#half of his shirts are grease stained

[candlecanoe]

wip/caboose stuff while im working on some bigger stuff ◉_◉

suggestive? leather caboose under the cut. its just the second drawing´s sketch shirtless

been working on figure drawing/anatomy for school so i figured i might as well make it fun for myself, i think he likes the way harnesses hug his body, he likes the pressure... its comforting

[gyuswhore]

Grease (the tragedy)

“Careful, those marks on the floor aren’t just oil and paint.”

jeon wonwoo x reader

word count: 5.8k

warnings: smut [minors DNI], fluff, angst, mechanic!wonu, annoyances to lovers, blind date gone wrong but then gone right, kissing, clit stuff, oral (f. rec), thigh fucking (oop), this all happens at a desk LMAO, title is a what I thought was a funny spin on how people say "grease (the musical)"....has nothing to do with the musical though but lots to do with actual grease!!!

synopsis: In which you have to sit through one of the worst dates of your life, followed by the insistent tug of fate and compulsion that lead you straight back to where you'd sworn you'd never go.

[a/n]: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY WIFE CAMOTHY @highvern everyone go say happy birthday to cam or ill appear in your room at night 🔫 anygays HAVE FUN READING THIS I hope this is all the sexy wonu content you wanted, I cant wait for your reaction hehehhehe

and also bigbigbigbig thank you to jessifer @the-boy-meets-evil for proofing this for me!!! ily heh

and and to everyone reading this who is not cam, I hope you enjoy reading mechanic!wonu as much as I liked writing him heheh PLS REMEMBER TO REBLOG AND TELL ME UR THOTS it could be in the tags, replies, an ask literally anything!!!! id love to hear what you guys think!!!!

masterlist

 [You]: do you think he died on the way [Liv]: hes still not there??? [You]: what do you think????? [Liv]: let me ask Amelia [You]: dont bother [You]: he can show up whenever he wants im leaving in 5 [Liv]: you promised you’d sit thru this!! [You]: sit thru what? an empty seat across from me???

Liv doesn’t respond immediately, and you immediately know she’s buggered off to ask her cousin why your date still wasn’t here. 

It’s not like you couldn’t have asked him yourself, the sparse textbox sitting just under Liv’s contact. You open it to inspect the contents. 

[liv’s cousin’s something]: Amelia gave me your number [liv’s cousin’s something]: friday night at the sage&salt at 7  [liv’s cousin’s something]: is that okay [You]: uh hey [You]: yeah that’s fine

Today 7:20 PM

[You]: im here?

The first thread of texts were enough to make you feel like this was some cold business meeting instead of a date, knowing wherever this would lead would be either the city dump or off a cliff. Liv was hearing none of it, taking the guilt tripping route, saying she’d already committed and her cousin was irritating enough even without a scuffle.

So when Friday evening came around you’d pulled on the first dress your fingers could find, took all of ten minutes fighting with your makeup to make it look like you did something and left the house with zero expectations. 

Despite that, as you see a man walk into the establishment dressed like he’d gotten into a fight with a squid and a paper shredder, you feel the stone in your chest tank into the abyss. Zero expectations, and he’s somehow managed to strike out anyway. 

The jacket looks like he’s put it on as a weak cover for the grime stains on his shirt and trousers, a couple jet black splatters across the outfit to really pull the whole thing together. It’s not like he looked homeless or anything, his face surprisingly handsome with his hair pushed away from his forehead. Although he remains looking like he’d been playing football in some neighbourhood parking lot before remembering he had an adult appointment too. 

You’d never seen the man in your life, but your gut told you this was the shit texter who’d kept you waiting for nearly an hour. He seems to notice too, eyes locking from across the restaurant as the waitress leads him to your table. 

“Wonwoo,” you greet with a difficult smile, half sure it came out as a grimace. “Right?”

“Yeah,” he huffs as he practically slams back down on the chair, and you wonder for a moment how the legs didn’t give out. He says your name and you nod. “Sorry I’m late, I got a call in the parking lot.”

He’s been in the parking lot this entire time?!

It’s like you’ve been doused in gasoline and lit on fire, yet somehow needing to give him a shaky reply anyway. 

“O–oh, I see.”

The waitress saves you from spitting in his face when she asks if you were ready to order. 

Dinner was off the table, as you discussed with Liv who forwarded it to her cousin to her–whoever it was that set up this god awful date–and agreed on dessert and perhaps a drink. 

“I’ll have the chocolate cake,” you request in an attempt to make this somewhat better. You consider for a moment before asking for a drink as well, “And a dry gin martini, please.”

“Um,” he staggers as he barely skims the menu, ultimately flipping it closed. “I’ll have the same, I guess.”

Deep voice. You might’ve liked that if you weren’t already so peeved. 

The waitress disappears with the menus, leaving you two alone for the first time. 

“So,” you start with an exhale. “How do you know Amelia?”

“Her husband.”

“I see.”

Silence. 

“How do you know her husband?”

He sighs like this is all inconveniencing him, and it irks you to an irrespective degree. Like you wanted to be here either. 

“He brings his car to the workshop alot, became friends somewhere along the line.”

“Workshop?”

He looks a little startled, cocking his head to the side. “I’m a mechanic? Did Olivia–was it–not tell you?”

“No, she didn’t.”

It’s silent yet again as the man across from you refuses to elaborate. You curse as you ask him a follow up question. If there was anything you hated more than shouldering a dead conversation, it was sitting through an awkward silence. 

One hour. You’d sit through this for one more hour and then you’d leave. 

“What kind of cars do you work on?”

“Expensive ones,” he answers. You might’ve kicked yourself if he’d ended it at that, but he continues with a purse of his lips. “Ones that rich people abuse to an inch of the machine’s life and wonder why the dealership gives up on it. Vintage pieces too.”

“Have I heard of it?”

“The cars?”

“No, I mean,” you let out a breath. “Your workshop.”

“Jeon Motors, just a couple streets down actually.”

You did know what he was talking about, not expecting to recognise it through the empty question, passing by it on multiple occasions in this part of the city.

“Oh, I’ve seen it a few times.”

“Yeah, we’ve been there for a while.”

“Family business?”

“Uh–sort of.” 

“Okay,” you sigh in an irritated laugh. This was going to be a very difficult hour. “Keep that to yourself too.”

“Is there a problem?”

Just as you lift your eyes to lock with his, a ready yes, there is actually a problem on your tongue, there’s an intrusion. 

“Here are your chocolate cakes,” the waitress places the cakes down, and then the drinks. “And your dry gin martinis. Do you guys need anything else?” By the time the waitress is gone you’ve somewhat forced yourself to put that sudden surge of flames out, to a degree at least. 

“Okay,” he sighs, grabbing his glass and downing nearly half the contents. He emerges, wiping a bit of a spill from the corner of his mouth. “Let’s get this out of the way.”

“Hm?” He’s speaking to you with a very weird surge of intensity, and it confuses you.

“Neither of us wanna be here. You’re clearly trying to be hospitable but I’d really rather you not, especially when we’re both doing this to get our respective ticks off our hides.”

There isn’t much you can do but stare at him. 

“Have I misjudged your advances?” he asks over his glass, sharp eyes piercing. 

“No!” you yelp, reaching for your drink yourself, taking big sips only to emerge sputtering and heaving. 

Your date looks like he’s rising out of his chair when you raise a hand to stop him. 

“No,” you repeat, less jumpy this time. “I guess we could’ve cleared that out from before.”

Did he…snort?

“Sorry.” Dropping his chin to his chest, he composes himself. 

“What?” you ask, remaining annoyed as ever. 

“Nothing.”

That does it. You slam your now empty glass down on the table, slipping your fork out of the napkin a little forcefully, the metal glinting in the light of the restaurant. You dig into a corner of the cake and shove it in your mouth. 

If he was gonna be rude, you could be too. 

“I don’t know about hospitable.” You swallow. “But I assumed not being an ass was kind of an unwritten rule for any situation really. Including the ones you’d rather not be in.”

Wonwoo stares at you with a blank face, his cake untouched. “I’m being an ass. My laugh couldn’t have offended you that much.”

“So you did pick that up,” you comment. “With the way this conversation’s going I would’ve thought it flew right over your engine.”

“I’d argue your laugh was the least offensive thing you’ve done tonight.” You plunge your fork into your cake again. “But clearly we’re in different realms of etiquette.”

Your eyes meet the rough stains on his attire, and then his own that bore into yours like a challenge. The cake isn’t too sweet, rich just the right amount and texturally sound. Maybe something good did come out of this fiasco. 

“Okay fine,” he announces, sitting up straighter. “I apologise.”

“For laughing?”

“And for being obscenely late.”

“And?”

“And…” he genuinely looks like he’s struggling to figure it out, but catches your eyes flickering to his tattered and stained outfit. “And for my entirely inappropriate dressing sense. You’ll have to forgive me for that one, oil and grime are my spoils of war.”

“Wear it like a badge, mister mechanic, but perhaps somewhere it’s appreciated.” 

Wonwoo has already finished his drink, his cake remaining untouched. “You’re quite adamant on disliking me.”

“And you’re quite adamant on being a horrid conversationalist.”

The corners of his mouth lift the slightest bit. Opening his mouth to respond, you cut him off. “Cars don’t talk? Or perhaps, machines are easier to understand?”

“More like I don’t care to be personable.”

“That can’t be good for business.”

“The cars speak for themselves.”

He’s a weird one. Even more so when he offers to pay the entire bill, promising you he wasn’t lying when he said he was good at what he does, and to “make up for lost personality points.” You manage to pay your half anyway, considering the circumstances. 

“Can you at least let me drive you home?” Wonwoo asks as you both step out of the establishment soon after. 

“Depends.” You fix the strap of your bag. “Will it fall apart on the highway?”

The blaring white of the restaurant's outdoor lights backlight Wonwoo to make him look like some sad angel. He turns to you, the same slight smirk that seems to be plastered on his face. “Why don’t you find out?”

“What do you mean sell it? I got this thing a year ago!” 

There isn’t much you can do but sigh loudly as you listen to Olivia talk about the state of her car, the one that cost too much to justify but she seemed to use and abuse like a very replaceable toy truck. 

Leaning against the hood of the darn thing, you talk to her. “The dealership is giving you a shit deal to take it off your hands, you might as well try your luck.”

The look on her face is easy to read as she silences. Not convinced in the slightest, waiting for the conversation to end just so she could figure it out on her own. Sighing loudly, you look back to the dark beauty with a crate of issues that make it spit and sputter to a stop every few weeks. 

“How much did you say the repairs cost again?”

“Enough to put me on food stamps,” she whines through her frustration, tears pricking against her eyes as they glisten under the neighbourhood streetlights. “Why are you smirking like that?!”

“It’s just,” you pause as you consider your next words, pressing your lips together. “This is a little bit your fault.”

Lies, it was entirely her fault. 

Liv stares like you’ve just offended her, which you’re sure you have.

“Care to share how this possible bankruptcy could be my fault?"

“Because you drive the thing like you have a secret reserve buried somewhere in Tenerife.”

“My apologies for making a habit of not being a public nuisance and going forty on a national highway.”

“Your speed-o-metre is not the issue here.”

“Yes, of course, everything’s my fault.”

“Liv, please!” You groan loudly. “Just…let’s try putting up a listing tomorrow. Consider the prospects and you can decide from there.”

Sagging her shoulders and stretching her neck, Liv decides to simply trudge back indoors in silence. You take it as a begrudging yes, and follow her inside. 

That very night, when you were at the very cusp of falling into the dark space of sleep, your brain re-awakens before your eyes do. A jolt as the memory comes back to you of the many months ago, sitting in that restaurant across from a man who was too handsome for the personality he seemed to sire. 

“Expensive ones,” he had said. “Ones that rich people abuse to an inch of the machine’s life and wonder why the dealership gives up on it.”

How fitting. 

“Are you going to explain or should I explode instead?” 

You’d mentally prepared for the bombardment of accusations from Liv, her questioning perfectly right as you yourself cringed at the thought of showing your face here of all places. The one last one that’d officially banned her from ever setting you up with an individual of her choosing ever again. 

Hearing only silence as her answer, she appeals; “I thought he was the worst date of your life.”

“Nothing to do with his skills as a mechanic,” you mumble, refusing to make eye contact. 

“And everything to do with this being a horrible idea anyway!” Liv stares up at the sign on top of the garage. Jeon Motors. “What makes you think this guy can fix my car?”

What did make you think he could fix Liv’s car? If you’d known you might have given her an answer, but as you stare at the giant signboard that you’ve driven past for longer than you can remember, you can’t help but feel this place has been haunting you. Just a little. 

You can’t help but feel the tingle of goosebumps rise on your skin, the hairs across the expanse standing up at the thought of walking inside. There was no way you could differentiate the reaction from plain nerves or from the cringing drills that sound all the way outside the establishment. Regardless, you make an attempt to look confident as you make your strides into the pungent of the workshop. 

The first thing you note is how…clean everything is. Cleaner than any other workshop you’ve walked into anyway. 

The interior is bigger than it looks from the outside, the ginormous hall hosting about a dozen cars within your eyeshot alone. One side of the great hall holds an array of parked cars in different stages of dismantled and deconstructed, while the other side is lined with contraptions that look like stripped and enlarged elevators. 

Once you’ve inhaled a beyond recommended amount of smoke fumes and listened past all of the clanging, banging and sparks, you register the people that are elbow deep in the hoods of the vehicle they’re working on, enough to leave you and Liv standing at the entrance of an establishment that you can barely make sense of. 

“Can I help you?” A man in stained beige overalls approaches your wide eyed pair, face half covered in his baseball hat and hands occupied with a rag. 

To your slightest dismay, it isn’t the man you’re looking for.

“Uh– is Wonwoo here?” you ask. 

“He’s in a meeting right now. Are you a friend?” 

No, just a failed love interest.

“He,” you falter. If you weren’t a friend…then what were you? “He gave me his card.”

“Do you need help with your car?”

“Mine, actually,” Liv pipes. “It’s outside if you wanna take a look first.”

With one sweeping look across the warehouse, your eyes land on one of the few doors on the left. You register the plain look of it for barely a moment before joining Liv outside. 

By the time her car has been rolled and parked inside for a more thorough inspection, it’s taken you every last grain of your willpower to not stalk back out and wait in your car. For whatever reason, you can’t help but feel a very familiar spasm of irritation spark through you. Here you are, left anxiously waiting for the same man for a second time, merely feet away but remaining occupied with more important things. 

At the very least, the multiple hands prodding around the car’s engine were being somewhat of use, attempting to survey the same issues that had been looked at about a dozen times before. You silently promise to be a better person if this trip wouldn’t be for vain.  

“Am I late for something again?” 

Your throat is suddenly clogged as you open your mouth and no sound graces your presence. The face that meets you has his eyebrows raised as he stares at you in expectation, a ghost of a smile on his face. 

“W–Wonwoo, hi, um.” You clear your throat loudly, heat cursing your cheeks. “No, of course not.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure after…four months?” he asks, hands on his hips and his back straightened.

“I…my friend’s car needed to be looked at so…”

“Ah, of course!” He turns to where you’ve motioned, looking at the popped hood of the car his employees are working on. “I’ll take a look at it myself, don’t worry about it.”

He’s already walking away, towards the car and leaving you a ways away from the action. You stare at his back; the overalls tied at the waist and the stained white T-shirt that clings to his form from the humidity.

Wonwoo remains a man of a few words, and you remain at wits end about it all. 

A loud honk gives you something to do as you jump at the sound so up close, scrambling to move away from the smack centre as another car pulls into the garage. 

“Careful, those marks on the floor aren’t just oil and paint.” Wonwoo snickers from his place hunched over the hood as he cranes his neck to look at you. 

You walk over to where he is to get out of the way. “Was that meant to sound like an innuendo?”

“I was talking about the occasional running over someone’s foot,” he answers. “Not sure what you were thinking.” 

Ignoring the jab, you note that it was now only you and him crowding the car, “Where’s Olivia?”

“Went to look at spare parts.” You watch him as his gloved hands reach further into the enclave and yank at something hard. 

“So you can fix it?” 

“The car? It’ll take a couple days but it’s not really an issue.”

Furrowing your brows, you press on, “But the dealership—”

“Dealerships are the spawn of the devil,” he grunts as he finally wrenches out a spare nut or bolt or something that’s covered in oil. “Let me guess, they wanted her to sell it back to them?”

It’s your turn to raise your brows. “Yes. They tried fixing it, but it'd just stop again.”

“Because they’ve been fixing the symptoms.” He raises his eyes to meet yours, hands occupied with rubbing the part in his hands relatively clean with a rag. “They haven’t bothered to do anything about the actual problem.” 

“Because that’s gonna cost…?”

“Couple hundred, give or take,” he announces nonchalantly, turning his focus back to the engine. 

“But—” That’s it?

“Fifty extra for every question I have to answer after this.” You briefly wonder if Wonwoo’s eyes were always this piercing, boring into your soul like he didn’t need words to know what was going on with you. 

“Fine,” you huff, moving to drag a chair over, mostly just so you could have reason to break eye contact, and plop down as you watch him work. 

The more you think about it, the more you can find yourself unbothered by his strange behaviour. He wasn’t bleak, but nowhere near one of the more interesting people you’ve met. Taking the opportunity to really scan the man head to toe, you can’t say you find anything truly concrete to be this put off by him. 

Not much of a talker, but with the times you’ve prayed for a man that knew when to shut up sometimes, you wonder how much you can actually complain about this boon in particular. 

Besides, he was a looker, and you were completely content shutting your trap if it meant you got to shamelessly ogle at him from this close. 

“You know, this place looks bigger than it does from the outside.”

Wonwoo stares pointedly. 

You raise a shoulder in nonchalance, “Wasn’t a question!”

He simply huffs as he mumbles, “More length than breadth I suppose.”

“What are those things called?” you ask as you watch a sedan get lifted into the on some platform on the other end of the row. 

Glancing back, he answers, “Post lift, car lift, whatever you wanna call it.”

“What does it do?”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Touché.” 

Glancing back at him, you catch sight of his stained shirt once again. “Is that the same thing you wore to our date?”

Chin to chest, he registers what he’s wearing, hands still working on pulling bolts and boxes out of the hood. “Have about twenty of the same shirt, I can never be too sure.”

“You’re impossible.”

He smirks, “Touché.” 

You questioned if this was a mistake. 

Olivia could pick up her car herself, so why did you insist to be the one that did it? As you pay the taxi driver, you feel your ankles lock for a moment as you move to slip out of the cab. Frozen, you hear the driver ask you if everything was alright, to which your legs seem to work again, finally foot to gravel in front of the dreaded workshop.

The Jeon Motors sign blares the same as it always has in the afternoon light, glinting as it encourages you to walk in and do one of the stupider things you’ve done in life. Other than the ridiculous outfit you’ve put on, of course. 

But alas, as you hand over your slip to one of the many mechanics in the workshop, you find yourself praying he wasn’t here after all, that perhaps you could miss him as you leave and never have to see him again. 

Somebody yells out his name, and the dream drifts away like smoke. 

Finding the courage, you look up to where the man shouted for him, and immediately wish you hadn’t. 

Wonwoo remains in his overalls, the same ones that he had tied to his waist the last time you saw him. His undershirt however…

The tank top is revealing too much for you to pretend you don’t care, his hair remaining pushed back and away from his forehead as he walks over to you in what feels like slow motion. He takes the slip that he does not need, smiling at you as he says his hellos. 

“Car’s all fixed up, just need some papers that need signing and you’re all set.”

“Oh, but Liv isn’t here today.”

“That’s alright, you can sign them too,” he reassures, motioning for you to walk with him towards the car. “The car was alright in the test drives, revving hasn’t caused any problems either.”

He halts in front of the now (supposedly) fixed black sedan and pats the hood lightly, “If anything happens tell her to bring it straight here, although it shouldn’t have any more problems.”

“What’s your rate of return on customers?” you ask, a slight smirk on your face.

He thinks for a moment, “Pretty crap. But I guess that means I’m doing something right.”

You consider yourself something of a helicopter parent when it comes to your own car, but perhaps you’d change that if it meant you’d get to come here a little more often. 

Goodness, what’s gotten into you.

Wonwoo’s smiling too, and for a brief moment the silence is nearly awkward. A pause before he proposes leaving. 

“Shall we go to the office then?” 

Nodding eagerly, you trail behind him as he leads you towards the other end of the workshop, passing by even more cars in all their stripped or constructed glory. Glancing in front, you catch sight of Wonwoo’s back, ensnared for a moment before you snap your head away, reciting every curse word you know like a mantra. 

“It’s less hot in here too, keep the air on all the time.” Wonwoo stands in front of the plain doors, hands on the handle to wrench it open. You recognise it as the same door you had noted a few days ago. “Would you like anything? Coffee, tea?”

“Um, just water is fine, thanks.”

It’s quite plain, beige and leather against cream walls and unfittingly white lights. There’s a desk on one corner that’s beyond cluttered with more papers than you can register, pens and other office supplies mixed into the disorganised chaos of the large tabletop.

“Sorry about the mess, I can never find time to sort through it.” To your surprise, the light tinge of his cheeks suggest he might actually feel a little embarrassed. 

Cute. 

There’s cabinets that line on one of the far walls, and you watch him take his gloves off to open it and reach for a cup. The white porcelain emerges stained with an ashy grey as his fingers betray him. He looks flustered, glancing at his hands and back up to the cabinet. 

You can’t help but laugh a little, moving forward to help. “It’s alright, let me.”

“Sorry,” he apologised again, with a sheepish look on his face. “I’ll, um, wash this off.”

“Go on, I’m here,” you reassure as you move towards the water dispenser in the corner to fill your clean cup. 

He returns with significantly cleaner hands and apologises one last time. “Seems all I do around you is apologise.”

You have the good humour to chuckle, “So I’ve noticed.”

He does well to clear out most of the clutter that’s on his desk, leaving enough room to set down a few pieces of paper as you take a seat on the opposite side. 

As you scan through the papers, he attempts to make sober conversation. “You should…bring your car around for inspections if you want.”

“Oh? Even if I ask a million questions?”

“I can make an exception or two,” he grins. 

“And if you charge me double?”

“Might not charge you at all.”

“Might?” you question as you lift the pen he’d given you to sign the first space. 

“Might.”

“And what’re the conditions for that?” 

He doesn’t answer as he ponders and you fill in the second blank. “I’ll have to think about that.”

You snort before you can help it, your last signature coming out a little wonky as your hands shake. Turning the papers over to him, you continue, “Well then, let me know when you figure it out.”

He stares pointedly as he accepts the papers before dropping his eyes again, “Can I?”

“Hm?”

“Can I? Let you know?” 

It’s like you’ve been frozen over, the typewriter in your mind jamming as it punches out the implications of what he’s saying. 

“It seems, at least to me, that we may have gotten off on the wrong foot,” he continues. 

You hesitate. “I think so too.”

“I…I don’t want to put anything like pressure on you but–” 

“Would you like to try the new gelato place downtown this week?” you ask finally as you save him from his misery. “If…you’d like.”

He looks stunned for a moment before he’s scrambling, “Oh–of course! Yes, anytime is fine with me.”

“Great,” you smile, lifting from your seat. “It’s a date.”

“I’ll promise to wash my hands this time…and my shirt. And I won’t be late.” 

“Let’s not make promises we can’t keep,” you tease. 

You’re nearing the door as he follows behind, and just as you’re about to pull down on the handle, you hear him say your name. 

Turning around, almost too eagerly, you look up at him in expectation. He’s close, almost right behind you as he looks like he’s debating whether opening his mouth is a good idea. 

“Are you doing anything else today?” 

“Um,” you stutter for a moment. “I don’t have to drop off the car till later tonight, that’s all really.”

He swallows. “Do you wanna stay? Just a little while. We can stay in here, nobody comes in anyway.”

You aren’t entirely sure why you said yes, because you did actually have dinner plans with Liv later tonight, but the teeny tiny voice in your mind egged you on anyway. Besides, Liv wouldn’t mind, not if you were cancelling for this.

This entailed the very friendly contact of Wonwoo’s tongue in your mouth, and the extremely cordial way it seemed to caress your insides. If somebody asked you how it led to this, you don’t think you’d have an answer. Not that you care, especially when his hands are grabbing your waist and hips like that.

He’s already locked the door, reassuring you that nobody would find their boss and client in the smack dab middle of the devil’s tango. You take his word for it, relishing in the way his hot breath hits your skin below your ears, his mouth sucking under your earlobes as you whimper ever so quietly. 

Your hands are on his exposed biceps, feeling him up all to your heart's content. “Do you–Do you always wear stuff like this?”

He emerges, wet lipped and eyes trained. “So I wasn’t imagining it.”

“Imagining what?” you ask as you let him unbuckle your trousers.

“Please. Like you weren’t stripping me with your eyes.”

If you were warm before you, you're boiling up now. Were you being so obvious?

“It’s alright,” he reassures as you feel his fingers make contact with the crotch of your panties, pushing in to put pressure on your clit. “Wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t picked up on it.”

You feel his fingers push the dampening fabric away as his fingers make contact with your hole, coating his fingers in the arousal that’s made itself known. It’s hard to not hiss at the way he begins to circle it, thanking the universe that the loud noises of the workshop outside were masking whatever evidence of the heinous crime you were committing inside. 

Back against the couch in his office, you settle into the cushions once you feel him rub at your clit, one hand spreading your lips apart as he continues to massage your own wetness onto your throbbing cunt. 

When he retreats you almost cry out, but are smothered when he plunges two fingers into your hole instead, curling them almost immediately inside you. The consistent brush of the tips of his fingers on your walls are making it difficult to keep your eyes open, and absolutely impossible to keep your moans at bay. 

“Wonwoo, that’s so good, fuck.”

Through your closed eyes, you don’t note when Wonwoo gets on his knees. But you do feel him yank your trousers off entirely, and you definitely feel him place his wet mouth flush on your lower lips, sucking at your clit as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you mercilessly. 

That’s all it takes for your noises to become increasingly high pitched, hands buried in his beautiful hair as he continues to pleasure you beyond imagination. 

“I’m so close, keep going, please, it feels so–”

He somehow buries his face in deeper, sucking harder, licking faster, and it’s enough for you to finally feel yourself collapsing on the inside, your composure dissolving as you moan so loud you’re sure they can hear it outside, even through all the clanging and revs of cars. 

There’s no way for you to know how long you lay there slumped against the couch cushions, but when you hear Wonwoo speak to you in your ear, you answer. 

“Was that okay?”

“More than okay,” you say as you grab his face and pull his lips to yours, tasting the tang in his mouth from your arousal. “Do you have a condom?”

“I–fuck,” he thinks for a moment. “I don’t think I do.”

You try not to feel too disappointed, but you sigh into his mouth anyway. 

“Can I fuck your thighs?” you hear him ask, and you might have just orgasmed again, untouched. 

“Fuck, yes you can.” 

With a yelp, you feel yourself lifted off the couch as you wrap your arms around Wonwoo’s neck, letting him guide you to his desk. “Wonwoo!”

You hear a loud crash of the desk being stripped of all its inhabitants, and your back hitting the cool of the table top. 

Wonwoo unties the arms of his overalls around his waist, letting the legs pool to the floor before slipping his hard cock out of his boxers. 

You don’t see it as you feel him lock your knees together and lift both your calves to rest on one of his shoulders. But you do feel it as he pushes the head into the seam of your thighs, watching the indent as the pink of his dick appears before you through the skin of your thighs. 

Wonwoo’s face is contorted as he pulls back and pushes back through again, this time brushing against your still sensitive clit. You gasp at contact, and immediately feel him thrusting faster. 

“Wonwoo,” you grunt. “Lower.”

He obliges, pushing his dick lower so it can rub flush against your clit as he begins to roughen up his pace. 

You moan as you feel his free hand that isn’t holding your legs trail to the ends of your shirt, caressing over your stomach to pull it up and reveal your bra clad tits. He pushes his hands under the nearest cup and begins to grope you so wonderfully with his big, warm hands. Rolling the bud between his fingers, you can only grasp onto his wrists as a handheld to keep you down on earth. 

The desk beneath you is rattling with noise, the full drawers making themselves known as Wonwoo pounds into your thighs like he would die if he stopped, mouth coming in contact with whatever skin of your legs he could reach, his breath fanning the side of your knees. 

You’re close again, and you know he is too with the way his thrusts are beginning to grow sloppy. 

“There,” he pants. “Almost.”

You orgasm for the second time, the throb your clit beyond comprehension as the rough of his dick slides across your clit mercilessly. 

“Cum like this, Wonwoo please I need to see you cum.”

And he does, shooting the heft of his load to cover your already wet cunt and thighs, landing on your stomach as he continues to ride out his high between your legs. 

The back of your head hits the table as you take in gulps of air through the aftermath of it all. Wonwoo is putting his weight on the back of your thighs, holding onto the table for support. 

“Oh, Liv is never gonna let me live this down,” you pant, lolling your head to one side as you register him. 

He peers up at you through his hair, the stupid smirk on his face, “Do you care?”

You’re smiling a little too when you answer, “Not really.”

And then your legs are off his shoulders as he nestles between them instead, diving in to lift your head and kiss you. 

And you let him, although you wouldn’t really call it too much of a kiss—not when the both of you were smiling like idiots through the clash. 

[jilixthinker]

gross freak

͟͟͞♡ jisung × fem!reader

word count: 2.5k

warning: sub!jisung, dom!reader, kinda gross jisung, established relationship, masturbation (m rec), cock/balls slapping, jisung is gross but they are so in love

=͟͟͞♡ please consider reblogging if you like my works!

“Honey, I'm home!"

Jisung is kicking off his white sneakers in front of the door. They're a bit stained with mud on the sides, and he knows he’s not allowed to step inside the house wearing those unless he wants to hear your voice reverberating through the apartment. He's still wearing his soccer gear, tiny red shorts with a white stripe down the side, cut just above the knee, and a white tank top that you're sure he wore for the training as well. It's 10 p.m., but it's still warm outside, and the white fabric sticks uncomfortably to Jisung's slim body, a few yellow sweat stains under his armpits. 

His hair is still damp from the running, tied in a bun. A red hairband is pulling back his greasy locks from his forehead. He hasn't changed that in at least two weeks.

"Idiot," you chuckle in response, "how was it?"

"Uh, fine I guess" Jisung answers while kicking off his grayish, damp socks along with his shoes, "Changbin-hyung fell and ate a bunch of soil, I laughed so hard I peed my pants" he snorts.

"You all act just like children," you reply with a giggle, "I'm glad you had a good time. Are you hungry? Have you had dinner yet?"

"I ate a burger with the boys . It was huuuuge, baby. Can still feel it moving in my stomach," he replies as he finally enters in the living room delivering his signature goofy smile. 

You smile as you see him patting his tummy. Jisung is very thin, almost borderline unhealthy, but a small layer of fat sits stubbornly below his belly button, and it doesn’t go away despite all of the physical exercise. Jisung says it’s okay, that he doesn't mind. But you, you love it.

"Good. You didn’t take a shower there, did you?" you ask stretching your legs on the couch and pausing the show you were watching. 

"Nah, I didn't feel like it. I'll do it in a while." Jisung answers while opening the refrigerator and fishing out a can of sprite. He opens it with gnarled fingers and brings it to his lips, chugging half of it in one big gulp. 

"Ew, Sungie" 

Jisung widens his eyes in fake shock and leans against the peninsula of the kitchen. "Ew? To the love of your life? Your boyfriend, your future husband, the apple of your ey-"

"Enough of this," you laugh as you come closer him, leaning across the peninsula. "I could count the grease stains on your hands if I wanted to. You're dirty."

"Mean," Jisung whispers drinking the other half of the sprite and hiding a burp with one fist. "I thought I'd come home and get a better treatment than this."

You burst out laughing at his words. "Uh, did you have plans? What did you expect big boy, tell me." 

Jisung chuckles again and you can see a bit of burger sauce pooled at the corner of his lips. 

"Uhh, dunno. A massage, maybe? Showing your baby you love him?”

You laugh, "You want a massage? Come here, that can be arranged." You take a couple of steps back and sit on the couch, on the peninsula side, so you can stretch your legs. Jisung looks at you with a lopsided smile and brings a hand to his head, scratching behind his ear. You can see from a distance the oily strands of hair slipping through his fingers. You should find it disgusting. You really should.

You open your arms and offer him a big smile, "Come on, baby. You must be dead tired, hmm? The boys destroyed you. Come to mama, I'll give you what you need."

Jisung gulps and giggles, wobbling closer to you and letting himself fall into the space between your thighs, abandoning his back against your chest. Then he lets himself slide forward a little, pressing the nape of his neck against the softness of your breasts under the shirt you're wearing.

"Uh, uh. That feels nice already," he murmurs adjusting himself against your chest.

"Have you had some drinks?" you ask, bringing your hands to his shoulders and pinching them lightly. The fabric is damp and smells of sweat and the spray deodorant Jisung always puts on when he doesn't feel like showering.

"Just a couple of beers with Chan-hyung," Jisung sobs as soon as your fingers sink lightly into his muscles, "that man needs to get laid."

"Don't be cocky, Sungie," you reply with a grin as your hands descend to work on the muscles in his arms, "if it wasn’t for me, you'd be jerking off to one of your tacky porns as well. Be grateful I picked you up on the streets and decided you would be mine."

Your words are light, he knows you are joking. Even though, to tell the truth, Jisung was a virgin before meeting you, and the first time you had sex he was so nervous he came before he even managed to put the tip in. Adorable.

Jisung laughs and then he lets out a breathy moan when you run your fingers up between his shoulder blades, focusing on a knot. "That’s true. But now he’s the one jacking off to a shower wall. While me, I have a beautiful girlfriend who decided I was good enough to be adopted. I still am thankful for your bad taste in men." 

"My taste in men is great, excuse you," you retort as your chin rests on his head, near the band that pulls back his hair. "I pulled the nastiest hottest boy around. I regret nothing."

Jisung laughs. "You literally call me your rat." 

"Rats are cute," you answer back piquantly. Your fingers continue to work on the knot in Jisung's back with a little more insistence. Jisung writhes softly. "You just call me that because I'm a little gross."

You lower your head to rest a kiss on his greasy hair. There's gel residue on the strands, and it's a bit crusty.

"You know how much I love that you're a little gross. Makes me feral."

"You're a freak." Jisung laughs as your hands finish massaging his shoulder blades and descend to the front, down to his chest, to caress his sore pecs.

"Maybe," you admit. "Tell me how many beers you've had again. Just the truth this time, hmm?" 

"Five. Or six. Maybe six. Ah-" Jisung gulps when you brush your thumb on his pec, grazing his nipple. "Feelin' a bit tipsy." 

"I know, my love," you whisper as you continue massaging his chest with your fingers. Jisung's head is nestled perfectly between your breasts and you feel his ribcage swell and deflate quickly, like a baby bird. "You're all wriggly. You just can't sit still when you feel good, hmm?"

Jisung laughs embarrassed before letting a faint moan out when your fingers pinch his nipple again, more insistently. “Not fair though, you're t-teasing."

You nod a few times as your face descends to his ear, kissing the skin behind it, where you know that acrid, powerful smell typical of Jisung accumulates. “As if you didn't have a different kind of massage in mind from the beginning. Don't lie to mama, Sungie."

Jisung shakes his head tentatively, “I wasn’t trying to imply any of that”.

You chuckle at his words, bringing your mouth to his earlobe and nibbling at it. “Now say it again without drooling over yourself, mh?”

Jisung hiccups and goes limp against you, giving you enough space to keep nosing at his neck. A little bit of saliva is bubbling out of his parted lips, forming a shiny coat on his skin and you just wanna suck it off.

“Well, maybe. M-maybe just a little,” he grunts while the tip of your tongue brushes on the shell of his ear. “You’re mean for real.”

“Don’t call me mean when I’m about to jack you off, Sungie. That’s just ungrateful, don’t you think?” you whisper on his skin, breathing the sweet smell of his body in. Even his sweat kinda smells like beer. That’s disgusting and hot at the same time. Maybe you’re a freak after all.

“Oh. Oh. We’re… we’re doing that? Fuck, yeah. Suuuure, cool.” And then he lets out the nervous squeak he does everytime you’re about to touch him. It doesn’t matter it’s been years, he never gets used to you been enough attracted to him to give him pleasure even if he’s dirty. But, to be fair, Jisung is always kind of dirty.

You smile against his skin and your fingers find his nipple again, rolling it between your pointer and thumb over the fabric of his top. Jisung keens at that and you can feel the goosebumps forming on his arms under you.

“Wanna kiss. Give Sungie kiss first? Can you? Please?” He blubbers while your other hand is caressing just above his navel. He turns his face to look at you, and the angle is weird because he needs to force himself in this position, but his cheeks are flushed and cute, and his eyes so big you can almost see your own reflection in them.

The first kiss on his lips is just a peck, nothing else, and you can feel that Jisung tries, he tries so hard not to be affected too much this early, but as soon as you place your mouth on him and start to nibble lightly at his bottom lip, he lets out a broken whimper. He tastes like alcohol and ketchup, and his teeth are all sticky for the sprite he just chugged. You find yourself forcing his mouth open just after a few seconds just to be able to lick at them, feeling the sugar on the tip of your tongue.

“You’re so filthy, Sungie. You’re delicious.” You tease him a bit while sucking his own wet muscle into your mouth and slowly pulling it between your teeth.

Jisung lets out the quietest yet painful moan, "Ah- please, I just...", and he starts parting his thighs just a little bit, the tiniest movement showing how he is growing hard under his pants.

You look down and he is just the prettiest, all spread out for you.

“Never denied you anything,” you mutter as you scoot forward on the sofa to place a last peck on his lips. They’re a bit chapped, and a drop of blood stains your mouth.

Jisung’s head falls back on your chest, nuzzling between the comfort of your breasts, and he looks wrecked already. His eyes are teary and his vision fuzzy while his lips pucker, as if he was trying to suck on the air.

“Fuck, you’re so cute. Wish you had something on your mouth, uh?” you ask him as your left hand puts and end to the lazy massage on his lower stomach and finally cups him through his pants.

Jisung is fully hard already but, to an untrained eye, the two inches tent his erection is struggling to maintain makes him look like he’s just sporting half of a chub.

“Uh, uh - yeah, w-wanna suck please,” he manages while your hands goes a bit lower to graze his balls. “Please, mama- gimme anything.”

“Oh, Sungie, don’t beg,” you whisper kissing the tender skin of his ear one more time. Jisung’s soft sobs always make you feel lightheaded and needy, but you cannot show him. Not now. “Mama’s gonna give you fingers, mhkay?”

Jisung nods and parts his lips as a pavlovian response to your words, his tongue lolling out diligently out of his mouth. Your pointer and middle finger pinch the fat of his bottom lip and he moans softly at the teasing. When you finally ease your fingers inside of the heath of his mouth, Jisung lets out a weak cry. “Thank you thank you thank you thank you,” he gurgles around your digits as an indecent amount of spit oozes out and coat your palm.

When you look over his shoulder, you can see the shape of Jisung’s tiny cock angrily pointing at you, still covered by his shorts. The red fabric is somehow already wet because Jisung is always eager and leaky, and what he lacks in size he makes up in liquids.

“How many minutes today, Sungie? How much can you last for mama?” you ask, tone sticky and sweet while you thrust your fingers deeper inside his mouth and brush at the base of his tongue.

Jisung chokes on the pressure and a single tear escapes from his eyes. His cock twitches and you pat it condescendingly. “Aw, poor thing. How much? Two minutes?”

“Uh- mhhf sowy” he hiccups, mouth full of fingers and saliva, “sorry, I’m not..”

You smile and you finally wrap your free hand around his balls, squeezing it. “Don’t worry, baby. Mama gets it. Wanna come already uh?”

Your face finds its way against the crook of his neck and you lick a fat portion of skin, sucking it into your mouth. He tastes like soil, dirt and sweat. But most importantly, it tastes like Jisung. Like fried food and soda, mint cigarettes to cover the smell of unwashed teeth, ingrown hair and blemishes, acne and cum.

You bite on that sensitive spot and he sobs the most pathetic whimper out as your hand slaps his clothed cock once, twice, thrice, and your fingers go deeper and deeper, almost brushing his uvula and making him drown on his own spit.

“So-oh-sorry” he cries as his cock spasms one more time under the constriction of two layers of clothes. His knees shake and he lets out the most loud and sinful noise his voice lets him. His hips tremble with the force of his orgasm and he goes completely limp against you while spurting warm ropes of cum inside of his sweaty underwear. His eyes are glassy and full of tears while he empties himself for what it seems to be a full minute. He always cums more than he lasts anyway.

You hold him close through it as his high washes over him, arm tight around his waist, and you kiss his cheek, savoring the salt on his skin.

After a minute, Jisung turns his head in search of your reassurance, and he finds you already looking at him, your fingers falling out of his mouth to let him breathe properly.

“Well, that was a record” you chuckle at the sight of his goofy smile.

Jisung huffs and rolls his eyes at you. “I said- I said I had a few beers. That’s why.” He tries to justify himself.

You wink at him and you blow a raspberry on his nose. He always try to be the bigger man, but it never works.

“Whatever you say,” you concede. “Go change your underwear now. And take a shower.”

Jisung lazily shakes his head. “Nah. Too tired. Imma do it later.”

“You’re gross, Jisung.”

“And you’re a freak.”

©️jilixthinker, 2024. please do not copy, translate, or republish my works anywhere.

[luveline]

hey jade!! how’s everything going, was wondering if maybe we could get some more eddie and roan sometime? lots of love

Roan climbs into your lap unexpectedly, an inch from knocking a few teeth out. You wrap an arm around her, her hair tickling your arm and shoulder as she leans back. 

You’re both used to you being her chair, and she settles swiftly. “You okay?” you ask. 

“Yep. You want popcorn?” 

You smile. She’s so much older than when you met, but she’s still a little girl, still wobbles around words and lisps in funny places. The plastic bowl in her lap is half empty, but it smells strongly of chocolate. “Dad put milk duds in,” she says. 

“I can see that. I don’t want any, Roro. Thank you.” 

She grins at you, her eyes bright with love. “You're welcome.” 

You cross your arms around her stomach. “What’s dad doing, anyways?” 

“Making s’getti.”

“Oh, yum,” you say. You can smell the frying beef from here, but you hadn’t realised he was making spaghetti. He and Roan like burgers. Too much. “Does he need help?” 

“He said to tell you to go help.” 

“So why didn’t you tell me?” you murmur fondly, teasing as you tickle her sides. 

She laughs. “Because I want to watch the movie with you.” 

You place your chin atop her head. “Well, the princess wins. He’ll understand.” 

Eddie does not understand. He appears from the kitchen with his hair in a low bun and a grease stain on his shirt, a wooden spoon forgotten in his left hand. The right points at you accusingly. “What, you fall out of love with me or something?” He points at Ro. “Or did she not tell you?” 

“She told me, babe, I just didn’t listen.” 

Eddie pushed his tongue against his bottom lip. 

You cuddle his mini me closer. She’s lax as warm putty in your arms, completely and utterly content. 

“Please,” you say. “I’ll make dinner myself tomorrow. Promise. I just wanna stay with my girl.” Because she’s yours. How crazy it is that only two years ago you didn’t know her, and now you get to hold her and love her and be a mom to her. You can’t imagine missing out on another second of her life. “Please, baby?” 

He narrows his eyes at you. “Fine. But not because I believe you.” His gaze softens, and he holds the spoon away from you to lean down and kiss your cheek. 

“What’s that for?” you ask. 

“I know what you’re thinking about.” He squeezes your shoulder. “Love you, hate you. We’ll get takeout tomorrow.” 

“Wait, dad!” Roan says before he can leave. 

He grins at her. “Yeah?” 

“Can I have more popcorn?” she asks. 

His smile drops. He takes the bowl from her in a dramatic snatch that makes her giggle. 

“Rude!” she says, turning to you to see if you agree. 

“So rude,” you agree, hooking your hands under her arms to encourage her face to yours. “You know I love you so much?” 

The beauty mark under her eyelashes twitches as she smiles. “More than you love dad?” 

“A little bit,” you whisper. 

Her pearly baby teeth peek out as she smiles and hugs your face. “That’s awesome!” She sounds exactly like her dad, all breathless excitement.

[notsopersonalcharlie]

Honey Belle

Biker!Bucky Barnes x fem!reader fluff - Part of the Biker!Bucky Series

One part lead-up to the future and one part how Bucky and belle met.

Warnings: Mentions of sex and alcohol, discussion of a past relationship that bordered on abusive (non-binary reference), more car talk because i love mini coopers.

Note: My apologizes because i lost all my progress on this when i was about halfway through. Also I just have brainrot about them now sorry in advance.

"No no no no, please baby you can make it its just a litt-" The engine shuddered and then gave out. You groaned, banging your head against the steering wheel as you pulled off to the side of the quiet street. It was getting stifling in the car very quickly. The heat wave was precisely why you needed to take Baby Blue in. Your phone showed another mile and a half on the map you saved. This shop was in some dead end town, but it was the only one that had agreed to service the vintage coop.

"Couldn't have saved me the walk?" you asked to the car as you grabbed your bag and hauled it over your shoulder. You scrawled a note to leave on the windshield and began down the straight road. The trees on either side provided some shade, but there was no sidewalk, so as you continued you could peek back at your car and to check on any oncoming traffic.

The first signs of life you saw came ten minutes into your walk. You hadn't gotten far. It was sweltering and you had to leave straight from work, so your shoes were the least comfortable thing to walk in as you sweat.

Two motorcycles were headed your way, and to your surprise they both stopped. One was wearing a light brown leather jacket, and he pulled off his helmet immediately. He had blond hair and a kind looking smile, but you were also alone in a mysterious location with no signal.

"Hey, you alright?" You stared at them, and took a step back when he took a step toward you.

"Uh-"

"You had an appointment at the Howling Commando? Twenty minutes ago? Blue vintage Austin Mini Cooper?" The other guy had popped up his visor, but hadn't taken off the helmet yet. His blue eyes were sharp, watching you. You took another two steps back.

"Buck, lose the helmet," the blond guy admonished, "We work there, you said when you called that you were worried about the heat and the engine, so when you no-showed we thought you might have gotten stuck. I'm Steve. We talked on the phone the first time I think, and then you talked to Yelena to get the details." The other guy pulled off his helmet and you thought your heart might stop. Sure the blond, Steve, was handsome in a clean cut preppy kind of way, but this guy looked like he walked out of one of the fantasy books your read as a kid. Dark eyebrows slanted over his bright blue eyes, his scruff adding to the rugged look he was sporting. He waved, a shy smile slicing away the fear you had held entirely. It changed his face, you wanted to make it happen again.

"Bucky. We'll get you all fixed up."

-/-/-/-/-

"Belle, ya home?" You looked up from your laptop. You hadn't been able to pull yourself away from the document you were building for the new hires.

"Yeah- I- oh shit. I forgot to start dinner." You turned to find Bucky stepping through the doorway from the kitchen. His grease stained tshirt was tossed over his shoulder already, leaving all his tattoos on display. One in particular always caught your attention, the sketch of a mini cooper right over his heart.

"How many time do I gotta tell you?" He asked, dropping the shirt in the hallway before coming over to you. You stood, tilting your chin to look up at him as he wrapped one arm around your back and cradled the back of your neck with the other.

"You don't have to worry about that stuff, honey. I'll take care of dinner. Finish up your work, it'll be done in no time."

"I need a break, baby, seriously. I'll help." His eyes narrowed.

"You sure?" You nodded, turning back to hit save and taking his outstretched hand to go back into the kitchen. You chopped veggies while he marinated chicken and he told you about his day at the shop. It was a familiar routine by now, three years into your relationship, but you couldn't help but feel the guilt in your stomach again. He spent all day on his feet.

"Hey, lose the face." You looked up at him.

"What?"

"I can feel your thoughts from over here." He set down the spices, rinsing his hands and patting them dry before coming over to you and wrapping you up in his arms. He was anything but weak, and carefully lifted you onto the unoccupied part of the counter and stood between your legs, looking you dead in the eye. You blinked slowly, trying not to fall into the trap of his icy-blue silence. It was impossible.

"I just feel bad is all, you spend all day on your feet and working and then you come home and make dinner. It feels, not fair." Bucky tilted his head to the side, eyebrows up. It was a conversation you had all the time, and you knew how he felt about it. He did serious very well, even if you knew there was a smile lurking just behind it.

"You know that's not how I feel. I love taking care of you. You work so hard every day trying to change the world for the better. I go dick around with my friends all day playing with cars." You snorted.

"I'm serious! My number one and most important job is taking care of my girl. I will make you dinner every night for the rest of our lives together, if that's what it takes to prove it."

"You don't have to do-"

"Nope, you're banished from the kitchen. Go feed Alpine. Get lost." You laughed, taking his face into your hands before he could lift you back off the counter. His lips were warm and soft, and his hands wrapped tighter around your middle as you tilted your head to deepen the kiss before pulling away. You rested your forehead against his, breathing in the smell of motor oil and coffee.

"I love you, James Barnes." He gave you that sweet smile, the one that transformed him into an entirely different man.

"I love you, honey belle. Now get the fuck outta my kitchen."

-/-/-/-/-

You woke up and stretched, yawning as your rubbed your eyes and sat up. And then you became aware again that you were not in your own room and you were laying in an empty bed. You glanced around, noting the distinct lack of a tall tattooed biker who had left hickeys on your chest and had all but fucked you to sleep the night before.

In his place lay a small gray cat, it sat up when you did and surveyed you before jumping gracefully off the bed and leaving out the open door. You stood up, glancing at yourself in the mirror. You were wearing a shirt that said the Howling Commandos Garage and Bar on the front. It was well worn and soft, with little frays on the bottom and the collar. Your hair was a mess and you smoothed it out before following the cat into the rest of the apartment. Your clothes which had been strewn across the living room were neatly folded in a pile on the back of the couch, and there was a note scrawled on top.

Had to head off to fix up your baby. Coffee in the pot. Stay if you'd like. Bucky

Bucky looked wistfully down the block at his apartment building.

"What is your deal today, Barnes?" Sam asked. He was newer, and Steve had brought him in to tend bar, but also help with the books at the garage. Bucky grumbled that they didn't need new people, and Steve returned with patience that just because Bucky didn't want to make new friends, didn't mean they didn't need new staff.

"He's got a crush," Steve laughed from the other side of a pickup.

"I'll have you know I sealed that deal," Bucky shot back. There was a thunk sound and then Steve appeared over the hood, rubbing the top of his head.

"What the hell are you doing there then?" Bucky shrugged.

"She was still asleep. I left her coffee and a note." Sam snorted.

"See her never."

"Her car is literally right in front of me."

"She's gonna take it somewhere else," Sam shot back. Bucky's eyes narrowed, dropping the wrench he had on hand. He was starting towards Sam when a new voice echoed through the garage.

"I would really appreciate it if you fixed my car, not got blood on it." You strolled in the front of the garage and Bucky considered falling to his knees and begging for you to stay with him forever. You were wearing your jeans and sandals from the night before, but on top you had on his Howling Commandos shirt with the original design and logo. You were holding one of the mugs from his kitchen and had an easy smile on your face.

"I thought I'd come check on the progress on my baby. Maybe learn a thing or two." Steve smirked at Bucky and turned back to his work. Sam had suddenly made himself scarce into the office.

"Sure thing, but can't let you learn too much, you might notice some things going wrong just so you can stop by to see me." You nudged Bucky with your elbow, taking a sip of coffee as you followed him back to your car.

"I don't know, I think I could have other reasons to stop by and see you."

-/-/-/-/-

You woke up to sunlight coming in through the open curtains. Bucky was sound asleep on his stomach, face pressed into his pillow and his arm thrown over you. After a moment of relishing the cuteness of him keeping you close while he was asleep, you slipped out of his grasp and headed for the kitchen.

It was mostly clean, and you started a pot of coffee for the morning before tidying up just a little bit more. Bucky had slipped in after you fell asleep. He was working the bar when you left full of a burger and with kisses pepper to your nose promising he'd be home soon. The rest of the staff had ribbed him endlessly while saying goodnight to you.

You grumbled to yourself about having to wake Bucky's whining ass up to take you to work when you noticed something on the counter. Your car keys. Trying not to get your hopes up, you peeked out the front windows and let out a squeal when you saw your car sitting in the driveway, a comically small bow on the hood.

"Wha-Who's there?" Bucky ran out in just his boxers, fists up prepared to fight an intruder apparently, but instead got a chestful of you.

"She's done?" It took him a moment to register what who you were and what you were referring to.

"Huh? Oh. Yeah, belle, she's done." You threw your arms around Bucky's shoulders, squeezing him tight.

"Thank you thank you thank you! She'll run for another three years? No problems?" Bucky held you tight, sleep already returning as he nuzzled against your neck.

"Even better. She should be alright for at least another five to ten." You pressed kisses to his face and then his hands, and kissed him goodbye for the day. Your outfit for the morning was already hanging in the bathroom and it made your morning to not have to pack extra clothes for the bike. Instead you put your coffee in a to go mug, your lunchbox in your purse, and headed for the door. The car started up with a hum and you patted the dash, turning on your favorite radio station and rolling down the windows on your way to work.

-/-/-/-/-

You sighed on your way into your apartment. Bucky said he was headed over after you left, and now you had to clean up and start on dinner. Work had been exhausting, and you had found yourself fixing other peoples' work first thing in the morning, which put you back on your own deadlines.

Still, you tossed your bag onto the black hole chair of random items in the bedroom and changed out of your work clothes into something comfy for movie night. You had bought all the ingredients for homemade pizzas over the weekend when you were ambitious about when you were going to get out of work.

"Five minutes on the couch," you muttered to yourself, "then back to work." Five minutes quickly turned into doom scrolling until Bucky knocked on your front door.

"Shit." You jumped off the couch and started pulling things out of the fridge frantically to make it look like you had already started the process. The knocking grew frantic after a minute and you rushed to the door. Bucky's eyes were wide, but he relaxed when he saw you were fine.

"Sorry, I didn't hear you." His soft smile melted your nerves a fraction, and he leaned down to press a kiss to your lips.

"You had a long day, I understand." He followed you into the kitchen, and you frowned at the array you had pulled out. Sure you had the pizza dough and sauce but also a jar of pickles, some miso, and a block of tofu.

"What were you planning on making?" Bucky asked, examining the contents of a mystery tupperware.

"Uh..." You considered coming up with a lie about cleaning your fridge, panic welling back up that he would be upset you had gotten sidetracked away from making dinner.

"I... I'm sorry, I panicked when I heard you because I hadn't started making dinner and I knew you would be hungry so I just started pulling things out of the fridge and I..." you could feel yourself beginning to ramble into a spiral.

"Woah! Woah, belle, calm down. It's okay!" Bucky came around the counter, hands on your shoulders to ground you.

"It is really okay, belle, I know you had a long day. You don't have to make me dinner. I mean it. You work long hours and clean up other people's messes all day." You could feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes and looked down at the logo of some motorcycle brand on Bucky's shirt.

"You just work all day at the shop and I know that can be exhausting, so I just wanted to make you food so you'll be..." you trailed off. So he would be what? Had never gotten pissed at you because dinner wasn't on the table or that you didn't get him his drink before yours. He had never thrown his empty can in your direction when you didn't get a new one for him before it was empty. Bucky called your name, pushing your chin up to meet his eyes. They were big and blue and full of concern that grew when he saw the tears in yours.

"Honey, where is this coming from? We could have ordered takeout for all I cared?"

You swallowed and took a deep breath.

"My ex, they were blue collar. Worked in construction. They didn't... they thought I should do all the housework and make dinner since I sat at a desk all day. They would get... angry when I didn't or said I was too tired or it wasn't ready when they got home or I ran out of their favorite drink and... I just want you to be happy." Bucky's frown had deepened and the concern in his blue eyes had turned to anger.

"Where are they now? Who would ever do that to you?" His head turned to see if he could spot any memory of them in the apartment. To your surprise it made you laugh to see him be so protective over something that wasn't there.

"Long gone. I moved states away to leave them. It's why I've been working so much, honestly. When I switched positions I had to do it for a cut, since at the headquarters I was making more. I don't regret it for a second though." You were looking at him now, sincere. If you never moved you wouldn't have been looking for an apartment when your car overheated and you had to go to the Howling Commando. You would have never met Bucky or found an apartment a few blocks away from the bar and him.

"I'm glad you made it here too," he said finally. He wrapped his arms around you, big arms keeping you safe and his chin on your head grounding you to him.

"I know you spend every day working super hard with people you don't really like. I know you love what you do, but I would never hold any of that against you. I spend every day working with my best friends for as long as or short as I'd like. If you never cook me dinner again, I would still be happy as long as we get to sit down and eat together." He paused, and you could feel his heart beat a little faster, a shift in his posture. For the first time:

"And I love you." Your heart leapt, the tears that you had been wiping against his tshirt flowed again.

"I love you too, Bucky."

-/-/-/-/-

You texted Bucky on your way out of work, and blessedly got into your own car with air-conditioning and seatbelts. Not that you didn't trust Bucky or that you didn't like to ride with him, but it was nice to have a seat to sit in.

You began the journey home, it feeling a little longer than it had for the last few weeks when you clung to Bucky's middle with your eyes closed. You were most of the way home when a telltale rumble of motorcycles started up behind you on the long empty road. It reminded you of the first time you rode with Bucky, down this very same road when your car broke down and he took you back to the shop with him while Steve waited with the car. He had said, after securing his extra helmet to your head, that it would be only time you ever rode without the proper shoes or pants on. You had responded cheekily, since he was hot and it didn't seem like it could hurt the speed at which your car got fixed, that he was suggesting that there would be another time. He had followed that with a quick, "I have your phone number. I find another time."

The bikes were getting closer, four of them, and to your surprise Bucky wasn't with them. Steve and Sam rode on either side of you, offering salutes. You couldn't identify who the two behind were but you could tell one of them was Yelena or Natasha. It was not a regular procession, though when they did see your distinctive car when out riding, they always did stop by for a wave. Instead of leading you home, Sam and Steve guided your car to the parking lot at the Howling Commando. The fairy lights were up for the summer and a few of the regulars were already outside enjoying the weather.

"I was going to go home first you know," you whined at Steve, tossing your blazer into the passenger seat before getting out of the car.

"I think this is more important," he said, turning you away from the bar and toward the shop. The garage doors were open, but inside was obstructed by the shadows from the sunset. When you stepped in you froze. The cars and equipment had all been cleared out and a beautiful flower arrangement was across the floor, Bucky was standing a few feet away, looking nervous as the first time he came to pick you up for dinner. He spotted you and swallowed, standing up straighter as you walked towards him.

"Bucky..." You didn't have the words to say as you joined him in the array of flowers.

"Belle. I love you, I have loved you since the minute I saw you on the side of the road. From the second you wrapped your arms around me on my bike for the first time. The first night we spent together and every night since then I have known that I would spend the rest of my life with you. I promise I will make dinner every night if that's what it takes." You grinned at the little inside joke, tears pouring down your cheeks as he got down on one knee.

"Make me the happiest idiot in the world and marry me?"

"Of course I will. I love you."

[pedroschka]

Bat Signal

Eddie Munson x reader

A/n I did NOT write this! all credits go to my dear friend (sweetest little bean) who wrote this for me but wants to stay anonymous. I asked if I could post it because it's just too sweet not to share it

🦇

The plush bat feels soft in Eddie's hands as he turns it over, studying the fuzzy fabric. Its beady eyes stare back at him, little felt fangs peeking out from the stitched mouth. He smooths down the grey fur, fingers lingering on the velvety ears. It's cute, in an ugly sort of way. Just like him.

Sounds of Metallica blast from the stereo speakers behind him, the noise a familiar comfort in the cluttered trailer he reluctantly calls home these days. A half-eaten slice of pizza sits forgotten on the table, grease staining the cardboard box a darker shade of brown. He'd tried to tidy up earlier, shoving dirty laundry and empty beer cans out of sight, but the lingering scent of cigarette smoke and weed remains, clinging to the stained couch cushions.

Eddie sets the bat down, reaching for the fresh pack of cigs in his frayed denim vest pocket. Mentally rehearses what he's going to say when he sees you.

"Hey, I saw this and thought of you," he mumbles around the cigarette, free hand tucking a stray piece of long brown hair behind his ear. "Figured you might like it, since you're into all that goth shit, you know?" He drops his voice, trying to sound cooler, more casual. "I mean, if you want it."

Fuck, that sounds stupid. Eddie sighs, smoke curling from his nostrils. He stubs the cigarette out in the ashtray on the end table, pushing to his feet. His reflection in the cracked mirror by the door stares back at him, all pale skin and dark circles beneath bloodshot eyes. The denim vest hangs off his thin frame, metal band patches and spikes doing little to hide the prominent collarbones beneath his faded Dio t-shirt.

"You look like shit, Munson," he tells himself, lips twisting wryly.

Still, he's got no choice. He's already late and he doesn't want to risk you giving up on him showing. Grabbing the plush bat, he heads out to the van, Corroded Coffin spray-painted in dripping white letters on the side. It takes three tries before the engine sputters to life.

🦇

You’re leaning against the brick wall outside the record store when he pulls up, combat boots tapping restlessly against the sidewalk. Your ripped fishnet stockings gleam beneath the streetlights, eyes finding his as he shifts the van into park.

"Starting to think you weren't gonna show," you say when he approaches. You don't sound mad though, just resigned. Like you expected him to let you down.

"Yeah, sorry about that," Eddie says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "I, uh, got held up with something."

You hum noncommittally, gaze dropping to the stuffed animal in his other hand. One pierced eyebrow arches. "What's with the bat? Planning on doing some late night birdwatching?"

Eddie blinks, glancing down like he'd forgotten he was holding it. "What? No, this..." He clears his throat, thrusting it towards you. "This is for you, actually."

Your kohl-rimmed eyes widen fractionally as you take it from him, chipped black nails sinking into the plush fur. You hold it up, examining it in the dim light. A slow smile spreads across your face and Eddie's heart skips a beat in his chest.

"For me, huh?" you murmur, looking up at him from beneath heavy lashes. "Any particular reason?"

Eddie shrugs one shoulder, feigning nonchalance even as his palms grow clammy. "Thought you might like it. Y'know, 'cause it's all spooky and shit. Like you."

You smirk, cradling the bat against your chest possessively. "You saying I'm spooky, Munson?"

"No! I mean, yeah, but like...in a good way," Eddie stammers, feeling his face flush. He scuffs the toe of his scuffed boot against the sidewalk. "Spooky's cool."

You laugh, the sound throaty and warm. It makes something flutter in Eddie's chest, chasing away the cold emptiness that's taken root there. "Well, I guess that makes two of us then."

You tuck the bat under one arm, jerking your head towards the record store behind you. "C'mon, let's go dig through the stacks. I'm in dire need of some new tunes."

"Lead the way," Eddie says, falling into step beside you as you head inside. His shoulder brushes against yours and he feels lighter than he has in weeks, the plush bat a comforting presence between the two of you.

Maybe, just maybe, he's finally found someone who gets it. Someone who looks at him and sees more than just a freak, a burnout, a waste of space.

Someone who makes him feel alive again, like he matters.

Like he's not alone anymore.

🦇

He lets you drag him through the aisles, watching as you flip through the rows of vinyl with deft fingers. You keep the bat tucked in the crook of your elbow the entire time, its beady eyes peering out at the world.

"This little dude's gonna be my new mascot," you declare, holding up a battered copy of Black Sabbath's self-titled album. "He can perch on my bedpost, keep watch over my room."

"Yeah?" Eddie grins, something warm unfurling in his chest at the thought of his gift watching over you. "Guess that means you gotta give him a totally epic name then."

You purse your lips, considering. "Hmm. How about...Ozzy?"

Eddie snorts. "Ozzy the bat? Seriously?"

"What? It's perfect!" You hold the plush up next to the album cover, as if comparing the two. "Look, they've even got the same spaced out expression."

Eddie shakes his head, still grinning. "Whatever you say, weirdo."

"You love it," you counter, bumping your hip against his.

He looks at you, taking in the smudged eyeliner and chipped polish, the ratty Misfits shirt and torn jeans. You are a beautiful mess, just like him.

"Yeah," he murmurs, throat suddenly tight. "I really fucking do."

🦇

[yellowbunnydreams]

Melancholia (William Afton x F! Reader) [Part 1]

~So, I decided I wanted a go at writing William Afton from the games instead of Movie version/Steve Raglan, and I thought, what better way to explore that than through some really obvious religious imagery because that man definitely has a god-complex. This is obviously an AU, please don't hate on it because 'it's not cannon'~

CW: 18+ MINORS DNI - Age difference, Older man/younger woman, Murder (adult and child), violent acts, manipulation, gas-lighting, dead bodies, blood, gore, graphic description of injury, use of religious imagery, toxic relationship, boss x employee, god-complex, knife-play

The shrieks of voices and the blaring, bleeping arcade lights were almost overwhelming if you had never been to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza before. There was always a chaotic energy to the place, kids running about, practically seeing who could take out the most staff as they barrelled from the dining area and party rooms towards the arcade. You learnt to be quick on your feet and observant of your surroundings quite quickly.

"Hey superstar, you need to watch where you're going okay?" You laughed to a child who almost collided with your legs, one hand shooting down to protect your black work pants from the half-drunk cup of soda as they looked up at you and stuck their tongue out, scowling as much as the chubby face of an eight year old could before running off again.

Picking one of the nearby tables that had no patrons sat at it, you began to clean up. Piling up the discarded wax-paper lined baskets of half-chewed fries coated in god-knew-how-much ketchup and the pizza tray, swearing under your breath as you spilt soda down your purple starry vest. The uniform had changed recently from fairly easy to clean plain red, to the god-awful embroidered purple, the silver stars were supposed to match the curtains on Pirate's Cove and the paper ones that hung from the ceiling. Glancing up at them, you caught sight of the large window that overlooked the main dining room, the dark.

Every employee in Freddy's knew of that room. William Afton's office, from where he looked down at all the people like god-on-high. You hadn't had a run in with Afton during your two year employment, but you'd heard the tales. He moved weirdly silently for a man of his height, you'd even heard co-workers joking that he wasn't even human, that Henry Emily had replaced him with a robot some time ago, that you could tell by the cold, dead way his blue eyes focused on people. That he had been the one orchestrating the aftermath when an employee had had their skull cracked open by a malfunctioning animatronic, standing calmly amongst the chaos and blood with barely a wrinkled nose of disgust.

A touch on your shoulder shook your out of your thoughts and snapped you back into the chaos of Freddy's once more. The dark, neon patterned carpet making your eyes swim as you realised you had looked down automatically to child level.

"You look fucking exhausted." A mousy brown haired guy laughed, wearing the same uniform as you, his own white shirt splattered with ketchup and other slightly dubious grease stains as you relaxed your shoulders. You couldn't remember his name, but you knew the guy at least, you'd worked together a few times, and he always spared a smile for you.

"There are children present." You mumbled, earning a laugh as he grabbed the glasses from the table, holding onto them as you picked up the tray full of dining debris and headed towards the kitchen together. "If Mr. Emily or Mr. Afton catches you, you'll get your pay docked."

"Mr. Emily keeps himself in the workshop constantly and maybe three people on staff have seen Mr. Afton, like...ever." He laughed, rolling his eyes and weaving through bodies like he too was well practised, although the slight sheen to the work pants legs told of plenty of grabby little, sticky hands that had collided with him.

"He's not a god-damn cryptid!" Shaking your head and placing down the clutter from the wash-pass, wiping down your hands against your pants before bending over slightly and looking at the clock through the small window.

It was time to clock out at least, sighing as you headed towards the back corridors that belonged to the staff. The colourful lights dancing across everything in the pizzeria as you heard Freddy and the band starting up through the tinny speakers that should have been replaced something like a decade ago. Your colleague following you with a shrug as he gestured to the chunky watch he had on his wrist.

"Hey, it's time for me to clock off too. God knows we don't get overtime, and secondly, going back to my earlier point; half these kids know more foul language than we do." Pointing to a corner where a bunch of kids seemed to be focused on a much small child, crying in the corner. The laughter you could faintly hear as you passed by them to get to the employee's only door giving you a good indication that it wasn't in good nature, both looking at each other before walking a little faster.

Not on the clock, not your problem.

You waved goodbye as you headed towards the women's locker room on the west side of the building, thankful that least upper management had thought to put in separate changing rooms as you tiredly unbuttoned the starry vest, breathing a sigh of relief as you ran your fingers through your hair. Cringing when you realised that you didn't quite know what they'd touched through the day and sighing that you were going to have to wash your hair. Again. Nobody told you that working with kids would leave you feeling like you should get hazard pay for simply being in their vicinity, god only knew how many times you'd filed for sick pay when some brat had given you the flu or some other stubborn thing that wouldn't leave you be.

Changing quickly, you headed out. Uniform stuck in a plastic bag to avoid it getting too close to the semi-clean clothes you'd shoved in, in order to change into once your shift ended. Glancing up and down the comparatively quiet corridor as you picked up your time card and placed it into the clock, swearing slightly as you couldn't get the punch to work. Banging your fist against the wall in frustration, wondering why management didn't just spend a little more money on the damn equipment that you all had to use, rather than public relations to cover the bad press the pizzeria had.

"Is there a problem?"

You spun on your heel as you heard the unfamiliar voice, brow knitted together as you stared at the voice's owner. He was leaned against the nearby wall, his head cocked to one side slightly as he looked down at you with a cold regard that seemed more like he was regarding something inanimate than a person. Glancing over him, he was slender, but wiry as he had his arms crossed over his chest, able to see the tendons moving in his hands as his fingers flexed, but he was wearing the white shirt, purple starry vest and black pants that marked him as part of Freddy's. The start of dark circles under his eyes were also par for the course.

"Yeah, stupid punch clock won't move." Huffing and turning your attention back to the clock, feeling yourself wince as you noticed the time had crawled by and you were already a few minutes over your shift. Time you would never get back. "You can clock in in a moment."

He was too clean to have been clocking out. You supposed that the clock on the other side of the halls closer to the men's was probably just as busted, if not more so.

A pale, slender hand reached into your vision and startled you, making you take a step back as the man clicked a small button on the side of the clock before pressing down the stamp. Stamping your card for you, pulling it out with a flourish and handing it over with a lazy smile that made your chest tighten unusually, even if his blue eyes didn't seem to carry any warmth to them.

"You've got to check the safety's on or not. It's to stop people messing with the time cards if they came back here accidentally." His accent was rough, British, soothing. You frowned, looking up slightly at him and watching as he ran his fingers through his cool brown hair, which seemed roughly cut like he had done it himself. Greying at the temples and the occasional grey hair standing out against his darker hair. "You'll get used to it."

"I've worked here for two years and never heard of that bullshit." You muttered, rolling your eyes and changing your bag to your other hand as the man raised a thick eyebrow and stared at you some more.

"You've worked here for two years?" Seemingly surprised by the statement as you shrugged your shoulders. Wanting to go home and collapse onto your bed, not stand around talking to some newbie.

"And?"

"I've just never seen you around."

"You probably know me by my name, it's-"

"I honestly don't give a fuck what your name is. I need to finish my work, and you should go home, doll, I'm sure there's...something...you have to fill your time with." The sudden shift in his soothing voice made you blink, his tone never changing, reading as bored. Somehow, you felt mildly offended that this stranger simply seemed not to care, sucking your teeth and tutting as you shook your head and began to walk for the door. Feeling his eyes linger for just a moment before footsteps moving away told you that you were being left alone.

The next day, you managed to drag yourself into Freddy's with five minutes to spare before your shift. Grabbing your punch card and clocking in before you quickly got on your freshly washed uniform with barely enough time to grab a soda and carry with you into the main dining area. Wednesdays had never been particularly busy, but then again, what counted as 'quiet' for Freddy's never quite aligned to the other businesses in Hurricane's idea of it.

You took a deep breath and went to lean against the prize counter for a brief reprieve before the onslaught, hearing a door open and looking towards the arched entrance and waiting for a customer to emerge despite the fact it was nine in the morning, shrugging when you didn't see one emerging. Eyes flickering about to see if you could locate where the noise had come from, seeing movement on the staircase up to Afton's office that was tucked away in the corner of the pizzeria. Raising your eyebrow as you pulled out your soda and took a sip, wondering who was visiting your elusive boss.

You almost choked when the figure paused and looked directly at you however.

It was the guy from the previous day. Only this time he had a black blazer over the top of his purple vest, one lapel covered in various pin-badges from the arcade games and prize counter that made a faint clinking noise with how many there were as he walked in your direction. His hair was swept back, like he had just run his finger through it, and you could see a slight curl to the flyaway pieces that had refused to comply. Hands stuffed into the pockets of his slacks as he glanced at you for a moment, pausing and blinking slowly as you stared back.

"No trouble with the punch-clock this morning then?" That same soothing lull to his voice as you quietly shook your head and took another sip of your drink. Eyes flickering over his badges on his lapel, one worn out enamel pin of what looked like a rabbit head catching your eye before you spotted some red against his purple vest. The colour having seeped into the silvery stars embroidery.

"You have something on your vest." Making the man look down, pulling his vest away from his body to look before his blue eyes snapped back up. A wolfish grin spreading across your face that made your heart race just a little as there was a dark spark in the usually dim eyes.

"Oh, nothing to worry about. It's only marinara sauce."

With that, he passed by. No explanation, no excuse. You watched the tall, lithe man leave with a little confusion as to who he was. You decided that you had to know, jogging after him slightly to catch up with his long, purposeful strides. The man pausing and looking at you curiously, eyebrow raised questioningly.

"Look, you might not give a fuck about what my name is, but I do give a fuck about what yours is." Crossing your arms across your chest, he cocked his head slightly, regarding you with a sudden interest that hadn't been there before. Like he was realising that you were a living, breathing person for the first time. A slow, lazy smile spread across his face, turning to face you fully before sliding his hand from his pocket, offering it for you to shake. You noticed that his hands were well manicured, even if the nails were a little longer than you expected and the way he squeezed your hand when you shook made them bite a little into your skin.

"William, Afton that is." You could feel the colour draining from your face as he pulled you forwards, having to take a step closer and his voice low, almost purring as he spoke quietly. "And don't worry, doll, I'll let the swearing slide this time."

"You didn't care yesterday."

"You weren't in uniform yesterday, remember?" Releasing your hand and giving you another wolfish smile as his hand returned to his pockets, the faint jingle of the pin badges as he moved an almost comical sound as William stared for a second. Turning on his heels and moving off with no more thought than if he had already said 'goodbye'.

Well, now you could at least say you had met one of your bosses. Even if something in the back of your head scratched and itched as to why William Afton was handling marinara sauce, reasoning that it was probably from his lunch break, not that he looked like he ate often, and you had never actually seen somebody take anything up to his office space. Glancing at the darkened upstairs window, you shook your head and decided it wasn't worth thinking about. Swallowing down your confusion and settling your sights on one of the smaller, fresher faced workers with a scowl as they tried to make a beeline for the prize-counter unnoticed.

"Hey! Where do you think you're going, newbie? Older workers get to pick their jobs first, you know the rules." The unwritten code of Fazbear Entertainment workers as the smaller figure startled and scurried away whilst you detoured to pick up your drink and head towards the prize counter.

It was going to be a long day.

You'd forgotten you were on closing duties, even though you had begged to swap. Open to close was a brutal shift that nobody enjoyed, especially since to 'cut costs', recently there had only been one member of staff closing down each night. The pizzeria was creepy when the lights were mostly turned off, only the flickering arcade screens and the backlit animatronic stage to light the main dining area. Casting long shadows across Freddy, Bonnie and Chica's soft furred parts. The eye sockets seeming hollower without the eyes being lit up, the way their jaws hung open slackly seeming almost like the death throes of the animals they represented, or an all too human scream. You couldn't decide which was worse.

Heading back into the employee corridor, your footsteps seemed to echo slightly against the chequered tiles, so used to the faint sound of the extremely loud music playing from birthday parties and children's games as they ran around. Instead, there was only your footsteps and the hum of the halogen light strips above you. Casting everything in a slight sickly yellow glow. Eyes darting as you took stock of the cobwebs that had probably been there since the restaurant opened, posters lining the check bordered walls, kids drawings scattered amongst it all. Memories of happy children who loved to see the animatronics perform, or had their birthdays at that location.

You were pulled from your thoughts as a metallic clatter caught your attention. Pausing and glancing down the corridor where the sound came from. There was only one door at the end of it, which you couldn't read the signage on from where you stood. Slowly approaching and trying to place your heel down first, quieting your footsteps against the tile as your heart began to thump harder in your chest.

"Hello?" You called out instinctually, cursing yourself for it when you were trying to be sneaky. If there was anybody, they surely would have gotten spooked and ran off by the time you got to the door, but you reasoned that you weren't about to get jumped by some drugged up junkie looking to steal metal to sell off to feed their habit. The door looming large as your eyes wandered over the lettering embossed onto the plaque screwed to it. 'Parts and Services'.

Pushing the door open, you had to blink to adjust your eyes to the darkness inside. Swallowing as you stepped in and the heavy door automatically swung shut under it's own weight behind you. Eyes adjusting to the very low light, flickering as your hands reached out in front of you and felt for some form of light to turn on.

Two years you had worked there, two years you had avoided any of the creepy horror stories that surrounded Freddy's and it's owners. You just had to go and stick your nose where it didn't belong, and you were left fumbling in the dark, managing to grab onto a table as you slipped in something slick across the tile floor. Feeling across the table and squealing when your fingers touched something furry. Praying that it wasn't a rat that had decided to place itself upon the altar of mechanical parts. Heart beating so quickly you could hear it pounding in your ears, hands shaking as you reached your hand out again to check whether or not the thing was still there.

Your fingers found the furred texture again, realising it was longer than anticipated and pushing your fingers into it, trying to figure out what on earth it was.

"And on the first day, the lord said; let there be light!" The voice startling you as it seemed to be so close yet so far away, blinking rapidly as the light turned on in the room and you couldn't help but flinch and look down towards the table. Your head hurt with the rapid change of light, taking a moment to adjust as your fingers curled around the soft texture in your hand, keeping your head down, vision finally clearing.

To see the face of your co-worker staring back at you with the same slack jawed expression that the animatronics had. Your hand in his hair, shrieking and pulling your hand free, slipping and tumbling as the face followed and you watched in silent horror as the head bounced against the tile. Rolling to face away, the bloody, raw meat, bone and gristle that you could see inside of what was once a neck, looking down and realising that your shaking hands were covered in claret. Thick, clotting, the smell of hot pennies and raw red meat overwhelming, wondering how you didn't notice it before.

Footsteps, your eyes wide and transfixed on the rolled head of your co-worker as well polished black shoes came into view, kicking the head slightly and making you wince as you head the meaty thud it made when it connected. Bloody hands coming into view, one clutching a fire-axe near the head as the figure crouched. Looking up, you saw the pale, angular face. Star vest coated in red, splashed against his pale skin as the blue eyes sparkled. William looked positively elated, a predatory grin across his face as you looked him over, realising that the childish pin-badges were coated in the gore too.

"Oh doll, you shouldn't have come back here. But I'm not going to punish your curiosity, little lamb." The cool, calm British voice made you shiver, there was something dark and feral in the way he fixed you under his intense gaze, eyes lazily drawing down your now coated body with his own shiver of delight as he ran his tongue over his teeth.

"H-He's- He's..." You stammered and William scoffed, rolling his eyes as he reached out, placing the flat side of the bloody axe under your chin and tilting it up so you would look at him again.

"Come on doll, you can say the word." Cooing encouragingly as you trembled before him.

"Dead. You...Oh god you killed him!"

"That's right, here at Freddy's, I am god." A self satisfied smirk as he tilted the axe to make the blade almost brush against your skin. Heart pounding as you realised that this was probably the end. Murdered by your boss, covered in your co-workers blood.

"So let me show you what a merciful god I am, and allow you to take your first communion." Standing up and spreading his arms wide, smile never leaving his face as the single lightbulb above illuminated behind his tousled, greying hair and formed a bloody halo for William Afton.

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Johnny Cade fic

Sometimes, keeping secrets is necessary.

For all the gang is close, close as brothers- sometimes closer than that if Soda and Steve’s weird dynamic is anything to judge by- Johnny knows that some things are best kept between two people, three in some situations, or guarded closely to oneself when a secret is more shame than anything more. It’s why he and Dally patch each other up so often and leave the others out of it, Dally with his warlike ways and gritty survival, him with his stupid broken heart and the bruises it earns him. It’s easier he thinks, to keep that sort of sharing and vulnerability for two people instead of seven, just like it’s easier for Darry to only ever truly talk to Two-bit, and for Soda to haul Steve out for a drag race when he shows up on the Curtis’ front porch with cold eyes and yet another bloody lip. Not everyone needs to know everything. Some things are best kept between a few folks, and if those things are named secrets, well, so be it. It would do more harm than good for Darry to find out what Pony says when he’s ranting to Johnny, and Dal never needed to know half the things Johnny and Darry did to get him out of scrapes he never even realized he’d gotten himself into. 

Another thing Johnny knows about secrets: some are more important than others. Knowing the nickname Steve’s mom used to call him is a far less important secret than the real reason Dal left New York, but Johnny keeps any and every secret entrusted to him locked up tight behind layers of stubbornness that could rival Pony in even his most pigheaded moods. He learned a long time ago that loose lips sink ships- and he couldn’t live with himself if something he knew and let slip ever ended with one of the gang getting hurt. Hell, he can hardly stand to live with himself now.

“Stupid grease,” For a second Johnny thinks the insult is being tossed at him, but when he looks up the soc- some asshole with the dumbest fucking haircut Johnny’s ever seen- doesn’t appear to have even noticed he’s rounded the corner as he grumbles to the rest of his buddies all dressed in letterman jackets and combover hairdos, “can’t believe some greaseball kid thinks he can work with my girl.”

“Least the kid is smart,” a guy with a yellow madras shirt Johnny recognizes from his own C level english class says. Johnny had thought he was dumb as a post before he’d been sat next to the guy. Compared to goldie he was fucking Einstein himself, “I got stuck with Rosie. Dumb bitch wouldn't recognize her own face in a mirror.”

Look who’s talking, Johnny thinks, fully intending to keep minding his own business. Socs pissed off and planning to jump a greaser kid was nothing new in the halls of Tulsa high, and he wasn’t planning to stick around and find out which unlucky guy was gonna be the latest target of the football team. Maybe they’d be stupid enough to go after Curly Shepard again and get their asses handed to him. Johnny fucking hates Curly shepard, but even he has to admit the guy is a straight up beast in a fight. Real tuff.

“Doesn’t mean I’m gonna let some freshman grease named after a damn horse chat up my girl.” The soc with the ugly haircut sneers, “we’re gonna teach that kid a lesson. Lawson says the kid’s on the track team, so we’ll catch him when he’s done practice so the coach don’t go looking.”

The soc keeps talking, joking with his buddies, probably describing in vivid detail how he’s planning on beating up Johnny’s best friend- his thirteen year old best friend- into a pulp. Johnny can’t hear it anyway- not over the roaring in his ears.

Steve is cursing and fighting with his combination lock when Johnny finds him just outside the science wing, his carefully gelled hair a stark contrast to his grease stained t-shirt. For all the dark cloud of his mood is nearly visible, Johnny still can't help but feel bad for him. Soda had officially dropped out just over a month ago and Steve was still taking it mighty hard. He kind of understood- Steve didn’t have a ton of friends besides the gang, and with Evie skipping half the week and Soda working full time, Steve's social circle at school had shrunk to near zero. 

“We got a problem,” Johnny tells him without preamble, and there’s a grim determination in Steve’s eyes when he turns to him, nodding and following him down the hallway without a word. Besides his gruff but unflinching loyalty, one thing about Steve that Johnny appreciates is that, like him, Steve feels no need for meaningless pleasantries. 

As they stalk through the halls, no doubt looking like they mean business if the way socy girls and a few fresh men give them a wide berth is anything to judge by, Steve doesn’t ask questions, no doubt knowing that Johnny will explain everything as soon as they track down Two-bit. 

“Two,” Steve barks as soon as they spot him, flirting with a pretty blonde who’s rolling her eyes but moving closer to him just the same, “let’s go. We got a problem.”

He must be able to tell he’s serious because he gives the blonde a final leer and joins them immediately.

“What’s goin’ on? I’d nearly talked her into lettin’ me take her to the Dingo on Saturday.”

“There’ll be other girls for you to disappoint sexually,” Steve rolls his eyes, “but Johnny says we got a problem right now.”

He turns to Johnny expectantly.

“I overheard some socs earlier talkin’ ‘bout Ponyboy,” Johnny starts. Both older boy’s eyes darken, comprehension dawning. This isn’t the first time one of them overheard some soc planning to give Pony a good jumping and Johnny doubts it’ll be the last, just like he knows it won’t be the last time he, Steve, and Two will fight them off before they can so much as breathe wrong in pony’s direction. Of all the secrets he keeps Johnny thinks this might be the most important, and he thinks Two and Steve feel the same way. Darry and Soda worry about Pony enough as it is, they hardly need to be terrified about him getting beat up at school too; and Pony would never forgive them fighting his battles for him. Hell, if he ever found out he’d probably pick a fight with a soc on purpose just to prove he’s tough. He still don’t get it, that he’s tough enough already for all he likes his books and movies and stuff. Not many folks can go through what Pony’s gone through and not lose a piece of themselves that Pony has kept spectacularly, miraculously, intact.

 “Said they were plannin’ on jumpin’ him after track practice,” Johnny continues, “it was some guy with a dumb haircut, and that guy I sat with in english last year. Mark somethin’?”

“Bradshaw, I think,” Steve spits, “Sounds like him and Ian Cosegrove. They were in my history class last year, and they’d probably be in Pony’s english class now he’s been moved up. One of them has that real dumb haircut?”

“That’s them.”

Two bit cracks his knuckles,  “Let’s go.”

It’s not hard to track the socs down from where they’re hanging out on the hood of some flashy mustang Johnny wished he could steal. It also isn’t hard to beat the two of them to a pulp, and their buddy who joined in too, because for all they’re football player they aren’t greasers, and they aren’t filled with the sort of fiery rage that’s coursing through Johnny’s veins, and Two-bit and Steve’s too.

Sure, no one was allowed to mess with anyone in the gang, but that went double for Ponyboy. None of them would ever be right again if anything happened to the kid, and they all knew Darry probably couldn’t survive it. Hell, Soda couldn’t either, 

Later that day, after Steve has waited around an hour to drive he and Ponyboy home just in case, Johnny hides his swollen knuckles in his jacket pockets and tucks this latest fight close to his chest, another secret best kept to himself.

He’d never have it any other way. Steve and Two wouldn’t either. The Curtis’ looked out for them all- it was only right they return the favour whenever and however they could.

Johnny listens to Pony and Steve argue, watches Two light up a cigarette, and smiles.

It’s no secret it’s tough sometimes to be a grease. But he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

[shares-a-vest]

@steddielovemonth Day 28: Love is… When you look at his lips for half the conversation because you can’t stop thinking about kissing him (Prompt by @starryeyedjanai)

wc: 733 | Rated: T for suggestive language | cw: None

Tags: Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Family Video, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Jeff (not present but mentioned a lot), Cliffhanger Ending (might write a cheeky sequel tomorrow)

'Lips'

Eddie should have known it was a mistake to visit Family Video on his lunch break. His excuse to Jeff was that the store had better air conditioning than the mechanic shop. Aka, an air conditioner.

Besides, he promised his friend that he wouldn’t be all that long.

Unlike yesterday.

… Or the day before.

And that no, Jefferson, best friend dearest compatriot, it has nothing to do with Steve Harrington’s summer attire – a good ol’-fashioned too-tight polo and a pair of jean shorts that have not been rotating around in his pea-brain for the better part of a month and a half now that they are in the throws of an Indiana summer.

Nope. None of that.

Nor does his desperation to skip down three blocks and waste his entire lunch break have anything to do with the chapstick Steve has taken to wearing (though Robin’s recent snickering suggests the reddish-pink pouty blessing is a Harrington Summer Standard).

But Eddie just can’t stop staring as his completely kissable crush bemoans working a double shift.

... Or something.

He isn’t really sure because Steve just bit his lip in annoyance – Keith! He definitely just mentioned that loser! – and, well, now there’s an indent on his bottom lip that is making Eddie think about how red they could get if they were all kiss-bitten and...

Eddie forces himself to look up from the plush pout Steve has permanently plastered to his face when he is bitching.

He is met with a faint crinkle in Steve’s brow and yeah, it is probably quite obvious he is not paying attention. His eye wanders above Steve’s frown to the beads of sweat pearling at his hairline.

He gulps.

No, no, no!

This can’t be happening! Steve cannot start sweating too.

It’s bad enough that Eddie has seen him all hot and bothered, his delicious chest hair all matted and grimy as they ran for their lives in an undead hellscape. And their late afternoon sojourns to the Quarry are downright cruel as Steve strips off his sweat-stained shirt to reveal equally sweaty hair that trails down, down, all the way down beyond his waistband to what is surely a sizeable –

“– Eddie!”

He grips the counter between them with grease-stained fingers and holds on for dear life.

“Huh?” he grunts, his eyes landing back on those lips like it’s now the worst possible habit he could ever have the misfortune of developing.

Because Steve is, well, Steve Harrington. Ladies Man. Casanova. Dorky wooer and hot former-jock turned actual good dude.

Stevie H. who’s all plush and pouty and... Moisturised.

Those lips look soft, don’t they?

And maybe the reddish hue is a sign of a flavour? Perhaps cherry? Maybe even strawberry?

Eddie licks his own bone-dry lips as he thinks about tasting it.

Tasting Steve...

How those beautiful smackers would look all swollen from spending time wrapped around his –

“Are you even listening?” Steve whines, lightly smacking the counter with his gigantic, manly hand.

“Yeah – oh… um, yeah sure, man,” he splutters.

Steve’s sceptical frown faulters, softening as he looks Eddie over. He purses those lips.

Fuck.

It’s painfully obvious, isn’t it?

Eddie closes his eyes and sucks in a breath.

Jeff was right. Today, a mere ten minutes ago... Yesterday... The day before...

He should just let go of the counter, turn heel and run back to work to sweat his balls off. At least there he wouldn't be confronted with he tantalising mouth of one Steve Harrington and all the filthy thoughts that come with staring at them.

His wristwatch beeps in agreement – a warning alarm Jeff set by yanking at his arm before he stepped out of the shop on his merry way.

“Hey,” he begins, clearing his throat as he dares open his eyes again.

And he finds Steve staring back, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his sinful mouth. He licks his lips and those hazel, now greedy-looking eyes flit down and linger there.

As if they are examining...

“I gotta go!” Eddie screeches.

His shout sends Steve shooting upright from where he had drifted into leaning across the counter.

Eddie launches himself backwards, stumbling towards the door as he incoherently splutters about Jeff and gaskets and the miserable PB&J sandwich he has waiting for him in his beat-up lunch tin.

“Eddie, wait!”

[jamdoughnutmagician]

Three Minutes (18+)

Mechanic!Eddie Munson x Fem!Hairdresser!Reader

Set in the A Cut Above The Rest universe, because I was missing them. I really want to write some more, smaller one-shots for this series about some of the milestones in their relationship, but until now, have this!

Word Count:2,098

Warnings:Unplanned Pregnancy, mentions of illness/being sick, little bit of smut, unprotected sex, Eddie being a two-pump chump (but we love him anyway), fluff. I think that's it for warnings, but if you want something tagged, don't hesistate to shoot me a message.

Masterlist // Eddie Munson Masterlist

Waking up feeling the same as you had going to sleep the night before was not how you wanted your day to go. The previous night you had gone to bed earlier than usual, your body tired from being on your feet all day, and a headache from the radio playing the same songs on repeat in the salon. Not to mention you had been feeling really sick all evening, that even eating dinner had been a struggle that night, to the point where Eddie had very graciously held your hair back whilst you emptied the contents of your stomach down the toilet. 

After very kindly bringing you some painkillers and a glass of water to wash them down, Eddie held you close in his arms all night, laying soft kisses against your forehead as you drifted off to sleep. 

Waking up to your boyfriend already half-dressed in his work's dark, grease-stained coveralls, a white tank top underneath, whilst the suit was unbuttoned and the arms of the sleeves were tied around his waist. The scent of coffee drifted in as he made his way over to where you were still very much cocooned under the duvet.

“Figured you might want this.” He says holding out the steaming hot mug, as you begin to unravel yourself from your bed sheets to sit up and take it off his hands.

“Thanks Teddy,” you smile weary as you take a sip before setting the mug on the bedside table, “Suppose I better start getting dressed or I’m going to be late for work.” you huff as you start to fling the sheets off your body.

“Ah ah ah, oh no you don’t.” Eddie shushes, as he gently eased you back into bed. “I called the salon, I told Madison you weren’t feeling too hot, and now boom! You’ve got yourself the day off!” 

“Eddie!!” you cry but he’s quick to silence your worries with a kiss to your forehead.

“Don’t worry about it, she told me that Naomi could cover your appointments, and you’re clearly not well enough to be on your feet all day.”

“I’ll have to give Naomi a bunch of flowers when I see her, I was supposed to be doing Mrs. Truman’s hair today, and you know how much of a nightmare client she can be.” 

“..But you don’t need to worry about that for now,” Eddie assures you, picking up the mug from the bedside table and handing it to you once more. “I just need you to focus on feeling better.”

You roll your eyes at him, as you take a sip from your coffee.

“Yes, Doctor Munson.” you begrudgingly agree.

“Good, that’s what I like to hear. I’ve got to head down to the garage for a few hours, but I’ll try to get home early today. Don’t do anything crazy today okay? I love you.” and with a final kiss pressed to your lips, he was out the door.

You allowed yourself the time to finish your coffee in bed before deciding to get up. Throwing on one of Eddie’s old Black Sabbath shirts, because wearing it was like being hugged by Eddie, the all too warm and familiar smokey scent of his cologne clinging to the fabric .

Deciding that one solitary cup of coffee was not a substantial enough meal for yourself, you head off into your small apartment's kitchen to make yourself some breakfast. A few slices of bread are popped into the toaster and sure enough as they pop they are then promptly spread with a quickly melting layer of butter.

However, no sooner than the two pieces of hot toast are eaten is it before you are rushing to the bathroom once more, bending over the porcelain of the toilet, only for your breakfast to make an appearance for the second time this morning. The bitter taste of bile burning in your throat as you stand up, flushing away the evidence with a groan.

You reach for your toothbrush in the cup on the counter next to the sink, smiling to yourself for a moment at how domestic you and Eddie had become in the short few months of you two moving in with each other. You vigorously brush your teeth, in a desperate attempt to rid your taste buds of the vile taste stinging the back of your throat, before rinsing your mouth with a swill of mouthwash.

It’s only when you look up, that your eyes land on the small hamper of pads that you keep in the bathroom, that you suddenly realise that you don’t actually remember getting your period last month, and suddenly everything feels way too overwhelming. You couldn’t possibly be pregnant, right?

As your reflection stares back at you in the mirror your thoughts rush back to the annual Harrington Halloween party…

With enough alcohol in your system to make you gleefully giggly, and Eddie wearing the same rogue pirate costume that he wears to every single one of Steve’s Halloween parties, you let him tug you by the hand away from the hubbub of chatter coming from all the other party-goers.

“C’mon, they won’t even notice that we’re gone.” he purrs nosing into your neck with soft kisses. “You’ve been driving me crazy all night with this fucking costume too y’know?”

Truth be told, that was the plan with your choice of Halloween costume all along. A matching bright yellow plaid outfit, with a skirt that was just short enough to enticingly flounce around your thighs. White thigh-high stockings and white kitten heels complete your costume, a near perfect recreation of Alicia Silverstone’s costume.

He leads you upstairs, away from the party, away from where the music pounds from the stereo below.

He takes you down the hallway, checking to see if the coast was clear before ushering you into the Harrington’s master bathroom. Locking the door behind him he all but pounces on you. His lips colliding with yours in a sloppy clash of tongues eagerly sweeping into your mouth, tasting the sweet mix of alcohol and fruit punch. His strong arms easily pick you up and sit you on the ledge of the bathroom counter, your legs wrapping around his narrow hips desperately trying to draw him closer to you.

HIs wandering hands creep down your body, roaming underneath your skirt, whilst your fingers unbutton the few buttons holding your yellow cardigan together. You were just about to slip off the offending item of clothing when Eddie voices his protests.

“No, no, leave it on, you look so fuckin’ sexy” he growls against your lips.

Your own hands wander down between your bodies, and sure enough there’s the insistent bulge pressing eagerly against the fabric of his tight dark denim jeans.

Eddie shudders with anticipation as your nimble fingers drag down the zipper of his jeans, before digging into the waistband of both his jeans and boxers. His ruddy cock surges forward, the tip already glistening wet underneath the dim bathroom lighting.

“Don’t think I’m gonna last very long this time, Sweetheart.” He murmurs as he hooks your panties to the side and his fingers skate across your folds, slippery arousal coating his fingertips. “I promise I'll make it up to you later, I just gotta have you right now.”

And in one swift push of his hips, he fills you to the brim with every inch of him. Hips drawing back enough with a shallow thrust before angling back towards you again and again.

Your heels are digging into his back, as his thrusts get sloppier, eager to chase his high.

And when he feels your tight heat clenching down on his throbbing cock, he’s done for, muffling his moans in a deep kiss pressed to your lips as his hips stutter out his release, spilling rope after rope deep inside you.

The bright fluorescent lights glare down on you from above as you stand in the ‘health and beauty’ section of Melvald’s general store.

You were thankful that today it seems pretty quiet, and as far as you can see, you’re the only customer in the store. 

It always sounded like an exciting thing to do with your partner, heading to the store, buying a pregnancy test, and waiting together to find out the results.

But here you were, by yourself, buying a can of orange soda and a pack of Oreos to make buying a pregnancy test seem less conspicuous.

With your items in hand you make your way over to the cash register.

Fuck. Joyce is working here today. 

“Just these items please.” you say as calmly as you can as Joyce begins to scan all three of your purchases. She gives you a knowing smile when she scans the pregnancy test catching your nervous features.

“Don’t worry your secret's safe with me. I hope you get the results you want, either way.” she says reassuringly, putting your items in a small plastic bag

You hand over the money and take the bag from her with a nod and a small smile.

Three minutes.

That’s how long the instructions had said it would take before you had your results. 

But three minutes suddenly felt like an eternity when you were waiting for potentially life-changing news. Three minutes was enough time to have your mind spinning with all the thoughts that came with taking a pregnancy test.

You hadn’t even really thought about what you would do if the result turned out to be positive. Did you want kids? Eventually yes, but it wasn’t something that you had planned as soon as now. Did Eddie want kids? You’d never talked about this with him, so whatever he thought about this was a mystery to you.

 Just as your thoughts spiral there’s the sound of Eddie unlocking the door and letting himself into the apartment.

“Honey, I’m home!” he calls out cheerfully. “Where are you?”

“I’m in the bathroom.” you call out to him.

He knocks on the closed door of the bathroom with a cheery knock.

“You alright in there, Sweetheart? Can I come in?”

You tell him to come in and the door swings open, he sees you ducked down with your head in your hands, and soft sobs shudder your body.

Worry fills his chest immediately as he’s quick to rush over and wrap his arms around you.

“Sweetheart what’s going on? Are you okay? Talk to me, please.”  he asks with a shaky voice as he tries to tilt your face to look towards him.

Opening up your hand you reveal the pregnancy test to him.

Something akin to shocked, and scared pulls at his features, his big brown eyes unblinking nervously. 

“I-is this real?” Eddie manages to stutter out with a suddenly very dry mouth.

“I haven’t looked at it yet, I’m too scared too.”

“Do you wanna look at it together?” He offers, taking your shaking hands in his.

You nod and as you turn over the test in your hands there it is, clear as day, two little pink lines.

“Is that…are you..Are we having a baby?” Eddie asks softly, his voice full of emotions.

You didn't trust your voice not to crack so you give him a silent nod of your head, and as soon as you see how excited he looks you can't help but feel an overwhelming sense of joy. The tears start to flow freely from your eyes. 

“We’re having a baby..” you breathe. “We’re having a baby!” you repeat, with giddy enthusiasm as the fact of the matter starts to sink in.

He’s quick to pick you up in his strong arms and whirl you around in a tight hug.

“Oh Sweetheart, this is the best news ever!” he babbles with a peck to your lips. 

He settles you down on your feet, and his big brown eyes flicker down to your stomach as if asking for your permission. 

“It’s okay, go ahead.” you smile.

He kneels down gently placing his work-hardened hand on your stomach.

“Hi baby! It’s your daddy here, I know your mommy and I have only just found out about your existence, but we’re both very excited to meet you.”

“You know the baby’s probably only the size of a grape right now.”

“I just want them to know how much I love them already.”

You rake your fingers through his dark curls as he rests his head gently against your stomach, smiling to yourself when you hear him let out a small contented sigh.

“Baby steps, Teddy. Baby steps.”

@penguinsandpotterheads @mrsjellymunson @eddiesxangel

@aphrogeneias @ali-r3n @seatnights

@munsonsbtch @keeksandgigz @xxbimbobunnyxx

[incorrectbatfam]

I think you missed one member of Rob's crew. Their friend Jason Todd who comes round every so often with pizza and is actually rich or something.

A new neighbor moved in across the hall.

Rob didn't think much of it. People came in and out all the time. Traveling workers, runaway kids, aimless drifters. Half the tenants were squatters at any given time yet here he was paying rent like a total sucker.

He spat into the sink and rinsed. In the chipped mirror cabinet, he inspected himself. His rust-colored stubble was coming in, but not so quickly that he needed to shave today. He shrugged and threw on a clean shirt.

In the living room—if he could call it that, since it practically overlapped the kitchen—Milo entertained the kids with a mobile game while Gene was reading an Edgar Allen Poe book falling apart at the spine. They were the only other permanent residents besides the Steeler family. The rest of the crew came in and out as they pleased.

Rob said, "Kids, did you eat breakfast yet?"

The two six-year-olds nodded. The fifteen-year-old gave an affirmative grunt, not taking his eyes off the screen.

"What'd you have?" Rob asked.

"Donuts!" answered Gunner.

He raised an eyebrow. "Donuts?"

"Jay from across the hall brought them," said Jackie. "He also gave us these special donut hats. Look!"

Paper crinkled as she unfolded a Krispy Kreme hat and put it on top of her frizzy hair.

"I see." He nodded.

"Don't worry, I tested it first," Gene said.

"Thanks."

As Rob poured his morning coffee, he glanced at the box of a dozen donuts. A few of them were missing, naturally, but there was still a wide range of flavors. Next to it was an unfinished thank you card from Jackie, presumably before she got distracted.

Normally, he wouldn't think twice about the neighbors. But this one—this Jay who wouldn't even tell them his last name—had been on Rob's mind since the first "anonymous" free pizza delivery a week ago. Of course, with online ordering there was always a digital footprint, which Mac tracked to the apartment across the hall. After that, there was the "anonymous" Chinese takeout.

Then, Jay started talking to them and it was the standard neighborly conversations down by the mail room. When he asked Rob what he did for a living, Rob answered vaguely that he was freelancing. Gene was unemployed and he could outright say it. Jay also asked the kids what they wanted for the upcoming holidays when the complex residents were setting up the Christmas tree. Jackie wanted a pony and Gunner wanted a monster truck, and for a moment it seemed like Jay was in serious consideration.

Still, Jay was a stranger. As the encounters continued, it became an unspoken rule that either Rob or Gene be with the kids when the young man was around. One could never be too cautious in Gotham.

Rob finished his coffee and debated taking a donut, but ultimately decided against it. He grabbed his jacket, keys, and pack of cigarettes, telling Milo and the kids (mostly Milo) not to make a mess in the ten minutes he would be gone.

He didn't like smoking on the balcony. It was too close to the children and he didn't want them to get sick. Worse, he didn't want them to pick up the same dirty habit that he only got hooked on because he was a dumb kid that didn't know any better.

He trekked four floors down only to find, lo and behold, he wasn't alone.

A cigarette hung from Jay's fingers as he leaned against the brick wall at the entryway. "'Sup."

Rob acknowledged him with a short nod before lighting his own.

Rob glanced at Jay. It wasn't his first time observing but he always liked to note the subtle changes. The young man—about a decade younger than Rob—sported only a red sweatshirt and grease-stained jeans despite the cold. Since last time, Jay had gained a bruise on his cheek and a cut on his forehead just under his white streak. Rob didn't know what his neighbor did for a living other than it left him with a different mottling of injuries every week.

Jay spoke. "Ever heard of third-hand smoke?"

Rob. "What's that?"

"Firsthand is what we're doing right now, basically inhaling these cancer sticks. Secondhand would be if someone was standing close to us while we do it. Thirdhand smoke is the smell left on you after you go back inside and it's potentially harmful," he said. "You have kids, right?"

"The hell kind of question is that? You've met then."

"I'm just saying, you might wanna consider stopping by the laundry before you go back up."

"Fantastic. Another way I'm a shit dad." Rob grunted and took a drag.

Jay flicked some ashes off. "I know a think or two about shit fathers and the fact that you're worried about being one means you're on the right track."

"How can I be a good dad when I can't even provide them breakfast?"

"I asked your older kid and he said it was fine."

"Milo isn't mine and he's not the one in charge. Next time, take it up with me."

"Duly noted."

Rob took another long drag and ran his fingers through his hair, feeling the past two days' worth of residue from not washing. It caked under his nails like week-old bacon grease on unwashed dishes. It was disgusting. He was disgusting. All of him.

The sleeping around. The accidental pregnancy with a woman he barely knew. The fights. Him throwing her out into a rainstorm. Becoming a widower before he turned thirty with two kids who will never remember her. The backbreaking jobs. Not being good enough to not be laid off. The sketchy investment and losing nearly everything. The sneaking, the breaking, the taking.

And the excuses. All the ways he convinced himself he was in the right.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Jay asked.

"I doubt it's worth a even penny," Rob answered. "I've just been wondering lately what my kids will remember me as when they get older. The business I'm in doesn't have a good reputation and I don't want that to be the first thing that comes to mind when they think of me—someone who only takes. I dunno why I'm telling you all this."

"Hey, it's a valid concern. The work I do also leaves me with those types of questions."

"What do you do?" he asked.

"A little bit of everything," Jay replied vaguely. "But back to what I was saying: your kids aren't gonna remember your day job. But I know they'll remember you putting them on your shoulders to hang the tinsel last weekend."

"I admit, you got a point." Rob flattened the cigarette butt under his boot before tossing it in the nearly trash can. "Anyway, thanks for co-hosting my morning pity party, but I have some errands to run. Starting with laundry."

Jay smiled. "I'll see you around."

"Hopefully," he said, smiling back.

There was something familiar about his neighbor, but Rob couldn't put his finger on it.

Ah, well. At least this one came with free food. Rob would be an idiot if he didn't take a donut while the washing machine wrung the smoke out his clothes.

[lovelytsunoda]

typical male // pato o’ ward

summary: pato is nothing if not a simp for his girlfriend, the most wonderful woman on the planet, in his eyes. or, all the little moments that made pato o' ward feel like the luckiest man on earth

pairing: pato o ward x female! reader

warnings: smut scene, inappropriate use of a mclaren, fucking on the hood of said mclaren, pato is a simp and cannot go five minutes during the act without telling her how pretty she is. weddings and talk of. pato is the boyfriend we all deserve, a game of giant jenga played at a wedding reception (and may end a few friendships)

Tell me lawyer what to do, I think I'm falling in love with you

(..)

All I want is a little reaction, just enough to tip the scales. I'm just using my female attraction, on a typical male, on a typical male

i

the garage smelled like grease and pennzoil, the hood of pato's mclaren popped open and a bluetooth speaker in the corner blasting a playlist of blues-inspired rock and roll from the seventies and eighties. ac/dc. guns n roses. the usual.

pato didn’t mean to stop and stare, but sometimes he couldn’t help himself, leaning against the doorframe, eyes trained on his lovers ass, barely covered by her grease stained cutoff shorts.

she took his breath away.

"hey, beautiful." pato hummed, slipping his arms around her waist, gently kissing her neck.

"pato, i'm covered in grease, wearing the rattiest shorts i own and i'm not wearing a bra." y/n laughed, lacing her fingers with his. "i feel like a trainwreck."

"but you look incredible, love." pato insisted, peppering her face with kisses. his embrace was warm and comforting, a reassuring presence in her life.

pato made her feel complete, like she was the only girl in the world.

"and you know what no bra means." the driver hummed in between kisses. "easy. access."

"at least let me close the hood first." she giggled under his kiss, slamming the hood of the electric blue sports car down and wiping the grease off her hands as pato slipped his hands up her shirt, gently playing with her nipples. she moaned under his touch, heat growing between her thighs.

"lean down over the hood, mamas." pato hummed. "wanna see your beautiful body."

the hood of the car was cold against her skin, shirt still pushed up over her breats, making her jump in surprise. behind her, pato laughed, gently tracing the linework carnation tattooed on her back, just above the hem of her denim shorts.

"you okay, pretty girl?"

"your car is freezing, jesus!"

"sorry, corazon. we can head inside if you want?"

y/n snorted, resting her head on her folded arms as she looked back at her lover. "you and i both know that we aren't going to make it back to the bedroom."

pato laughed, playfully smacking her ass before pressing himself against her, fingers fumbling with buttons. "god, baby, i need you. i need you all the time, yeah, you looked so fucking sexy bent over my car like that."

"you need a new fan belt, by the way." she moaned, unable to speak as her boyfriend slid her shorts down her legs, revealing her lacy fuchsia panties. "yours is cracking."

"i love it when you talk dirty to me." pato laughed, half moaning as he undid his belt. "but i'm more concerned with taking care of my pretty girl than my car."

"mhm, spank me, papi." y/n joked, shaking her ass in pato's direction. she loved that she could goof around with him, that pato didn't take himself too seriously in the heat of the moment.

"do you have a good grip on the car?" pato asked softly, running his soft hands up and down her spine, giving her full body shivers. "i don't want you to get hurt or anything."

"baby, i'm fine. honestly, i'm shocked we haven't fucked on your car before." she giggled, reaching back to hold pato's hand. "you know that if anything feels off, i'll tell you."

pato gently let go of her hand, reassuringly tracing circles on her thigh as he used his other hand to tease his cock up and down her entrance, making sure that she was ready to take him.

he slipped in gently, listening and watching for any sign of discomfort before y/n reached once again for his hand, signaling that it was okay for him to start to move.

pato's pace was relentless as she moaned underneath him, whining his name as she squeezed his fingers.

"yes, pato! fuck, just like that."

"that's it, corazon. you're doing so well for me, yeah? so beautiful. so fucking beautiful and i wish you could see yourself the way that i see you every fucking day."

ii

the room was dark, the mirrorball hanging from the ceiling refracting the party lights against the wall. the music was loud, the singing bad as y/n and cate, callum illotts girlfriend, took to the stage, singing a duet of ‘the best’ by tina turner.

“i know that look.” alex palou laughs, clapping pato on the shoulders as he stares at his fellow testing drivers awestruck expression, the stars in his eyes as he watched his girlfriend butcher tina turners greatest hit.

felix rosenvquist snorts, looking over at alex “has he told you that he’s spent the last hour debating whether it not he should ask y/n to marry him tonight?”

“marriage?” alex snorted “dude, you’re still so young, why tie yourself down like that?”

“what if I want to be tied down? i love her and I want to spend my life with her” pato said matter-of-factly, pulling a small velvet box out of his khakis

“we aren’t going to stop you, but that perfect moment isn’t just going to present itself.” felix shrugged. “you have to make the moment yourself.”

back onstage, the song was ending, cate and y/n collapsing into laughter fuelled by adrenaline and sugar. the light refracted off her skin, making her glow like some kind of neon goddess in the nightlight.

“before I get off this stage, there’s something I want to say before I lose my nerve!” y/n shouted, lifting her cocktail glass into the air. “patricio o ward is the love of my life! he’s the reason I look forward to getting up in the morning, the driving force behind what I do. he’s my biggest supporter, and the best lover, but moreover, he’s my best friend.”

the room started cheering. felix nudged pato in the arm, the mexican driver getting to his feet with a smile and waving to the room as if he was the queen of england. y/n beckoned him closer to the stage, and pato began to wonder if this was the perfect moment.

the moment he would pop the question.

“patricio, my love, my light, my smile. my best friend.” she smiled, lacing her fingers with his. she’d have got down on her knees to ask, full proposal classic, but with the crowd in this room, it would turn into a sex joke. “will you do me the honor of being my husband? will you marry me?”

pato just laughed, opening the ring box in his hand. “i was about to ask you the exact same thing.”

they both laughed, wrapping their arms around each other on stage, in front of the whole indycar grid as pato kissed her softly.

“is that a yes?”

“you first, tough guy.”

“yes, of course I’ll marry you, pretty girl.”

iii

“you look so fucking hot right now.” pato whistled as his fiancée stepped out of the dressing room, fabric of the wedding dress swishing around her legs as she walked.

they do say not to let your husband see you in your dress before the ceremony, but seeing as y/n was technically the one that proposed, they said to hell with all the regular wedding superstitions.

"you've said that about every dress so far." she giggled, twirling to look at herself in the mirror.

it turns out that the lovesick male is also very unhelpful when narrowing down which dress to buy, as the specimen thinks that every dress is equally as hot.

the dress was simple, white fabric hugging all her curves, with a scooping v-neckline. she loved the way it looked, but wondered if it might be perhaps a little . . . pedestrian. but she didn't even want a big wedding, she was happy with a quiet family affair in cancun.

pato shook his head. "this is different, babe. this dress is the one."

"you don't think it's too basic?" y/n worried, swishing the fabric around once more as she stared at her reflection.

"i think it's beautiful, corazon. you are beautiful." he wrapped his arms around her waist. "i'd marry you if you were wearing ripped jeans and a grease-stained tears for fears shirt."

"good to know. when we have our vow renewal maybe i'll wear a leather skirt."

"vow renewal?" pato laughs, kissing her softly. "we haven't even said them the first time yet."

"i can't wait until we do." y/n sighs, leaning back into his arms. "i love you."

"love you more, pretty girl." pato grins widely, kissing her cheek. "so, how do you feel about the dress?"

"this is the one."

iv.

"pato watch out!" y/n laughed, watching her now-husband remove one of the large jenga blocks from the tower set up in the middle of the reception hall.

pato had stayed true to his word when he promised that it would be a small wedding, only family and close friends allowed to join them in the serene jungle of cancun.

in lieu of a guest book, the o'ward's had bought a massive handmade jenga set, and each of the guests had written a message for the happy couple on one of the wooden blocks now towering into the trees and the stars above.

"relax, honey, it's not going to fall." pato chuckled, using both hands to maneuver the wooden block. "elba, get me the step ladder!"

shaking her head, pato's sister brought over the small two-step ladder that the wedding guests had been using to play the life-sized game.

or, larger than life sized.

"patricio, if you fall, i swear to god." y/n half warned as she held the ladder in place, the glow of happiness and surreality on her face as she tried to comprehend that she was now married to her best friend in the entire world.

pato rested the jenga block on the top of the wobbly tower, straightening it and attempting to stabilize it without knocking the whole thing over. stasified with the structure's strength, pato let out a breath and descended the ladder, moving to stand next to his wife.

he thought she looked so beautiful in the soft, led lighting. the jungle clearing was right on the water, lit up by christmas lights stung between the trees and plugged into a generator. y/n had a hibiscus flower pinned behind her ear, and a small smudge of mascara on her cheek.

that didn't matter. she still took his breath away, made his knees go weak when she smiled.

even after marriage, he was still al lovesick fool.

felix was up next in the massive jenga game, pulling out a block from the middle that he could barely reach, getting alex to hold the step ladder in place as he ascended to the top of the dangerously rickety tower.

"i don't like the looks of that." y/n hummed, resting her head against pato's chest. "if those jenga blocks crush anybody at our reception-"

"they won't, don't worry about it." pato murmured, kissing her forehead softly. "i'm so happy we did this."

"me too."

"the tower's coming down!" alex shouted, pushing felix out of the way and into the water as the jenga blocks fell down.

in the opposite direction of the lake.

"what the fuck was that for?" felix shouted, surfacing in the turqoise waters as he began to doggy paddle back to shore.

"sorry." alex laughed. "i thought it was going to fall on you."

still laughing, y/n turned to pato, kissing him softly. "i love you."

"love you more, pretty girl. way, way more."

TAGS:

@oconso @libraryofloveletters @magnummagnussen @sidcrosbyspuck @scuderiamh @scuderiasundays @cl16version @unluckyhoneybee

[koishiro]

# - 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍 mdni

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : proud of your new tattoo, you go to pay only to realise you don’t have your purse on you. Luckily the artist accepts all forms of payment

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 : tattooist!Geto x fem!reader

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 : smut

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 : oral (male + fem receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, spanking/ass grabbing

masterlist | jjk masterlist | anon masterlist

"𝘖𝘸! 𝘑𝘦𝘦𝘻!"

You winced as the needle continued the relentless journey across your wrist. Squinting your eyes and puckering your lips, you snapped another selfie with your free hand. You squirmed slightly and jumped as you thumbed your phone, trying to caption "No pain no gain xoxo" across your Instagram account. Your pony tail danced side to side as you gritted your teeth from the dull aching pain of the needle. Your long legs encased in skin tight Levi's rubbed the side of the chair as you squeezed your pink glittered cell phone which constantly chimed an annoying cat meow.

"𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬! 𝘈𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘺𝘦𝘵? 𝘐 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘯!" You squealed in protest. The tattooist gazed at you dully, as he wiped away excess ink with a damp paper towel.

"𝘕𝘰" he replied dryly. Geto, the twenty-five year old who was delivering the cruel artistic torture sat still on his black stool. His leather combat boot pressed down once more on the pedal as you tensed up again. You whimpered softly and managed to take another selfie. This time pushing your lips together and frowning. Geto hoped you didn't notice him shaking his head in disgust.

He had done his fair share of lousy tattoos, but tattooing bratty sorority girls was the worst. "𝘔𝘺 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘶𝘭𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘱 𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘶𝘴," he thought. His long thick hair slicked back behind his ears gave him the persona of a 2000’s grunge rocker. Both of his arms were covered in dark colored art, his Black Sabbath t-shirt was ripped at the collar and his jeans were stained with grease. You gazed at him a few times, trying to remember who he looked like, then it finally dawned on you:

"Loki!" You squeaked.

"Huh?" Geto replied wiping your wrist.

"Loki, thats who, from The Avengers! You look just like him!"

"Oh, thanks?" Geto knew who you were talking about, the character from that superhero film on TV. Geto wasn't any sort of villain but he started feeling like one with his gun stabbing multiple needles into your skin for a living.

"𝘖𝘬, 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥, 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵. 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨?"

“𝘐𝘵 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐’𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶” you flirted. He grinned and placed his black gloved hand on your forearm as his other hand shaded the rest of the letters. As annoying and prissy as you were, you were drop dead gorgeous. He wondered if you caught him staring at your cleavage flowing over your tank top, or sneaking a peak of your backside through the doorway when you bent over outside to snuff out your cigarette.

As sexy as you were, you weren’t easy to tattoo, this one should've taken an hour, tops. He scheduled you last so he could get your tattoo of "Peace and Happiness," tattooed along your wrist with a few small flowers and a heart. He'd get you out the door in no time so he could go back to his apartment, flip on the soccer game and catch at least the third period with an ice cold beer.

However, your constant stopping for "pain breaks," four phone calls and two smoke breaks later, the game was long over. His part timer left over an hour ago, making sure to flip the outside sign to "CLOSED".

So the two of you where alone, at least until you started up Instagram. Now the whole universe knew you were getting a tattoo at “𝘚𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘚𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘣𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘨𝘶𝘺 𝘚𝘶𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘶 𝘹𝘰“ Geto couldn't bring himself to rush through the final stages, he never half assed a tattoo, no matter how eager he was to reach the end. He had enough, your squealing and constant squirming was so bad, he started to think about his current career path and wondered if it was even worth it to follow his artistic dream.

"𝘏𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘭𝘶𝘫𝘢𝘩 𝘸𝘦’𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦” He thought as he put his machine on the tray.

"𝘖𝘬, 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘵," Geto wiped the last bits of ink and droplets of blood from your wrist. He poured a few streams of green skin cleaner and patted it dry, "𝘛𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬”

"𝘖𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘎𝘰𝘥 𝘎𝘦𝘵𝘰, 𝘪𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘢𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦! 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶! 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶!“ you bounced up and down. He caught yet another quick glance of your breasts bobbing up and down along to the rhythm of your ponytail.

"𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵, 𝘐’𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘤” As he put away his extra small jars of ink, a sigh of a relief escaped his mouth. He stretched his back and cracked his knuckles. "𝘑𝘦𝘦𝘻, 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦,“ he muttered to himself.

"𝘈𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦? 𝘖𝘩 𝘯𝘰, 𝘯𝘰 𝘯𝘰 𝘯𝘰!“ You said while rummaging through your small black leather purse “𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦!“

Geto shut his eyes and started to imagine what the hell the new issue was. His only thought could be you must have forgotten your money. "𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦, " he thought to himself.

"𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘥! 𝘔𝘺 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘣𝘰𝘺𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦!”

Geto shook his head, "𝘜𝘮, 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 ₩150 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘰," He said while drying his hands.

"𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸. 𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵, 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮"

Five minutes and three different phone calls later, Geto stood motionless in the entrance of his artist area leaning against the wall with his arms folded. He was staring at your frantic form screeching into your phone in the waiting area.

"𝘓𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯, 𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦. 𝘋𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘺 𝘰𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘵?" he said sternly.

"𝘐， 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵. 𝘊𝘢𝘯 𝘐 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶?"

"𝘐’𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘸. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘱’𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘚𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴”

"𝘞𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘺 𝘰𝘯 𝘔𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘺?“

Geto sighed, "𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺”

"𝘞𝘦𝘭𝘭, 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯?"

A slight pause filled the air. Geto sighed, he had a few ideas of his own but he was too annoyed to find you remotely attractive at that moment. Even so what you said next quickly made his throat tighten and legs go weak.

"𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬．．．" you said quietly.

"𝘌𝘹𝘤𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘮𝘦?” he said sharply.

"𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘮𝘦”

He looked away then scratched his chin, "𝘈 𝘰𝘯𝘦－𝘧𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘫𝘰𝘣? 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘴𝘰”

"𝘐’𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘥𝘰 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵”

Geto studied your body, eyeing your slim stomach and long legs, his cheeks grew warm and he started to turn slightly red. His heart beat fast as he blew out a slow sigh.

"𝘈𝘭𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘰 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦" He walked over to you and placed his hand on the small of your back, sliding his other hand into the front of your jeans, under your panties and stroked the softness between your legs. You dropped your purse onto the floor and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. You were about to move in to kiss him, but gasped loudly as his middle finger slid into you.

"𝘖𝘩 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬" you whispered, biting your lower lip as he inched his finger in deeper. He started to walk backwards towards the old dentist-like chair that was now converted to his one and only tattoo throne, the very same chair you had sat on for the past three hours.

He guided you along with his finger still inside you, moving you towards him while stroking his finger in a "𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦" motion. Your legs trembled as his rough palm grazed your clit all while his tattooed finger pressed and swayed inside you. He leaned back onto the counter and slipped his hand out of your jeans. You took his hand and placed his wet finger into your mouth, sucking off your own sweet juices, giggling as he smiled.

He took off his battered t-shirt as you moved your hands across his chest, then down toward his jeans. You eagerly started to unbutton his pants, reaching in through the top of his boxers. A soft groan escaped his lips as your small warm hand clutched his pulsating shaft, his jeans slid down with his boxers as you dropped to your knees and stared at his large erect cock. You put it in your mouth and started to slowly suck.

His hand draped over your ponytail as he leaned against the counter. He sighed and squeezed his eyes shut as his cock grew thicker in your small mouth. You moaned softly as you tasted his salty pre-come sliding down your tongue. You bobbed your head faster, slurping his pulsating shaft while spit slid down the corners of your mouth. You stroked his hardness with one hand fast as you rest your wet lips against the tip of his soft head. You gazed up at him with your wanting eyes before sliding him down your throat in one quick motion. He moaned loudly, swearing as his thighs tightened. You took it out of your mouth and gasped, stroking him faster as a trail of spit fell from your chin onto your heaving chest.

He stood you up and lifted off your tank top. He buried his face into your cleavage, kissing your soft skin as he unhooked your white lace bra. He sucked your pink nipples as you offered your tits up for him, whimpering as he gently bit each one. He spun you around and pressed your round ass against his cock, unbuttoning your jeans and sliding them slowly off, you slid your shoes off in the process. He grabbed hold of your ass from behind and kissed your shoulders. Walking you over to the chair, he motioned for you to sit.

You fell into the chair, clutching onto the headrest behind you as Geto pressed a button and lowered the back of the chair. "𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘺?" he asked.

"𝘔𝘮𝘮 𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺!" You replied with heavy breaths.

He spread your long legs to each side and slid them over each arm rest. He pulled away your panties to reveal your wet, bare pussy. He pressed his mouth against your pink lips as you let out a cry, running your fingers through his long hair. His warm tongue slid up and down as he squeezed your thighs. He brought your legs together and slid off your damp panties, tossing them across the room.

You now lay naked on the chair as Geto took off his boots and slid his jeans onto the floor. He knelt down against the chair and returned your legs to the arm rests, displaying your glistening wet lips for him to see. He brought his face between your legs and slid his tongue against your softness as he wrapped his rough lips around your clit and sucked.

"𝘖𝘩 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬, 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵” you whimpered and buried your hands in his long thick hair. He pressed his face against you as you pivoted your hips up and down, riding his mouth. He stopped sucking and hoisted you upwards by your ass, penetrating you with his tongue. He fucked you with his tongue as you screamed, rubbing your clit with your own fingers.

He moved back to your clit and sucked harder, sliding his warm tongue up and down as he pushed his middle finger inside your drenched pussy. He pressed against your g-spot as he grabbed a hold of your thigh and pushed you harder against his mouth.

"𝘠𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦! 𝘖𝘩 𝘎𝘰𝘥!“ You moaned as your legs tightened and your hips trembled, you came hard into his mouth, moaning and squeezing your eyes shut as you ground your pussy onto his finger and pressed your clit hard against his tongue.

You laid on the chair with your eyes shut, your bare chest bobbing up and down as you breathed hard, your legs melted and your pussy tingled. "𝘖𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘥, 𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦” you said to Geto, "𝘙𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸”

He flipped you over onto the chair and positioned you on your knees and placed your hands on the back of the chair. He brought your legs together and massaged your lower back, watching your thighs sway as you gasped and looked over your shoulder, waiting for his next command.

"𝘈𝘳𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦," he said to you.

You pushed your ass up and arched your lower back as far as you could, "𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴?"

"𝘗𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵," Geto replied. He grabbed a hold of his hard cock and slammed it into your aching pussy. You cried out, tightening your muscles, feeling the thickness of his shaft stretching your soft wetness. He pushed hard, gripping your ass as he fucked you with short steady thrusts.

You could feel his cock go deeper with every thrust. You shrieked into the chair, squeezing your eyes shut. The one thing Geto wanted to hear was your high pitched moan, your voice breaking and whimpering with pure sexual ecstasy. He grabbed you by your pony tail and slightly pulled as he pushed his cock deeper inside of you. You lifted your head off the chair and moaned high pitched cries. "𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦! 𝘖𝘩 𝘨𝘰𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘴," you squeaked as he continued to thrust his hard cock into you.

You could feel his shaft grow thicker, while his moans grew into roars as you begged him not to stop. He spanked you and gripped your bouncing cheek tightly as his shaft pulsated inside of you. He pulled out and stroked his shaft, rubbing his hard marble tip against your wet lips, teasing you while you bit down on the chair's headrest. He slid in once more, forcefully pressing deeper, thrusting hard as his black hair fell forward onto his face.

He took out his throbbing cock and wiped his long hair over his head. "𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘱," he said. You stood up with trembling legs as he laid down onto the chair, holding his cock upward. You climbed onto the chair and wrapped your legs around him as you pressed your hands down on his chest. You eased your aching pussy onto his cock and slid down, filling yourself up with his hardness.

You swayed back and forth on top of the tattoo artist, grinding him hard, bringing him deeper inside of you. He clasped your bouncing ass with one hand and cupped your swaying tit with another. "𝘖𝘩 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬, 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵" you said, riding him harder.

"𝘊𝘶𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬" Geto whispered into your ear. This was all that was needed to send you over the edge. Your lips tightened around his rock hard shaft as you came on top of him, gasping for breath as you squeezed your own tits.

You slid off of him and knelt on the floor in-between his legs, stroking him hard and fast. You stared into his eyes as Geto brought himself up onto his elbows to watch his own throbbing cock which was ready to erupt. You wrapped your soft tits around his shaft and moved them up and down, sliding yourself against him, encouraging him to cum on you. "𝘐’𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘴, 𝘐’𝘮 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵" you gripped his hardness and slid it into your mouth, slurping and sucking fast.

"𝘖𝘩 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬!" Geto groaned softly. You took his cock out of your glistening mouth and stroked it fast, guiding it along your soft tits. Hot cum splashed onto your chest, covering your breasts and neck as you milked his cock with your warm hands.

They both stared at each other breathless. Geto smiled as he pushed his long hair back over his ears. "𝘖𝘬𝘢𝘺," he said, "𝘋𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘬?"

You giggled as you reached for your phone, "𝘚𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘨𝘶𝘺!" You took a picture of Geto, sweat beaded off of his face as he shot up his middle finger in your direction.

"𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴!" she blurted, "𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺’𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘴! 𝘠𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘸!"

"𝘐𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺’𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦" Geto said as he laid back down onto the chair.

—

— 𝘒𝘰𝘪 𝘹𝘰

[stevieschrodinger]

Steve's had a few relationships, mostly the teenage kind where you hold hands and kiss sometimes and the girl waves to you and then giggles with her friends. He's had relationships that led up to third base in the back of the beemer and then fizzled out. He's had one night stands.

He had Nancy.

None of the first sort of relationship felt permanent. Steve was aware while it was happening that it wasn't going to last, it was just part of growing up. A learning curve.

Nancy felt permanent.

Obviously it didn't feel permanent to her.

The thing is, due to the lack of seriousness with the first sort of relationship, no one got really close to Steve, definitely not to the stealing his clothes point, anyway.

And Nancy was far too proper to be caught wearing any of Steve's clothes.

But then there's Eddie Munson, who enters stage left and seems to assume that Steve's Wardrobe is now Our Wardrobe.

And Steve discovers really fast that he likes that, he likes it a hell of a lot.

Right up until he's doing laundry that is half Eddie's clothes because, apparently, Our Wardrobe also means Steve is Our Laundry service. That's the moment Steve realizes that maybe...he's not so keen. He has a white polo with grass stains on it. A pullover with grease drips down the front. A hoodie with both pull cords inexplicably and terribly frayed.

So he starts paying attention, and discovers that Eddie, if left to his own devices, will chew on anything, up to and including neck lines and collars. He wipes his hands on his clothes, no matter what it is, rather than washing them with soap and water like a functional human being.

The first argument they have is over a hole Eddie's gnawed into the neckline of one of Steve's favourite knitted pullovers. It's not an argument, Steve's kidding himself: he tells Eddie off for ruining his things and Eddie apologies, visibly upset.

He stops wearing Steve's clothes, and Steve is startled by how much that upsets him.

The worst part is, he doesn't know how to fix it, because when he takes it back, tried to get Eddie back into his things...Eddie says no, because he really does not realize that he's being messy or chewing on things; doesn't know that he's doing it and so can't control it, and won't risk Steve's things.

So Steve, not knowing what else to do, goes on the offensive. Does he know who W.A.S.P are? No, not really, but he's wearing their tee shirt. He's wearing black jeans that are more holes that denim and has forced his feet into Eddie's white Reebok's. He finds Eddie's eye pencil and, having watched Eddie do this a few times, lines his lower lids. He's got chains hanging off him and has slipped on a couple of rings of Eddie's that fit, and when he comes out of Eddie's bedroom Wayne pulls an indecipherable face, but tells Steve where Eddie's jacket is hanging because if he's going to do it, he might aswell do it right.

There are holes in the neck of the shirt; Steve knows Eddie's been chewing on it.

Steve picks Eddie up from his shift at the garage, and once Eddie regains the power of speech it's to tell Steve to find somewhere secluded and to pull the fuck over.

After, as they both lie pink cheeked and a bit sweaty on the back seat of the beemer, Steve explains that he likes Eddie in his things, just the same as Eddie very CLEARLY likes Steve wearing his.

[fleckcmscott]

Something Old, Everything New

Summary: After Arthur has a run in with the past, Y/N provides the shelter she’s always hoped to.

Words: 4,227

Warnings: Swearing, Smut

A/N: @tally-kiza made the request that prompted this story. Cal, I hope it's what you're looking for! 😂 Heartfelt thanks to @sweet-nothings04 for beta-ing, helping with the summary, and her neverending kindness and support. 💜

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

The shopping list was broken into three sections, each separated by a thick, felt-tip line. Ingredients for a recipe Y/N was keeping secret. Refills of temazepam and fluoxetine. And supplies for light repairs he was determined to finish before the weekend was out.

Through poverty and an absent landlord, Arthur had become something of a handyman as a teen. He'd figured out how to snake gooey clumps of hair from the shower drain, unstick stuck drawers with a spritz of WD-40, patch the hole in the wall left by his fist. A job done himself was a dollar saved, a buck to spend on cigarettes or butterscotch candies, depending on how his week went.

Tapping each item on the paper, he dodged a pallet of tightly stacked potting soil and ambled down the fourth aisle of Garber's Value Hardware and Housewares, his first stop and a staple that'd served Burnley since 1926. Paint thinner stains dotted the creaky wooden floor, the shop's knob and tube wiring was a decade out of code, and the fumes of last year's grease saturated the air.

The red bins of O-rings, washers, and valve seals were poorly sorted. He sifted through grimy plastic baggies, searching for a standard size set. The kitchen faucet had been leaking for weeks, and the drops grew ever fatter and faster. He decided on a variety pack, then aimed for the door section for hinge lubricant, as vegetable oil no longer quieted the bedroom door's squeaks and squawks.

He was midway through the yellow bottle's directions when an old nickname smacked him in the back of the head.

"Hey, Fleck the Speck!"

The jovial call made Arthur's joints as stuck as an old drawer.     

"Hell, it's been what, twenty years?" Richard continued, dark blue mechanic's overalls swishing as he advanced on Arthur. The guy thrust a friendly hand his way. "You just kinda fell off the face of the earth. How've you been?"

Arthur glared at that hand.

Richard McMahon was an old classmate, from Cowther's Middle School straight through sophomore year at Gotham High. Being held back two years hadn't stopped him from reaching the level of cool to go by Rick, not Dick.

And he was one of the many people Arthur could have gone to his grave without seeing.

Fleck the Speck had caught on amongst Rick's group of rowdies like too much Brylcreem. Dingy hair and ratty, ill-fitting clothes had made Arthur a target to rival a dart board. Rick's hair had been just as greasy, his t-shirt couldn't keep up with his stocky teenage body. But youth hierarchy demanded someone be shit on, and via his natural awkwardness, Arthur attracted all the flies.

But that was then, and this was now, and if Arthur interpreted Rick-not-Dick's tone correctly, he saw him as a regular guy.

"I'm good," Arthur said, returning the shake. The man grabbed him in a sweltering grip. "I- I had a lot going on. With my mother and everything."

"Good, good. You working now?"

"Yes. I'm a comedian."

"No shit! You still doing that laugh?"

That Rick would bring up Arthur's condition wasn't a shock. It'd been a source of endless entertainment for his peers. He took half a step back. "Doing that laugh?"

"Yeah! It was a riot, really threw the teachers off, too. Got any kids?"

Rapid fire questions with teasing cloaked as compliments dizzied Arthur, like he was a returning guest on the Murray show under the lights and the heat. "I'm married."

"Me, too. You remember Shelly Petters?"

Shelly Peters had sat to Arthur's left in US History, a course he'd struggled with like all the rest. Getting dates confused was too easy, and it was far too hard to concentrate while awaiting next month's allotment of government peanut butter and wondering if Penny had left on the oven again.

In her pink miniskirt and flowing, flaxen locks, Shelly had been a beauty fit for the cover of TV Guide.  During the mid-term, he'd frowned at the blue test booklet, the words swimming in front of him. Frustration channeled its way to his knee, bouncing it against the bottom of the desk. Bang. Bang. Bang. The force of his grip snapped his pencil in two. The pointed half fell and rolled across the floor, right into Mr. Galloway's shoes.

As if helping Arthur was the most natural thing in the world, Shelly had offered her spare. He'd done his best not to chew on it and fallen in love.

But his heart was as poorly schooled as his mind. As sweet as that recollection was, it was interlinked with the truth of how rare kindness had been.

He'd untangled his curls, slicked them back with tap water. Tucked his sweater into his trousers, rolled up the cuffs to hide the holes. When he'd caught up to her by her locker, Rick had stuck one heavy foot between them.

"What'd you do to your hair?" The rowdies formed a half circle, a pack of wolves, and the leader addressed his eager audience. "You gonna put on a show for us, Fleck the Speck? How about telling one of them jokes of yours? Knockknockknockknockknock!"

"Richard, stop it," Shelly hissed.

Laughter forced a cough from Arthur, his fingers clawing his trousers in an attempt to get control over his breathing. The tightening of his throat turned tears into a nakedness that choked. He'd fled to the boy's bathroom on the third floor. Locked himself in the last stall. Wiped his snot with cheap toilet paper and sleeves. What a fool he was for trying to raise himself above his station. The station shared by them all.

A blink returned Arthur to the present. The raw quality of his voice couldn't be restrained. "Shelly married you?"

"Right out of high school," Rick said. "Our daughter graduated this year. It was fun, seeing the old gym again. It hasn't changed one iota." His thumb gestured at Arthur's baggy cardigan, a hitchhiking motion. "Looks like you haven't changed much, either."

Nostalgia coated the comment, not meanness. But the same sense of worthlessness engulfed Arthur, joined by a rising fury that this man - this- this asshole - maintained the power to tear him down. To leave him the same boy who'd fled to the bathroom, when he'd tried to be more than allowed.

Crumpling his shopping list, Arthur shoved his first in his pocket before he could shove it in Dick-not-Rick's nose. Blunt nails dug his palms. "I can't believe she'd marry someone like you."

Offense deformed the man's face. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Don't you remember? All you did was make fun of me."

"Hey, everyone had a nickname back then. It was all a joke."

"Yeah, well. Comedy is subjective, Dick, and I never thought it was funny."

"We were kids. Kids do stupid shit." A hint of reticence twitched Dick's mouth. Lifting his chin, he straightened his features into calm. "I'll say hi to Shelly for you. Let her know you're doing all right. She'll be glad to hear it."

Then came the words that hit Arthur like a hammer.

"You really haven't changed at all."

~~~~~

Y/N brushed stray strands from her hair, the usual stragglers after a fresh cut. Wilma, the hairdresser she'd been seeing for three years, had called out sick, so she'd met a new beauty school graduate named Nancy. Though shy about feathering, the girl was eager to blunt cut. Y/N had halted her with a raised hand just as she was about to give her bangs.

Crossing the living room, Y/N paused long enough to turn on the TV, where a rerun of the Honeymoon Game would start at five. Arthur and she had become experts at guessing each other's answers and often ended those nights with more than a kiss. Being newlyweds themselves, it was the perfect watch.

And what a blissful eight months it'd been.

All on her own, she'd made the leap to move to Gotham at an age when most people had a spouse, a house, and two cars in a garage. Self-sufficiency had been her middle name for over a decade. She hadn't planned on getting remarried, instead relishing in finally having her own path.

But fate had introduced her to the kindest, most wonderful man she'd ever met, and the whole world had shifted.

It was a delight to have a helper, a partner. A person she could come home to and who could come home to her, who brightened her day with love and laughter. Who made the smallest domesticities matter, because she could share them. And being married to Arthur was fun.

She'd jotted a shopping list this morning, starting with ingredients for skillet enchiladas, a recipe he'd played at trying to peek. Then he'd perched on the kitchen counter and named all the hardware he needed, counting on his fingers as he went. There was something undeniably alluring about it. A masculine confidence that tickled her insides, a suaveness that came naturally when he let go enough to let it.

Alone, she would have waited at the bottom of the super's list for small fixes. She was good at keeping house, but repairs were outside of her league, Class A when her skill set was Class C. Now, sitting at the dinette table with a cup of tea and the Gotham Times, she couldn't stop picturing Arthur holding a wrench. The flex of his bicep as he twisted it, his broad stance as he bent over the sink.

Heat burned her cheeks, a good dose of fluster. Squeezing her thighs together, she turned the page.

Just as she'd read a statement from Gotham's Office of Management and Budget protesting any attempt to expand aid for the unemployed, the front door unlocked. She pushed the paper aside, tightened the bow of her pencil skirt. "There you are, Mr. Fleck," she said, rising to help with the shopping bags. "Did you find everything?"

A single sack hung from Arthur's twitchy knuckles. Brown paper. Wrinkled. The size of a lunch bag.

Head tilted to one side, she tested its light weight with two lifting motions. "Was Ed's closed?"

"No."

She looked inside. Hardware jumbled at the bottom, along with a distinct lack of orange, plastic bottles. "What about your medication?"

"Don't worry about it."

He shoved his tan jacket on the hook next to hers. Fingers smoothed his hair, turning into claws, a pressure that blanched his temples. Warmth fled her face, replaced by a concerned chill, for it was a move she recognized. A jarring and painful echo of tough times.

Without the usual peck, the usual caress, the usual smile, he walked past her to the living room. Grabbed the remote from the coffee table and flicked off the TV.

One foot forward before she held back. "Arthur, what's wrong?"

No answer, no turn towards her. No indication he'd heard her inquiry. He jerked the chair from his desk and dropped into it. Yanked open the top left drawer and smacked his journal to the surface.

Y/N's breath caught in her breast. When Arthur was upset, a pattern came into play: he wanted space, and she respected him by giving it. A behavior she attributed to his years of isolation and not a small amount of fear. Yes, she'd gotten used to it. But that didn't make it any less irksome, any less hard on her heart. Without the whole story of what'd happened, she found herself at a loss as to how to help. A fog had rolled in and she was a dinghy, drifting through choppy waters with a broken masthead.

She forced herself to browse the cupboards, search for what to piece together for a comforting meal. A can of peas sat on the second shelf. There was half a box of macaroni, but they'd used the last jar of tomato sauce on Monday. In the freezer, one Salisbury steak Swanson stood its ground, next to bags of chicken breasts and sweet corn. It was all about as comforting as cold chowder.

In the doorway by the dinette table, she observed him anew. He hunched over his desk, muttering to himself. He'd shed his cardigan and shirt, his trousers, even his worn white socks. They lay strewn on the other side of the room divider to his right. Out of sight but, judging from his posture, far too firmly in mind.

She approached with quiet, measured steps. Stopped six inches behind him. His every sinew screamed dissent. Ballpoint pen scratched across paper. She pushed herself to her tiptoes to peer over his shoulder. Though his forearm covered two-thirds of his journal, enough of the slanted script cried out to her.

"...bad guys alwaze win at life. 35 years here and I got one prize!!!!! What??? How fucking long can peeple like Dick make me feel awful? I don't want anything to hurt me any more. They never think what it's like to be someone like me. This city is too crowded and full of Dicks. If I..."

Testing the waters of what Arthur was willing to receive, she laid her hands on the nape of his neck. It was cement under her palms. Thumbs worked lines up and down on both sides, beneath brown curls that brushed knuckles. After a minute, after he hadn't pushed her away, she said, "You don't have to shut me out."

His scrawling stopped.

Lines became circles as she moved outwards. The pads of her fingers traced his clavicle, massaged the bony knobs of his shoulders. But his muscles grew tauter, and she realized the swirling strokes stung instead of soothed. Reluctance ached her sternum. She swallowed against the worry he hated.

He'd been in worse shape before and he'd come to her. He would come to her again soon.

In the meantime, she'd meet him where he was. Care for him the best way she knew how. "I'll get the groceries and stop by Groves." Her lips brushed the shell of his ear. "And be home before you have a chance to miss me." One final squeeze before she turned to leave.

Quick as a whip, his hand locked around her wrist.

Relief flooded her frame. A welcome, wished for reaction to the man she loved. The man she was devoted to, the man she adored opening up enough to need her. She went to his side, assuming he wanted to embrace her, press his face to her stomach. Let go with her, into her. But his posture remained rigid, a ramrod of resentment. His whole body appeared to be filled with waiting - but for what?

He traced the veins on her forearm, mapped a path to her palm. Her fingers curled around his. Low and rumbling, he pierced the silence. "Say you want me." A rasp equal parts desperation and demand. "Tell me." When his gaze darted to hers, the smoldering in his stare said he wanted to possess her.

She'd let him.

One sideways step to stand before him. Her rear rested on the lip of his desk.

"I want you," she said. She placed his palm on her breast, guided his thumb beneath the placket of her blouse. Popped the buttons with a flick of her fingers. "Put your hands on me."

A harsh inhale as he shot upwards, grabbed her chin with greedy hands, and shoved his mouth to hers. Her bottom lip caught on his teeth. He groaned and lapped the sting away. In one smooth motion, he shoved her skirt to her waist and lifted her onto the desk. The pages of his journal crumpled under her ass.

He grasped her collar, tugged crepe to her elbows. She snaked between their torsos to open the front of her bra. Her breasts spilled onto him and he groaned. Smothered her mouth with a savage intensity.

His clothed erection bumped her vulva, flint striking stone. Aching, her nipples tightened against his chest, his hair tickling, teasing. Thumbs hooked around the lace trim of her panties. He shoved them over her hips, down her thighs, past her knees. When the cotton reached her toes, she kicked them off. They landed on the console stereo, hung indelicately from the corner.

Dragging her ass to the edge of the desk, Arthur pulled himself out of his briefs. She fell backwards onto her elbows, knocked over their framed photograph, taken on a night to remember. It fell to the wooden surface with a slap. He cupped her labia, slipped a pointer between her lips. Long enough to test her readiness, to test her willingness.

The desk lamp's gentle light played across his ribs, his toned abdomen, his thighs. Breath shallow and ragged, she eyed the tip of his cock. Purplish red and shiny with slick. Stare fixed on her center, he took it in his palm. She gulped. Her knees fell further apart as she canted upward, her damp folds brushing his knuckles. He pumped once. Twice.

And then he breached her.

A rough cry flew from her throat. One leg curled about him, her heel at the small of his back, her other foot braced on the seat of his chair.

Bent over her now, he propped himself on one hand. Cupped her neck and sheathed his shaft completely. He crushed her to him for a fierce, firm kiss. The tip of his tongue pressed for entry. But before she could grant it, he moved to nuzzle her temple, her jaw.

Steady and sharp, his thrusts impaled her with the taste of something primal. The hot glide of flesh on flesh. His thighs rattled the pencil drawer. He grunted. Fucked faster, harder. The desk threatened to bang the wall.

His sweaty face fell to the crook of her shoulder and her eyes fell shut. The sensation of him inside her was powerful, overwhelming. A stretch that scorched in every way she wanted, forever and always.

This felt different, though. In the past, she'd invited him to take comfort in her body. To let their coming together be a haven, their union be a defiance against the tragedies life had dealt him. Besides the night she'd confessed she loved him, he hadn't taken her in that way. Arthur doing so now confirmed the strength of their connection. How much he trusted her, how much he honored her, as equally as she trusted and honored him.

Her heart longed to comfort him, too. To heal whatever had happened, to make the present and future brighter than the past. She sealed that vow with a kiss to his cheek.

His pelvis jerked unevenly, stammering between her thighs. She clutched his shoulder, gripped his forearm. A ragged moan tumbled past his lips, onto her skin. Her calves rose to squeeze him tight, tighter. Fingertips digging her hip, he stiffened, his hot essence splashing her walls. Gasps mingled, humid and heated. His abdomen quivered against hers.

Once he'd softened and steadied his breath, he slipped out of her. Arming his forehead, he stumbled to land in the chair.

Slowly, she clambered down, one foot meeting the carpet, then the other. She left her skirt at her waist but peeled off her blouse. Wiped their mess from the desk and tossed it on the pile of his clothes. She smoothed the pages of his journal, shut its leather cover. Smiling, she picked up their picture. Straightened the easel and put it in its place.

When she turned towards Arthur, he appeared to still be in a state, but one not altogether unpleasant. Gaze dazed and out of focus, dark brows lifted and lines of his face relaxed. And was that blush the result of his brazenness or his orgasm?

"Feeling better?" she asked, slinging an arm about him as she sat sideways on his lap.

"Uh huh."

She gave a throaty little laugh. "Good."

Sticky with perspiration, his forehead met her cheek. Her nails ran over his scalp, caught in damp, knotted curls. He heaved a long sigh, which goosepimpled her skin. Quiet blanketed them, tranquil and lovely, sunlight that sliced through the earlier fog.

But clouds did remain, questions she couldn't let go. Who was Dick? And what had he done to her husband, both then and now?

Rumbling disturbed the peace, a loud squeal like a balloon. Chuckling, Arthur splayed his fingers on her stomach. "Sorry about the groceries."

"Don't be." She covered his hand with hers. "I have an idea."

~~~~~

At a nearby diner, in a booth by the kitchen, over a blue-plate special of baked beans and hot dogs, Arthur told Y/N about it. All of it. The bullying, the cruelty of laughter, the taunting he hadn't always understood but a tone as familiar as not fitting anywhere. How reading had been hard and therefore it'd been hard to learn, even when he'd had the will. ("No one else had any problems. I felt stupid all the time.") That the awfulness he'd been destined to encounter every day made it a ten round fight to get off the couch, get washed up, and get to school.

And that he didn't get - would never get - how a guy as mean as Dick McMahon could wind up with the nicest girl in class.

Arthur scraped his spoon across the plate to snag the last bite of beans. "I dunno. I didn't want to be upset. That happened when we were kids."

"It's normal to be upset by assholes," Y/N countered. "What happened wasn't okay. Twenty years doesn't change that."

"But shouldn't it be easier by now? He said I hadn't changed but I have." Arthur wanted to believe that. He had to believe that.

"There're people I don't ever want to see again, no matter how much they've changed. Why do you think I moved to Gotham?"

The corner of his mouth quirked. "You're right, I just-" A slight shake of his head as he broke off. Dick had already stolen enough of today. Arthur wasn't about to allow him the rest. He retrieved a cigarette from his pocket and lit up. "I don't want to talk about it anymore. I'll be fine. I just want to enjoy being with you."

"You're always welcome." She caught the waitress's attention with a raised hand and ordered a decaf and slice of Pineapple Dream Pie. "We can get groceries tomorrow. Your refills, too. No, wait. Groves is closed Sundays."

"I have enough until Wednesday. Don't you have an appointment that morn-?"

"Schcuze me, ma'am?"

At the end of their table stood a man, clad in an orange and white Gotham Knights basketball jersey. A fiery K was emblazoned on his cheek. Arthur wondered where the rest of the letters had fled to.

The squire teetered on drunken knees. "Can I have your catchsup?" he asked, gesturing towards the glass bottle at the other end of the booth. Arthur handed it over. The man offered a goofy grin and shuffled away.

When he'd rounded the counter, Y/N smirked. "I hope he ordered a pot of coffee. Anyway, yes, Dr. Shapiro's at ten. Just a routine visit and he'll check my IUD. I got it after I moved, so it should have a few years left in it."

Ready to tease, Arthur wrinkled his nose. "But why? When we met, you said you weren't looking."

"Well, I wanted to be prepared. And it's a good thing, too, because that changed when you came along."

Chuckling, he rubbed the nape of his neck. A very good thing, indeed.

She poured the last of the creamer in her coffee, gave it a slow stir. She put the spoon on the saucer and lifted the beige mug. For a moment, her eyes had a faraway look. Her lashes fluttered it away. "Do you ever feel like you missed out, having only been with me?"

A flinch shot through him. "No. Why would you think that?"

"It's silly, I know. It's just that I was married before. I dated. You didn't have all that. And I'm older than you." The sheepish tuck of hair behind her ear. "I just wonder sometimes, that's all."

The cash register opened and shut. Order Up! bellowed from the kitchen. The shop bell ting ting tinged.

Arthur rested his cigarette in the table ashtray. Slid out of the booth and slid onto the bench seat beside her. "I'm comfortable with you and you care about me. I care about you, too."

A bright blush as she drank. Contentment washed over him, a happiness he hadn't known he could have before being with her. In this diner, in this city, in this life. A life he couldn't have dreamed of in that high school bathroom stall, snotting all over himself and asking why don't I fit, why don't I fit, why don't I fit?

"You know what's changed?" he started, folding her into his side. "I'm not alone anymore. Instead of getting angry, I should've bragged about that."

Beaming, she angled to face him. "You'll have plenty of chances."

She brought the mug to his mouth. Though he disliked milk in his java and one sugar wasn't enough, he stole a quick sip. Then he kissed her, sipping from her lips to wash the bitter away.

~~~~~

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[acapelladitty]

Riddler/Reader - Reverse Prayer

Summary - Bound by his delicate ropework, Edward decides to take advantage of your smart mouth to further develop your 'skills'.

Groaning in discomfort as his hand tilted your head to the side, the ache in your shoulders made it difficult to listen to his words as he berated you once again for your perceived incompetence.

"Come now, sweetheart. Surely my task isn't too difficult for someone who claims to be different to the dull denizens of Gotham City."

Forced to kneel between his legs as your arms were useless in protesting any movements, Edward had seen fit to expand on your oral training as he claimed your previous efforts were lacking. In doing so, and in his own words, he had seen fit to ensure the highest level of co-operation.

The reverse-prayer position he had asked you to assume was difficult enough to begin with as your limbs weren't necessarily the most flexible, but you couldn't fault his craftsmanship as the resulting ropework was impeccable.

He had spent minutes wrapping thin layers of softened, green rope around your arms. Starting at the elbow and working his way down to your hands, his deft fingers had only ever paused to allow his lips to lay soft, almost reverential kisses to the skin he was working with. But he was merciless. Pulling at and manipulating your limbs, he was not satisfied until every section of your arms were touching equally - despite the muffled grunts and groans of discomfort which slipped free of the fabric gag he had placed gently in your mouth - and he had secured the final pieces of rope around your fingers in a clean knot.

That had been almost ten minutes ago and so far you had only been able to take about half of his cock within your mouth before panic made you pull away. His taste was everywhere against your lips and the stresses of your throat and arms had led to your sight becoming glassy with moisture.

"Ready to go again?" Edward asked, the sides of his feet pressing against your naked knees as they remained rooted to the floor while his own knees clamped around your upper body to ensure that you couldn't fall back and damage yourself.

"Yes." You cough out, preparing yourself mentally to accept him once again.

Wetting the inside of your mouth, you drop your head forward to capture his stiff cock between your lips. Teasing the head with your tongue, you wrap your mouth around the head and massage it gently, ensuring that every part was subjected to some kind of sensation in the way that you know he adored.

You glanced up at him as you worked, and his lined face gazed back at you unflinching. The only hint to the pleasure he was hiding very well was the slight sheen of sweat which had appeared on his forehead, quickly wiped away by the back of his hand as he tapped his fingers along his grease and oil-stained shirt.

"Now, now." Edward drawled out the words, pulling his cock free of your mouth with an audibly wet noise. "Do you think I'm stupid?"

Opening your mouth to fire out a quick denial you find your words halted by his fingers as they slip past your lips to press harshly against your tongue. The taste of metal is quick to gloss across your senses, making the smallest wrinkle appear between your brow as you fight to relax against the pressure of his fingers.

"Use your empty head to answer me. I'll keep this teasing, foolish tongue pinned for the moment."

Shaking your head gently, you straighten your spine to alleviate the tension in your shoulders. The ache between your legs was almost as bad, your neglected sex feeling wet and sensitive as you subtly rubbed your thighs together.

"Quit teasing, dear." Releasing your tongue, Edward was firm in his demands. "Waste my precious time again and I'll leave you like this until morning."

Not doubting the threat of his words, you nodded dumbly and sank your head down on his cock - instantly taking half of his length into your mouth as the head pressed threateningly against the back of your throat. Breathing around him, you attempted to relax your straining muscles as you braved forward another inch.

His reaction is immediate as a soft gasp slipped free of his chapped lips and his hand flew to the back of your head. Fingers pressed against your scalp, he held you there in position for a moment until he felt you push back against him.

Coughing lightly as you pulled free once more, the taste of his pre-cum seemed to coat your mouth and your tongue licked at your lips, a slight ache in your jaw making the bones there click in place.

"Not good enough." Edward chastised, his free hand dropping to your chest as he playfully slapped at your left nipple, "which is disappointing. Truly. Even the most braindead of Gotham's cheapest whores is capable of achieving this simple task. Perhaps a more direct force of hand is necessary?"

Without giving you a moment to consider what that meant, his hand on your head tightened to the point of pain and as your mouth opened in a discomforting gasp, he thrust his cock within your mouth - burying his full length down your throat without mercy.

Instantly your body flew into panic, fingers flexing against their bonds as your panicked throat constricted around his invasive cock. Having had no time to prep, already the lack of oxygen made your eyes sting and water freely - a fat tear rolling down your left cheek.

Heat flared across your body as your knees quaked in place; unable to pull free of the floor due to the pressure of his body pinning your own into place.

A panicked gurgle humming free of your blocked throat, the blood rushing in your ears is almost painful as he snatches his cock free just as abruptly. Coughing and spluttering as a shameful strand of drool dripped free of your lips to your exposed chest, you almost miss his smug words as you struggle to control your breathing.

"Better." Edward growled. "But make no mistake, you won't be rising from this position until you've swallowed down everything I have to offer."