinds of time here instead of your dorm with your roommate who apparently always has guys over. More peaceful for you here, and instead of tucking you in he openly stares at your parted lips, at how your tank top twisted and your tit is almost out. He'd throw a blanket over you and head to his bed, stroking himself and trying to stifle the moans, picturing how he'd make you cum over and over again.

Your best friend's dad Toji has girls over at times, and you can't help but feel upset when you see them, which is so stupid, but here it is, these feelings that arise, knowing they're going on dates with him, wondering if he'll see you any other way. One day after a particular date he comes in the dark kitchen, startled to see you sitting in one of the seats, sipping on a beer. 'The fuck, doll do you ever go home? And are you old enough to drink this shit?' you uncross your legs, and damned if your shorts aren't loose enough that he sees a hint of your pussy. 'I'm more than old enough, you know, I'm Gumi's age' Toji scoffs, cracking open a beer and leaning against the counter 'yeah, a fuckin kiddo still'

Your best friend's dad Toji pauses with his lips almost to the bottle when you step closer, fingers trailing up his dress shirt, his dark hair falling over his brow as you tilt your head, looking at him for the first time how you've wanted to. You've lost count how many times you have played with your pussy, how many times under boys you pictured Toji instead. 'Did you get off, Mr. Fushiguro?' Toji sputters now, how you make a man like him speechless is diabolical. 'the fuck you say, doll?' Toji manages, and you smile as your hand trails lower. 'You've helped me so much, I could help you cum if you want' he scoffs, gripping your wrist then 'don't fuckin' tease me, won't end well for you'

Your best friend's dad Toji shows you just how well it ends, when you're on your knees in the kitchen, and he's shoving his cock deep in your eager mouth, fucking your throat so good tears prick your eyes. 'F-fuck... s-so good I.... shit...' he's stuttering, as you take his cock down your throat, your nails gripping at his thighs, looking up at him then. 'Gonna cum if you- stop, shit you-' you keep sucking his veiny length, throbbing and twitching as he yanks on your hair, pulling you off before he busts, just in time for the door to click, and you both seperate before a sleepy Megumi finds you.

Your best friend's dad Toji doesn't come to you like you'd expect, no he avoids the shit out of you even more, and soon you're imagining this was all some odd dream. He doesn't even acknowledge it, so you go back to dating your ex, and try not to come over anymore, Toji misses you, fuck he does, but he's trying to not engage with whatever demon mouth his kids bestie posesses. Toji even sees you out while he's on a date, his jaw locking when you're at the other table, young and seemingly in puppy love, your eyes lock when you see him, and Toji's date is fading into the background just a bit. When you get up to go to the bathroom, Toji excuses himself, just to come behind you and press you against the counter, barring you with his strong arms, as you murmur- 'Mr. Fushiguro..."

Your best friend's dad Toji mutters 'so did you get off on your lil date, doll? with the kid?' you hear it, the tenseness, the jealousy, as his huge, strong hands slip up your little black dress, and you whine out just a bit, before glaring. 'What if he did? what if he gets me off so good, Mr. Fushiguro- ah!' Toji's done with you then, he's got you turned so you see your own blush and glittering eyes in the mirror, slipping his hand down between your thighs and rolling rough fingertips on your clit, towering over you, taking over your senses in this bathroom. 'Bet he ain't got shit on me' he murmurs, before rolling your clit in circles and hearing you hiccup, whimper, head falling back as his other hand grips a breath 'tired of ya fucking teasing me' he then leaves you there, gasping and needy, sucking on his fingers and moaning about your taste.

Your best friend's dad Toji does not like it when you bring your boyfriend over, even if it is Megumi's other friend, not when you're sitting on his lap and kissing him while the three of you game, all giggling. He scowls right at you, only for you to give him a knowing little smile, one he thinks about fucking right off you, until you're just open mouthed and drooling. He's jerking his dick right off in the bathroom while the three of you spend time, endlessly thinking of positions he'd put his kid's best friend in, bend you over, drink your pretty pussy up, make you call him daddy. As his cum squirts out of his reddened, drooly tip, he exhales, trying to pull himself together, surely two can play at your stupid little game.

Your best friend's dad Toji starts to go to every one of Megumi's games now, he used to catch a few, but he loves to go every time because he knows you cheer for the team. You kiss your little boyfriend's cheek and bounce around in your cheerleading skirt, all while you see him with a new girl in the stand all the time, acting so unbothered by you. When you're asking Megumi about it, he shrugs muttering 'they don't come home after the games, maybe he's trying to look hot to the PTA moms? he's weird' huh you think to yourself, seeing his glint in narrowed eyes, which only makes you want him more, the shithead that he is.

Your best friend's dad Toji watches as you 'drop something' just to bend over in your cheer skirt, with nothing under it like it should be, making him lose his mind when you smile brightly at him, talking about a party all of you are going to after. Toji can't stand it when he's at home, waiting, imagining everything you're doing, fucking dying to have you, he jerks off so much it starts to hurt, and it's all your fault, which you would delight in knowing truly. When you come back over in the damn cheer outfit the next day, and Megumi isn't home yet, you sigh. 'Oh, then I'll come back later-' Toji stops you then, locking the door with a click. 'Oh you'll cum alright'

Your best friend's dad Toji has you up on his kitchen counter, thighs spread, pulling your panties up so that your wet spot darkens them, and he sees the plump lips of your pussy. 'real slutty, where's your shorts huh?' you smile at him, then gasp as he grips your chin, and your head falls back against the wall. 'I want you to see' you finally admit, and he glares at you. 'and why the fuck you torturing me!?' you gasp at him. 'it's you who torture me!' 'nah, doll, you know what you're doing, and I'm tired of it, gonna shut you the fuck up' Toji yanks your panties off as you gasp. 'gonna make you forget any dumb college boy has ever touched you' he says, before he sinks two thick digits, moaning as he watches your pretty face get fucked out.

Your best friend's dad Toji laps at your little clit, as your hands entwine in his inky hair, and he feels like it's so wrong, you're like at least sixteen years younger, your his kids best friend. Shit you practically lived here, but once he gets a taste of your slick pussy, he's done for. He's got you cumming all over his fingers in minutes, and you're drunk off it, as he keeps licking, scar brushing your inner lips as you pull him closer. "Mr. Fushiguro..." You're whining out, and he smirks, pulling back and spitting right on your pussy, watching it drip from your twitchy clit to your soppy little hole. 'don't call me that right now, not when you're about to cum all over my face again, huh?' you eagerly obey, earning his chuckle 'guess this is how I get you to listen'

Your best friend's dad Toji slurps up more of your cum, obscene in the little kitchen, and you're fucking his face, his fingers, all while his cock his throbbing in his sweats, and you're whispering 'Toji!' he slaps your pussy then, loud in the room, with wet sticky fingers, you scream out at it, cunt throbbing around nothing, ready to be filled by him. 'Please, please...' he chuckles again- 'please what, doll?' you're shattering as he scissors his fingers in and out of your soppy hole 'please fuck mee, please!' he moans against your cunt, rubbing himself where the precum has leaked out past his boxers and even to his sweats, nipping at your clit as you cum again. 'want me to actually fuck you, huh? show you how a man does it?' 'please Toji...'

Your best friend's dad Toji carries you to his bed, the place he so frequently pumps his cock to the thought of you, eyeing your already fucked out face, smirking down at you as he spreads your thighs. 'then need to ask me properly, huh doll?' you blink in confusion, as he leans over you, cock still under his clothes, gripping your wrists as you wriggle, aching for him. 'I said please though!' he presses a kiss to your lips, and you taste yourself on him, moaning into his mouth. 'say please 'daddy''

Comment if you wanna get tagged in this freaky shit lol

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[promptedwordsmith]

Could you do something NSFW for the lads boys for how they would approach a first time being intimate with the reader because she's nervous? Sensual reassurance is my bread and butter

I’m actually Ace so I'm not very good with NSFW stuff I'm so sorry! I did the best I could so I hope this is OK

Caleb

The glow of the TV flickered against the dimly lit living room, casting soft shadows across the walls. You sat cross-legged on the couch, fingers wrapped around the controller as your character sprinted across the screen. The game was absorbing, your focus sharp—until you felt a familiar presence settle beside you.

Caleb.

He had been quiet for a while, watching you play from a distance, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorway. But now, he finally moved closer, sinking onto the couch with a sigh.

"You always this serious when you play?" His voice was warm with amusement, and when you glanced over, you caught the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

You scoffed, eyes flicking back to the screen. "Only when I’m winning."

"That why you're frowning so hard?"

You nudged him with your elbow, but he caught your wrist before you could pull away, his touch light but lingering. You tensed—just barely—and he must have noticed because he let go just as easily, masking it with a small chuckle.

A moment passed. The game continued, the background noise filling the silence between you. But then, Caleb shifted, resting an arm along the back of the couch, fingers just barely brushing your shoulder.

"Hey." His voice was softer now, not teasing—something careful beneath it.

You didn’t look at him.

"Hmm?"

There was a long pause before he spoke again. "You ever think about… us?"

Your hands froze on the controller. Your character stood still on-screen, completely open for attack, but you didn’t care. The only thing you could focus on was the weight of his words, the way they lingered in the air, unspoken meanings woven between them.

Slowly, hesitantly, you turned to look at him.

He was already watching you.

Caleb, for all his usual confidence, looked… uncertain. His expression was unreadable, his fingers tapping idly against his knee like he was working through something in his head.

You swallowed. "I think about us all the time."

His gaze flickered, something unreadable passing through his violet eyes. "I mean…" He exhaled, looking down briefly before meeting your eyes again. "Have you ever thought about—" He gestured vaguely between you both. "More?"

Your heart skipped.

Your throat went dry.

The game was still running, but it might as well not have been.

You weren’t naïve—you knew what he meant. And the fact that he was bringing it up like this, carefully, giving you an out if you wanted it, made something tighten in your chest.

You hesitated.

Not because you didn’t want it—because you did. God, you did. But there was something terrifying about the idea of that kind of closeness. You had spent so much of your life building walls, keeping people at arm’s length, making sure no one ever got close enough to hurt you.

And yet…

Here he was. Caleb. The one person you had ever let in. The one person who had waited.

You inhaled slowly. "I… don’t know."

His fingers twitched against his knee, but he nodded. He didn’t push, didn’t press—just let the words settle between you.

"That’s okay," he said, like he meant it.

Silence stretched, heavy and full of unsaid things.

You weren’t sure why you said it, or what made you finally brave enough, but before you could stop yourself, you spoke.

"I think I want to."

Caleb stilled.

It was subtle—the way his breath caught, the way his shoulders went rigid for half a second before he relaxed. But his eyes, always so unreadable, softened in a way you had never seen before.

"Yeah?" His voice was quiet.

You nodded. "Yeah."

Another pause. And then, instead of reaching for you, instead of pushing any further, he just… smiled.

"Okay."

And that was it.

No pressure. No expectations. Just an understanding.

And as you turned back to your game, trying to ignore the way your pulse hammered in your ears, you felt Caleb shift a little closer, his arm grazing yours, his presence warm and steady beside you.

Rafayel

The rhythmic sound of the brush against canvas filled the quiet room, blending with the distant hum of the city outside. You sat cross-legged on the floor, knees tucked to your chest, watching Rafayel as he painted. His entire world had narrowed down to the strokes of color spreading beneath his fingers, his golden eyes half-lidded in deep concentration.

You had always loved watching him paint. There was something intimate about it—the way his hands, so capable of destruction with his Evol, moved with infinite tenderness over the canvas. He painted as if each stroke mattered, as if every detail was a secret he was trying to put into form.

Tonight, though, something felt different.

The air between you held a strange weight. Rafayel wasn’t just painting—he was thinking. The slow, careful drag of his brush, the slight furrow in his brow, the way his lips parted as if he wanted to say something but held it back.

His strokes slowed further, his fingers hesitating before dipping the brush into a deep shade of red.

Then, without looking away from his work, he finally spoke.

"You always watch me so closely," Rafayel murmured, his voice quiet but sure. "It makes me wonder..."

You blinked. "Wonder what?"

His hand stilled. He set the brush down, rolling his shoulders back slightly before finally turning to look at you. His gaze was searching, as if studying you for something he wasn’t sure how to name.

"If you'd let me do the same," he said softly.

Your breath caught in your throat.

He wasn’t talking about painting.

The way his golden eyes lingered on you, the slight tension in his fingers as if resisting the urge to reach out—it was all so clear. Rafayel had always been affectionate in his own way, teasing touches, arms draped over your shoulders, lazy, warm hugs when he was feeling indulgent. But he had never pressed for more. Never asked.

Now, he was asking.

Your heartbeat thundered in your ears.

Rafayel stood, slow and deliberate, and crossed the space between you. He crouched in front of you, close enough that you could see the fine flecks of color staining his fingers, the way his breath stirred the air between you. He reached out, hesitant, his fingertips barely ghosting along the side of your face, testing.

You swallowed hard, gripping the hem of your shirt between your fingers. The warmth of his touch was barely there, but it sent something unsteady through you. A tremor, a shift.

"I—" you started, unsure of what you wanted to say. Unsure of what you were allowed to say.

Rafayel didn’t push. He never did. He let the moment settle, let the space between you feel safe instead of overwhelming. His fingers traced lightly over your cheek, his thumb stopping just shy of your lips.

"You can say no," he murmured. "I just..." He exhaled through his nose, something almost frustrated in the way his brows pulled together. "I just wanted you to know that I—" He stopped himself, lips pressing into a thin line before he shook his head. "Never mind."

You felt the space he tried to put between you. Felt him withdrawing, giving you an easy way out.

You didn’t want him to.

You reached up, hesitant, and covered his hand with your own before he could pull away completely. His fingers tensed under yours, surprised, before slowly relaxing.

You still weren’t sure what to say.

But you didn’t have to.

"Okay," you whispered, barely louder than a breath.

His fingers twitched under your touch. His eyes flickered with something deep and unreadable, something almost fragile before his lips curved into the faintest smile.

"Okay," he echoed, voice low, reverent.

And then, he leaned in

Sylus

The dim glow of the fireplace flickered across the spines of Sylus’ vast collection of books, casting long shadows as you ran your fingers along the leather-bound covers. His study was quiet, save for the distant hum of the city outside and the occasional crackle from the fire.

You had been in here dozens of times before, but tonight, something about the library called to you. Maybe it was the stillness of the night or the way the scent of old pages and Sylus’ cologne mixed in the air—musk, edelweiss, and something slightly metallic. Something undeniably him.

You tilted your head, squinting at a particular volume with a worn crimson spine. It looked important, but before you could reach for it—

"Curious thing, aren’t you?"

His voice was quiet, laced with amusement.

You jumped slightly, turning just in time to see Sylus leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, head tilted. His red eyes gleamed in the low light, watching you with something unreadable—something deep.

You huffed, crossing your arms. "You keep so many books locked away in here, yet I never see you actually read them. So, I figured I’d do some investigating."

Sylus stepped forward, slow and deliberate, the weight of his presence filling the space between you in an instant. You were suddenly very aware of how close you were to the shelves—trapped between aged paper and the man who had a habit of pulling you into his orbit.

He reached past you, plucking the crimson book from the shelf with ease. "I do read them," he murmured, flipping through the pages absentmindedly. "Some hold knowledge worth revisiting… others are simply reminders of things I cannot forget."

Your eyes flickered up to his face, studying the way his expression softened, if only slightly. There was something intimate about seeing him like this, surrounded by things that mattered to him.

"...And which category does this one fall into?" you asked, nudging his arm playfully.

He closed the book with a quiet thump, his gaze drifting to yours. The amusement in his expression lingered, but there was something else beneath it now—something heavier.

"It reminds me of patience," he said slowly, slipping it back onto the shelf. "And restraint."

You swallowed, your breath hitching slightly as his fingers trailed along the spines beside it, his knuckles brushing lightly against your arm in the process.

He wasn’t touching you, not really, but the weight of his presence sent a shiver down your spine.

"I have been patient, haven’t I?" he mused, tilting his head. "I’ve given you time. Space. Waited for you to come to me when you were ready."

Your pulse quickened.

There it was. The thing that had lingered in the air between you both for weeks—unspoken, but always felt.

Sylus had never been the type to push, never the type to demand. He was calculating, careful. A man who could take what he wanted but chose to wait instead. And yet, tonight, here in the quiet of his study, with the scent of old books and firelight wrapping around you both like a secret—he was asking.

Not demanding. Not expecting. Just… asking.

You inhaled slowly, trying to steady yourself. "You have," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

He studied you for a long moment, red eyes deep and endless, as if searching for something in your expression.

"And?" he prompted gently.

You hesitated. Not out of fear—no, you knew Sylus would never let harm come to you. But this was new.

The way he was looking at you. The way his voice dipped just enough to make your stomach twist. The way he was leaving the decision entirely in your hands.

You had spent so long resisting, so long pretending you didn’t notice the way he lingered, the way his fingers sometimes brushed against yours when he thought you wouldn’t catch it.

But you did.

And you wanted.

"...And I think I’m done making you wait," you murmured, voice softer now.

Sylus exhaled sharply—not out of frustration, but relief. His lips curved slightly, not quite a smirk, but something just as dangerous.

Then, as if sensing you were on the verge of bolting, he lifted a hand, slow and deliberate, letting his knuckles ghost over the side of your jaw.

"Are you sure, kitten?" he murmured.

Your breath hitched, heart hammering against your ribs.

But despite the nervous flutter in your stomach, despite the way your fingers curled slightly against the fabric of your sleeve—

You nodded.

Sylus let out a quiet chuckle, the sound low and pleased. He lifted your hand slowly, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, his lips lingering just long enough to make your skin tingle.

"Good," he murmured, a glint in his eye.

Xavier

The gentle rustle of paper filled the quiet space, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the spine of your book as you leaned against the arm of the couch. The apartment was dimly lit, warm from the soft glow of the lamps Xavier had turned on earlier. He had been quiet for a while now, stretched out beside you, one arm resting on the back of the couch as he absentmindedly toyed with a loose thread on his sleeve. You were used to his quiet presence, but something about tonight felt different—like he was trying to find the right words.

You didn’t notice him shift closer at first, not until the couch dipped slightly beneath his weight. His fingers brushed the edge of your book, just enough to catch your attention.

“You’ve been reading that for a while,” Xavier murmured, his voice soft, almost hesitant.

You hummed, turning the page. “It’s a good book.”

His lips quirked slightly, though there was something pensive in his expression as he exhaled through his nose. “You always say that.”

You turned to look at him then, noting the way his silver hair fell into his eyes, the slight crease between his brows. There was something on his mind, and now that he had your attention, he didn’t seem sure how to begin.

“…Is something wrong?” you asked, closing the book but keeping your finger between the pages.

Xavier was quiet for a moment, his gaze flickering to the book in your lap before settling on you. His hands, always so steady, fidgeted with the hem of his sweater.

“I’ve just been thinking,” he admitted finally, his voice even softer now. “About us.”

Your stomach fluttered, warmth creeping into your cheeks as you nodded for him to continue.

He hesitated, then reached for your hand, threading his fingers through yours. His grip was warm, familiar, but there was a different kind of intent behind it this time.

“I don’t want to rush anything,” he said, thumb brushing over your knuckles, “but I—” He paused, took a breath, and tried again. “I want to be closer to you.”

The meaning behind his words settled in your chest, sending a shiver down your spine. You knew what he meant, and you could see from the way he held your hand so carefully—like he was afraid to push too far—that this was difficult for him to bring up.

You swallowed, heart pounding. “You mean…?”

Xavier nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “Only when you’re ready. If you’re ready.”

He gave you space to respond, his grip just loose enough that you could pull away if you wanted to. But you didn’t. Instead, you squeezed his hand and looked down, lips parting as you tried to steady your breathing.

You weren’t scared, but the idea of being that vulnerable with someone—even someone like Xavier—was new. Unfamiliar. He seemed to sense your hesitation, because he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your fingers.

“There’s no rush,” he murmured against your skin. “I just…wanted you to know.”

Your heart softened at his words. He had never been the type to demand anything of you. He was patient, always waiting for you to meet him halfway, never asking for more than you were willing to give.

You took a deep breath, then finally met his eyes again, offering him a small but genuine smile. “I think…I’d like that.”

Xavier blinked, momentarily caught off guard, before his expression melted into something tender, something relieved. His other hand lifted to cup your cheek, thumb brushing against your skin with infinite care.

“You sure?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, leaning into his touch. “I’m sure.”

And with that, Xavier smiled, his forehead pressing against yours as he let out a slow breath. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest, holding you like you were the most important thing in the world.

And maybe to him, you were.

Zayne

living room was finally in order. You exhaled softly, surveying your work—the pillows fluffed, the coffee table wiped down, and even Zayne’s usually pristine bookshelves had been dusted without disturbing their meticulous arrangement. The faint scent of cleaning products lingered in the air, blending with the subtle notes of his usual amber cologne.

You stretched your arms above your head, satisfied, just as you heard quiet footsteps approaching from behind.

Zayne’s voice was smooth, edged with something unreadable. “I didn’t ask you to do all this.”

You turned to face him, catching the way his gaze flickered over the room before settling on you. He wasn’t scolding you—if anything, he looked almost… thoughtful.

“I know,” you said, brushing a stray hair from your face. “But you’ve been busy, and I had the time.”

Zayne hummed, stepping further inside. He was still dressed from work, though he had shed his usual long coat. The top button of his shirt was undone, and he carried himself with that same composed presence, yet there was something softer in the way he looked at you now.

“I appreciate it,” he admitted, glancing at the freshly organized space. His eyes returned to you, and there was a pause, as if he were debating something.

Then, in a quieter tone, he added, “You take care of things even when no one asks you to.”

You shrugged. “I just like helping.”

Zayne was quiet for a moment before he moved, his steps slow, deliberate. He stopped just close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, his voice measured. “About us.”

You swallowed, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. “Oh?”

His gaze searched yours. “I don’t want to rush anything.” A pause. “But I don’t want to ignore it either.”

Your fingers curled slightly against your palm. There was a weight to his words, but not an uncomfortable one. Just… careful.

“Zayne…” You hesitated, feeling the air between you grow heavier—not with tension, but with something else. Something patient.

He lifted a hand slightly, not quite touching you but close enough that the intent was clear. “I just need to know if… when the time comes, you’ll tell me what you want.”

Your heart beat a little faster. He wasn’t pushing, wasn’t demanding. Just waiting. Always waiting, as if making sure he wasn’t stepping over a line you hadn’t even drawn yet.

Your voice was softer when you answered.

“I will.”

A flicker of relief crossed his face. His hand finally closed the space, brushing lightly over yours. The touch was barely there, but it still sent a quiet warmth through you.

“And… if I said I was ready?” you asked, heartbeat loud in your ears.

Zayne held your gaze, his fingers resting just against yours, grounding.

“Then I’d ask you to stay.”

You exhaled, the weight in your chest shifting into something lighter, something certain.

“…Then I’ll stay.”

Zayne’s lips curved ever so slightly—a rare, quiet smile. His thumb brushed over your knuckles before he gave a small nod, as if sealing the unspoken promise between you.

And though the night had yet to unfold, in that moment, something had already begun.

[yoyomomiko]

Hiiii, I love your writing sm! <33

Could you write monster trio hcs with an s/o who is completely oblivious to their flirting?

Obvs u don't have to write this if u don't wanna! :]

pairings: monster trio x female reader

cw: luffy doesn't really flirt (I don't know how luffy would be flirting I'm sorry), not proofread , probably contains grammar mistakes, english isn't my first language!!

— (a/n): okay so like... I kind of got carried away and didn't really stay with the request and I just realized it now that i'm done writing :(( it just doesn't feel right, I mean, they're not really flirting... it's more like, indirect flirting, you know?? i'm veryyy sorry!!! :(( -> m.list

— LUFFY

Luffy doesn't even understand the concept of flirting, he simply doesn't know how to flirt. He just does things that feel right, like holding your hand all the time or hugging you randomly.

He CONSTANTLY invades your personal space, leaning in way too close when he talks, but you just assume he's always like that (which, in a way, is true).

Luffy will offer you food, which is a huge deal, but you just think he's being generous and thank him without reading into it.

He calls you "his favourite person" or "his girl", but you just assume it's meant to be platonically.

He'll grab your hand and swing it while walking, and when you ask why he simply shrugs. "Dunno, feels right!"

If another guy talks to you, Luffy pouts and clings to you, but you just think he's being his usual affectionate self.

If you ever find yourself in danger, Luffy's protective instincts go overdrive. However, he doesn't exactly know how to express it in a way that makes sense.

He gives you his hat when it's sunny, grinning at you joyfully, like it's a big deal. And then you're just like "Aw, thanks!" And you don't understand why he looks so disappointed (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

Luffy likes sitting next to you during meals, pressing his leg against yours. But you just pull away since you think he just needs more room.

He LITERALLY tells you "I like you a lot!" And you're just like "I like you too!" And ruffle his hair.

He tells you that he'll protect you forever, with the most serious expression ever, and you'll just assume he's being a good captain.

Whenever you hug him, he picks you up and spins you around, grinning like an idiot.

He trusts you with his hat. Like, he trusts you. He lets you wear it all the time, because he knows you'll take care of it. Heck, he's the one placing it on your head! You don't really think much of it, though.

Eventually, Luffy gets frustrated and just blurts out "I wanna be your boyfriend!" And waits for you to finally get it.

———☆

Luffy had been looking for you all morning, walking around the ship, asking everyone where you were. When he finally spotted you on the deck, sitting with Usopp, he rushed over excitedly. He felt his chest tighten whenever he saw you talking with anybody else, but he always brushed it off.

"[Y/N]! I need you!" Luffy grinned, grabbing your hand and pulling you away from Usopp's conversation.

"What's wrong?" You asked, chuckling a bit at his sudden enthusiasm.

"I just wanted to talk to you! You always hang out with everyone else, but you never hang out with me!" Luffy pouted, pulling you along toward the bow of the ship. He threw himself down on the ground dramatically, patting the spot next to him. "Come, sit with me!"

You raised an eyebrow, a bit amused as you leaned over him. "Are you really this clingy all the time?" You teased, a smile tugging at your lips.

"Yeah!" Luffy exclaimed with a wide grin, nudging you to sit next to him. As soon as you sat down, he immediately leaned against you, resting his head on your shoulder. "I just like being close to you. You're my favorite person!"

You smiled and ruffled his hair, thinking he was being his usual goofy self. "You're my favourite person too." You replied, smile widening a bit. "You're a great captain."

He grinned, but then he got serious, standing up straight, staring at you. "No, no, I mean... I like you! I really like you!" He repeated, a little louder this time, a faint pink decorating his cheeks.

You blinked at him, not quite processing it. "Aw, that's sweet! I really like you too."

Luffy just whined, burying his face in his hands as he quietly mumbled something under his breath. You just laughed, patting him on the back as he continued whining. "I think you need a nap, Luffy!"

— ZORO

Zoro isn't the best with words, so his flirting is more about physical gestures, like carrying your things and such.

He always makes sure to sit next to you, no matter where you are, but you just assume it's a coincidence.

He trains shirtless around you more than necessary, subtly flexing, but you never seem to notice.

Speaking of training, he helps you train, standing behind you to correct your form, giving you advice.

I already said he's not the best with words, but he has a tendency to compliment you, although not directly. He might praise your abilities in a fight. You don't really think twice about it, but to Zoro, it's his own form of adoration for you.

He always glares at Sanji when he's flirting with you, but you just think they're bickering as usual.

If another man shows interest in you, Zoro's natural reaction is to stare them down with a glare. You'll never notice his intense gaze, because you think that he's just annoyed by something unrelated.

If you ask for help reaching something, he doesn't just simply hand it to you. He lifts you up effortlessly, just as an excuse to feel you in his arms.

If you're tired, he'll literally carry you to the girl's room. You just think he's being a good friend, as if he does it for everyone else (he doesn't).

He loves it when you nap near him during his training, he just likes your presence. You always think it's just because he's comfortable around you.

If you get hurt, he's the first to scold you. "Be more careful." He's the one patching you up, not letting Chopper get near you (unless it's a serious injury).

Zoro's way of showing affection is through silent protection. You'll never notice that he's doing it for you specifically, and he won't say anything to make it obvious.

He also kind of teases you playfully, as a form of affection. He'll make fun of you when you do something silly, but he's never too mean about it.

He gets SUPER protective in battle, always watching your back. He can't bring himself to look at you badly wounded.

Literally EVERYONE notices how protective he is of you, but somehow you never do. Even strangers think so.

Like I've said before, he finds excuses to touch you. For example, gently guiding you through crowds by the small of your back.

He also somehow always catches you when you trip. Right before you hit the ground, he's there, arms wrapped around you and helping you stand back on your feet.

Eventually, he just grabs your face one day and says something like "Damn it, I like you. Get it now?"

———☆

You were standing near the railing, gazing out at the ocean, watching the sunset, completely lost in your thoughts. That was, until you heard heavy footsteps approaching behind you.

"You've been standing there forever. You lost or something?" Zoro's voice came from beside you, his usual gruff voice a little softer.

You glanced at him as a smile tugged at your lips. "Nah, just thinking. The ocean looks really pretty right now."

Zoro leaned against the railing next to you, arms crossed over his chest. He wasn't exactly great at this whole flirting thing, but if Sanji could do it, how hard could it be? He decided to go for something subtle. Something cool.

"Yeah, well..." He muttered, his gaze lingering on you a second too long. "It's not the only thing that looks pretty around here."

You turned to him, blinking in confusion. "Oh yeah! The ship looks great in this lighting too." You smiled as you took a look around, completely missing the way Zoro's expression dropped.

He sighed, shaking his head slightly before he tried again. "That's... Not what I meant."

You furrowed your brows in confusion. "Oh, you meant the sunset, huh? Yeah. It's really nice."

Zoro stared at you for a long moment, his lips parting slightly, trying to process how this was going so terribly wrong. He tried again, this time leaning just a little closer, lowering his voice. "I was talking about you, idiot."

You blinked at him, slightly tilting your head to the side. "Me?"

Zoro nodded, waiting, praying for the realization to hit you already.

"Ohhh." You finally broke the silence, and for a moment, his heart skipped a beat.

"That's really sweet, Zoro! You think I look nice too?" You chuckled, as if he had just complimented your outfit instead of attempting to flirt with you.

Zoro groaned, running a hand down his face. "Yeah, sure, that's what I meant..." He mumbled, admitting defeat.

You gave him a friendly pat on the back. "You're getting a lot nicer, you know that? I think hanging around me is softening you up."

He let out a quiet scoff, turning his gaze back to the sea. "Or maybe I'm just like that with you."

"Huh?"

"Nothing."

— SANJI

Sanji is the king of exaggerated compliments. Every time he looks at you, it's as if he's seeing the most beautiful person in the world. "My darling, the moon is jealous of your beauty tonight." is a pretty common line from him, but you just think it's his usual behavior.

He constantly tries to impress you with his cooking. He'll make your favourite dish and serve it with grace, and when you compliment the food, he blushes as if you're complimenting him. You thank him every time, but in your mind, it's just good manners.

He will find any excuse to help you with something, even if it's small, like picking up something you dropped. And the moment you thank him for it he's like "Anything for you my lovely lady!" You just smile and move on because he does that with pretty much every woman.

Sanji's always the first one to offer you his jacket when it gets cold. Sometimes, when he gets brave, he wraps it around your shoulders and makes sure to linger closer to you for just a little longer.

He has a soft spot for you when you're sad, and he'll stop whatever he's doing to comfort you. He'll hold your hand, stroke your hair and whisper sweet nothings. You just assume it's because he's a gentleman, not because he's crushing on you hard.

Sanji can be pretty possessive, especially when another guy is even slightly flirting with you. You'll catch him glaring, and if anyone so much as dares to brush against your arm, he'll throw a fit. That person might get a foot to the face, but who knows!!

Whenever you compliment his cooking or his fighting skills, he gets way more flustered than with anyone else. His eyes will turn into hearts, and he'll literally swoon.

Sanji often stares at you with wide starry eyes but when you catch him, he'll just say something like "Oh, nothing! Just admiring my beautiful angel." You think he's being his usual self or just lost in thought.

He makes a huge deal out of holding the door for you, pulling your chair at dinner and guiding you with his arm. But you think it's just because he's being polite. He tries to take your hand as he walks you around, but you just think he's offering help, never suspecting that he's being a little more than just polite.

After all his dramatic declarations of love, he finally cracks. One evening, while you're standing by the railing, he walks up to you and throws himself down at your feet. "I cannot live without you! You're my everything, and I need you to understand that!"

———☆

Sanji had been watching you all day. When you first arrived and joined the crew, he had already been swooning, but now, after spending this much time with you, he was completely smitten. He had made your favourite dessert just for you, and now he was patiently waiting for you to notice.

You peacefully sat on the deck, reading a book, when Sanji rushed over, holding a plate of freshly made pastries. "Ah, my darling! I've made these just for you!" He smiled, leaning down with a hand on his chest in a dramatic bow. "Only the finest for my beautiful lady."

You looked up from your book, a little surprised. "Oh, Sanji! Thank you so much! You really didn't have to, but I appreciate it!"

Sanji's heart skipped a bit as you reached for one of the pastries, giving him a sweet smile. "Anything for you, my love." He muttered, but his voice came out softer, almost like a whisper. He was looking at you like you were the only person in the world. He pressed a hand to his heart, praying you couldn't hear how loud it was beating.

You giggled, thinking nothing of it as you took a bite from the pastry. "This is so good! I don't think I've said this enough, but you're really talented."

He blinked, and his face turned pink, clearly flustered by the compliment. "I only make the best for you, [Y/N]." He replied, his voice shaking just slightly. He leaned in a little closer, almost as if hoping you'd get the hint. "You deserve nothing less."

You looked up, gazing at him, smiling warmly. "Thank you, Sanji. I appreciate it..."

He sighed dramatically and placed a hand to his forehead. "Oh, my sweet [Y/N], how I adore you..." His voice trailed off as he stared into the distance.

"You okay?" You tilted your head, genuinely concerned. But once again, completely oblivious to how he was really feeling.

He slumped forward onto the table, groaning in agony. "I don't think I can take it anymore..." He mumbled under his breath, barely audible. "Why can't you see how I feel?!"

★yoyomiko ★miko

[girlbeatings]

⏦ﾟ♡︎ bff!abby who you hooked up with during your experimental phase in college, giving you for sure the best orgasm of your comphet life, and yet you still fall for a douchbag guy that doesn't treat you as well as you thought he would. poor thing.

⏦ﾟ♡︎ bff!abby that helps you get ready for your wedding with said douchbag, forcing a smile and making sure you looked the part of a future lobotomised, white picket fence house wife. she felt bad for you, you had no idea what you were signing up for by accepting this ring as a sign of your 'love' and 'fidelity'. you'd probably realize way too late in life, maybe late 30s, that this is not what you wanted.

⏦ﾟ♡︎ bff!abby that feels just so sorry for you, that she holds you close and tells you how pretty you look today, the happiest day of your life. "always knew you'd make such a pretty little bride.. i mean, look at you..." her voice trails off as she tilts your chin up to guide your attention to the full length mirror. you did look pretty, the fancy white dress, perfect makeup and hair. perfect.

⏦ﾟ♡︎ bff!abby who stares at you through the reflection and gets an idea. a trip down memory lane, before you walk down the aisle.

"this fucking dress... makes you look so cute," she mumbles, her voice slightly forced as she stares at the lewd scene in the mirror. you pant and tremble, white heels dangling off your toes and the dress bunched up at your hips.

abby groans as she watches your cunt leak around two of her thick fingers, sat between her spread thighs and your back against her chest as you struggle to keep yourself together. "does he fuck you this good, baby? bet his dick isn't as big as mine, huh."

it wasn't, you know that much. abby's fingers with girthy, just two of them made you writhe and squelch, and that fucking strap she whipped out a few years ago had your sexual fantazies in a chokehold. the way you were so soaked that it just slipped in and out of your pussy without any struggle at all, the faux veins rippling against your insides and hitting all the right spots until you couldn't take it— and what did abby do then? she held you down and made you cum over and over.

your fiancé couldn't compare even if he tried, which he didn't. you were lucky if he even looked at your clit, never mind the sort of tricks abby was doing on it now.

"my pretty little girl, all dressed in white..." she murmurs, her fingers tapping firmly on your clit before rubbing in circles, watching your face scrunch up and your hips roll against her hand. "he's such a lucky man."

there's jealousy clear in her tone, because god she wants you. not just your body, she wants your fucking soul. your dna intertwined with her own. but she can't have that, because you don't like girls.

though, your face says different when her fingers stuff you full again. your head's empty at this point, so there's no lame excuse as to why you were happily letting your best friend fuck you minutes before your wedding, your soon to be husband already stood at the altar.

her fingers curl up to find that spot, smiling when your body almost lurches forward off the bed at the singeing pleasure that spikes through you. luckily, abby's arm is locked around your waist, and you stay pressed against her as she finger fucks you just how you remember— maybe even better. she clearly had more experience now. are you jealous?

"gonna fuck every vow out of that empty head." she promises, her thumb starting to abuse your clit in time with her plunging fingers, tears starting to bubble in your eyes as you writhe.

"a-abs, i'm— mmph, abby.."

"i know, wifey... pretty pussy's missed me so much, hasn't she?" she whispers, pressing a kiss to your neck as her hand continues to work perfectly between your spread legs. you know you'd think about this on your honeymoon, you'd think about her when your laid next to your husband, unhappy and yearning for her to come save you. and who knows? maybe after a few glasses of wine with your old college friend, she fucks you until you ruin that marital mattress for good.

happy valentine's day !!

⏦ﾟ♡︎ taglist !

@uhh-lana @pearlcigs @abbyspup @sunrxxyz @graciedollie @starrrcane @lilyyx0 @444fernz @tqlepatia @nvr4getme @2012wannabe @jaywritessometimes @jinxedbambi @tohoko @sapphicloverwlw @shadowmythe @fict1onallyobsessed @pornoangelz @milanyas @powderpinkandsweeet @femmecannibal @aeroti @eatencupcak3 @lils-1979 @sobersonder @dozybunny @fawncritter @nahcala @lesbones @sapphicantichrist @ethereaally @ruelezz @90yearoldbear

[hitlikehammers]

POV: when you overhear your boyfriend’s bandmates who ⛔️do not like you⛔️ talking to him—about YOU

“Be real though, Ed. Harrington? You can’t actually be serious, here.” Steve doesn’t like to eavesdrop, like, on principle. Which is to say he totally does it. He just doesn’t wholly approve of it, or think it’s a very good habit to have, while still doing it. “You got me,” Eddie sighs, longer and deeper than can be taken wholly seriously. “I’m running my longest successful con to date.”

rating: t ♥️ tags: post-s4, established relationship, corroded coffin, as in: the gang’s all here and being VERY JUDGEMENTAL of eddie’s taste in men, and maybe steve had to pick eddie up from practice today so he overhears it WHOLLY WITHOUT INTENDING TO OKAY?, no one ever REALLY want to hear what the people they love really think of them when said people don’t know who all’s actually listening, true love, declarations of feelings, it’s actually really fucking hard to stand up to your friends, happy ending♥️

for @steddielovemonth day ten: "We are all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love." —Dr. Seuss

also! Unnamed Freak is Doug for the purpose of this fic because the book can fuck itself I say so 🖤

“Be real though, Ed,” the voice that filters through, and holds Steve’s hand from pushing the car door shut loud enough to notice, is fairly reasonable, like trying to talk down a suggestion absurd enough to send someone to the ER—which means, of the subjects at hand? It’s gotta be Jeff.

“You can’t actually be serious, here.”

Steve doesn’t like to eavesdrop, like, on principle.

Which is to say he totally does it.

He just doesn’t wholly approve of it, or think it’s a very good habit to have, while still doing it.

“You got me,” Eddie deadpans, but it’s like, venom-laced. It stings just to hear and Steve’s struck with how much his life’s changed since Spring Break, and more still since…well.

Since Eddie.

Because Steve is well aware the man can cut glass with how sharp his tongue can get, they did go to high school together whether they ran in the same circles or not.

It’s just strikes Steve in the moment that not once since Vecna, has Eddie turns that tongue on him.

Now, other uses of his tongue—

“I’m running my longest successful con to date. Yep, totally pulled it over on all you bitches,” and where it could be playful, every single word is sharpened to stab, to pierce, to drag the wound out so it bleeds, like a shiv to remind someone where they fucked up, in perpetuity.

“Please applaud.”

And oh, even Steve flinches at that tone, and he’s not even the target. Hell, he’s still in the driveway—he doesn’t make a rule of crashing band practice, no matter whose parents’ garage they’re using; Eddie’s van is just regularly in the shop for one thing or another, so he’s gotta come get his man. But he doesn’t, like, push his way in. Sometimes doesn’t even get out of the driver’s seat. He knows Eddie would more than welcome him; has the handful of times he’s ventured to step in to apologize for interrupting but remind him they have to pick up the shitheads. But one: Eddie is alone in his welcome, and like, the polar opposite of the other three guys, who range from staring daggers at Steve to sneering so scrunched up to the nose that it’d give Carol Perkins at her snittiest a run for her money.

And Steve wouldn’t have made it this far if he didn’t know how to recognise where he’s not wanted, and learn how to make the calculated decision of whether to walk or push his way in. And much as he loves Eddie? Steve actually wants his friends to eventually come around from probably, like, muttering ancestral curses under their breaths at him or something.

Plus, from what Steve understands? Jam sessions are personal. Sacred. Eddie had blushes and stammered the first time he let Steve listen in on works in progress; and Steve had rewarded him for the gift of it liberally and with genuine gusto. It’s earned him repeat performances on the regular, but Steve gets it’s a private thing in general. And these guys don’t know him, don’t presently care to—don’t trust him.

He figures it’s like…masturbating in front of someone. The art thing, the depth of making music and stuff. Showing your soul a little bit, losing control for the betterment of the final product.

Now, he and Eddie definitely have masturbated together, it’s actually fantastic foreplay, or even just a deliciously sloppy go on its own. But that’s neither here nor there. And also totally fucking different.

Steve really doesn’t want Eddie masturbating in front of anyone other than him, ever again. Steve’s sure as shit not looking to on his end; definitely not with the other members of Corroded fucking Coffin.

The metaphor might have gotten away from him. But you get the picture.

“No, man,” and that’s, that’s Gareth’s voice, Steve’s almost sure. Sharper. Concerned but also caustic on the undertow. “It’s just,” he snorts, the disbelieving sort: “this can’t be real.”

Okay, yeah. Tone plus actual words add up.

“Yeah, just,” Doug laughs a little nervous, like of all of them, Eddie’s verbal attack had the most weight in tempering his response of the three of them; “blink twice if you’re being held against your will.”

They all chuckle, but it’s toned down the whole way around—even Steve can clock that. These guys are boisterous when left to their devices, Steve’s taken note of that. Mostly watching from the sidelines—almost exclusively when they don’t know he’s there to watch.

Again: does not condone eavesdropping.

Does not try at all to refrain from doing it.

“I mean, you don’t expect us to believe you’re actually fucking him,” and oh, yeah, okay: Steve was pretty sure he was the topic conversation here, and despite some of the setbacks of recent years, he’s not insecure when it comes to relationships especially.

He’s definitely the only one fucking Eddie. And Eddie’s the only one fucking him.

And while he doesn’t really hold it against these guys for being wary of him—he wasn’t really a perpetrator of their high school woes, but he definitely didn’t do anything to make them less…woeful—so he’s mostly bummed about it for Eddie’s sake, and on principle, but like, seriously.

Doubting Steve successfully scoring Eddie Munson? Like, Eddie’s a catch, Steve of ll people is well aware, but. Steve’s also been long past fishing the shallow end of the pond, y’know?

Give him some credit.

“Right,” Steve narrows back in on what’s happening in the garage that he’s definitely feeling less guilty bout, seeing as he’s definitely a subject of the debate unfolding, but Eddie sounds…angry. Pissed off in that way he gets when he’s fed the fuck up.

“I’m out,” Steve hears scraping of equipment, the guitar case flipped open; “can’t actually make it next week,” he adds like a footnote.

It’s clear within a second he’s the only one who takes it with that same…energy.

“But we have to practice before the open mic—” Jeff, ever the voice of reason, sounds baffled; on his way to ticked off but not quite there yet.

Eddie, however—as is his wont in this type of mood—could not give two shits where the people around him land on the anger-o-meter; he’s exceeded them, even if only in his own head, and they are all therefore irrelevant to his very responsible decision to put distance between himself and doing something stupid he can’t take back.

It’s not the nicest way to deal but, honestly? Steve’s mostly just proud of Eddie for sticking with a coping mechanism that, while not without consequences, generally works better than most.

“I’ll see you guys in two, then. Probably.” And the case clicks shut, definitive, and Steve’s proud of that too; that Eddie’s not digging a hole when the guys re trying to bait him, intentionally or not, over Steve.

Steve doesn’t need Eddie to complicate his band, his friendships, over what the two of them have. One, it’s not their fucking business. And two?

Steve doesn’t thing he’s being self-important in saying he and Eddie…are bigger, and more, than even the very beat high school band.

Not that Steve would ever ask Eddie to choose or some bullshit like that. And he really does believe Eddie’s going places, if that’s what he decides he wants. But…there’s that.

Then there is them.

Different, like, stratospheres.

“What the fuck came up that you can’t make it next week? When we’re staring down our first actual shot at Battle of the Bands this year,” and yeah, of course, if anyone’s gonna try to drag the whole thing out, it’s Gareth. Kid’s got a fucking temper.

“Something more important.”

Which yeah, that’s what was going through Steve’s mind, basically, but—

“The hell could be more—“

“I have plans,” Eddie hisses, viper-quick and fucking deadly, shuts them all right up for it, but then he spins a 180–preens so big Steve swears he can hear his shoulders go back and his chest puff out:

“It’s my anniversary.”

So…yeah. Just because it was where Steve’s head had just been at doesn’t mean his whole chest goes all gooey to hear it said out loud.

And in front of Eddie’s band, who…they aren’t hiding from, but they have discussed keeping kinda mum around. For the same kinds of reasons Steve’s been privy to just in the past couple minutes.

But then Eddie’s voice follows the feeling in Steve’s chest like they’re tethered there, and honestly, more times than not?

Steve thinks they just might actually be, and he’s not proven wrong with the way Eddie halfway coos:

“Our anniversary.”

“Your what?”

Jeff, again, is that middle ground: actually confused, laced with being angry that Eddie’s ducking out.

“Six months,” Eddie answers, soft-like, a little dreamy but in this way that’s rooted somehow still, and in being struck all over again by a level of shock Steve understands, sometimes feels in reverse, but still doesn’t understand being felt so deep as it sounds, now, when it’s applied to…him.

It’s wild y’know?

“I’m like,” Steve hears Eddie’s curls brush against something as he shakes his head—Steve’s money’s on him crouched by his case, or having it already slung over his shoulder:

“Never thought I’d get something to celebrate like that in the first place, but get to keep it, that long without fucking it up?”

Steve, again, wants to give up the pretense and walk the fuck in there and kiss the shit out of his boyfriend because one, same, but two?

Dumbass.

Steve goddamn adores him.

“You mean, with Harrington?” Gareth’s spitting and Steve just shakes his head, a little sad—he doesn’t know what’s crawled up that kid’s ass about him, man; he’s not so much younger that Steve never saw him or didn’t know of him but godDamn: the circles he ran in at the time weren’t the ones doing shit yet when they were in the same elementary school, Steve was barely popular in middle school, and come high school the worst anyone he knew did to the frosh was bang them into a locker—not great, but.

Not worth this shit. And the worst part is if he doesn’t know what’s crawled he did to really piss Gareth off this bad? He can’t even try to Harrington-charm his way back into the guy’s tolerable category. Like, even his best fucking not-pot brownie recipe didn’t sway the fucker.

“Yes,” Eddie is answering, the answer emphatic, like he’s brimming with feeling over it, but then clipped too, like demonstrating that he was brimming and is now being forced to clip it all backis very much the intent: “of course I mean with Steve, who the fuck else?”

It’s not lost on Steve how Eddie says his name. Ever. All the name.

But right now, how he’s making a point to say it in that warm, kinda…beloved way, when anyone else uses his last name in a way that’s anything-but.

“You cannot be—” Gareth scoffs, Steve can imagine him throwing up his hands, that sort of deal, but then Eddie comes in, and it’s a tone Steve’s only ever hear when he’s about to run a campaign into the ground where the characters may never recover, and if somehow manage it, they’ll wish they hadn’t:

“Oh, I am deadly serious.”

Because it’s not Steve’s character, but in defense of Steve’s relationship, that tone trickles something molten through his veins and prickles up his spine and…he’s gone have to stick that one in his back pocket to explore at a later date, for sure.

“Six months?”

Jeff—and Steve kinda likes Jeff, and not for the reason his bandmates would like, that he kicks around Hawkins after graduation, too, but more because Steve knows why; that’s to make more money for a college outside Indiana, and Steve thinks that’s fucking cool—but it’s here where Jeff dips fully away from being angry to being stupefied. Steve lets himself smirk at nothing because fuck yes: him and Eddie.

Six whole goddamn months.

“I was actually gonna ask you guys to come over soon, introduce him properly and stuff,” Eddie says, the disappointment in his voice again; Steve’s niggling desire to go and hug him from behind, maybe kiss under his ear a little, back in full force.

“He picks you up from practice, we see him,” Doug pipes back up, likewise confused, but Steve just takes the useful confirmation that no one did catch on that he pulled up ages ago, now.

“We know who Steve Harrington is—” Gareth snaps, protests in the way that betrays his eye-rolling, his thin-wearing patience.

“No!”

And that comes out of Eddie fierce enough to echo down at least half the block they’re on—seems like Eddie’s patience was worn out a while ago.

“You don’t!”

And everyone is silent in that way Steve knows all too well: when shit’a gone down but now you’re waiting in the edge for the worse thing to hit.

Then it does:

“And it’s a good thing I didn’t bring it up because you dipshits aren’t ready,” Eddie snaps, says dipshitso different from how he does with the Party, theirParty, their kids; he says it here with something real fucking close to disgust.

“Asking hostage questions, fuck off,” he huffs, and Steve hears Eddie’s footsteps, can’t tell if he’s gonna leave it at that, come find Steve and know he’s been standing there but that’ll be fine, it’s not like Steve wasn’t going to let him know as soon as they left—but then:

“Look,” and Eddie sounds the way Steve sounds when he’s pinching the bridge of his nose to fight a growing migraine, the sting of tears for all sorts of pain behind his eyes, and that hurts to hear from his boyfriend, like, a lot.

It fucking hurts.

“I am not just fucking him,” Eddie growls through the bridge-pinching pain; “I mean, fuck yes, I am, but,” and Steve hears the way he swallows all the way down the drive:

“I’m in this for the long haul,” Eddie tells his bandmates like throwing down a gauntlet; “and if you can’t respect me enough, and my choices, that stings,” Steve knows Eddie shrugs then: “but I’ll live.”

Steve’s about a millisecond from saying fuck it, opening the door just to slam it to announce his approach, and then going to physically grab his boyfriend, drag him to the car, and park in the abandoned lot down from the Wheelers’ neighborhood to kiss him senseless because that’s the closest place he can think of and he doesn’t think he’ll make it to either of their homes before he can’t fucking handle himself.

“But if you are gonna disrespect the man I love, no. Absolutely not.”

Eddies voice is a deadly sort of whisper. Steve would cower at it, the way it washes through a person, if he hadn’t just…said.

That.

“You love him?”

And for what Steve thinks is the first time since he climbed out of the car and committed to listening where he wasn’t invited, Gareth sounds…muted. Genuinely asking a question.

Steve, for his own part, kinda expected that he’d be more breathless, heart racing and shit, to hear the answer but in reality?

“Of course I love him.”

Steve already knew that in his cells, in his bones.

In his steady, not all-that-fast but particularly-especially-happily beating heart.

“Have you guys, like, said it and stuff?”

And of course Steve already knows that answer, both the literal one and the one that matters more, but he does perk up a bit, curious to hear what—if anything of note—Eddie chooses to give away here.

“He has,” Eddie says, and now…now maybe Steve should stop listening because this part, the way Eddie says that as flat fact—Steve doesn’t knowthis part beyond speculation. But…

“I wanted to, like,” and eddies voice can’t hide the way he’s gotta have that soft smile, the one he used to hide behind his hair before Steve started pulling it back to see in full, so now he only brings his hair out just to tease, to okay.

“I don’t think I’ve wanted much in my whole life, but he’s,” and Steve thinks he hears how Eddie chews his bottom lip for a second, in the subtlest click of how it slips free before Eddie takes a deep breath and—

“He doesn’t know what he’s worth,” Eddie starts, a little mournful almost, even, and Steve is unexpectedly glued to the spot in his fucking Nikes.

“He doesn’t understand that I’d sell the sun and the moon just to keep him,” Eddie’s saying, and with passion. With whole-ass honesty. And here, maybe, is where Steve gets to have some of the heart:fluttery feeling after all:

“He comes out the gate with the whole you don’t have to say it back and I just,” Eddie sighs, sniffs a little before heaving another breath deep enough to stretch his shirt, which Steve’s not imagining or anything, at all;

“I couldn’t say it, not right then, and risk him everthinking it was something I’d done to like, match. Like that I didn’t mean it with everything I’ve got, when I mean it with everything I’ve got and then also everything else. Like, anywhere. Ever.”

Steve realized he’d stopped breathing at some point when the little dots start floating in front of his eyes and he sucks in a shaking breath because: he’s known Eddie loves him. Unshakeably.

But, but all this—

“I couldn’t say it and have him ever wondered if I wouldn’t rip my heart out of my chest just to keep his safe.”

And of-fucking-course Steve’s pulse is running fucking riot about how much he’s in love right now, make no goddamn mistake. Jesus, he—

“Fuck.”

And Steve has never heard Gareth Emerson pushed just this side of speechless but: that’s the best way Steve can describe the kind of breathless wonder he says it with, like watching a rare bird take flight.

“You mean it.”

And Steve can pick out Eddie’s huffs and categorize them, on demand at this point: he doesn’t need to see the eye-roll to know Eddie’s deemed the expression of pure shock to be so beneath him in this specific context that he’s deemed it unworthy of any more attention.

His heart’s not jumping that loud to have missed it. So.

Steve just kinda grins toward the blacktop under his shoes.

“Why didn’t you,” Doug starts, still—usually, really, in Steve’s limited experience at least—the peacekeeper, the one who’s most invested at the human level when he’s not getting swept up in whatever the rest of the gang has deemed the cool thing to laugh at or make fun of at any given moment.

The huff Eddie gives this time is his incredulous one, which allows for just the slightest bit more consideration:

“The fuck do you think?”

The slightest bit, being the operative point.

“I’d hoped you’d take it better but,” Eddie adds, and there’s less drama in it than Steve might have expected. He’s being serious with them, and he sounds…disappointed.

Steve kinda want to make some kind of noise, give away his position, and just…hug Eddie tight from behind, if nothing else. Be there. Solid against him, wrapped up around him. Never wavering. Always at his back as much as at his side.

But Eddie’s not done:

“I’m not even asking you to like him, just be decent,” and it sounds like it hurts him to say as much, and Steve knows why; he genuinely despises when anyone thinks Lea with a the very beat thing about Steve. Steve believes this to be n unreasonable standard, and has expressed as much to Eddie who nods and smiles and kisses Steve’s forehead and does absolutely nothing to change his stance, but deep down?

Steve fucking feels so…loved for it.

“And like I said,” Steve can hear the judgement in Eddie’s tone clear as day; “you’re not ready, and I’m not putting him in that kind of situation.”

Steve sucks on the inside of his cheek, lest his grin at the way Eddie is not just defending him, but…protecting him, not his honor but his heart…

No ones ever even tried that before. Steve may not need it, or maybe he just learned he couldn’t survive needing it.

Getting it now…now it’s just…

Wow.

“And I’m in this for keeps, like, this is a forever type thing, so long as he wants it,” Eddie saying, explaining the color of a sky to a small child like what these words are that fundamental, that unalterably true. “So—”

“We’ve known each other forever, man,” Gareth eventually mutters, sounds indignant, but mostly gutted.

Steve knows before it happens that it’s not gonna make a difference.

“And we can still know each other. Just not everything, anymore,” and Eddie does sound a little sad but he’s…he’s a monolith, unshakable. “I don’t trust you with the parts that revolve around him, yet,” and Steve feels more than hears the ways his friends deflate, maybe shrink for being deemed so…insufficient. In the eyes of their ostensible leader, no less.

“Eddie, we didn’t,” Jeff starts, slow, and he doesn’t sound remorseful but—Eddie has all those coping mechanisms for a reason, right?

Because he’s quick to feeling, good and bad, and sometimes neither is fit to the moment.

Steve can’t help but be kinda glad Eddie doesn’t bother with those mechanisms just now, though, if it means he gets to hear this part:

“I know you didn’t, that’s the fucking problem,” Eddie groans, Steve can see the way he lens, bends at the knees and throws his body around a little in sheer, undiluted exasperation. “

“Because I could tell you he’s changed since school, and that’d be true, but that’s not even it,” and there’s more of the frustrated stomping round, Steve can hear it, but he’s…he’s ready distracted by that thing in his chest that has to has to be tied up in Eddie’s, too, that thing tugging on him to pay the fuck attention.

And who is he to ignore it?

“he was never who we thought he was in school in the first place. He is,” Eddie licks his lips, just to snack them loud:

“He is kind and funny, and goofy, and such a fuckin’ nerd, and he’s smart in these incredible ways where he’s sees what everyone else misses, and he’s protective as fuck and he’s got a heart of gold,” and Eddie’s voice only gets more heartfelt in its own right that longer he goes and Steve just, he’s, it’s—

“And I would tear my skin off just so it doesn’t get so much as a scuff on it,” Eddie ends with the most scathing delivery imaginable: he fucking meansthis shit. And Steve is going o live and die next to this man, scuffed heart still kept safe to the fucking end, he will swear that shit to anyone who needs to hear it.

He is going to have a whole fucking life with Eddie Munson, and love him for every single breath of it.

“And I don’t trust you guys yet not to tempt me to tear off my skin,” Eddie says finally after enough silence to catch his breath, and temper his tone just enough to sound tired; a little dejected. “I don’t trust you with him, and until that changes, we’re still friends,” Eddie sniffs, breathes out long; “you just won’t get to know about that part of me.”

He says it so simple, like he’s not half-cutting off some of the longest, closest friendships he’s ever had, and for Steve.

Steve doesn’t know if it makes him a person, or a really selfish one or whatever, if he doesn’t feel any urge to talk Eddie down, to make him walk it back just a little.

He doesn’t think he cares, though, either way.

“Seems like a really big part of you,” Doug says, deflated entirely.

“It is,” Eddie answers, unapologetic in a way that swells and sparkles in Steve’s ribs. “He is.”

“You’d walk from the band?” Of course Gareth asks, but it’s the first time he sounds small in his words. Like he maybe knows the answer, and isn’t so okay with how he got around to it even before Eddie wishes all doubt:

“In half a fuckin’ heartbeat.” Boom. Done. No hesitation whatsoever.

Less than half-a-fuckin’-heartbeat.

“That’s not what I’m saying I’m doing right now, but,” Eddie laughs a little, and that probably cuts deeper than anything for the boys, Steve suspects, especially when Eddie makes it unquestionable:

“It’s not even a question.”

And…maybe that drives a knife deeper for the band, but for Steve?

Steve kinda wants to…giggle, or some shit. He hadn’t realized just how much he wanted someone who answered a question like that, exactly like that, who talked about Steve exactly like that, without anything to gain, just because they…believed it.

“Jesus,” Gareth mutters, sounds kinda blindsided, kinda thrown and then some.

“If we,” Jeff clears his throat after a long period of quiet; “if we do better, could we meet him someday?” And the way he says it, earnest and shit:, like he wants to at least think about, at least maybe try:

“Like, really meet him?”

Like Eddie means enough that he’ll try, and that sings sweet in Steve’s veins because goddamn straight, his Eddie deserves that from the people hecares about. No matter who or what Steve is, Eddiedeserves that much, and so much more.

But he sounds like even just this is something amazing, Steve can hear the smile in his voice:

“Yeah, man,” he answers Jeff, claps him audibly on the shoulder; “I look forward to it.”

And shit, y’know what?

So does Steve.

“See you in two weeks,” and Eddies footsteps follow, guitar slung over his back for the way his weight falls with each one, but then:

“Eddie!”

That’s Doug; the footsteps stop close to the edge of the garage door as another set rushes to catch up, where he’ll see Steve if he walks much farther, where Steve’s got his hand on the door handle of the car, slowly inching it open to push shut and look wholly-unsuspicious now that Eddie might be followed out to his ride:

“Get him flowers. For your anniversary,” Doug says, tone low like a secret; “I know, like, it might seem like guys wouldn’t want flowers, but,” and Steve actually has to strain to hear the next part:

“My mom gets my dad flowers on his birthday every year, and he lights up like the Fourth of July.”

Steve remembers the first time he ever got flowers. His favorites, even if he thinks he only knew it subconsciously because they were handed to him with the stammering explanation of I don’t even know if you like flowers, or like these ones, but you look at them when we’re out, like, just walking or something and your eyes linger, and these ones just remind me of you and—

Apparently, Steve loves hyacinths. And sunflowers make Eddie think of him.

Because of course Steve’s first gift of flowers came from Eddie.

“Thanks man,” Eddie sounds the lightest, most genuine Steve’s heard him since he pulled up and got out of the car; “they’re already ordered.”

And Doug chuckles, and Steve?

Steve bites down his smile to less exploding-star levels—if he’d just pulled up he doesn’t have a reason, save that Eddie is enough of a reason in Steve’s eyes, his mind, the way his chest expands just thinking on him—as he pulls the car door closed again, loud enough to be noticed.

For Eddie to walk out of the garage fast as anything and meet Steve with a smile of his own that justifies the fuck out of where Steve’s had started, anyway.

All star-bright and everything.

♥️🎸♥️

✨also on ao3✨

btw this is either titled ‘halcyon shoegazing’ or ‘heart in your shoes’ so if you have an opinion you should maybe tell me or something, my brain’s tired and is resisting decisions rn

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here

divider credit here and here and here

[talisidekick]

Someone tagged this with the following and I actually want to talk about this:

This isn't the first response like this. I've had comments, asks, tags like this one, reblogs, and even comments on other platforms where this has spread to that bring up racism and xenophobia. Whether thats accusing me of being racist or hating immigrants (despite coming from a family if immigrants) or just pointing out, like this person did, the inherent xenophobic attitude the world has for my pharmacist to want to change his first name to an English sounding name. And it gets worse, I was given an English name at birth because my mother wanted me to "have a name that fit in". They weren't English, my last name was German, my great-grandmother who was a pillar in the family used German and Norweigan words mixed in her English that carried into my life and still does to this day. And because I wasn't "English", I still got picked on at school to the point I filtered out the german/norweigan in my vocabulary and learned to mimick accents to remove any germanic lilt I had in my speech.

Point being, I made this post recognizing the inherent xenophobia present. That's one of the reasons I told my pharmacist he didn't need to do that for my sake. I kind of suspected he wasn't just being kind. The way he said it had intent. The next time I saw him, nametag out, proud, it was touching to see the name I was given to protect me from xenophobia going to protect someone else, but also a bit bitter that I know part of the reason for wanting to find an English name was the pressure to blend in and sidestep a LOT of bullshit.

My name now is Germanic, my middle name Italian, my last name Ukrainian, and my nickname I use everywhere to make peoples lives easier is Talia or Tali <- To which I've learned "Tali" is a common short-hand/nickname or name for some in the middle-east (I didn't know, I just mashed up my middle name with my childhood nickname 'T' to get it so my friends would have an easier time transitioning over to my new name and it stuck. I just recently found out from a co-worker who just got back from a trip to the middle east and asked me about it). I'm no longer side-stepping the bullshit, I have noticed a difference in treatment. If people don't know me, and haven't seen me, like when it's over the phone or in email, it takes much longer and I have to be more precise with my wording. In fact, I've noticed it a bit when in person too. Next to my English named co-workers, I am treated by some like I know less and I'm scruitinized a bit more. Now obviously if I was a woman of colour and not off-white canvas, this would be 10-times worse in ways I'm not qualified or experienced to explain or get into. I'll leave that to someone WITH that kind of experience to get into.

I've never mentioned whether my pharmacist is a coloured man or not, and I never will. It's not that it "doesn't matter", every aspect of that man shapes his existence and experience of this life. I'm just not clarifying because the moment I do, I know some of you are going to solely focus on his race and miss the nuance of everything this post is about. It's about transgender positivity, discrimination, humour, and the kind-hearted actions of an incredible man in his journey of immigration. By leaving him faceless, every one of you brings something of yourself to this post. Be it simple joy, or further commentary.

The person who tagged this post is one of many who've accurately pointed out one underlying truth about this post. Not everyone is treated equally in society. This happened in Canada. Do you begin to understand the depths this post goes to with all that I've said here? With what you now know about me? Because I think some of you should now re-read the post again.

A while back my pharmacist saw my deadname on my profile and accidentially called it out, he corrected and deleted my deadname from the system so only my preferred name shows up now. There was a crowd of people behind me, so as he hands over the pills he apologized, in equal tone and volume as when he called my deadname and lied saying it's been a long day and he didn't mean to call out -his own- name. I quietly told him it was fine and he didn't need to do that for my sake.

His response: "No, it's my name now."

I went to the pharmacist yesterday, his nametag is my deadname. He informed me he's immigrating and in the process he's changed his first name to my deadname to have an English sounding name. That's why he's now able to get a reprint of his nametag to be my deadname. And repeated, with the intense seriousness of someone who is going to die on this hill: "It's mine now. Not yours. I'm taking." His tone indicated that decision is final.

Bro literally deadnamed me once, and has committed to flat out stealing my deadname. It's his now. Legally. Officially. I over heard his co-workers call him by the name.

[witherby]

I need anything and everything of jason being Mouses favourite. (The Littlest Wayne AU)

They get a snack/ meal - Jay Jay has to take a bite first before they eat

They have a new toy- Jay Jay has to see and play

I’ll take anything you can think of.

I am obsessed. The AU is amazing

-🤍💜

Say less! I love Jason Todd and so does Flittermouse! By the way the word count is 3100+ lol oops

The Littlest Wayne: Fist Bumps

Masterlist is Here!

"This is stupid."

"Shut up, you're just mad you won't get picked."

Tim kicks Damian in the shin, who retaliates by kicking him back much, much harder in the ankle. Tim cries out, about to start a fight, but one stern look from Alfred settles them both down. They continue to sit beside each other without fuss, and soon everyone is all neatly lined in a row while Hal uses his ring to keep you safely suspended in a bubble, playing with a little rattle.

"Alright," Dick says excitedly, "we're going over the rules one more time! No jingling any shiny objects for Flitty to chase after, no getting out of line to get closer to them, and Bruce, no bare skin! We're gonna have Hal set them down and see who they come to first."

"This isn't gonna go the way you think it's gonna go," Bruce says, endlessly amused. "Please, none of you get your feelings hurt."

"Nobody's gonna start cryin', relax," Jason says, lounging on the floor between Damian and Hal. "Kay, we ready?"

A chorus of agreement follows, and Hal gently lowers you to the floor. They all immediately call your name, or variations of your nickname, waving their hands and patting their laps to get you to come to them. Your eyes widen, startled by the sudden rush of noise, and turn your head to assess everyone across the room.

You lock on to the man you want, the binky in your mouth bopping up and down excitedly, and you start speedily crawling to Jason.

"I KNOW that's fuckin' right!" He yells, scooping you into his arms and gently tossing you in the air a couple inches, then peppering your face with kisses. "I'm the favorite you little freaks. Kiss my ass."

"Okay, whatever, we knew that already," Dick says, "now it's time to see who the second favorite is. Put them down and go away so we can play again."

"Be nice to your brother," Bruce says. Dick flicks Bruce in the ear and he scowls. "Ow. Be nice to me."

"Fine. Gotta know who my competition is for the number one spot in Mousey's heart, even if I'm winning by a landslide." Jason carries you across the room and sets you back down. "You stay for a sec, kay? Pound it." He picks up your chubby arm and makes you give him a fist bump, then walks away from you.

Before they can even start a second round of the game, you're shuffling after him again. Christ, it's adorable.

"It's because they can still see you, Todd," Damian says, scooping you up to put back in starting position. "Duck behind the couch."

Jason rolls his eyes but complies, bending down until he's out of sight. When the rest of the family calls for you again, you shuffle forward like you're going to crawl to Hal, but you veer past him and around to the back of the couch to get to Jason again.

"Oh my god, they've developed object permanence already," Tim says. Jason's triumphant laughter fills the room as he lifts you up to give you more kisses. His endless delight and your happy squealing softens the blow to everyone else's egos.

"This game sucks anyway," Dick mumbles, crossing his arms in defeat. "What idiot even came up with it in the first place..."

--

"You ask."

"Uh, no? You ask? I don't care."

"Yeah but he tolerates your questions. I don't wanna get my jaw blown off."

"Then don't ask, dumbass. It's so easy."

Jason clears his throat, causing the two goons to stiffen up and turn to face him. One of them looks upset that he was caught unaware, and the other looks one wrong move away from pissing himself.

"Hi, boss," they both greet.

"Whatcha talkin' about?" Jason asks, taking a half-step closer. "Cause last I checked, I sent you both over here to do quality control on our newest drug shipment. And I'm not seeing a lot of that gettin' done."

He turns to the more frightened man. If he didn't have his helmet on, he would've sneered at him.

"So what's the hold up? Need me to sew some mouths shut? Hmm? Want me t'cut out your fuckin' tongue? That'll motivate you real fast, I bet."

"We'll get right on it, boss," the other, clearly smarter, henchman states. "We were just. Uh. Wondering why there's... why there's a baby strapped to your chest."

Jason looks down at you. You stare right back at him, making a soft cooing noise around your Red Hood-themed binky, and reach up for his mask. He gently takes your hand instead, feeling your tiny fingers curl around the leather of his gloved pointer. He's smiling sweetly at you, despite no one being able to see it.

"This is M," he says by way of an answer. "Won't be an everyday occurrence — couldn't find another babysitter so I assured the dad I'd keep 'em safe for the night."

He doesn't mention that your dad is also his dad, and that when Jason tried to leave to do his vigilante work, you screamed the house down and would only calm down in his arms, therefore he had no choice. So here you are, strapped to his chest in a onesie padded with kevlar and vital-tracking tech, while your favorite brother carries your diapers and formula around in the same duffel he stashes his guns.

And because you're his favorite, too, he secretly hopes you throw more fits so he gets to hoard you all to himself again. Taking a few minutes to tickle your tummy or gently rock you in his arms stops him from losing his patience and blowing out the brains of several subordinates tonight — which his men clearly catch onto, because they all start telling him how nice it is to see such a cute and perfect and pleasant, life-saving baby hanging around.

Fuck yeah it's nice. S'cause you're the coolest baby ever. Jason gently makes you fist bump him.

--

"AHHH!"

Jason is out of his chair and bolting across the Manor before his brain fully registers your screaming through the baby monitor. There's surprised exclamations and footfalls not far from him as his thunderous steps stir up a commotion, but he doesn't care about that.

There are very few times in his life when he's moved this fast. Large, expansive rooms fly by him in a blur of color. He takes the stairs six at a time. If a door he needs to get through is closed, he's breaking it down with a well-placed hit with his shoulder and moving on.

When he gets to your room, he stops to yank the door open because he doesn't know if you're near it, and darts inside with a sharp shout of your name.

"What's wrong!?" He pants, zeroing in on you immediately. You've rushed into your wardrobe and climbed inside it, red-faced and crying as a crow flaps haphazardly around the bedroom. The shattered glass on the floor gives him the missing context, and he snatches the bird out of the air with more force than necessary while the adrenaline spike is still scrambling his nervous system.

Bruce is the second person to rush into your room just moments after, crouching by your hiding spot with furrowed brows and a soft, slightly winded voice.

"Are you hurt?" He asks. You whimper but shake your head, fat tears rolling down your little cheeks, and lift your hands. Bruce picks you up without hesitation and stands up.

"Jaylad?" He says, still in that gentle tone. "You alright?"

Jason doesn't answer. He's not alright, not really. The rage he'd built up thinking someone was in here hurting you is still burning through his veins, and with no outlet for it, he's struggling a bit.

Bruce doesn't take offense to his lack of response. He just offers you a small, reassuring smile and bounces you a bit in his arms.

"Let's go find Grandpa and snuggle up with some hot chocolate," he murmurs. "Jay-Jay will hang back and make sure your bedroom is safe for you."

"No!" You sob, leaning around your father's broad shoulders to reach for Jason. "Want Jay-Jay!"

"You can spend time with him in a little while, Mouse," Bruce says, starting to carry you out of the room. Your protests get louder and more frantic, pushing against him to no avail.

"Want Jay!" You repeat, sobbing openly. "Jay-Jay! Want, p'ease!! Jay-Jay!"

"Bruce," Jason utters through grit teeth. His father stops, only a few steps down the hallway, and turns back to him. "It's fine. I'll take 'em, you clean up the mess."

"...are you sure?" Bruce frowns, visibly cautious. He looks down at the bird still flapping helplessly as Jason holds it by the neck, firmer than strictly necessary.

Jason takes a step towards the broken window and tosses the crow out. After a second of frantic flapping, it straightens itself out and flies away with panicked sqawking.

He turns to you and holds out his arms. They're only trembling a little bit, but the edges of his vision are still tinged with green. Bruce hesitates to pass you over.

"I've got it," Jason murmurs, "I'm calm enough. Gimme my fuckin' sibling before you piss me off worse, B."

Bruce nods slowly. He brings you back into the room and hands you off to Jason. Your arms circle his neck and cling on tight, and you bury your face in his chest as you cry. It breaks his heart that you had such a bad scare. He can see the half-completed Lego build you were playing with on the floor in front of the window and hopes Bruce can get all the glass shards out between the bricks and carpet.

Jason carries you out of your bedroom and down the corridor to his. He leaves his door cracked open and flicks on lights as he goes, then brings you to the en-suite bathroom.

"Okay, Mousey," he mumbles, trying to set you on the sink's vanity. You clutch him tighter and whimper, and it drives a spear right through his chest. "Kid, I'm not goin' nowhere. Jay-Jay's right here, I just wanna make sure there's no glass on you."

A little more prodding and the compromise of you holding one of his hands gets you to relent. You sit miserably on the counter as your sobs slowly die down, and Jason tediously checks your hair and clothes for any bits of glass that may have landed on you when the crow crashed into the window. The slow, repetitive motions help quiet the last of his anger until he's just tired and concerned for you. He finds a couple tiny pieces, but your skin is unblemished and when he asks if you're hurt, you shake your head, which then calms him entirely.

"Alright, great job," he murmurs. "Come here, we'll go bother Alfie t'give us an icecream sammy before dinner and then cuddle in the main living room. Good plan?"

You sniffle, wiping the last of your tears away. Your cheeks are flushed and puffy. "Yeah, good pwan..."

Jason kisses the top of your head and offers you his fist. You gently bump yours against his, then lift your arms again to be picked back up. He obliges, refusing to put you back down for the rest of the day. When it's time for bed, you don't wanna go back into your room, so he spends the evening reading his current novel with a dim book light while you snooze away on his chest.

--

He's livid. Jason's got a hole in his leg and he can't run away from the rival gang leader pointing a gun at his head, and he's fucking livid.

"My first death was way cooler," he mutters. "Got blown up and everything."

"What the fuck are you saying?" The other man scowls. "I never could understand you through that thick-ass helmet."

"I'm saying, if you're gonna go down as the guy that killed the Red Hood, at least make the execution something fuckin' noteworthy," Jason rants, the pain making him bitchier than usual. He waves his hands for emphasis, pointing at the gunman much like a mother scolding her child. "Ohh I shot him and watched his brain splatter everywhere! So has every single marksman ever. I'm worth more than a bullet in an alleyway. The fuck do I look like, Bruce Wayne's folks?"

"Whoa, man," the shooter says, lifting his free hand to scratch the back of his head. "Let me get this straight. You're not mad I'm gonna kill you. You're that mad I'm not gonna kill you...in a cooler way?"

"Excellent listening ears, bucko! Gold star!" Jason coos, clapping. "Immolation, decapitation, tossin' me in an acid pit — fuck me, I'll take a stab wound over a bullet! D'you know how skilled you gotta be to get close enough to stab Red Hood to death!? If not for me, do somethin' that'll raise your own paltry street cred, shit. You're so fucking boring."

The man doesn't get another chance to weigh his options. The darkness of the alleyway pounces on him, sucking him into the void while he shrieks like an animal. Jason slumps against the wall and watches the shapeless darkness warp and twist, the gun abandoned on the ground in the gunman's initial panic. He feels his heart rate slow when you step out after a minute, wearing a thick jacket over your pajamas and a domino mask over your eyes as you hurry towards him. A flash of irritation makes him scowl as he realizes one of the others woke you up for this, when you aren't even a vigilante to begin with. The culprit's gonna get their ass beat as soon as he recovers enough to track them down.

"Okay," you stammer, kneeling next to him on the ground with a first aid kit. "Okay okay okay...Alf — umm, Agent A? I'm here, what do I do?"

"Remain calm, Flittermouse. All will be well," Alfred soothes you over the comms. Jason feels the adrenaline steadily exiting his body now that he's registered that he's safe. Now, it's a fight to stay conscious so you don't freak out even more than you're currently doing. He's so proud of you for coming out here despite the blatant fear.

Your hands shake as you pop the kit open and pull out the field tourniquet. Alfred instructs you on how to set it up, and Jason gently adjusts it when you wrap it a little too close to the bullet wound in his thigh. He grits his teeth as you tighten it, refusing to make a peep, and gives you a quick thumbs up when you tie it off.

"Okay, I stopped the bleeding. Do I bring him home, now?" You ask.

"As long as he has no other injuries, the medical bay is ready for you to transport him back to the cave."

"M'good, Mousey," Jason says, lifting his fist. "Sorry you had to come rescue your cool big bro. S'not your job."

"I was the one who could get here the fastest," you reply. After a moment's hesitation, you bump his fist with your own. "You're gonna be okay."

"M'gonna be okay," he echoes, knowing you need that confirmation. "Saved my life, kid. I'll do all your chores for the next week."

That gets a wet laugh out of you. You hug Jason tight and the shadows of the alley pool underneath your bodies. Jason closes his eyes and hugs you back, a steady anchor in the free-falling sensation entering your darkness gives him.

"My heroics are only worth a week of chores?"

"S'better than the rest get," he says. "They get one chore. Not even a whole day, just one chore."

You bury your face in his shoulder as the void swallows you and him up.

"You're my favorite, too, Jay-Jay," you mumble. Jason smiles as he loses the battle for consciousness.

--

"Good afternoon; welcome to Truce Juice. Would you like a moment with a menu or are you ready to order?"

Jason leans his hip against the counter and takes a menu off the small, laminated stack you've got sitting there, glancing over the options. Behind the helmet, he smiles as he remembers all the late nights you pulled him and your other brothers into the kitchen to taste test these drinks and snacks, desperate to make things that would appeal to many people. He remembers how proud you were to graduate from your culinary courses and the victory cry you let out when you found insurance willing to cover the building.

You smile warmly at him, waiting patiently for him to choose something off the menu for the first time in your brand new business.

"Black coffee," he says, voice warped by the modulator in the helmet, "two sugars."

"What size?" You ask, tapping it into the screen in front of you.

"Large. And a turkey panini, with avocado and pesto."

"Toasted?"

"What other fuckin' way would anybody get a panini?" He muses aloud. To strangers, he would sound angry, but you can tell he's genuinely asking. You just shrug and keep the soft smile on your face.

"You'd be surprised. Your total's on the screen; will that be cash or card?"

Jason reaches a gloved hand down. It glides past the pistol strapped to his thigh, eliciting nervous gasps from bystanders in the cafe, and into the pocket underneath, drawing out a plain, tri-fold wallet. He pulls out two hundred-dollar bills and huffs at you to keep the change, then saunters over to the pick-up counter to wait.

He crosses his arms and watches you scuttle around behind the counter, genuinely happy to make food and drinks for anybody that comes in. So far, you're uninjured and you've been able to stop any rising conflicts in seconds, which he's endlessly thankful for.

When his order is ready, you hand it to him with another bright smile.

"Alright, mister Hood, here you go. Have a great day!"

Jason nods, about to turn away, when he sees you hold your fist out in his periphery.

He grins, heart fit to burst, and bumps it back.

[strayingawayy]

jisung x reader (with insane daddy issues)

warnings: mdni! extreme authority, explicit daddy issues, forced submission (consensual), deep emotional exhaustion from reader's end, aggressive dominance (slight choking omfg can you guys believe it), power imbalance, forced vulnerability, slight degradation, dominance but it's aftercare in a sense really. no actual smut though. hah.

"put it down."

jisung’s voice is low, sharp, full of warning.

you pretend not to hear him.

your head is pounding, your hands are shaking, and your body feels too fucking heavy to move properly, but you don’t stop. you keep typing, keep forcing yourself through the pain, keep ignoring the way everything in you is screaming to just take a break.

because you don’t get breaks. you never in your life have.

because if you stop, everything falls apart.

because if you don’t handle it, no one else will. because he was never there to handle it.

and jisung-

he has no fucking right to tell you otherwise.

"baby."

his tone is different now. lower. more dangerous. a borderline growl.

you know that voice.

but you don’t care.

so you keep going.

and that’s your mistake.

because before you can even think of a retort,

he moves.

his fingers wrap around the laptop screen and slam it shut.

"what the fuck is wrong with y-"

you barely have time to react before he’s grabbing your wrist, yanking you up from the chair, and forcing you against the desk.

"i said, put it down. yeah? i'm not fucking around here, sweetheart."

his grip is tight, unrelenting, pinning you in place.

your breath catches.

"who the fuck do you think you’re ignoring?"

you try to push him off, but he doesn’t budge.

"get off me, jisung-"

"not happenin."

he presses you harder against the desk.

"you don’t fucking listen, do you?"

his fingers wrap around your chin, tilting your head up, forcing you to look at him.

his eyes are dark, burning with a certain rage. not towards you but towards the man who made this part of you.

"you think you can handle everything by yourself?"

your jaw clenches. "i don’t think. i know."

his lips curl but not in amusement.

in warning.

"funny."

his grip tightens.

"because you look like you’re about to fucking collapse."

you scoff, trying to shove him away again. but he grabs your wrists, yanks them behind your back, and traps them there.

your stomach flips.

"what the fuck are you doing?"

he leans in, lips brushing your ear.

"showing you what happens when you don’t fucking listen."

your breathing is uneven, but you refuse to give in.

"i don’t need you to take care of me."

he laughs.

but there’s no humor in it.

"no?"

he yanks you away from the desk. then forces you onto the couch, straddling you, caging you in. you'd think you'd be scared but no, the position screams comfort, all because it's jisung. your jisung.

his hands grip either side of your face, holding you still.

"then who does?"

your stomach drops.

"who the fuck has ever stepped up for you?"

your throat tightens.

"who made sure you ate? who made sure you slept? who kept you safe?"

his fingers press into your skin.

"who, baby?"

you can’t answer.

you don’t need to.

because he already knows.

"no one."

he exhales, slow, controlled.

"no one fucking did."

your body tenses.

because it’s true.

because it always has been.

he leans in, lips brushing over your temple.

"so you think that means you have to do everything alone?"

you don’t answer.

his fingers slide down your throat, trailing lower, pressing just enough to ground you.

"news flash, baby."

his voice is smooth, taunting, absolute. and it almost makes you whimper.

"you don’t get to make that decision anymore."

your breath catches.

"you’re mine."

his grip tightens.

"which means i take care of you whether you fucking like it or not."

you swallow hard. "i don’t know how to let go."

he exhales, slow.

"good."

he presses you further into the couch, trapping you beneath him, lips brushing against yours.

"then i’ll do it for you."

[cloverandstuff]

Allow me to psychoanalyse this drawing-

I think this drawing was made by Luka. Mainly, due to the fact that Hyuna is the one drawn with the most detail. I think it's also fairly obvious with how it's drawn, that it was made by Luka when he became friends with the siblings.

That leads me to my next point; Luka did not dislike Hyunwoo. I'd even go as far as to say he regarded him in a positive manner. He is the only other person here besides Hyuna who is not blonde.

Now, why is everyone else blonde? I think it's because Luka was imagining a life with his clones and the siblings, in Anakt Garden.

He looks horrified in this scene. It doesn't seem like he took joy or even feels numb here. He looks to be in genuine shock over what happened.

The body don't have a single stab wound either. None that we can see. All we see is the cases they're in shattered. Like they were released and they weren't able to survive.

Here, he's just looking at them. No attempt to get closer, nor to destroy them. He just looks on.

The drawing makes me think that Luka was seeking out other people. He was, in every way, a lonely child. He wanted a sense of belonging. He wanted him and his clones, and Hyuna and Hyunwoo to all just...live happily in Anakt Garden.

And with the few frames we get of this incident throughout, it does seem like Hyunwoo was the one to throw the first punch. Luka never initiated a fight, he always just annoyed Hyunwoo who would respind angrily. It didn't make sense why he would just randomly kill Hyunwoo.

With this, it makes more sense. Luka killed Hyunwoo through an accident. It was a fight gone too far. He does not feel remorse, but it doesn't seem like he actively wanted to kill him.

If this is truly the case, then while Hyuna is right to hate him because he does not feel conscious regret over this, her speech at the at also makes sense. Because she knows he truly is just...clueless.

Luka has never truly allowed himself to mourn loss, or regret actions. He was constantly chasing a high, which he got from Hyuna. He loved her, he truly did. But it was initially borne out of her giving him a sense of belonging.

He loved her because she gave him what he was seeking out from his clones; to erase the loneliness he felt.

Luka is clueless about his own emotions. Him and Ivan are alike in that sense. They both are unable to properly understand their feelings. But while Ivan allows his love to be a silent protector, Luka is much more childish and desperate.

Luka, in every way possible, is just a lonely child.

[solxamber]

Giving Them Chocolates on Valentine's Day with: Octavinelle

Go here for other dorms

Azul Ashengrotto

You approach Azul in the Mostro Lounge, your heart pounding against your ribs. He’s behind the counter, meticulously checking over inventory, looking as polished and composed as ever.

At least, until he notices the neatly wrapped heart-shaped box in your hands.

His sharp eyes narrow slightly in suspicion. “What’s this?” he asks, adjusting his glasses as he peers at the chocolates like they might explode.

You blink. “It’s chocolate.”

“I can see that,” he says, ever the businessman. “What I mean is—why?”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Typical Azul. Always thinking there’s some hidden clause, some kind of catch. You hold out the box a little more insistently. “Because it’s Valentine’s Day. And because I like you.”

The effect is instantaneous.

Azul’s expression shatters. His carefully maintained composure cracks like glass. His fingers twitch where they rest on the counter, and for the first time, he seems completely, utterly lost.

“You…” He blinks rapidly, his voice quieter now. “You like me?”

You tilt your head, watching his face turn a shade of pink you didn’t even know he was capable of. “Yeah. I thought that was obvious.”

Azul makes a sound. You’re not sure if it’s a laugh or a quiet gasp of disbelief. Either way, he clearly doesn’t know what to do with himself.

He exhales sharply, adjusts his glasses again—completely unnecessarily—and shifts his weight like he’s trying to ground himself. Then, as if desperately grasping onto something familiar, he clears his throat and straightens up, the businessman in him taking over.

“Well,” he says, smoothing a hand over his coat, “in that case, it would be highly inappropriate of me not to offer you a proper date.”

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “Oh?”

Azul nods, trying so hard to appear composed despite his ears still burning red. “Mostro Lounge serves only the finest cuisine. Allow me to treat you to dinner tonight. Naturally, I’ll cover all expenses.”

Your lips twitch. “You’re really making a date sound like a business transaction.”

Azul scowls immediately, crossing his arms as he actively fights for his dignity. “That’s not—! I just meant that it would be—! Ugh.” He sighs, pressing his fingers against his temple before looking at you again, this time softer.

“…I’d like to take you to dinner,” he amends, quieter now. “Because I like you too.”

Your chest warms.

Now you’re the one who feels a little breathless, your heart stuttering at the rare sincerity in his voice.

You smile. “Then I’d love to go.”

Azul exhales, as if he’s been holding his breath this whole time. He nods, then quickly busies himself with setting out a reserved sign for the best table in the lounge—as if planning everything right this second will keep him from combusting.

You watch him, amused, and so, so fond.

For all his smooth talk and confidence, he’s just as flustered as you are.

Jade Leech

You really should have prepared for this better.

Jade Leech was not the kind of person you could just walk up to, hand over chocolates, and expect a normal reaction. You knew that. And yet, here you were, clutching a heart-shaped box like it was a live grenade, stumbling through your words as his ever-present, knowing smile grew sharper with every passing second.

“So, um,” you start, regretting every life choice that led to this moment. “I—I made these for you. Because it’s, uh, Valentine’s Day. And also because I—uh—”

You stop.

Jade is watching you way too intently, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he waits so, so patiently for you to finish your sentence.

You take a steadying breath and just force it out. “Because I like you.”

For a long moment, he doesn’t say anything.

Instead, he hums, soft and thoughtful, as he takes the chocolates from your hands—his fingers brushing against yours, just barely. Then, without warning, he leans in.

Way too close.

Your breath catches.

Jade tilts his head, studying you like he’s greatly enjoying the way your face is rapidly heating up. “How interesting,” he murmurs, his voice low and far too entertained. “You’re quite adorable when you’re nervous.”

Your stomach flips.

Jade watches your reaction for a moment longer—dragging this out on purpose, the menace—before finally pulling back. And even then, not by much.

His smile softens, and there’s something almost warm beneath the teasing glint in his eyes. “I accept,” he says simply.

It takes your brain a full three seconds to catch up. “Wait—you—”

“I like you too,” he continues, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You blink, still thoroughly disoriented, and Jade laughs quietly, clearly enjoying himself. “Shall I take you to dinner tonight?” he muses, tapping the box lightly. “It would only be fair, since you’ve already given me such a lovely gift.”

Your heart is fighting for its life.

“…Yeah,” you manage. “That sounds nice.”

Jade grins. “Perfect.”

And just like that, you know you’ve fallen right into his trap.

Floyd Leech

You’re pretty sure you’re about to die.

Because the second Floyd spots the chocolates in your hands, his entire mood plummets.

One moment, he’s just existing—normal Floyd behavior, a little lazy, a little restless. And the next? Oh. Oh no.

His grin disappears. His eyes darken. His whole posture shifts, and suddenly, he looks one wrong move away from squashing the nearest person to death.

“…Whatcha got there, Shrimpy?” His voice is low, slow, and dangerous, like a predator catching the scent of something it doesn’t like.

Your fight-or-flight instincts scream at you to run.

But you don’t.

You force yourself to stay put, lifting the chocolates a little higher in a silent please don’t kill me gesture.

“…They’re for you,” you manage.

Instant. Mood. Whiplash.

Floyd blinks. And then—all at once—he’s grinning again.

“Ehhh? Really?!” His entire demeanor flips so fast it gives you whiplash. Suddenly, he’s giggling, practically bouncing as he snatches the chocolates from your hands and leans in so, so close.

No personal space. Not even a little.

It’s our space now.

Floyd hums, inspecting the box like he’s debating whether to eat the chocolates first or eat you. “Y’know,” he drawls, tilting his head, “if these were for someone else, I probably would’ve squeezed ‘em real, real hard.”

Your stomach drops. “I—uh—”

“But they’re for me!” he interrupts, all teeth and delight, pressing the chocolates against his chest like a prized possession. “So it’s fine~!”

You exhale, shaky. “Great. Love that.”

Floyd chuckles, and before you can react, his arms are around you. Tight. Secure. Warm. He leans in close enough that you can feel his breath against your skin.

“Mmm… you’re mine now, though.”

Your heart short-circuits.

Floyd giggles again, sing-song and sweet, but his grip is firm, unyielding. “Forever n’ ever, right, Shrimpy?”

You swallow hard, helplessly flustered. “…Yeah.”

His eyes glint with satisfaction.

“Good,” he purrs, and somehow, you just know—

You’re not gonna regret this. (probably)

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[f1fantasys]

Thought you were mine all along, guess I was wrong - Part 4

Summary - events following that morning.

Warnings - smut, f! receiving oral, p in v sex, ANGST.

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

''Mmm, yeah, got it'' he said, deep British accent coming through.

You winced at the hurt look in his eyes before he shook his head, a look of disgust thrown your way.

You wanted to react, almost justify yourself, but you held back.

Lando had no right to react like this. Why did he think it was okay when he did it, but not when you did? Still, it didn't make it easier being in this situation. You didn't sleep with Mitch to get a reaction from Lando. You slept with him because you were a vulnerable and emotional roller coaster and he happened to be there for you.

Time stood still for a couple of minutes, Lando's eyes turned shades darker, having an anger you'd never seen before, not at anyone else and certainly not towards you.

Just as he opened his mouth to say something, you slammed the door closed on him. Not interested in what he had to say, no matter how wrong it felt to shut him out like this.

You turned towards Mitch who was still lying in bed, concern etched over his face as you leaned your body back, trembling at how the last few minutes unfolded.

''You okay?'' Mitch asked, climbing out of bed and working on wearing his clothes again.

You couldn't have reacted faster if you wanted to, because desperate to stop him, you lunged forward, stooping him from getting dressed.

''Stay? Please'' you whispered, afraid he'd say no. This probably wasn't a good idea but your body was craving a good fuck, and fortunately or unfortunately, Mitch was at your service, hopefully.

But he smiled, before his hands were on your thighs, lifting you up before practically throwing you on the bed.

Hovering above you, Mitch leaned down to feverishly kiss you, sloppy but slow, tongues battling each other while his hands roamed your body, ripping his t-shirt off of you.

You groaned at the feeling of his hot tongue lapping at your hardened nipples, gripping at his hair tightly in the hopes he'd give you more than that.

''Please, Mitch'' you begged.

He kept his eyes on yours as he moved his mouth lower down your torso, spreading your legs wide apart before finally giving your cunt the attention it craved.

''Fuck'' you hissed, fisting the bed sheets as his tongue devoured your pussy, bruising your clit because he was relentless, and not wasting time in thrusting two fingers through your hole.

''Yes, please, oh god'' you moaned, already feeling an impending orgasm, and with a few flicks on your clit, you were gushing all over his face, though he didn't slow down one bit.

''Need you, please'' you whined breathlessly, quickly following up with more moans.

''Know you got one more in you before I fuck you'' he said, his roughly morning voice turning you on even more.

''Hmm, want y-'' you were cut off quickly when Mitch added a third finger to the mix, each thrust brushing against your g-spot which had you let out a series of pornographic moans, and in no time another orgasm took over your body, your fluids oozing out of you as he licked you clean of every drop.

''Such a fucking good girl'' he praised you, bringing his lips up to yours for a peck before shoving his glistening fingers into your mouth.

You don't know where you got the sudden burst of energy from, but you somehow managed to flip your positions so you were now straddling him, but, before you could even make a move or comprehend what was happening, Mitch had lined his dick with your cunt before thrusting up harshly.

It took a few relentless thrusts from him for your brain to catch up to what was happening. ''Fuck, Mitch, condom!'' you all but yelled as he suddenly stopped his movements, slipping out of you with ease.

''Shit'' he hissed, as you quickly climbed off him and reached for the packet on his side table.

You ripped it open eagerly before sliding it down his thick shaft, quickly resuming your position, and sinking down on him again.

You moaned at the feeling, walls clenching almost painfully around him as you started a quick pace, nails digging into his shoulders as you held on to him sliding up and down his dick.

''That's it, fuck, so tight'' he mumbled, pulling you down for a dirty kiss and bring his hand up to pinch your clit.

''Fuck, Mitch'' you panted, another orgasm threatening to take over your body that already felt like jelly so Mitch had to meet your halfway, thrusting his hips into your brutally.

You were done for when he leaned forward and bit down on your nipples, rolling them between his lips before swirling his tongue around the buds. Your orgasm gushing through you as your body collapsed down onto his, as he picked up the pace, chasing his own high now.

Your mid blanked, body shaking, and before you knew it Mitch had swapped your positions, him now towering over you as he pounded in and out of your cunt. You could feel his dick start to twitch, the feeling of it sending your body over the edge again as you cried out his name, and it wasn't long after that he followed behind you, his hips jittering as he came inside the condom before letting all his weight fall on you.

A sheen of sweat had long covered both your bodies, and the cool air now that you came down from your high had you both shivering.

Eventually, Mitch pulled out, helped you clean up, and gave you a quick pep talk on how not to get your heart broken. It was all good humor but he cared about you, and you were just grateful he was there. You didn't know when next you'd see him, but you'd both agreed to keep in touch more often.

The flight back to Monaco had your mind spiraling. You wanted to hate Lando, be mad at him, but you couldn't. He'd become a constant in your life and now with everything going on, you don't know if you'd every recover from losing someone like him. He quickly became your world, neither you nor him realizing it.

The weeks that went by after were a blur. You felt like you were functioning on auto-pilot - just for the sake of it. More often that not, your Instagram was filled with new Lando and Magui pictures, the it couple at the moment.

A random Tuesday night there was a knock at your door. It was well past 12am, and when you opened the door all the air left your lungs.

Lando stood there, a Quadrant tracksuit and backwards cap. Looking sexy as fuck.

''Can we...talk?''

You let out your breath, tears already prickling your eyes because of the sensitive soul you were. You knew you'd have to face him at some point at the races, but right now you now you wished you had a bit more time to build up a few blocks to protect your heart.

''There really isn't anything to say...'' you said, not moving to let him in.

He gave you pleading eyes, and eventually you stepped to the side, letting him walk in to your lounge.

There was a time where as soon as his foot was through the door, he's be kissing you senseless before throwing you over his shoulder, walking to your bedroom to fuck you like there was no tomorrow.

Not tonight though.

You sat at opposite ends of a couch.

Finally, he broke the silence with a chuckle, quoting you, and catching you off guard.

''There really isn't anything to say..yeah..easy for you to say, what with fucking Mitch so quickly''

''Lando seriously, grow the fuck up. How is it okay for you to move on, and not okay for me to?''

''Move on from what? We were nothing, it was just sex''

His words crushed your heart, but you held back your tears because he didn't deserve to see you like this.

''Yeah, exactly, it was just sex, so why is me fucking Mitch at the minute a problem? you said, voice like stone.

''You're over reacting'' he sighed, leaning forward and running a hand through his hair.

''Am I? You're the one who wanted to talk. So talk''

He stayed silent.

''Like i said, i have nothing to say. You're the one who decided to stop...the sex, whatever..so why are you here?''

Lando's eyes found yours with a look you couldn't place, anger? hurt? pleading? you weren't sure.

''Lando'' you pressed, standing up, hoping he'd get the hint and leave because you were this close to breaking down.

''Magui's pregnant''

2 words.

2 words that threw you off. You body suddenly feeling like jelly, and not in a good way. Your mind went back to all the good times you had with him. How you more than often allowed yourself to picture an actual future with Lando because he always promised you the world and more. He tret you with such an intensity that wouldn't be there if you were regular fuck buddies. There was almost so much more with him. And it wasn't like you jumped straight into bed the first time you saw him. No. You'd become such close friends, who grew into a friends with benefits relationship. You'd respected him too much to only want him for a shag. And now he confirmed that it was just that. A good shag from time to time.

''What?'' you barely whispered, sitting down again, a few tears rolling down your cheek as your whole body heated up.

''Yeah...'' he said, before he got up, and without looking back at you, walked out of your apartment.

You sat there in shock, a wave of sadness washing over you as your body trembled. It was truly over. He was having a baby with someone else. You couldn't help but let a few sobs leave your body, your heart aching in a way you never thought possible. Also, what did he gain by telling you this and walking out on you?

As you went to bed that night, another thought crossed your mind and broke you even more. It had only been around 5 weeks since Lando said he was seeing Magui. Surely she couldn't already be pregnant, right?

Unless they got together while the two of you were still...

Another wreck of sobs took over. You'd never labelled whatever you had going on, and you never discussed exclusivity. You certainly hadn't gotten with anyone else, but now with everything going on, you felt like a fool. He was Lando Norris. Of course girls were throwing themselves at him, and would he really deny them all just because of you?

You didn't think so.

A/N - hope you all enjoyed this twist!! Let me know what you think.

Taglist - @somanyfandomsbruh @lanf1an @annimausi @ernegren @plotpal @hurtblossom @rbv3rstappen @tylerstacobell @wanderingreigns @bowielovesyou @alexanderachillesisgay @sarx164 @xoxomansee @hurtblossom @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @msimpala-67 @jxnellat @chlmtfilms @abq654 @ernegren @stav2004 @myformula1addiction @ayap4paya @l0nelyhe4rts-club @callsignwidow widow-cevans meglouise00 @hoeforsirius @hahdb8 @cmleitora @oscahpastry @maxv33rstappen @saythename-sm

[purinfelix]

── .✦ such a mess together - p. sunghoon

summary: the cute little girl you tutor is always going on about how you should date her smart, good-looking older brother, so why is your annoying, cocky classmate opening the door instead of her? ────── academic rival Sunghoon x reader || sfw, tension, can you tell i love the enemies to lovers trope LOL. || w/c: 3.5k (everyone clap jet is finally writing full length fics !!!)

a/n: ok whos shocked yet another enemies to lovers fic from yours truly - but i cant help that this trope is the most fun to write !!!!!!!

Shocked doesn’t even come close to describing how you feel right now. 

You feel as though if you widen your eyes anymore they’ll pop right out of your head, but the thought of him seeing you make such an embarrassing expression forces you to calm yourself. Slowly, he narrows his eyes, clearly not any less confused about this than you are. 

“The hell are you doing at my house?” he spits, thick brows furrowed as he looks you up and down. 

You’re about to reply with something equally as snarky, but you’re interrupted by a small head popping out from underneath his arm - which is outstretched to hold open the front door. 

“You’re here!” Yeji squeals in excitement, ducking past him to throw herself around your waist. You stumble backwards a bit, putting on her head to steady yourself as you laugh softly. 

“Hey,” you breathe out, though your eyes don’t leave those of the man in front of you, whose confusion only grows. “I’m here to tutor her,” you say curtly,  almost in disbelief that you’d have to spell it out for him this much. 

Though it’s not like you’re in much of a position to say much else because, really, you should’ve put the pieces together a long time ago. Being young and uninterested in her studies, Yeji had managed to spend most of your lessons together chatting about her life instead of doing her homework and so you had been told a lot about her - and her mysterious older brother who was rarely around because he was always busy working part-time or studying at university. At the time, you didn’t think twice about the fact that he went to the same university as you or that the times she mentioned him having exams always coincidentally lined up with yours - though now you’re beginning to think maybe you should’ve. 

Details like that were easy to forget though, especially when Yeji paid far more attention to the other details about her brother which she deemed far more important. You had spent many afternoons passively listening to her talk about how smart, sweet and tall he was, how he was “practically a prince” - all the while trying to get her to finish her algebra questions. You had even brushed it off when she mentioned that the two of you would make a good couple, and how it was a shame you had never met before. 

But Yeji couldn’t have been more wrong, because you actually had met her brother, and far more than you would’ve liked to for that matter. In fact, prior to today, Park Sunghoon had been nothing more than a nuisance in your university life. The one to constantly challenge your points in discussions, to steal your perfect front-row seat or to beat you by a singular mark in final exams. In your eyes, he was nothing but a cocky, good-for-nothing know-it-all who had been unfairly blessed with unnatural good looks which he used to trick your poor female classmates into liking him. 

All the details matched up though, times, places, hell they even had the same last name - but it had never occurred to you to put two and two together. Despite this, the shock of the initial realisation pales in comparison to the fact that you now how to continue with your lesson - whilst he sat in the next room over, glaring at you the entire time. 

You shifted in your seat nervously, eyes darting between Yeji’s exercise book and the strict gaze of her brother. Seriously, just what was his problem? - you’d never done anything to seriously wrong him, and if you did, you figured the fact that you were helping out his younger sister would be enough of a reason for him to let down his guard for once. But still, he sat there, completely uninterested in the video game he had loaded up as an obvious excuse, eyes locked on you. 

The weight of his gaze only made you more anxious and when you brought a hand up to hold your pencil you noticed the slight tremble in it. You couldn’t help but feel irritated, not just at him for being so distracting, but also at yourself for letting him get to you so easily. 

“I think he’s looking at you because you’re so pretty,” you heard a small voice mutter beside you catching you off guard. You let out a small laugh, about to calmly tell her to focus on her work but when you raise your eyes to look at her brother in the next room you notice that, for once, he’s avoiding your gaze, clearing his throat out of what almost seems to be nervousness. 

“Nice try Yeji, but I think your brother just doesn’t trust my tutoring skills.” 

She tilts her head, considering this for a moment - then with the same innocent bluntness as before, she shrugs. "Or maybe he's just grumpy because he got dumped."

A deafening silence falls over the room, and your pencil freezes mid-scratch as you glance up just in time to see Sunghoon's entire expression shift. His eyes widen for the briefest moment before his features twist into something between horror and annoyance. "Yeji," he hisses in warning, eyes shooting daggers at his sister, "shut up."

But it's too late, your interest is piqued and despite the harshness in his tone you can't help the smirk tugging at your lips at the thought of finally having some leverage against him.

"Wait," you say, tilting your head as you look at him, "Park Sunghoon ... got dumped?" 

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand across his face. "It wasn't- I didn't-" he stops himself, visibly irritated at the two of you. "That's none of your business."

Yeji, completely unaffected by her brother's obvious distress, hums to herself as she flips a page in her book. "She was really pretty too, she muses, "but she said he was too emotionally unavailable and always busy with school."

You blink in disbelief, then, unable to stop yourself, you laugh. "Shocking," your tone is dripping with sarcasm.

Sunghoon snaps his head towards you, eyes narrowing as if daring you to continue. "What did you say?"

You press your lips together, feigning innocence, but Sunghoon knows you too well for that and his glare only deepens. And for the first time, instead of just irritating you, the sight of him so obviously affected by your words is a little entertaining.

Interesting you think to yourself as you continue with the lesson, now far too aware of how the tension in the air has shifted ever so slightly. He doesn't move from his spot in the other room, or stop staring at you two, but now whenever you look up at him, instead of being able to meet your gaze he quickly looks away, pretending to be occupied with his game. You can't help but find it just a little amusing. 

Soon your lesson draws to an end and you begin to pack your materials away into your bag, thanking Yeji for working hard and listening to you - though you're interrupted by a deep rumble in the distance, followed by the sound of light rain. By the time you make it to the front door though, it's gotten much heavier and the plans you had to catch the bus home seem bleak. It isn't like you have much choice though, and you pull your hoodie over your head with a defeated sigh.

"You can't walk home in that," Yeji announces dramatically, clinging to your arm as she looks out at the heavy rain. Suddenly she perks up as if met with a great idea, and turns to her brother - who has been pretending not to listen from the living room. "Hoonie, can you drive her?" 

He barely looks up from his phone, though there's a slight delay in his response. "No."

"Why not?" she pouts.

"Not my problem," he mutters.

You roll your eyes, typical you think to yourself as you step towards the door. "It's fine, Yeji, I'll just-"

"You're seriously going to make her walk in this rain?" Yeji cries out as she walks over to her brother on the couch, "What if she gets sick? Then I'll be sad, and when I'm sad I don't do my homework. And if I don't do my homework, I'll fail and when I fail-" 

"Fine," Sunghoon groans, rubbing his temple as he pushes himself off the couch in a swift movement. He walks past you, grabbing his keys and twirling them around his finger coolly. "Get in the car before I change my mind," he says sternly.

You narrow your eyes at him and are about to deny his offer but the rain doesn't seem to be stopping anytime soon, and you're not stupid enough to reject a free ride out of pride alone. 

"Alright," you sigh, shooting Yeji one last thankful look before following her brother out to his car. 

"You live in the dorms on campus, right?" he asks casually. The rain hits the windshields of his car with a harsh rhythm, filling the silence between you two as you get in. The hum of the engine is the only other sound as he pulls out of the driveway, one slender hand lazily resting on the wheel. 

"Yeah," you say curtly, not even stopping to wonder how he could've known that. You're too busy holding a grudge against his ability to make every move seem so gracefully effortless, even turning a steering wheel. 

You sit stiffly in the passenger seat beside him, eyes fixed straight on the road ahead. You'll admit the car is nicer than you expected - spotless, the faint scent of something clean, a little floral, in the air - but you refuse to acknowledge it, just like you refuse to acknowledge that being here, alone with him, feels weirdly intimate. 

It doesn't help that he hasn't said another word since you both got in, not that you were expecting him to, but still - the awkward silence feels heavier than it should. You steal a quick glance at him out of the corner of your eye once the car reaches a red light - only to find that he's already looking at you. 

Your breath hitches for just a second, but you recover quickly in hopes that he won’t notice your reaction. “What?” you huff, raising an unimpressed brow. 

His eyes turn back to the road just as quickly, expression unreadable as the light turns green. “Nothing.” 

You sink back in your seat and the silence resumes, but with its temporary break, you feel compelled to keep up the conversation, even if it means more childish bickering. 

“I hope you don’t expect anything in return for this,” you say, turning to face forward again - but your attention piques once you hear a faint noise from him. It’s something you’ve never heard before, something just quiet enough that you almost didn’t hear it over the drumming rain, but you’re glad you did because you swear you just heard Park Sunghoon laugh. 

"When have I ever expected anything from you," he spits, but the usual malice in his tone is tinged with amusement.

"I'm just saying, don't think that just because you're doing this for me that anything's going to change," you huff, "if it weren't for Yeji you probably couldn't care less about me anyways." 

Sunghoon hums, the corners of his lips twitching as if he's holding back another laugh - he doesn't deny it, which somehow annoys you more than if he had outright agreed. Instead, he just shifts gears smoothly, eyes fixed on the road and you hate the way you find your gaze lingering on his profile for just a little too long.

"You sound disappointed," he muses after a beat.

You scoff defensively, crossing your arms. "Yeah, right." You've always hated how easily he could read you.

He just nods ever so slightly and doesn't press for more but the silence that follows feels a little different now, less tense. You shift in your seat and try to ignore the way your heart is starting to beat just a little too fast or the fact that you're waiting for him to say something. 

After a moment, he exhales, fingers tapping the steering wheel. "For the record," he sighs, his tone almost confessional, "I don't not care about you."

You crane your neck, searching his face for any sign that he's messing with you right now, a glint in his eye, his signature cocky smirk - but his expression is again unreadable. Instead, you watch the outline of his jaw shift slightly, almost as if he regrets his words, but he doesn't take it back.

You swallow nervously, unsure entirely of what to do with this new information. "Good to know," you say slowly, looking away before he can see how much that single sentence has affected you. 

As you do, you're suddenly desperate for an opportunity to change the topic. "How come this whole time I never knew you had a younger sister?"

"Well it's not exactly like you know much about my personal life," he scoffs - and you have to admit he's right.

"I mean, it's not like you're an open book or anything," you reply, "takes me ages just to figure out what you're thinking half the time with that blank expression. It's hard to believe you and Yeji are even related."

"Right because a guy my age should totally be acting like a middle school girl," he nods mockingly.

"You get what I'm saying," you sigh, going quiet for a minute as you think about what to say next. "She looks up to you a lot, you know," is what you land on, trying to balance your tone between sounding casual and earnest. 

You watch as he scoffs, and shakes off your comment with a slight shake of his head. "I'm serious," you say, "she talks about you like you're a superhero or something, even when she complains about you, it's obvious you mean a lot to her."

Even though his expression barely changes, you watch his fingers tighten slightly on the wheel - and the beat of silence before his response is enough to tell you that he's not used to hearing things like this. You find it interesting how even though you're practically complimenting him, he responds as if he's unsettled.

"Whatever, she's young and annoying," he finally mutters - though for the first time, there's no real malice to his tone, only something defensive.

"You're deflecting," you point out. This side of him, the one that's quiet and easily affected by your words, is one you've rarely gotten to see and if you're being completely honest, you're enjoying this far too much to let it go. "I think you like knowing she looks up to you." 

He huffs, clearly growing tired of your prying. "And I think you like hearing yourself talk."

You roll your eyes, but before you can shoot back with another remark, he beats you to it. "And whilst we're prying into my personal life, Yeji mentioned something interesting earlier."

You pause, suddenly wary. "Oh?"

He flicks his turn signal on, voice infuriatingly casual. "Apparently, you remind her of my ex." 

You feel your stomach lurch, followed quickly by a heat creeping up your face. "Excuse me?" is all you can manage to say.

His lips curl slightly, and it becomes clear that he only mentioned this to see your reaction. "Not in looks or anything," he clarifies, glancing briefly at you before focusing back on the road. "Personality-wise, she said you both have a way of getting under my skin."

You scoff, feeling an odd mix of feeling, irritation and something you don't really want to name. "Wow, should I be flattered or insulted?"

"That depends," he muses, "my ex was kinda terrible."

"Seriously?" you gape, shocked at how bold he's being in sharing this with you, "sounds like you're just butthurt from being dumped." 

He actually laughs - fully this time, not just the ghost of a chuckle he let out before. It's still short, and a little quiet, but for some reason it makes your chest tighten.

"Relax," he says, tone laced with amusement, "she wasn't all bad, but she did have this habit of always arguing with me, nitpicking things I did just for the sake of it."

You avoid his gaze, picking up on his signals just a little too quickly. "Sounds familiar," you mutter as you look out the car window at the rain.

You don't need to turn back to know his smirk depends, "Exactly."

The air has shifted completely now. The tension is still there, humming under the surface, but it's now covered by something else - something lighter, more playful, and charged in a way that makes you hyper-aware of how close the two of you are.

Then, just as you think the conversation is over, he speaks again - this time softer, almost absentmindedly.

"But I guess the difference is, I never really cared what she thought of me." 

It's such an offhand comment, something he's thrown out just to fill the silence. But something about it sticks to you, lingering in your mind as you nod, unsure of how to respond, and so you don't.

You spot the familiar sight of the dorms approach in the distance and even though you're compelled to feel relieved that this torturous car ride is drawing to an end - a tiny part of you can't help but feel a little disappointed that this seemingly rare opportunity is ending. Swiftly, he pulls up to the front entrance, parking smoothly and effortlessly.

As you move to undo your seatbelt, he stops you once again with his words. "Hey, I hope you're not going to stop tutoring Yeji, by the way," he's turned to face you now, but his eyes are avoiding yours. 

You furrow your brows, both at his words and his unusual expression. "Why would I?" you say slowly.

"Well, I mean, I just figured because of me and everything-" he begins to ramble, and it's the first time you've seen him stumble over his words like this.

"Relax, I hate you, not her, remember." You say it in the same teasing tone you've always used for him, but it seems to land heavier than you expected with how he turns back to face the steering wheel, his lips forming a thin line.

You linger for a moment, and something about the air between you feels different - like you're standing on the edge of something neither of you can name. Sunghoon's hand is still resting on the gear shift, his fingers drumming against the leather in a steady rhythm. 

"Right," he replies curtly, almost to himself and you can sense just a hint of disappointment in his tone.

You should leave it at that, you know you should. But something about the way he's gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly, or how his jaw is tensed ever so slightly, makes you want to press just a little further.

"Unless," you hum, tilting your head slightly, "you'd actually miss me if I stopped coming around?"

"Yeji would," he replies almost immediately - but you don't miss the way his shoulders go rigid for just a fraction of a second before he speaks.

"You didn't deny it," you smirk.

At this, he finally looks at you and there's something about the way he does it - something heavier than the usual irritation or exasperation you're used to. His gaze lingers, his expression unreadable and for a split second, you wonder if you've pushed too far. 

But then, he exhales, something softer flickering across his features before he quickly pulls them back into indifference. "Just get out of my car before I start charging you for emotional distress."

You roll your eyes, but do as he says, reaching for the door handle and pushing it open just as the rain continues to pour outside.

"See you next time, Park," you say, "and drive safe."

"Don't tell me what to do," he huffs, though there's a playful tone in his voice as he smirks at you.

You return his look, satisfied, and finally push the door shut - watching as he shifts into gear, headlights illuminating the street. You know you should get inside and out of the rain immediately but you can’t help but watch as he drives off, heart thrumming in your chest as you find the beaming smile on your face lingering. You shake your heard at yourself, almost as if to shake away your thoughts, before turning to head into the dorm. 

What you don’t see though, is the way Sunghoon glances in his rearview mirror one last time before turning away, just to catch a glimpse of you before you do.