#he’ll be fine and not at all traumatized

[yanderelovebites]

Adding on: Barbara finds out and what leads to them coming back to Gotham

Barbara would be the one to find them. She’d be shocked and be like “WE THOUGHT YOU DIED OR SOMETHING?!” Sibling would be like “Almost did. Was shot. Three time, Miss Gordon. But I’m here. Meet my partner (insert partner). Now if you’ll excuse us we like dealing with the no bat zone, thank you very much. (Insert hero) isn’t nearly as annoying or hurtful.”

That would set it off for Barbara. “You’re telling me you’re hiding from them? Your family?” “Yes, yes I am. Not like they’d care, for fucks sake I got shot because dad didn’t. Anyway, what brings you to (city name)?”

Like she’d be so overwhelmed that ANOTHER ONE OF THEM WERE ASSUMED DEAD AND NO THEY’RE NOT! “This is like Jason all over again.” They’d say “Nah, he actually died first. Harley Quinn found me in time to take care of me before she crawled back to Joker.” That was the real punch to the gut. “You accepted the help of **her**?!”! They’d nod and say “best two months in my life in Gotham, really. Anyway and why is that a problem?” They don’t see this as substantial since Barbara knows what’s going on in the manor. They’d say “look I’m happy here, plus I’ve gone to therapy. I’m healing and this is home to me. Now me and partner need to get going.”

Barbara would be so confused and look into them herself because yeah. I feel like the biological version of sibling would be some type of doctor, usually a surgeon and not because Thomas Wayne was one, simply because deep down they do want to save lives. They just aren’t a hero.

An adopted sibling scenerio I’d envision more of a more passionate career. They’re either in business with a passionate love for their product or my personal favorite, a dog trainer. Specifically they train service dogs.

Barbara would tell the batfam when she gets back and they’re all, except the trio as they’re post sibling’s kidnapping, surprised. They’re alive?

Bruce obviously is relieved they’re safe, but then upset they never came home. I feel like he’d find Harley in jail and speak to her, pretending he’s asking in favor of Bruce Wayne, but she’d be like “Aw that poor kid? Yeah, I remember them. I was runnin’ from some people angry at Mr. J while we were on break. I hid and there the poor sugar was, three bullet wound. The guys must have been amateurs ‘cause not one hit any vitals. Bandaged them up and told me about their home life, didn’t blame ‘em for not wanting to go home. Why? Whatcha need about that sweetheart?” She laughs and says “Sounds to me they’re doin’ just fine on their own. Lemme guess, their family worried bout em?” Batman said they thought they were dead and she laughs again, “I didn’t hear anything about that. The amount of criminals here? Yeah, if they were to know that they’d fight over who hands em over. All for money.” He then says, “So you knew they’re a Wayne?” Harley nods, “Of course, I did!”

Dick is one of the worser to hear about all this. How could they prefer HARLEY QUINN over them? Or leaving Gotham than going back home?

Dick doesn’t understand it at all and is quite upset.

Jason isn’t as upset as everyone else. Jason isn’t anywhere near as yandere or obsessed because he’s been where she’s been sorta. His was way more traumatic, but he understands not wanting to come home. He also understands making herself something that isn’t Wayne, he’s actually kinda proud she could just move on. Yes this does make the rest of the family annoyed.

Tim? EXTREMELY annoyed that this is how they find out. He looks into it and there they are with their lover. He’ll be concerned if they’re a villain kid. He’ll look through everything and feel a pang in his heart. They wanted to help people. And they have.

The worst person is DAMIEN. Damien has been HAUNTED by images of her death and Alfred’s. He needed this, more than anything. He’s the worst one. He won’t settle for her ‘being happy’. For some time the others would attempt to keep him away from doing something irrational, especially Jason because again he gets **why** they didn’t come home.

The longest time it’s how it is. Bruce doesn’t want to compromise what appears to be a happy life for them. Especially when the hero in her current city says she’s doing okay, thinking he’s trying to help ‘Bruce Wayne’ feel okay about the child who went missing. Jason holds Damien back with the help from our three post-batsibling kids. Then it happens. Joker gets involved in the city because he being the dick he is, somehow knows the Bat’s identity (like in SOME iterations of Joker) and Joker decided to target batsibling. Batman is called via league and while helping the hero, Harley does turn on Joker once she realizes exactly what he was planning to do. Does joker question it? A little because it’s out of character for her to turn on him like that.

While they’re trying to save them by dealing with Joker, their partner would have found their way up. It’s even better if this is a villain kid because they probably hijacked their parent’s stuff to do this. Just when they think they’re safe they hear a gun go off and it got the partner.

Imagine bat sibling balling their eyes out, holding their lover’s corpse, while the heroes and Harley try to apprehend Joker. Then he goes for another shot which was in line to hit Batsibling, only for Harley to take the hit. This would be the last shot Joker could get.

Now if it’s a non-villain kid, it’s because Batman pinned him down, if it is a villain kid, the parent showed up and shot the gun out of Joker’s hand with one of their weapons and started to beat the crap out of him (didn’t kill him because that’s too good for him)

Villain would have been held back by their hero finally and once they’re calm (and joker is in custody lol) they’d tell the hero to let go. They’d have a whole ‘why so you can actually kill him’ and Bat sibling through choked sobs would say “He’s their son, (hero) please.”

That’s when Batman’s attention would solely look back at them. They’re no longer a child… a grown adult and they just witnessed what Bruce could only assume was their first love get murdered in front of them, trying to save them. He felt choked. “(Hero), let them go to them.”

The villain parent would rush by their dead child’s side and cradle them close. Their own child was gone FOREVER. Sibling would try saying sorry, that if they hadn’t come to save them, but villain wouldn’t hear it.

After the body is taken away, after everything… Bruce does talk to Sibling because while clearly he made his mistakes, if there was a time to be the father he’s supposed to be, it was then. At first sibling doesn’t want to hear it but Bruce ends up hugging them and saying what he could say. That he understands they just watch someone they really care about get shot and there was nothing they could have done to stop it from happening.

Sure the situation was different from when his parents died, but the emotional trauma was the same variety.

Bruce would also take full advantage of it and suggest they come back home, telling them about three new siblings she never got to meet and holding the info about Alfred, since they just lost their partner. Them, knowing they couldn’t afford to live in the apartment without their partner and knowing this city would just torment them with the past, agreed to after they put in for a transfer and go to their partner’s funeral. Bruce stays in a luxury hotel in the city, texting Tim who’d handle this the best in his mind, what was going on.

But this isn’t some tragedy you walk away from for family and magically heal over night. Nor can they really heal in the bat mansion, especially not without Alfred.

Add more about when she comes back in another reblog.

You know I’d love a batfam neglects batsis/batbro that starts not when they’re brought into the family… but show it as nightmares, flashbacks, etc. warning dead Alfred.

Have batsis/batbro move on in another hero’s city as to avoid them. Have them live happy in whatever profession of their dreams after finding themselves. Not the version behind Wayne manor, truly them. Fall in love with someone (maybe a hero kid or something. Hell secret villain kid) and every time they feel good they hear news of justice league, of bat man. Some nightmares… flashbacks…

Have each unfold the story slowly until you get to the climax, what TRULY happened. They didn’t come to this city under the best circumstances no. The reality was they were kidnapped for a hostage situation and Bruce never paid, forgot them and thought it was a fake. A scam. They survived by mere luck. They shot them and left them to rot, but much to their surprise Harley Quinn found them and helped them—it was one of her ‘redemption’ periods before going back to the Joker but she still saved them. A villain saved their life when their own family wouldn’t. That’s when they left, when she went back. They had no reason to stay and built a life away from them all. Have them confess to their lover about what happened….

Then switch to the bat family currently.

Cassandra, Steph, and Duke never knew them. They look at the few portraits of them in the manor and wonder what they were like, they don’t have the full story. The others had other varying reactions when they’re brought up. They had so many questions but since Alfred’s death, there was no one willing to tell them.

Tim still kept an eye through his skills and connections hoping to find them. He had figured out first after he noticed their lack of presence about the call Bruce had awhile back that he had a hostage situation. Bruce had been second to hear the conclusion that Tim had, that it was no scam because they had batsis/batbro. He knew they were likely dead but he couldn’t rest until a body is found… or they come back.

Damian gets quickly irritated, but he has nightmares at night that he’d never admit to or tell anyone about. He was younger, but they weren’t strong. Normally that would make him disregard them or just insult them when mentioned… but he can’t. Not anymore. At first, he’d just remember how he treated them, not these horrific nightmares, but then Alfred died. The nightmares came, repeating how Alfred died… then images of all the things that could have happened to batsis/batbro. In some, he saw a demon-like version of himself killing them… it shouldn’t bother him… but it does.

With Dick, he would wander close to their room when he was in the manor. He’d go in and look at their school achievements and the photos they had with coaches and instructors… with Alfred. He didn’t get nightmares, he barely slept since they told him what probably happened. So, so many unkept promises he’d probably never get to make up for. One picture had disappeared from the room, he never knew who had it.

Jason felt pissed every time he remembers anything about them. He avoided the manor more than ever. He blamed Bruce, but he knew deep down they all had a contribution. He was horrible to them in life and he fully believes they’re dead. He doesn’t see how they wouldn’t have come home if they were.

Then there’s poor Bruce. He lives in denial. That they’re somehow still alive. That missing picture? He took it out the frame and kept it with him. It was one of their birthdays, they had baked their own cake with Alfred and Alfred took a picture of the two of them after. He remembers he never made it home to wish them happy birthday. He made so many mistakes, let his vigilante work consume him so he forgot he had more in his life besides it. And it’s likely he lost that for good.

All means they’re obsessed about finding the truth, finding them. But when will they realize they aren’t in their city?

[jaybee2000]

What most people are celebrating on July 4th

🇺🇸🎆🌭🍔🇺🇸🎇

Or

🇬🇧🗳️🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿🏴󠁧󠁢󠁷󠁬󠁳󠁿

What I’m celebrating

⛈️🎧🏛️🏺⛈️

[satorena]

#INTRO2MUNCH101

summ. when suguru “eat it off the bone” geto actually turns out to be suguru “flaps the left lip until she calls it a night” geto, he finds himself questioning everything he thought he knew about his skills. . . talk about a rude awakening.

cw. explicit content. foul language. fem!reader. college!au. eventual smut (but not in the way you think. . .) mild modern lingo. allusions to music artists. cunningulūs. male masturbation. reader has a belly piercing. she’s also depicted mean by the boys. gojo cameos bc i can’t not mention him. tattoo artist!geto. substance consumption. lowkeyyy self-indulgent reader. 10k wc.

rena's note. this is a spin-off to p power, so i’d suggest reading that first to understand the correlation! & shoutout to @yung-notorious for the idea <3

suguru geto is a simple man.

your pleasure is his pleasure. he’s always prided himself on being a pro at the art of cunningulus. honest— he’s always left with swollen lips, a heavily sprayed face and a solid five star ratings at the end of his work. his jaw feels tired out, scalp burning from consistent hair tugs, and his breathing uneven from lack of oxygen. but at the feel of plush thighs squeezing his face and the repetition of his name flowing into the air before getting squirted on, he remembers it’s always worth it.

no pain no gain, right?

wrong.

because here he finds himself, a hefty hour in since he first dove in between your soft legs, and there’s been absolutely no development. sprawled on your back on his sheets, arm slung over your eyes, and your breathing even. you look fucking bored, and his heart is sinking to his ass.

geto will use every trick he has in the book. he’s noticed overtime that girls have different bodies, therefore he needs different tactics to stimulate those bodies. he nips at your puffy bud, sucking on your clit for external pleasure. no use. fine, then he’ll push your thighs up some more for a deeper penetration of his fingers in your cunt— still no use. the only sounds being produced are his mouth slipping against his own saliva at your pussy because he can’t even get you wet enough.

the pit in his stomach grows larger. he wonders if maybe you’re just the silent type? he’s come across those before.

he’s getting nervous out of his mind, so shaky and uncoordinated that his hand slips and meets your lips for the umpteenth time— and only then do you release a guttural groan, the very first sound you’ve made in a long ass time. wait—

“did. . . did you cum?” he pants, pulling his sticky lips away from yours. his face feels moist, blood rushing all in his head and he’s lightheaded. but still, he has to know.

you push yourself up to your elbows, annoyance clear as day. he’s yet to seen this look on a girl after pulling every card known on the table, “yeah. . . to the wrong fucking house.”

oh fuck.

☆ ☆ ☆

he first spotted you chatting it up with your friends on the school’s soccer field, on a random tuesday afternoon, and he’s been hooked on you ever since.

the universe played a funny game, and he realized university truly is a small ass world. amongst your friends, he noticed a familiar face. one he’s been hearing and seeing of one too many times lately, on multiple separate and traumatic occasions— gojo’s girlfriend. suguru found himself bonding with her due to their familiar point of interest— that being gojo— and believes he can now make of her a friend.

geto watches his best friend’s eyes shimmer and he flashes his infamous million dollar smile. he really is obsessed with his girlfriend and she doesn’t even know— and geto finds himself wishing he had somebody he’d be this ecstatic over. must be nice.

“i’m gonna go say hi to my girl real quick,” gojo taps at his shoulder, and geto nods. he’s cool on it, he’ll wait back here until he’s done, or can make his way to his next class depending on whatever gojo and his girlfriend arrange. “you comin’?”

“i’m probably gonna head to our next lecture.” geto voices out, pulling his phone from his pocket to check the time. he feels gojo peeking over his shoulder, in which he assumes to verify if that would be necessary.

over forty-five minutes. damn it.

“that’s mad pointless, class doesn’t start till more than half an hour,” gojo says, and geto doesn’t see himself waiting around that long for a lecture. no way, “just come— her friends are chill.”

fuck it, he goes. naturally, gojo is all over his girl and her friends expect it. geto does give them a little wave when gojo introduces him. one of the girls mention having heard of him through a friend— something about a failed talking stage. mad federal, and the sheepish chuckle geto offers when you give him an unreadable look makes him want to crawl into a ditch.

so now you think he’s a whore. awesome.

and gojo’s smirk definitely doesn’t help him out. he doesn’t help out at all actually, so enamoured by his girlfriend that he leaves geto to fend for himself against a pack of wolves (read: nosy girls). he replies only when spoken to, nods when necessary and throws in a few “that’s crazy,” to which the girls fail to pick up he’s out of words to say.

well, everyone except you.

you’re quiet. in fact, the whole time, you haven’t said shit to him. you sit back and observe, occasionally typing on your macbook, or reapplying your lip combo. you didn’t have any words to say to him. even when your friends would talk to you, you gave them short answers and went back to listening to whatever was playing in your airpods. he could tell from that small interaction alone, you were the mean one out of your clique.

and fuck if that didn’t make him want you more. there was just something about mean women that made him want to break through their fake ass exteriors and watch them turn all soft and chummy for him.

blame it on his corruption kink.

gojo confirms his thoughts when they’re finally on their way to class. he kissed his girl goodbye and waved off her friends, to which they all (minus you) collectively cooed, “byeee gojooo!” which he found odd, but kept silent. he gave them a small nod before following his best friend.

they’re a few steps in the science building when the words slip before he can help it, ultimately cutting gojo’s rambling off, “yo, who was that girl?”

gojo glances at him before chuckling, “there was like seven of ‘em. which one?”

“the quiet one.”

it throws him off guard when gojo laughs hard. like, really hard. it attracts the attention of bystanders, who give him a crazy look but gojo ignores. as if they’d try to press him about his volume— the two were pretty adored around campus.

geto does find his reaction quite interesting, to which he cocks a brow and offers a chuckle of his own, “what?”

“oh, you definitely mean y/n,” when his laughter dies down, he finally answers. he lifts his shades to his hairline to swipe a tear. “she’s mean as fuck, bro.”

“right?!” geto laughs, tapping at gojo’s shoulder. it only charges gojo’s laughing fit back up, “i could tell from her vibe. she gives off those ‘men ain’t shit’ girlies on twitter. whole time, she’s probably laid up in bed with one.”

“you don’t even knowww,” gojo holds his shoulder and shakes him a bit. geto does in fact know, because he’s dealt with girls like her before. they’re always a good ass time. “she does men dirty. like, absolutely dogs them. heard one phone call too many.”

oh? even better than he expected. she’s probably the type that used to love hard before getting her heart trampled on and decided to seek revenge on all men. like, on some jennifer’s body shit. geto can’t help but smirk, “lemme see for myself. put me on.”

gojo falters in his step. his grip on geto’s shoulders loosen and his expression changes— not by much, but the once lighthearted smile switches to a skeptical one, “you serious?”

geto lets out a soft sigh, shrugging gojo’s hands off his shoulders. “don’t start asking too much. i did a favour for you and your girl, didn’t i?,” well, technically speaking it wasn’t like his comment had been the deciding factor for the two, but it did open gojo’s eyes. “you owe me one.”

“i don’t owe you shit,” gojo laughs, throwing his arm around geto anyways, “buuut you’re my boy and i’m not stingy. i’ll see what i can do, i know you’ve been getting a lil jealous of wifey and i.”

“shut the fuck up.” geto’s chuckles contradict his statement.

from that point on, it’s smooth sailing. gojo texts his girl asking if she’s seeing anybody. they have a little back and forth because his girlfriend assumes he’s asking for himself— which gojo gets all dramatic and throws geto under the bus for free. welp! it all worked out anyway since after he and gojo parted, you’d thought he was fine shyt. judging from your character, he doesn’t exactly take gojo’s words for what they are.

but he’ll take the opening, it’s as good as any.

time to plot.

☆ ☆ ☆

the second encounter was purely coincidental. and simultaneously embarrassing.

see, geto prides himself on his mysterious act— granted he was anything but. people see all that is gojo and automatically assume that geto has to be the cool one. it creates a perfect balance, no?

haven’t people heard of birds of a feather flock together?

so yes, he’s also a nerd. he typically enjoys spending his wednesday afternoons at dice board cafes because why not. it’s a chill, lowkey joint right off campus and not a lot of people gravitate towards, therefore the perfect spot to camp out before his evening lecture.

besides, his buddy choso works there and it gets him discounts. it isn’t the only reason he shows up, but it does help a lot on his pockets. being a student is awful, financially.

geto sips on his choco latte through a straw, browsing through the board games pamphlet as he decides what he’s going to play today. most of these games are pretty pointless if he doesn’t have an opponent, but he likes to think it helps develop his iq. he hears avenoir playing through the cafe and knows choso’s on aux.

who else could be playing this toxic ass shit?

he’s torn choosing between snakes and ladders or chess when he hears chimes at the front door, signalling somebody’s entered the establishment. he doesn’t think much of it, going on about minding his business when he hears choso say your name.

the latte enters the wrong tube and he chokes.

geto collects himself quickly, wiping any stray liquid past his mouth as his head snaps up. you’re propped up against the counter, and though he can’t see your face, he definitely recognizes your build. . . okay, yeah that sounds fucking pervy but if he stalked your page a few times, who’s business is it but his own? it’s not like you’d know. granted, he had got caught up liking one of your older photos but he took the like right back!

he debates on walking up to you. how would that even work without seeming desperate? you’ve been checking out all of his boxes so far— your face, body and attitude (question mark) are all tens. he does want to get to know you— at least be somebody in your life. but damn, why is he overthinking this? all he has to get up there and sweet talk you. he’s done this shit before.

“yo, suguru!”

shit.

purple orbs shift towards where his name was called, and lo and behold, there stands choso. and naturally, you look back to who was summoned, but god— social media does not do your face justice. he last seen you about a week ago, and had nothing but your instagram and his memory to rely on.

he makes his way to the counter and ignores you. doesn’t spare you a glance once— though he stands right at your side and watches you watching him through his peripheral. he nods at choso, “what’s up?”

choso, ever the genius, flicks his eyes between geto and you, before clearing his throat, “shoko just texted— somethin’ about a new client. how’s the studio looking?”

“booked all week,” geto answers truthfully, and he notices you’ve shifted your gaze, “little to no openings. why though?”

choso hums, jolting down online orders into a little notebook, “not even for a special friend?”

geto squints his eyes at that. there isn’t anybody he’d call a special friend that hasn’t already been booked or wouldn’t have his number to squeeze in an appointment. granted, he is a dnd warrior but even his friends know of that quirk of his, “depends. who’s the special friend?”

“me.” and he feels his heart skip a beat. fuck. he tilts his head over to the side, and good lord, your face card gave every girl on campus runs for their money. seriously, your facial features complimented you in a way that told aphrodite— the textbook definition of beauty— to go fuck herself, and hard.

“oh?” geto cocks a brow, and lets his eyes roam up and down your frame. shameless, yes, but he has a reputation to uphold. your rest in face makes his own look like child’s play, “didn’t realize we were on special friends basis.”

you click your tongue, “didn’t realize we were on lurking spam accounts but pretend we don’t exist the next day basis either,” you quip right back, picking at the white bow glued to your acrylics.

sassy. geto chuckles, now fully turning his body around to face you. you match his movements, and he toys with a ring on his middle finger, “guess you got me all figured out,” he pauses, shifting his gaze to choso, who’s already eyeing him. “sounds like you wanted me to reach out.”

“boy please,” you scoff, pausing your nail inspection. you let your hand hang, “you choked earlier because you heard my name. that corny nonchalant act isn’t the flex you’re thinking it is,” a huff escapes your lips, and geto feels blood rushing to his face. “your lurking ass was months deep into my page just a week ago— did you find any men ain’t shit vibes from the photo dump?”

choso stifles a laugh, and when geto looks at him, it dies into a cough. well damn, you really didn’t hold anything back. read him like a book actually— and it doesn’t help that gojo can’t keep his mouth shut for shit. it widens the grin on his face. he thinks he likes you.

“well,” geto smirks, “can’t say i have— means there’s still an opening.”

you furrow your brows, “oh? an opening to what exactly?”

“an appointment, of course,” he shrugs, running a hand through his hair. his locks are getting in his face, but the messy look always gets him compliments. might as well shoot his shot, “you know. . .” leaning his chin into the palm of his hand, “for a special friend.”

his double entendre definitely doesn’t go unnoticed by you. he watches how, despite the mean mugging, there’s a glint of mischief in your eyes. you’re squinting just slightly, almost as if you were weighing out the pros and cons. geto won’t break the eye contact first— he’s on a mission. he hopes the tired eyes look will be on his side this time.

tattoo or dick appointment— he would one hundred percent make an opening for you. anything to get his hands on your body.

“are we still talking about the tattoo parlour or . . .”

both you and he turn to choso, who’s watching the situation unfold. just count on him to ruin the mood, whether the obliviousness was feigned or not. choso tightens his brows at the look geto shoots him, “what?”

“i’m gonna head out,” you grab at your handbag, hopping of the seat. nicely played choso. you gather your items and slip them in your purse, sliding a few bucks across the counter. choso grabs the bills and stick them in the tip jar, nodding at her. “catch you in poly sci?”

“if you don’t skip again.” choso snorts and you flip him off, slinging your bag over your shoulder. you turn on your heel and make your way towards the exit, ultimately dismissing geto. that doesn’t feel too nice, he should probably stop that bad habit.

he rises to his feet before he can help it. his hand grabs at your wrist and notices how much smaller it seems in comparaison to his, and he hates the next words that leave his mouth, “what about me?”

you glance down at his hold on you, before looking back up at him, “what about you?” your face says everything your lips haven’t— you’re getting the ick.

he wants to wince. okay, yeah that was corny, “when do i get to see you?”

you drag out a mini hum, your gaze dancing over his silver chain around his collarbone, “dunno. you have my socials so i assume in the next hour.”

he tilts his head to the side, and the pad of his thumb grazes over your smooth skin. he doesn’t fail to notice the way your hand stiffens under his touch, “so if i slide in your dms in the next hour, i can expect an answer?”

a snort leaves your chest, and he can’t tell if it’s a condescending one or an amused one. what he does know, however, is that he’s going to be seeing you sometime soon. you take your hand back into your possession before laying it in the dead centre of his chest, pushing him back just slightly, “i’ll see you around, geto.”

his eyes trail over your figure, every step you take out of the establishment, slightly starstruck by the entirety of you— your boldness. the thrill he was beginning to feel felt like a high. he hasn’t met anybody this entertaining in a while.

“you’re so fucking corny.” he thinks he hears choso insult him from behind. he doesn’t pay him any mind, despite the middle finger that tips towards the ceiling. partynextdoor blasts in the cafe, specifically freak in you, and he hates how he finds himself relating to the lyrics,

room full of beautiful women but he only wants one.

☆ ☆ ☆

“you stalking me, pretty?”

“sure,” you nod your head, raking through the items on the clothing rack. you don’t spare him a single glance, picking a top off the rack and inspecting it, “if stalking means visiting the busiest thrift store on the busiest hour in the busiest city.”

geto lets out a small laugh, shoving his hands in the pockets of his cargos. you make him feel like a nuisance, like he’s a pest wasting your time. ironic, seeing as he wasn’t that much of a bother just last night, when you’d been indulging him in your inbox, “of course you’re the thrifting type.”

you pause your actions, price tag in your fingers as you side eye him through locks of your hair, “and you’re not?”

“didn’t mean it in a bad way, sweetheart.” geto shrugs, pulling off a cropped baby tee and bringing towards you. it has sequins sewn in the material, the gems writing out juicy couture. “this would suit you— belly piercing and whatnot.”

the top is cute, there was no denying so. a pretty shade of pink that suited your complexion, but letting his ego inflate bigger than it already was out of the question. he could tell your thought process from the judgmental look you offered, “oh god—you’re one of those fake ass, streetwearing fashionistas, aren’t you?”

geto blinks a few times, before letting out a sincere laugh. he’s been called a multitude of things before, but that one was new, “you got all that from me suggesting you buy this juicy couture tee? don’t all girls fiend over this vintage shit?”

“it’s that corny ass personality of yours,” you grab the shirt, throwing it in your cart. he wants to make a comment on that, but you beat him to the chase, “the phoney nonchalant act, the streetwear, your insta aesthetic— you’re so scripted.”

“my insta aesthetic?” he repeats, and doesn’t miss a step to catch up to you. your hands are back on the handle of your shopping cart, and if the way his elbows bump into your shoulders bothers you, you don’t make point in commenting on it. “who’s the lurker now, hm?”

you roll your eyes, pushing the strolley ahead, “don’t let it get to your big ass head. your feed screams you’re those toxic ass brent faiyaz wannabes,” he watches your fingertips rake through more clothings that pass your way, before you shoot him a glance, “let me guess— he showed on your spotify wrapped.”

his silence speaks volumes, and you click your tongue, “see? scripted.”

“and what about you?” geto counters when you make a pit stop. you pull away from your cart when a denim skirt catches your eye. you lift the skirt up to your eyes, before looking over your shoulder, cocking a brow.

“what about me?”

“the tweet reposts, the song choices for your highlights, the whole spiritual baddie persona,” he presses behind you, his chest meeting your back. he rests his chin atop your head, purple eyes landing on the clothing article that’s lowering in your hold, “if my page gives brent then yours definitely gives jhene.”

you’re mute for a second, and you chuck the skirt into the cart. you pull away from beneath him, spinning on your feet to face him, and you’ve got a scowl on your lips, “what’s wrong with jhene?”

“and you call me the toxic one.” geto pokes at your cheek. you swipe his hand away, and he laughs, “don’t get me wrong though— she makes good music. but let’s not act like she’s all innocent either,” his gaze lowers to your glossy lips, the fullness of the pair hypnotic, “a real freak. should i call you my pussy fairy?”

“do not,” you reply, weaving around him to make your way back to your cart. geto laughs, snatching a few things of the racks before dumping them in your stuff. you give him a deadpanned look and he whistles it off, feigning ignorance. “jhene’s a lovergirl. thought i was part of the men ain’t shit community.”

“you’re not gonna let that go, are you?” geto sighs. he owes gojo another thump in the head.

you roll your eyes, “thank your homeboy for that.”

“two things can be true at once,” geto fiddles with the hem of his jacket. he’s back at walking step by step with you, and you haven’t told him to fuck off yet, so he’s going to milk the opportunity out. “you’re mean but a lovergirl. you hate men but a real freak with them. right or wrong?”

you halter in your steps, and geto’s now a few steps ahead of you, so he looks over his shoulder to meet your bored expression, “i know you’re not trying to read me in the middle of value village.”

“no better time than the present,” he smiles, one that creases a dimple in his cheeks. “come on up— what are you waiting for?”

you stare at him some more, inhaling sharply, “mind you, i never invited you to join me,” you shake your head but comply regardless. cute, looks like you’re enjoying his company more than you’re letting on.

so he graces you his presence some more. he shops along with you, sneaks clothes into your cart when you’re distracted and asks you stupid questions. it’s a good time— to him at least, being able to get to know you some more without interruptions. naturally, you feign that his company is the bane of your existence, but he doesn’t miss the twitch of your lips when he taps his card into the reader at the check out.

hell yeah he’s got money to spend and is willing to show off if it means getting on your good side.

it’s only after he helps you bag your shit into your car, that he realizes this is where the both of you part ways. it annoys him slightly, but he doesn’t need to overstep his boundaries. he closes your trunk and makes his way to the driver’s side, where you’re already buckled up.

he taps at your window and the glass rolls down all the way, to which he leans forward. he’s in your line of sight now and you sigh, tilting your head sideways, “what?”

“do i get a goodbye kiss?” geto teases, honest, the boyish smirk he offers accentuating the playful undertone. the last thing he expects is you shifting in your seat, pushing yourself up and peaking your head out the window.

his smirk drops, brows jumping to his hairline. you’re really fucking close now, and for a split second he thinks you’re actually going to do it. he can see the flecks of colours swimming in your orbs, the tip of your nose bumps into his and your breath fans his cupid’s bow.

fuck, you smell really good. he bets you taste even better. his mouth is running dry, mindlessly darting his tongue out to wet his own lips. he doesn’t realize he’s let himself lean into your space, eyes narrowing on your mouth parting over his.

he’s pulled out of his trance when two fingers press at his forehead and push. he blinks his lashes, snapping back to reality as you sit back into your seat. you look amused— as if you’d played the funniest game right in his face and he’d been the star player.

“i’ll see you around, geto.”

and you drive off.

☆ ☆ ☆

“come back in a few weeks for a checkup. we’ll make sure the healing process is running smoothly. i’ll catch you soon.”

he lets out a tired sigh when the door finally closes, slumping into his seat and shuts his eyes. he’s exhausted— having woken up early for lectures and labs to back to back appointments with clients. this time around, the parlour is always booked and busy. students find it the perfect timing to get tatted to let it heal before showing it off in the summer.

it’s smart for them but idiotic for him. midterms are up, and the only time he has to study is in between appointments. he slides off his gloves and drags his seat towards his desk, redirecting his attention focus towards the blinding screen.

he feels a headache building at his temple, sipping at his iced coffee to keep him energized. contradicting, sure, but you didn’t have the luxury to be a beggar and a chooser when you were a full time student. the parlour he ran resided in his loft apartment, on the second floor. he enjoyed the comfort of his own home, spacious room and wide windows compared to outside stores.

his cat, nanako, purrs at his feet and he feels his heart swell. if there was one weakness he had in this world, it’d be her. he picks her up from the floor, presses her at his rib cage and nuzzles his nose in her fur.

“hi baby,” geto coos, and nanako lets out a sound. he continues to coddle her, fluffing her fur and rubbing at her ears, “it’s been pretty lively in here, hasn’t it? i knowww,” he coos, and as if nanako understands his words, she makes a pitiful sound that slightly shatters his heart.

geto decides to place her on his lap, her company serving plenty of motivation as he rolls back to his desk. he grabs the remote to his built-in speakers, turning the volume higher, before locking back in. exams are full of crap, and words are starting to jumble on his screen— he’s beginning to contemplate if this education shit is even worth the stress.

he’s an hour deep in jolting notes down on his ipad when he hears a knock at his front door. he scrunches his brows and glances at his agenda— he isn’t due for an appointment until another few hours. he sits it out, starting to believe he’d maybe imagined the sound. he knows it isn’t gojo since he’s celebrating an anniversary with his girl, and any other friend would’ve called to let him know they’re outside.

probably some jehovah witness shit, he thinks to himself, fingers hovering over his speaker remote to crank the volume back up. he turns back to his laptop screen, petting nanako mindlessly when his ipad flashes an instagram notification.

yourstruly.yn: open up

he jumps to his feet, chair rolling back. nanako flies to his desk, landing on all fours as she hisses at him for his suddenness. geto grabs her and kisses her ear, “sorry baby,” before sitting her on the floor. she walks off to her mini bean bag right at the foot of his desk, and he senses an attitude coming from her.

damn, he’d forgotten he squeezed you in last night in the midst of his sweet talking. that was truly a stupid move, he was already behind on studying, and because he likes to think with his head instead of his actual head, he’d fall even further behind.

he checks around the flat— picks up stray wrappers and fixes throw pillows, arranges his sheets. he was a clean man for the most part— he had been so distracted with his studies that there wasn’t much to dirty in the first place. his candles had already been lit so he knew the place smelled fine. he’s pretty positive his loft is clean enough to leave a good first impression.

he fixes loose hairs and straightens out his hoodie and sweats. thank fuck he’d showered not too long ago— he’s beginning to understand why his mother was always so insistent on being clean in case of random pop ups.

when he does finally open the door, there you stood. it was pretty chilly outside this time around, so he wasn’t surprised by the harsh wind flowing in and the clutch of your coat in your hold. your nose began reddening, and you sniffled, scowling from the cold.

you’re so cute, he sends you a smile, “hey.”

“hi,” you replied, sniffling again. “you ever planning on letting me in?”

“dunno,” he crosses his arms over his chest. he leans against the doorframe, ignoring the way he was starting to feel the frosty wind setting in his bones, “maybe if you ask nicely.”

you shoot him a deadpanned look, “move.”

“no.” geto smiles, “try again.”

“move, now.” a small pout is starting to form on your lips. he really liked testing your patience, since it always seemed to run low. you must’ve met your match— because geto always had time to fuck around.

“close, but not quite.”

“oh my goddd,” you groan, and that’s when he decides to let up. it really is colder than a bitch outside and he’d already kept you waiting while tidying up. he lets out a chuckle when you turn to the side, “i’m leaving— too damn cold for this.”

“alright, i’m playing,” geto widens the door. you stop your movements and glare at him. he aims an arm towards the inside of his loft, “don’t go, come in.”

you grumble something beneath your breath but comply, walking right past him. he follows behind you, shutting the door close and is immediately greeted back with warmth. you slip your shoes off and place them on the rack, before stepping in further into his apartment.

he slides his hands into his sweatpants’ pockets, catching up to you in the living room. your head is tilted upwards as you inspect the place though you remain in place. he stands beside you, bumping his shoulder into your arm, “so? up to your standards?”

you’re quiet for a while, letting your eyes roam around as the words build in your mind, “it’s typical,” you shrug but don’t elaborate. you’ve been staring at an art piece he’d done first year when he was fried out of his mind. you shift your gaze back to him, “where do i put my shit?”

“you can leave it in my bedroom, if that’s fine.” geto suggests and you nod wordlessly, to which he leads you to the second floor. he’s walking up the stairs and prays he doesn’t fall flat on his face— his socks can be a real bitch sometimes.

you both make it to his bedroom, with you trailing a little behind. he grabs a hanger from his mobile clothing rack, stretching an arm out to you, “i’ll hang your jacket here.”

you slide off the coat from your frame and hand it to him, to which he hangs on the rack. you circle around his bedroom with your tote on your shoulder, while he makes his way back to next to his desk. it’s pretty quiet for the most part, besides the music playing gently in the background.

your gaze lands on the cluttered items on his desk, noticing the half empty cup of coffee, notebooks and ipad on display, “did i catch you at a bad time?”

“honestly? yeah,” geto shrugs, before motioning at your tote bag. you slip it off and hand it to him, to which he sits at his nightstand, “but it’s my fault anyway, i squeezed you in a busy time. you know how exam season gets.”

“i can always reschedule,” you offer, checking your phone screen for the date, “it’s not that deep.”

“i don’t want you to leave,” geto slumps back into his seat and heaves out a sigh. he spins the chair around to catch you giving him a flat look. he leans back in his seat and spreads his thighs, smirking, “would you stay?”

“depends. are you going to be studying?” you quip, crossing your arms back to your chest.

geto ponders on what to say next. it’s not like he doesn’t want to tatt you up, but he really is caught in a bind. he also doesn’t want you to leave— not when he’s been wanting to see you since the last time he’d seen you. does he prioritize his wants or his needs?

he hums, “i’ll do whatever you want me to.”

you roll your eyes, scoffing as you make your way to his nightstand. for a second, he thinks you’re getting ready to leave and a weird feeling of disappointment settles in his gut. instead, you grab the bag and sit on the edge of his bed, pulling out your macbook and crossing your legs.

he smiles at that, “attagirl.”

“corny.” you mumble, chewing on your bottom lip as you begin typing away.

there’s a comfortable silence that fills the room. he’s back to browsing through his lecture notes, noting down valuable information and memorizing terminology. you don’t say anything either, but the sound of your nails typing at your keyboard blends well with his r&b playlist playing. sounds like you’re writing down an essay or report, depending on whatever your major is.

about half an hour into the silence, does he decide to break it. he looks over his shoulder to where you’re settled on his bed, “you good?” he checks up on you, and you let out a burnt out sigh. he knows exactly how you’re feeling.

“i guess,” you huff, twirling your necklace. your eyes are stuck on your screen, brows creasing into a scowl, “this shit is frying my brain though.”

“what are you writing?” he indulges, dropping his apple pen back onto his desk and spins in his seat to face you. maybe he’s also in due of a break— he’d rather be talking to you anyway.

“this crim report,” you answer, picking at your nail, “it’s not exactly hard but mad lengthy. i have to write a ten page report based on this article and how it contradicts societal norms.”

“ten pages?” geto whistles, rubbing at his chin. he’s settled deeper in his seat, naturally manspreading. you’re much better than him, he would’ve given up before even starting— reports were not his thing, “how far are you in?”

“i started this morning,” you hum, “so i’m four pages in.”

geto nods, “and when is it due?”

“tomorrow night.” you push your laptop off your lap. you close the screen shut and stretch out your legs, releasing a breathy moan as you relax your thighs. “i’ll do this shit later— my head’s starting to hurt.”

geto swears he’s never been so in sync in thought. he dismisses the idea of studying the second you had closed your macbook. probably a bad idea but at the moment, he couldn’t care any less, “want some entertainment?”

you cock a brow, “don’t say no stupid shit.”

“twenty one questions,” geto speaks nonetheless and finds himself beaming brightly when you scoff, “can’t a guy want to get to know you better?”

you ease yourself on his bed, slumping into his sheets as you exhale. you shift onto your side— a sinful curve at your side— tucking your knees and lean your head into your palm, “oh fuck off,” a breathless laugh and nanako makes her presence known, hopping right by you in the space between your body and the edge of the bed, “didn’t know you had a cat. she’s cute.”

“how’d you know she was a she?” geto wonders, surprised just slightly by how welcoming nanako was around you. she purred when you stroke at her fur, nuzzling further into your chest. nanako hated everyone— especially gojo, who unironically visited the most.

“instinct,” you shrugged but there’s a faint smile on your lips. not directed towards him, but his baby, “i also have a cat— he’s a fucking menace though.”

that’s one thing in common already, “like mother like son,” geto grins lazily when you flip him off mindlessly, and when you raise nanako in both your hands, he’s ready to warn you she isn’t a big fan of sudden movements— but when she mewls, the same sound she makes when geto brings home a new toy, the words die down in his throat.

he observes you both silently. you cradle nana as if she were a newborn infant, adoring and loving yet simultaneously careful and steadily. you’re cooing, calling her a sweet girl and rubbing at her ear, and nanako accepts you rather easily— too easily.

“woah.” was this those non-sexual turn ons people spoke about? for somebody so mean, you were oddly gentle with pets. he liked that— really liked that, so much that he pulls his phone out and snaps a photo of you two. but of course, because the universe loves to see him fumble, the flash goes off.

your head snaps to the side and he freezes. you narrow your eyes at him, slowly lowering nanako, “did you just—”

“so!” geto cuts you off, chucking his phone back onto his desk. it makes a loud cluttering sound, damn near knocks his drink all over, but ignores it, “my turn. what’s your cat’s name?”

“milo. and don’t cut me off—”

“milo the menace,” he cuts you off regardless, not wanting to have to decipher just what exactly possessed him to do that. he’s never done so, and he wasn’t about to explain why he’d done it just now. deflecting king! “i need to see the little guy. got any pics?”

you huff, extending a hand behind you to find your phone. when you clutch onto the device, you swing your legs off the bedside, always careful with nanako clinging to your lap. you lay her down on the floor, much to her dismay, before making your way towards him.

his eyes are stuck on your body before his mind can tell him to stop. not like it mattered much, your own eyes glued to your phone screen as you searched for the pictures he’d asked. you’ve got a matching tracksuit on— though the hoodie is cropped, thus exposing your navel piercing. he’d always had a thing for those, the pretty good jewel dangling below the button.

it didn’t help that your thong straps sat atop your waist.

he spreads his legs further open, and you stop right in between. for a moment, you’re stuck on your phone, and geto really wants to get those thighs straddling him. you look delectable— he’d pin your knees to your damn ears, sprawled on your back, and eat you out until you pleaded him to stop.

your hair was pulled back into a bun, and from this angle, he spotted scripture at the column of your neck. there was wording inked in arabic, and he made a mental note to ask you what it meant later.

geto leans back into his seat when you fold forwards, and he gets a good whiff of your vanilla scented perfume, tingling his senses in the best way, “found it?”

you nod your head, swiping through your gallery, “yeah, my bad,” you have a folder named ‘mimi’ and as expected, was filled off candid photos of your cat. he pays attention as you slide your finger on your screen, selfies of you both in the morning passing by.

“cute,” he isn’t talking about the cat, and his gaze flicks from the screen to your face. there’s still a considerate amount of space between you both, but he can see your eye colour much clearer this close up. you blink your lashes at him and he smirks, “anything else you wanna show me?”

you sniff, “don’t be gross.”

“i meant of milo,” geto definitely didn’t mean of milo. you cock a brow skeptically, and he mirrors the look, though the smile on his face grows, “what a cute lil thing,” his voice lowers and his words trail off. there’s a beat of a pause for a while, and his gaze falls on the plumpness of your lips, “you gonna let me pet your kitty?”

another beat of silence. you’re staring at his lips, and he wonders what you’re thinking. he can tell you’ve picked up on what he’s laying down (hopefully you in the next few minutes) but he can’t tell what your next move will be.

“depends. . .” a soft whisper, and he feels your breath fanning over his cupid’s bow. you flick your eyes back at him, and he finally understands the whole siren eyes shit. through lidded eyes, your stare is intense— simultaneously pulling him in closer while pushing him back. you’re toying with him, and the hand he slides up from your thigh to your ass is enough fuel. “you any good?”

he brings a second hand to the other ass cheek, and urges you onto his lap. you comply, looping your arms at the back of his neck. he feels your nails grazing at his scalp and he holds back a lethal shudder. your weight feels amazing against him— his hard on poking and making its presence well aware.

“i’d like to think i am,” he knows he is, but playing humble always goes a long way. he lets his hands run over the cup of your ass, trails back up to your hips, and slides a finger beneath the thong strap. when he snaps the material at your skin, your back arches and you press your chest against his own.

“well,” you exhale when he noses into the crook of your neck, right above your tattoo. he’s littering wet kisses at your hot skin, your taste ever so sweet against his tongue. god, you must taste divine. at your jugular, he’s able to imprint your perfume into his mind. “only one way to find out.”

geto hums at that, relishing in the way you moan at a particular suck, and focus on nibbling at that spot once more. you’re tilting your head for easier access, hips grinding against his own for better friction. your hands are soft and cautious— they trail from his nape down to his chest, and further down to his waistband.

he’s on go, ready for whatever timing you’re on. though, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out by the way your fingertip traces right above his pelvis, that you’re both on the same page. he drags his lips from the column of your neck up to your jaw, and stops right above your parted lips.

he has another cocky remark on the tip of his tongue, in typical suguru fashion, but you beat him to the chase, glossy lips pressing against his. the kiss is short and definitely leaves him wanting more when you pull back as soon as you’d leaned in— but you’re a mere centimetre away.

you whisper, not before another kiss, “don’t disappoint me, suguru.”

and he’s never ran into bed so fast.

☆ ☆ ☆

the door slams shut.

he’s left with a painfully hard reminder in his sweats that he fucked up bad. he thinks he dissociated a little between the labia flapping to the coat zipping. it’s only when he notices that instead of hearing lip smacking sounds, he hears bryson tiller’s lame ass (no shade, his ego is simply wounded), that you really left.

fuck.

geto rushes back to his bedroom, the walk of shame up the steps enough to make him want to jump off— as he takes out his phone, immediately goes through his contact list and presses on the name. it rings twice before the call gets picked up.

“yooo!”

“you still busy?” geto asks, voice hoarse as he flops down on the edge of the bed— his now empty bed. damn.

“nah, just dropped off wifey,” gojo replies. he hears music playing faintly in the back, as well as the sounds of honking. he must still be in the car, “why, what’s up?”

“i fucked up.” geto sighs, running a hand over his face.

“oh?” he isn’t surprised to find out gojo’s surprised. he’s still surprised by how the events turned out and it’s barely been ten minutes, let alone five. “say no more, i’m on my way.”

geto hangs up. he throws the phone away, before falling flat onto his bed. he picks up your scent on his sheets, your warmth slowly disappearing— another painful reminder he messed up. where he’s expecting a wet patch of anything on his duvets, he finds nothing. zip. nada.

his eyes fall shut, “shit.”

☆ ☆ ☆

“and that’s pretty much the gist of it all.”

he exhales a cloud of smoke. more silence. geto’s starting to get sick of all this silence. it was radio silence with you and now even more radio silence from gojo. his hand never stops to rub at nanako, who’s been serving as a cuddling partner in this grand moment of crisis. the only person to ever have his back.

so, geto knew that confiding in his best friend this secret of his would be risky for a multitude of reasons. for starters, geto never fucks up. this would be ultimate blackmail content for him, and geto honestly doesn’t blame him. for two, he was just giving gojo shit about never having eaten pussy. that’s just downright humiliating. and for three, he has a girlfriend who he doesn’t keep anything from. on top of that— his girlfriend is friends with the main culprit here.

overall a bad idea. he does it nonetheless, because satoru is his best friend despite it all. he isn’t too shocked when the silence is filled with bellyaching laughter, though.

“wait— i’m cryinggg,” more laughter. gojo’s now kicked his feet off the couch and is doubling forward. his shades bounce off his head and hit the leg of the coffee table. he doesn’t pause his laughing fit one bit, not even when geto throws a throw pillow his way.

it bounces off his big head and geto scoffs, bringing the joint back to his lips, “oh fuck off.”

“my fault man,” gojo apologizes though he doesn’t sound apologetic. he’s leaning forward to grab his shades back, and he’s back to swiping stray tears. “that was a good laugh— shit.”

geto hums at that, extending the blunt towards him,“glad to hear my misery has brought you entertainment.”

“see, you get it!” gojo jokes, welcoming the joint. seems like he got cocky, however, his laughing mood not quite over as he inhales. he quickly chokes on the smoke, which fades back into cackling, “oh shit—”

geto sneers, annoyance quickly rising, “quit fucking around or pass it back.” he was being pissy, yes, but his pride had been curb stomped. and it hadn’t even been an hour ago!

“nah, nah, i’m good,” gojo waves him off, despite his free hand tapping at his chest. he collects himself soon enough, and takes another hit. this time it’s successful. geto lowkey hoped it would get caught in his throat again.

“sooo,” gojo drags out, melting into the couch, “what now.”

“what now?” geto parrots.

“what’s the next move?” gojo elaborates, fingertip tapping at the blunt, and ashes fall into the tray. the end of the stick crumbles in the same way geto’s ego had earlier. “you’re gonna keep letting her think you suck at giving head?”

geto throws his head back and sighs tiredly, “what else is there to do?” he hears the sound of sizzling in the background, “i fumbled bad, bro. you don’t think she already posted about me in her girls’ private story?” more sizzling and exhaling, “i’m the storytime of the day!”

he feels gojo nudge his thigh with his foot. he looks back and the joint is presented to him. he gladly accepts it.

“what even happened?” gojo wonders. and oh boy, if that isn’t the question of the day. geto is still trying to find the answer to that. had it been out of nervousness? had he gotten too cocky? had it been her?

“i honestly wish i could answer that,” geto slips the roach into his mouth. “i didn’t feel nervous until after i realized she wasn’t fazed,” he drags out a hit and ghost inhales, “maybe it was a sign from above— to shut the fuck up sometimes.”

“maybe,” gojo snorts, throwing his legs over geto’s lap. nanako hisses at the intrusion, but the white haired man ignores her, “don’t let yourself go out sad like this. hit her back up— whatever happened to loving challenges?”

“what kind of fucked up ass challenge is this?” geto mumbles, mainly to himself.

“if i was in your shoes— which i’d never be,” because he’s gojo, he feels the need to add, “i’d put my pride aside and talk to her. like no homo shit, but you’re a great eater— yeah, no, i’m taking that back instantly.”

geto looks as horrified as he feels, “quickly, even.”

of course, gojo laughs but proceeds, “the point is, you know you’re good at it. everybody fucks up once in a while— don’t let it define you though. think of it as a minor setback for a major comeback— if you care enough, you’ll put your pride aside and do something about it. if you’re this down about it, then it must mean something to you.”

geto can’t tell anymore whether gojo’s talking about the failed pussy eating attempt or you. regardless, he knows there’s truth to his words. has to be the weed talking.

“and who made you the pussy connoisseur?” geto snorts, pressing the bud of his joint in the tray. it sizzles weakly as he kills it, starting to feel that high course through his veins.

gojo sighs dreamily, “why my lovely lady, of course.”

“looks like she taught you well,” geto relaxes himself into the tight space of the couch, settling nanako on his chest. it’s now his turn to nudge gojo with his foot, his sock-cladded toe digging at his jaw. “woulda never expected this from a rookie just a few months ago.”

“well duh,” gojo swipes his foot away, “i aced that course. got my phD in cunningulusophy and all. even won valedictorian.”

geto laughs, resting his lids. he was starting to feel sleepy, indica will do that to you, “enroll me in whatever class you took— i may need to slut myself out for extra credit. my prof’s a tough nut to bust.”

“intro to munch 101,” gojo nods his head, shutting his eyes close as well. there’s a comfortable silence that fills the air for a while. and despite the fact that his sight manipulated, he could hear the smirk dripping off his tone, “if you ever need a letter of recommendation, i got you— alumni’s honour.”

“oh fuck off,” a mixed harmony of laughter and vibrating chests.

☆ ☆ ☆

fun fact: suguru geto loves showers.

the aroma of cleanliness enhanced by thick fog. the scorching water droplets trickling down his skin, the vulnerability of his nakedness inside these four walls. he strangely feels most at ease, most raw in this moment of solitude.

he’s able to gather himself too. there isn’t much to accomplish in a shower once you’ve gotten rid of the day’s dirt. so, he likes to take the opportunity to think. to think deep and hard.

his mind’s all scrambled up. it’s been about three days since you were last in his apartment, two days since he’d thought about it, and a day since he last seen you (granted it’d been on your story, virtually, but still).

this has been the biggest feat he’s faced in a while. if he recaps it, this is what’s he gotten: he invited you over. you came the next day. he didn’t cater to you the sole reason you came. you didn’t mind. you both studied for a bit. he asked about your cat. you ended up on his lap. he ended up in bed with you. you ended up leaving with a chunk of his dignity.

that didn’t explain shit, but it did remind him of his failure. it reminded him that he’d finally met his match. it reminded him he needs to start backing his shit up. it reminded him of how good you smelled and tasted down there. it reminded him of how pretty you looked.

his cock twitches and he glances down. it also reminds him he never ended up cumming, too engrossed in his anxiety to jerk one out.

he feels as though the glass doors of his shower protect him from reality. he’s hard, though mortified, but still hard. he’d spent a long time (two days) suppressing the memory away, but there was no way to mistaken your taste on his tongue. how sweet you smelled. how soft you felt—

geto fists at his dick before he can help it. his free hand plants at the wall before him, and he works his wrist. he twists at his shaft slowly and closes his eyes— behind his lids are photographic memories of you on his lap. memories of you on his bed. memories of the scent of your panties. memories of your tits in his mouth.

sure, you’d made more sounds off the foreplay for the foreplay— but that didn’t take away how turned on he’d been. how his dick twitched in his boxers. how he’d humped the mattress. how he’d moan in your cunt.

“y/n,” geto moans your name, sinful yet hushed, his hand working faster. his thumb grazes his over slit and his gut drowns in heat. he wants a redo. he deserves a redo— you deserved a redo. “fuckkkk,”

next time, he’ll get it right. and if he doesn’t, then he’ll want to try again and again and again— until it ends with your cunt clenching around his tongue and his face sprayed vigorously in your essence. until your thighs tremble around his face, your hand clawing at his hair and your back arched off his bed. until his name bounces off his walls and echoes so loudly his neighbours complain.

he wants a redo.

he jerks back as he paints the tiles white. the joints in his hand ache, the water from the shower head getting colder. geto pants heavily, chest heaving as his load is released from him. his cum drips from the wall and into the drain at his feet— but his dick is far from well spent. if he spends another hour in the shower, it’s nobody’s business but his own.

suguru geto loves showers.

☆ ☆ ☆

“oh. you actually showed.”

“redo,” geto pants, having sprinted from his apartment. he’d spent the next three days after his shower incident wallowing some more— at some point, it just annoyed him. though slightly underwhelming, he was on his phone in bed a few minutes ago, going through his camera roll when he’d seen that picture he took of you and nanako. his feet guided him to his car before he could help it. choso helped him out with the address.

“redo?” you parrot his words, leaning against your doorframe. you crossed your arms over your chest, and it’s only then he noticed your appearance— flimsy camisole and pink lace panties. fuck, he wants a redo now.

“i want a redo.” geto repeats, but is quickly hit with a gust of wind. he hadn’t brought a jacket with him in the midst of his impulse, and goosebumps were beginning to form at his skin. he shoots his shot, “you ever planning on letting me in?” talk about deja vu.

“dunno,” you play along, eyes narrowing. “maybe if you ask nicely.”

swallow your pride, he hears gojo somewhere in the back of his mind. he shakes that thought off quickly. this desperation had to be bigger than a pride issue— he was ready to get on his knees and beg her to let him in. pride? that had been drained to the sewers the second he busted all over his shower days ago.

“lemme in and i’ll make it up to you,” geto tries instead, taking a step closer, “please?”

that seemed to be the correct answer as you push open the door to your apartment further. you turn your back and geto lets himself drink up your backside— he hadn’t seen it last time but you had dimples sitting right above your perky ass. he watches your hips sway left and right, and even tilt your head back, a smirk etched on your face, “you comin’?”

you will be, “cute.” his lips twitch into a small smile, and closes the door behind him.

☆ ☆ ☆

fool him once? shame on him.

geto doesn’t allow himself to make the same mistakes twice. if one fuck up is enough to tear him down for a week straight then why the hell would he do it again?

you’re sprawled on your back, legs spread with enough space to fit his body in between. his hands plant on either side of your face, his bulge pushed up against your core. he feels your warmth through these layers of clothes, and he rolls his hips greedily, feeling himself already grow addicted. your chin is raised high, lids blown open as you stare at him all doe-eyed.

his brows pinch in the centre of his forehead. that faux look of innocence you’re offering is doing wonders to his dick. your tits sit beautifully beneath your top, arms back on him as you pull him in closer, and he lets himself fall prey to you. for a moment, the tip of his nose bumps into yours, lips ghosting over the other, hips colliding to meet yours.

“mhm, that’s it.” you let out a sigh, throwing your head back into your pillows. there’s an opening to your neck calling his name, and geto wastes no time to latch his lips there. he slips a hand beneath your tank top, fingernails grazing over your skin to creep up to your mounds. he flicks a thumb over the bud and you sigh blissfully again— he then cups the flesh.

he loves the way you squirm when he kisses down your body, “i got you, pretty,” stripped from your cami, his lips leave open mouthed marks all over your skin. from the column of your neck, to your breasts, down your torso and past your navel, “let me take care of you.” the lower he gets, the more intense your rawness reeks— and it’s a damned good smell.

he lands right above your clothed pelvis, and he inhales sharply. he won’t make the same mistake this time, he can feel it. there’s something lingering in the air, something indescribable— but he’s confident he won’t. because when he skips your cunt in favour to pamper your inner thighs, dragging his wet tongue all over erogenous zones, he spots dampening right where your clit would be.

bingo.

your hand cradles his hair, and the other props your body up by the elbow. he glances up at you, cock throbbing against your mattress. your beauty still renders him speechless— runs his throat dry and makes his tongue feel heavy. he doesn’t want to decipher what this means either, and decides to conclude he’s simply thirsty for you.

“suguru,” you call at him. he blinks and the hand in his hair snakes down his neck, and pushes him deeper. his nose nudges at your throbbing clit, and his tongue peeks out of his mouth to lick at the damp material before he can help it. two fingers hook at your panties and push them to the side, revealing glistening folds. your slick drips between your crack and stains your sheets. he thinks he hears his stomach growl a little.

another swipe of his tongue, this time in contact with the raw you, and a breathless moan rips from you, “don’t disappoint me this time.”

and he feasts.

☆ ☆ ☆

gojo’s woken up to a notification from his phone.

it’s still pretty late— or maybe early, and his pretty girlfriend is miles away in lalaland. she snores softly, cuddling into his side, and gojo’s ready to cuss out whoever dares potentially meddle with his girl’s sleep. he’s starting to get grumpy.

when his phone undergoes face recognition, he lowers the brightness immediately. he swipes through his notification center and notices an attachment sent by geto.

now that peeks his interest. he presses on the message.

suguboo: [1 attachment]

suguboo: passed intro2munch101 with an A+ 🫡

gojo can’t help the laugh that leaves him, though is quickly quieted down when he feels stirring at his side.

“well i’ll be damned.”

yes, gojo is obsessed with his girlfriend. also 10k words on geto???

[luveline]

Hiii!! Could I request a bombshell reader x Spencer where someone (a local police maybe) says something rude to her about her appearance or something and normally it doesn’t really get to her, but something snaps and she kinda shuts down/is rude to Spencer until he coaxes it out of her? Sorry it’s long I had an idea and ran w it loollll

ty for requesting angel! confident fem!reader, 1k

Spencer shouldn’t expect his colleague to hold his hand, especially one so confident. What sense would that make, a woman as established as you are, who smiles without a lick of worry nor smugness, wanting to hold his hand? 

But you do it all the time, is the thing. In the car on the way to crime scenes, in the hallways of the office, under the round table. It started as a tethering for his distractedness, when one day he’d wanted to talk but hadn’t had the presence of mind to walk at the same time, so you’d taken his hand and led him to the office. You’ve been taking it at your discretion ever since.  

Spencer knows something is wrong —you haven’t tried to hold his hand all day. And even if you aren’t interested in him romantically, Spencer has come to crave the touch. He’ll accept platonic hand holding. Anything, really. 

“You’re staring very deeply, Dr. Reid,” you mutter, shades from your usual lightness. 

“I’m thinking.” 

“Aren’t you always?” 

“About you.”

“Well,” you smile fleetingly. “You should always be thinking about me.” 

“You’re truly humble.” 

His joke doesn’t land, it crashes and burns; your smile fades completely into a short, sharp line. Your gaze moves back into the restaurant, waiting for the team's food order in silence once again. 

Spencer’s pinky finger twitches across the gap. 

“Is everything okay?” he asks. 

“Fine.” 

You stay quiet, Spencer worries. He takes the bags before you can when they bring your food to the collection desk, two lumps of heat he holds to his thighs as you begin the walk back to the hotel. Tonight, the team will pick at their food together and rehash the same arguments they’ve been making all day, filling in each other's gaps, and tomorrow the work will start again. He can’t have you this unhappy again tomorrow. 

“You’re amazing,” he says, watching you turn to him from the corner of his eye, “you know you are, we all do, everyone who meets you. I know you don’t need me to tell you that, or to feel better, but… I’m here for you. If you want to talk. It’s been a hard couple of days, and talking about traumatic events as they happen and directly afterward make them easier to recover from.” 

“I’m not traumatised.” 

“Upsetting,” he corrects. “Having a shoulder to cry on is good for you, and I can be that shoulder. You know, if you need me to be.” 

He can’t know this in the moment, though maybe one day you’ll tell him, further down the line when the hand holding is better defined, but you look at him and you love him. To know Spencer is to love him. Or at least that’s how you’ve always felt. You’d love to cry on his shoulder about what transpired that morning if it weren’t embarrassing to think about, you’re upset over a throwaway comment made by nobody important. 

Spencer offers his company earnestly. He stammers. It’s amazingly sincere, as he usually is. He won’t mind if it’s embarrassing, he’ll just listen. 

You clear your throat. “I know I’m not to everyone’s taste. I know that the way I… present myself isn’t what most men like. People love confidence, but not when it’s bossy, not when it’s– when it’s vain. And I am vain. I think about my appearance a lot, I think I’m beautiful most of the time, I try so hard to have that be true.” You eye him thoughtfully. “Do you realise that?” 

He shakes his head gently, one ear toward one shoulder and then the other, as though balancing. “Sort of. I know you put effort into your appearance, but I also assume a lot of it to be natural.” 

“Right, well. It’s not natural. Not really. My natural beauty wouldn’t be all the beautiful to most people. And I’ve accepted that, I know what I like about myself, and–” You’re losing the thread of your point, an upset creeping into your melodic tone and turning it ragged. “When people tell me they don’t like how I look now, I guess it hurts because I know they wouldn’t like me before, either, and I feel defeated because I know I can’t win.” 

“Who said they don’t like how you look?” Spencer asks, confused, on his way to annoyed. 

“Officer Friendly.” You look to your shoes, watching the steps you take. “Guess he wasn’t as nice as we thought.” 

“What did he say to you?” 

You shrug. “Same story. He doesn’t like girls who wear makeup. Doesn’t like uppity women.” 

“Did he call you that?” 

“What are you gonna do if he did?” you ask without malice. 

“Morgan’s teaching me self defence for a reason.” You smile at his light joke, though it doesn’t last. He transfers the takeout bags into one hand, the other held out to you, his fingers sliding down your arm to your wrist. “You know you’re beautiful, with or without makeup. And you’re not uppity, you’re out of his league. There’s a difference.” 

“You’re flirting with me.” 

“No.” He wishes he had the wherewithal sometimes, but this isn’t flirting. “I’m being honest with you. Men like that don’t like you because they know they’ll never, ever have you, or anyone like you. There isn’t anyone like you,” he adds, sliding his hand into yours. 

He squeezes all your fingers together twice in quick succession. 

“Don’t let a jealous chauvinist halfwit make you think you’re not good enough,” he says. 

You curl your fingers around his before he can take his hand back. Slowly, you squeeze his hand. Then, smiling, you let him go. 

“I’ve never heard you say something mean like that,” you say. “Halfwit. That’s crass.” 

“I was going to say he’s an asshole, if that’s better.” 

Your laugh echoes off of the sidewalk. “That’s perfect. Say something meaner.” 

The insult he uses next doesn’t bear repeating. 

[invincibledc]

BATFAMILY X BAMF!READER HEADCANNONS

Summary: a blue little gremlin looking thing falls on dick Grayson, the first Robin who didn’t suspect to have a naked little thing on him through a portal

Dick screamed a girlish scream, landing on his back as he got JUMPSCARED by a damn blue gremlin with full blown out glowing golden eyes. The damn bamf was confused as the last thing they had seen was Kurt reaching out to them.

As of speaking, Kurt was having a mental crisis at his little one magically poofing away without using its teleportation. The other bamfs were frowning at their missing sibling that would always eat cheesy puffs. But now that bamf was running around smiling with a Grayson chasing it.

“BRUCE! TIM! JASON! ANYONE, THERES A NAKED GREMLIN OR WHATEVER IT IS IN THE MANOR?!”

When dick finally caught the bamf who just smiled at the batfamily, Damian was the most curious at the furry beast whose tail swayed around. “It’s oddly adorable” Damian says scratching the chin under the bamf, reader laughs loudly which made Damian softly smile before Bruce cleared his throat, making Damian snap out and back away from the bamf. The bamf teleported out of dick’s hold and into the kitchen. Smelling cheesy puffs and immediately ransacking the kitchen for it, Alfred just looks in shock at the kitchen he just cleaned.

Alfred makes sure the nightcrawler isn’t in the kitchen after midnight, the bamf has a tight sleep schedule.

Bruce who wants to run tests on the blue creature, seeing the three fingers and two toes caught his attention first. Well, mostly the nakedness, but still. They don’t seem hostile, but passive.

Dick who gets traumatized daily by the bamf , the bamf knows that and loves every second of it.

Jason doesn’t mind the small little guy, they stay calm when Jason reads to them while eating cheesy puff. So all things are chill.

Tim who doesn’t care, as long as this creature doesn’t run through his coffee storage, and all is fine.

Damian who just wants to pet the fuzzy creature. He has weird pets like Goliath and Wiggles, he doesn’t mind adding the Bamf to the list, only if the creature wants to.

Imagine seeing a naked ass baby nightcrawler crawling on the damn wall, smiling with those damn fangs. Lord dick almost had an heart attack at the imp laughing. “Get down! Now! You…i don’t know but get down mister? Miss…AUGH GET DOWN!”

Thrown a shoe at the nightcrawler only to poof away as the shoe hit the wall.

Okay.. now dick is scared.

He’ll be asleep at night, eyes widen, gripping the covers before he heard a chuckle. Turning his head, there it was. Those golden eyes staring from the dark into blue eyes.

Dick couldn’t sleep before getting use to the chaotic bamf

Either way, they got a naked fuzzy blue mutant that loves to goof around.

[steddieas-shegoes]

slowly, then all at once

for @steddielovemonth inspired by the quote "as he read, i fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, then all at once." from the fault in our stars by john green

rated t | 731 words | cw: nightmares | tags: pre-relationship, feelings realization, literal sleeping together, cuddling

📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖

Steve’s nightmares aren’t a secret. The severity of them, along with the frequency, and how shitty he feels after, those are all secrets. Not even Robin quite knows how bad it gets sometimes.

The summer is worse: the memories of the Russians, the way the pool reflects off his window at night, the humidity clinging to his skin reminding him too much of the way dust and ash and mud clings in the Upside Down.

He feels stupid after spring break, that he should even still have traumatic memories when Eddie almost died. But he does. They’re worse now. He isn’t being tortured, Robin isn’t even in these ones. It’s always Eddie.

Eddie bleeding.

Eddie’s broken body.

Eddie not breathing.

Eddie dying.

It’s weird how quickly he took over Steve’s brain, how he went from being someone Steve barely knew from school to being one of his closest friends. Near-death experiences tended to do that, he supposes.

But it’s almost every night, and he rarely gets more than a couple hours of sleep before they hit, so he’s in a constant state of exhaustion these days. It’s not great for all the volunteering he does, and the usual taking the kids where they need to go, and trying to find a new job, and trying to convince Robin he’s fine. The bags under his eyes and the constant slump of his shoulders says everything.

She worries, but she knows he just has to get over the hump.

They all do.

Eddie stays with him late into the night a lot. It’s like he senses that being alone is the catalyst.

He finds excuses, tries to make it seem like he’s the one who doesn’t wanna be alone. Steve appreciates it, but he’s far past the point of feeling any shame for being afraid of being alone.

He doesn’t turn him away, though. Eddie sticks around for hours most nights, well past the point he should. Sometimes they watch movies, sometimes they just turn music on and sit quietly in the living room. Eddie is always moving a little, fingers tapping, leg jiggling, head bobbing. It’s good, though. It’s nice.

And sometimes he lays down in Steve’s bed with him until he falls asleep. He doesn’t touch him, or really do anything more than just exist in the space while Steve closes his eyes and drifts off. He’s always gone when Steve wakes up.

Tonight, he’s got a book open and Steve’s curled up under his blankets. His bones ache from how tired he is, and he wonders if his body will ever get to the point where exhaustion keeps the nightmares away. Steve’s eyes are closed, but he’s not asleep. Not yet.

Eddie’s voice is soft, accents coming through for some characters, colorful inflections describing the scenery. Steve smiles to himself as his eyes start to feel heavy.

It’s nice to be read to. He doesn’t know which book this is, but it sounds like a dream.

Maybe he’ll dream about this instead of bats circling a body he loves.

Oh.

His eyes open and he looks up at Eddie, who doesn’t stop reading, even when Steve knows he can feel his eyes on him. It’s a beautiful thing, to see Eddie so enraptured in a story that he’s probably read before, to see him still putting the effort into giving Steve a show even though Steve was mostly asleep.

He loves him.

Steve loves Eddie.

Not the way he loves Robin, or the kids. Maybe closer to how he loved Nancy, but even that didn’t feel quite like this.

This feels like a later sunset after a long winter, a fresh breath of air after being stuck in the Upside Down, a glass of cold water in the middle of summer.

It’s refreshing, and waves of calm take over his body.

He settles.

He reaches out, places his arm over Eddie’s stomach, curls his fingers into his shirt. He buries his face into Eddie’s side.

Eddie pauses for a moment, just long enough that Steve worries he shouldn’t have done this. But then one arm covers Steve’s body and he continues, voice softer but no less enthusiastic.

Steve closes his eyes and falls into a deep sleep.

When he wakes, it’s calm. There’s no crying or screaming, no thrashing, no fighting.

Eddie’s there, holding Steve against him.

He loves him.

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture

Here is the post that started this fic. A Batman x Invincible crossover for the usual neglected!batsis!reader, enjoy!

CW: Gore, not explicit beyond mentioning the wound and blood- but yk.

Chapter 1 >>next

It’s weird how easily something can be taken away, in the blink of an eye, the passing of a second- a millisecond. Was it a second? Was it longer? A minute? Time slowed down so much that it was like a dream, a horrible nightmare. “It couldn’t be- it’s not real-” is all you thought as you saw the smoke of the gun, the small sparkle it made as it shot the bullet. Your terrified eyes followed it even as you knew the target, but how could you pull your eyes away?

You couldn’t. Not when it hits your mom, piercing her neck and hitting the ground behind her. You didn’t even notice as the teen who was trying to mug you ran away, just as terrified at what he had done as you. All you could see was your mom in your tiny arms, blood falling from her wound, splashing onto your tear-stained face and seeping into the cracks of your hands as you tried to put pressure on the hole, like in the movies, the movies mama always said you shouldn’t watch.

You never listened to that- maybe it’s why tonight she didn’t listen to you. You told her, begged her not to go through Crime Alley, the shadows warning you to stay on the main road, in the light, “Not through Crime Alley, never through Crime Alley” they whispered. But mama just smiled at you, caressed your worried face, and said it’ll be fine. She should have listened to you.

A warm hand touched your shoulder, squeezing softly. “-Kid?” a gruff voice, despite how soft he was trying to be, almost yelled, concern cutting clean through his blank façade. Your eyes meet his, the officer who brought you to the station, Gordon, that’s what that one policeman called him.

The older man couldn’t blame you, he wouldn’t be able to even if he tried. A kid as young as you, seeing what you saw, having to hold your mom while she died… They cleaned her blood off, out of your hair, from your face, and wrapped you in the softest, warmest blanket they could find, that’s the best they could do, the best he could do.

His lips moved, but you weren’t really listening. Sure, your eyes were on him, your body sitting on the armchair in his office, but your mind wasn’t anywhere near what was going on in the present. “-is that alright with you, hon’?” at his question you could only nod.

“That’s good. You’ll see, Bruce is a great man, he’s already adopted a son, so I’m sure he��d love you the same way. You’re his daughter- he’d be happy to know you-“Gordon started rambling and you stopped listening. He was nervous, clearly not used to dealing with traumatized kids. With time he’ll get better at that, despite his hopes of never having to deal with something like this again.

Bruce. Bruce Wayne, yes. The man you saw on TV, every time with a different woman, if not in an embarrassing situation. Yes, you remember now. They took your blood, ran it through the system. To try and find family, relatives so that you wouldn’t be sent to the overcrowded orphanage. You found it silly at the time- how could they possibly do that?

No matter. The billionaire was found to be a match, and you didn’t know how to feel. You just wanted your mami, that’s all you wanted but they wouldn’t let you see her. How could they not? She was your mami, even if she was mean sometimes, even if she forgot about you sometimes. That man was never in your life- a dad isn’t supposed to not be in your life. A father is supposed to be there to love and nurture, always, Bruce wasn’t.

The sound of Gordon’s office door opening startled you, head moving to look behind you. It wasn’t an officer, and it wasn’t Bruce. The man was too old, too skinny. He had greying hair, slicked back, and a strange mustache too. But mama always said never to say that out loud.

Gordon seemed surprised too. Alfred, Gordon called the old man, said that Bruce was preoccupied with other matters, didn’t have the time to pick you up himself. You felt critiqued under Alfred’s gaze like he was picking you apart, judging eyes catching every imperfection.

Sure, you looked more like your mom, but the policemen said that there was no way the results were wrong. They wouldn’t lie, right? These are childish thoughts, but you’ll learn later in life that everyone lies.

You were losing track of time. Trauma, Gordon called it. It must be something bad if he whispered it the way mama whispered things that you weren’t meant to hear. You don’t remember getting into a car, you don’t remember walking through the front gates of the Wayne Manor, but you remember the tight lip of Alfred as he put you in the car, the way he sat you in your room, the way he took your blood like the cops did, the warm meal.

You haven’t had a meal this good- well. You’ve never had a meal this good. But it wasn’t worth it to you, not when the bedroom was so cold, so dark, so lacking in the coziness of the little apartment you and your mama stayed in. It felt sterile, like a hospital. You didn’t even meet Bruce that night, he was your father, why wasn’t he here, comforting you as you took the pillow and covers and hid yourself against the wall, under the bed, seeking a snug, warm embrace while you cried? Where was your dad when you needed him the most?

Notes: I am surprisingly proud of this first chapter, minimal changes from the first draft, set the mood I wanted. The second chapter is in the making, I'm not quite as happy with that one but I'll get there :)

I haven't decided yet if this will be a slow burn until the Invincible part of the fic so if the next 2 chapters aren't time skips expect it to be a slow burn.

Also the gore warning will probably be a constant considering it's Invincible and my batfam is more like the movies, aka there's blood that's red not black... and joker... I doubt he won't make an appearance.

I'll also make a masterlist for no other reason than I need it to keep track of stuff :)))

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Written In Skin

Main Masterlist - Bucky Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, love confessions, smut (p in v, oral both receiving, fingering), light angst, fluff, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: Bucky's been gone on a mission for about a week, and you love him, so you wait. And when he returns, he has a question that might finally let you say those three words aloud.

Author's Note: If this man was real I'd let that metal arm do unspeakable things to me. Enjoy!

Word Count: 6.9k

Nights are, always, too long.

Empty. Hollow. Lonely. Just you and the world, but it turns too slow as every shadow grows long, because you keep watching them like they might shift into Bucky, and he’ll be home.

You know why he’s not home. You’re the one who told him you’d be fine if he took this mission, who’d reminded him that—even though it may not seem or feel like it when it’s just the two of you in the whole world—everything keeps moving all the time, and the world needs him more than you do. That it’s healthy to be able to separate for a few days, and absence makes the heart grow fonder, and it’s not like you wouldn’t be here when he got back. You’d always be here when he got back. The world could crumble to ash and the earth could shake and the sky could cave and crush you to only guts and skin, but your heart would keep itself beating until Bucky got home.

That last part had been the only thing you’d said that wasn’t a lie. Nobody needs him more than you do, and it wasn’t like there weren’t other superheroes who could handle things. Bucky shouldn’t have to do this, just because it was a Hydra related mission. Steve and Wanda didn’t do all the Hydra missions. Tony didn’t do every single one of the Stark Industry weapons related missions. Nat did most of the Red Room missions, but she asked to. Everyone had ghosts over their shoulders and monsters under their beds, but Bucky had you—curled on the mattress and staring at the ceiling and waiting for him, always waiting—and you might not be an agent, but you could fight off those skeletons better than any blood on his hands ever could. 

And he could do the same for you. Every single part of you that always ached and cracked and wounded could be cured by him. The pieces would hum and peel until they was raw and soft and easy, just as long as Bucky was there. Here. At your side and never walking away. 

It was Bruce who’d suggested that wasn’t healthy. That maybe two traumatized, semi-unstable individuals developing an unbreakable co-dependency might prove to be worrying in the long run.

And he had struck a nerve. Not that you might be developing a codependency—everyone had been throwing that word around without thought since Steve had made everyone attend the seminar, and you weren’t sure any of them understood what it actually meant—but that, when it came down to it, you might not be good for Bucky.

Maybe that’s why you’d told him you’d be okay without him. Because you would be. You’d survive—because it was only a week, and you weren’t a child—but you’d still miss him like he’d taken your lungs out of your chest every single moment. You’d pace your room and wander the compound until the sun rose then set, and absence would not make the heart grow fonder, it would only make it squirm and look everywhere for something it needed, but you couldn’t offer, until Bucky returned. 

Absence made your heart try to grow out branches, pushing through your whole body until it felt like you could just feel Bucky’s warmth behind you, until everything you looked at was another thing to grab and replace the missing place where he was supposed to be. You cleaned his mug, because it had still had coffee stains, and he hates that. You did his laundry and folded his clothing and beat the shit out of a punching bag because there’s a wired feeling over your bones that you barely managed to loosen. You’d finished all the paperwork early, walked to town to buy some plums, and yelled at Sam a little louder than you’d needed to, but he’d asked when the team would be back and you didn’t know. 

It wasn’t your job to know. And every time you asked FRIDAY, you’d get the same pre-recorded message from Steve that they were offline due to the remote location and hazardous conditions, but an SOS signal would still make it through if needed. 

There was always a little part at the end for you. It only played when you asked. 

Steve would say your name over the speakers, and his voice would grow gentle, and you’d want to break something. “Bucky won’t say it to me, but he misses you. We haven’t even left yet, but I know he misses you, because I know him, and he gets grumpy when you drive to the city for a meeting and he can’t go with you. Just know I’m writing a list of all the sappy stuff he says, and when we get back, I’ll give it to you. He’s fine. Please don’t punch Sam.”

Maybe Bruce had been onto something, with the co-dependency thing.

Maybe he’s just never been in love before.

Because that’s what this is. It’s love. You know it, deep down in the very fibers and nerves of your existence, that this is love. That whatever you’d thought love had been before, you’d been wrong, because this is it and it’s bigger than the universe could ever hope to stretch. 

You’d felt it start to bloom when you’d met him, exchanging only small nods and casual words, and he’d looked you in the eyes. He’d had really pretty eyes. 

It had taken root when he’d let you hold his hand during an attack on the base, and you hadn’t felt anything as grounding and simple as his touch in your whole life. 

And then it had hit you all, at once without warning, only a few months later. You’d already been sleeping together. You’d already been something, but it was something where you’d find him at night and creep out by morning. But then Bucky had folded himself on top of you and fallen asleep, and you’d had no way to escape—not that you’d wanted one—and it had been a tidal wave and hurricane and wildfire, consuming and bright and immovable, world-ending but cleansing.

You loved Bucky Barnes. You know how to do it like it’s breathing. You know him like he’s been with you your whole life, just a little covered by something like time or knowledge. Like there’s been a part of you flailing in your mind, that’s just been waiting to find him and tangle into his body.

And there was never a good time to say that. 

So you just kept waiting. You let him guide this. Let him officially ask you out with a nervous, almost battle-ready stance, and let him slowly and silently move all of his things into your apartment until he was all but officially living there, and watched him every waking second with the same song of I love you spinning around in your head and making the world so, so colorful. 

It’s easy to wait, if you still get to have him. It’s not corrosive, to love Bucky in silence, because you’re still loving him. You can whisper it when you know he can’t hear—just to say it, and feel the addictive high of how even if he’s far too asleep to understand what you mean, he always shifts a little closer to your body and holds you a little tighter—and show him in ways you hope he can see. 

Most of the time it’s just that. Just this. Just wanting him and nothing else, and proving it by waiting. The light of your phone is starting to strain your eyes, and head feels a little light from exhaustion, but you’ll wait until you pass out or Bucky comes home.

For the last few weeks, it’s been the former, and you’d wake up with your phone near your neck and your face in Bucky’s pillow, which smells less and less like him with every single passing night. 

And tonight is a miracle.

Because the door creaks open, and you know who it is before you even fully register the noise. 

You’re already sitting up on your knees before he’s even in view. You’re so tired the word is blurry and time is moving through syrup—slow, but not in a way that’s painful—but Bucky walks into view and he’s clear. It’s dark and he’s barely through the shadowed doorway, but by some external force of nature you’d morphed those same shadows back into Bucky, and he’s here, and nothing has ever been brighter.

“Bucky.” You whisper, and you don’t know why you’re saying it. You both know who he is. But it still feels important to say. It’s less of a word and more of a prayer, because he’s still in the door and you need him here. Next to you.

His eyes flash slightly in the dark, and when he says your name it becomes a call to something deeper in your body than instinct. You crawl forwards until you’re on the mattress, smiling up at him because he’s beautiful and it’s easy. 

“Hi, baby.” You watch him move from the door to stand before you, and it’s like the moon has fallen right into your hands. Bigger and more important than you could ever dream to be, but still falling for you. Into you. Eclipsing and shielding you from the rest of the dark sky, catching every bit of light the world has to offer and turning into a beacon, always telling you where you are. Reminding you that you’re right where you need to be.

Here. 

With Bucky.

“You didn’t need to stay up for me.” He mutters, hold your face between his hands, scanning over your likely openly exhausted features with a small furrow in his brow. “I’ve told you, sweetheart, you need sleep-“

“That’s rich from you, Barnes.” Your smile doesn’t waver, and you move your hands to keep his where they fit so well. ��And I’ve told you, don’t tell me what to do.”

His lips twitch slightly, but he still shakes his head. “You’re human. You need rest.”

“You’re human too”

“I’ve got the serum.”

“And?” You raise your brows, leaning into his thumb as it strokes over your cheekbone. “I think it’s more like a rectangle-square situation.”

He gives you a flat look. “You’re just saying shit again-”

“No,” You hum, your smile widening. “All super-soldiers are human. Not all humans are super soldiers. You need sleep too, Buck-“

“That’s not what we’re arguing about, doll-“

“Are we arguing?”

His lips curve into a small smirk, and you think you won. If Bucky’s smiling, you won. 

“My Ma raised me better than to argue with such a pretty girl,” he murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to your brow. “But she also told me to never let my girl do stupid things like waiting until 3am for me to get home.”

“It’s 2:45.” You hum, tangling one hand in his hair and pulling him fully down towards your lips.

The kiss is long, and slow, and deep. There’s more longing behind it than passion, because you care more about imprinting him back onto your body where time had started to soothe over his marks, and you know Bucky cares more about trying to drug you with the taste of him so that you’ll go to sleep easy.

And there’s the song again. I love you. I’d wait until I was vines and ruins because I love you, and I don’t really need sleep because you’re home and you’re better and more vital than sleep ever could be.

You know Bucky would disagree with that sentiment. And you can almost see the weight on his shoulder that tells you the mission wasn’t easy, because if it was he’d be grumbling to you about how annoying the rest of the team had been. But he’s mostly silent, and only kissing you in that deep, hypnotic way, so when he starts to crawl over you and corner you back to the headboard—his mouth barely leaving yours, his metal arm holding you to his chest as you wrap our legs around his waist and hang off his body like a koala—you let him. 

You need him. You’ve missed everything about him, but you’ve really missed him being as close as the world would allow, and you’re already warm and dizzy and pliable just from his half-innocent touch and smell and warmth, but Bucky looks so heavy. He’s burying his face in your neck and splaying out over your body without trying to take it further, and he’s more important than anything, so you can hold it. You can wait until morning to jump his bones, and for now you’ll just be a lighthouse, steering him full back home and keeping him safe from jagged nightmares and crashing, unforgiving thoughts.

You let your fingers comb and drift through his hair, humming a soft tune as his measured, slow breaths fan over your skin, and you’ll yell at Steve in the morning about pushing him this far. When he’s like this it’s hard to see—he’s always brooding and silent and grumpy, but there are small shifts and tells you’ve memorized, that feel like drops in air pressure before a storm—and you may not blame Steve for missing them, but you still need to be angry at something for bruising your Heart like this. And Steve, who won’t take it personally and knows how deeply Bucky is grooved into your ribs and vital organs, is better than anyone else.

The only other options would be the Hydra soldiers.

And you have a very strong feeling they’re all quite dead.

“You believe in soulmates?” Bucky mutters your name, and you blink down at him. 

“Soulmates?”

“Yeah.” His words are muffled by your body, his hold on you tightening slightly. “The stuff about destiny and fate and two strings together. Steve called it, uh, fateism.”

“Fatalism?”

He hums in agreement, and you can almost hear his frown. “I’m tired.”

“I know, Buck.” You drag your fingers over his scalp. smiling at the air. “Why?”

He shakes his head. “I asked you the first question, doll. You answer first.”

You sigh, studying the back of his head as if you could read it as well as his face. “Will my answer matter?”

Bucky just shrugs. If he was so adorable and sleepy, and if you weren’t so wrathfully and immovably in love with him, you would’ve kicked his stoic, silent ass.

“I don’t. I never really have.” You mumble, and the muscles in his back tense. 

“Yeah, it’s stupid-“

“But,” you push on, pulling gently on his hair until he angles his chin to rest on your chest, and he meets your gaze. “I don’t believe in souls.”

Bucky raises his brows at you. “Your co-workers are a god, a raccoon, and a sentient computer-”

“Artificial Intelligence,” you correct with a small smile. “He doesn’t like being called a computer.”

He gives you a flat look. “You know what I’m saying-“

“Yeah, but I still don’t believe in souls. I think it’s- It’s more complicated than that.”

Bucky opens his mouth like he’s going to protest, but you push on.

“I like that it’s more chaotic. It’s like- it’s-“ You let out a slow breath, scanning over his face. “Buck, you’re a hundred years old. I’m not an assassin or superhero or agent, but I still found you. And we’ve both fought for our lives to get through everything, and it’s only sheer luck and force is what got us here, and now I get to love you against all the odds.” You swallow as you hear yourself, and Bucky’s eyes widen. But you press on. If you’re saying it, you need to say it. All in. 

He whispers your name, but you press on.

“I don’t believe in souls, Buck, but I believe what I can know.” You trace your hand over his cheek, offering him a soft smile as he watches you with wide eyes. “And I know that when you’re here, I love you, and when you’re not, my body knows it better than my mind does. I- It’s physical. It can feel it, right here.” You tug his left arms out from around body, and press it to your chest. “It’s like you’re a part of me. Not a missing piece or other half. Just… more. Of the same.”

You fall silent, and Bucky’s just staring at you. He stares a lot, though, and you can’t tell if this is a good I love you too stare, or a frightened how could you love me stare, and maybe he doesn’t love you and you’re just going have to keep living with that-

Bucky’s hand drifts up from your chest to frame your face, and when he shifts the light catches on his face, and you can see it in his eyes.

Awe.

He always kisses you like he’d been gone a thousand years, and Hydra might burst through the door and rip him away. It doesn’t matter if it’s a gentle, lazy kiss or a rough, desperate one. He’s always kissed you like he means it.

And this time, it’s somehow more. It’s everything. It bigger than any star you’ve seen burning in the dark, and taller than trees that are older than he is, stronger than the cracked pavement you’ve bruised your knees on so many times, crawling across the tar and gravel just to get to Bucky.

This time, Bucky kisses you the same way you missed him.

Like it’s oxygen and water and sunlight and opioids, all shot into your blood and making you into something new.

He kisses you like he loves you, and it’s bursting out of him like an animal from a cage.

And once it’s free, it only seems to grow. Demand more, with his arms caging you against the mattress as he rises up over your, and his tongue presses into your mouth and down your throat, and one hand is dropping to trail up your thighs and play with the hem of your shorts, and God, nothing has ever mattered more that this-

Bucky pulls your lower lip between his teeth before starting to kiss a sloppy line down your neck, and a brief moment of lucidity creeps its way into you head.

“Why’d you-“ You gasp as he starts to suck on your neck, stubble scrapping your skin, and your words becoming soft and airy. “Bucky- I- You didn’t say why you asked-“

“Had to stop and refuel the Quinjet, and Steve made us all go to a lecture a town over-“

You blink at the ceiling. “Lecture-“

“Little college. Punk is Captain America, he can walk in wherever he wants.”

“Oh.” You swallow, tangling your hands into his hair as he squeezes at your waist. “But why-“

“It’s Steve. Not the point, doll.” Bucky nips at your skin, and you can hear the low amusement in his voice. “The guy was talking about philosophy and souls and destiny, got me thinking ‘bout you-“

“What about- Fuck-“ You gasp as he sucks another mark onto your neck, your hips starting to grind up into his body. “What about me-“

“You’d know if you let me talk, pretty girl.” He drawls, and you nod a little stupidly, but his lips have brushed over the very base of your throat, and his hand has started to trail under your shirt to play with your tits, and it’s the metal one and it’s cold but it sends shivers of pleasure through your whole body-

“Bucky-“ 

“I was thinking about you because I don’t believe in that shit either, but I believe in you.” Bucky’s voice is rough and deep against your skin, rolling through your whole body and turning you into something molten and soft as he rolls your nipple mindlessly between his fingers. “Believe in how gorgeous you are, how good you are, how you’re somehow still here, still mine-“ He makes a low, grunting sound as you yank at his hair again, trying to tug him back up to you. “Shit-“

You cut his groan of your name off with your mouth crashing down, pulling him into a long, bruising kiss that ends in a high whine when he pulls away. You’d feel pathetic if you couldn’t feel his own arousal, thick and long and poking against your inner thigh-

“Please-“

“I know,” he mutters, kissing the corner of your mouth as your hips buck shamelessly up into his erection. “I’ll take care of you, doll, but I gotta-“

You shake your head. You get what he’s trying to say, you can hear every word through your bloodstream without him needs to say it, and you need his breathing to be ragged and spent on feeling you rather than talking-

“Want you,” you whisper, trying to roll him onto his back with palms flat against his chest. “Want to taste you, make you feel good, please-“

Bucky’s eyes widen, and the look of pure awe is back. “You’re- You wanna put your mouth on me-“

Your nod is desperate, and his nostrils flare as his metal hand glides back down your stomach, pinning your hips to the bed as he scans over your open, desperate face.

“Don’t know how I manage to swing you, doll.” He mutters, and you can’t do anything but watch him with parted lips and heavy breaths. He’s looking at you like you’re holy. Like he could- maybe- by some miracle-

“Bucky, I-“

He pulls you up into a longer, slower kiss that just as deep and fervorish as the last one, and you know it before he says it. And you really don’t care about the whole lecture—Steve will probably tell you in great detail about it later anyway—you just care about this, about Bucky, right here and home and touching you, and he tastes like coffee and dried fruit-

“Love you,” he murmurs against your lips, and you’re right one the edge just from the words. How he says them like they’re an immovable fact, the same way he’d say the sky is blue or my name is James Buchanan Barnes. Something he knows, maybe in the same, deeply ingrained way you know it. “Been trying to tell you I love you, but you’re not really letting me talk-“

“Sorry.” Your whisper is breathless and soft, and Bucky just chuckles, running his thumb over your lower lip with a low hum.

“No, you’re not.” He pushes his thumb slightly into your mouth, and lets out a low groan when you start to suck on him without a second thought. “You really wanna suck my cock, don’t you.“

You hum, flicking your tongue against him a silent response, and his throat bobs. 

“Can’t say no to you, sweet girl,” he grunts, and when he pulls his thumb away with a pop and brushes the hair from your face, you can almost hear his brain turning.

“But?” You ask, raising your brows as he continues to just stare at you. “I can hear you thinking, baby-“

A small smile tugs at his lips. “Course you can,” he mutters, cupping your face in one hand. “You look real tired, not gonna push you-“

“James Barnes.” You tug at his hair again, your tone dry and flat. “If you tell me you love me, and then stop me from giving you the best head of your life, I’m gonna leave you.”

He swallows, his cock twitching against your thigh, and when he speaks his voice is hoarse.

“You stay lying down.” He grunts. “And I fuck you after.”

You giggle, your smile wide and easy. “I think I can live with that.”

He nods, presses one quick, slightly softer kiss to your lips, and pushes off of your body for only a second to fully shed his clothing. 

He really is beautiful. Broad and strong, all muscle that’s soft in the best places, the metal of his arm shining in the dark like something that’s more godly than mortal, and his hair frames his face so well as his eyes grows almost animalistic on yours, so barely controlled as he pulls off his boxer and-

You might be drooling. He’s perfect. You never get over it, how he looks like he was sculpted and crafted, how he’s like some fallen angel in the dark of your bedroom, and how you feel full just from looking at his dick, fully erect and wrapped in his hand. He’s stroking it slowly, watching you squirm and rub your thighs together on the bed and reach up for him to just join you-

You’re just about to beg when Bucky crawls back onto the mattress, moving fully over your body until his metal arm is braced on the headboard and the red tip of his cock is pressed carefully against your lips, refusing to just push through them-

You drop your jaw open without a thought, digging your nails into his thighs for proper grip and half-batting your eyelashes in a silent plea for him to just take. He always gets too little, and he asks for less, and you’re his to just fucking take-

“Fuck,” Bucky mutters, slowly easing himself into your mouth, throbbing against your tongue when you hollow your cheeks and moan around him. “Gotta take it easy, doll, won’t last-‘

You run your tongue over every part of him you can reach, and he cuts himself off with a deep moan, his hips bucking so he hits the very back of your throat.

“Shit- You’re gonna kill me-“ He half-growls as he tries to pull further out, and you flick your tongue over the tip of his cock, already weeping with pre-cum. “You- I’m tryin’ not to hurt you, sweetheart-“

He won’t hurt you. You’re grinding against the sheets as you watch Bucky above you, his metal arm leaving a dent on the bed frame and his eyes fully blown with raw want, and nothing he could do would ever hurt you. So you squeeze your hands against him, crane your neck slightly to pull him further back into your mouth, and you know he gets the message because his hand tangles in your hair and yanks it back slightly, forcing your eyes onto his.

“Told you to stay down,” he grunts. “I’ll take such good care of you if you listen, sweet girl. Look so fucking pretty takin’ my cock, but you want me to fuck your mouth-“

Your moan is loud and unashamed around him, and his hips jerk once more.

“Shit- That’s-“ Bucky squeezes his eyes shuts—he’s fucking thinking again—and then nods to himself. “You want me like this, doll?”

You hum around him, and his grip on your hair tightens.

“Hold onto me. Tight.” He grunts, and it’s the only warning you get before he finally gives you what you want, and moves.

He’s still restrained. Carefully controlled. You know he’s holding himself back, because even though Bucky’s bumping the back of your throat and groaning about you, he always just stops before you’re choking on him and his every thrust into your mouth is perfectly calculated and measured. No matter how you moan and drool and suck, running your tongue over the tip of his cock when he pulls almost fully out and swallowing when he pushes back inside, he’s keeping himself in check.

But all it takes is moving one hand to squeeze his balls, and you get the first rough slam of his hips and a beautiful, loud moan from deep in his chest.  

Bucky glares down at you, his voice gravely and low. “What’re you doin’.”

You give him your best innocent expression, repeating the movement and hollowing your cheek around his cock. 

“I-“ He hisses through his teeth as he slams deep enough for your nose to bump his abdomen, and you whine. “You’re- Fuck-“

It’s an offering. You’re still playing with his balls, and not trying to squirm away when his thrusts start to become uneven and sloppy, and he knows what you want so he doesn’t have to hold back, you don’t want him to hold back-

And when you swirl your tongue around the base of his cock, gagging around him when he pushes down your throat and squeezing his thigh in silent reassurance, he snaps. 

This is what you wanted. Bucky really, properly fucking your face until you’re a whining, needy mess below him, your hips rolling against the sheets for any relief because you need one hand to cling to him and the other to keep touching him, to keep urging him on as he drives his dick in and out of your mouth with an abandoned, the best, most sinful noises you’ve ever heard escaping him in a mix of swears and praise and growls of your name-

“God- so fucking good, you’re-“ He cuts himself off with a groan, and you know he’s close. You can see it in the tension across his muscles, and hear it in the deep noises that are rolling through your body. “Shit-“

You let your eyes roll back in your head as you keep your grip on him tight, and Bucky’s climax shakes his whole body and his cum shoots down your throat. Heavy and salty and God, he’s so good-

He’s still dripping down your chin when he pulls out, and you barely have time to try and wipe off with shaking fingers before Bucky’s right back over you, kissing you deep into the mattress and running a soothing, cool touch down your burning skin. 

“Such a good girl,” he mutters, his metal hand moving into your short grazing right over your slit through your ruined underwear. “You’re so fucking gorgeous, can’t believe you get this wet just from getting your face fucked-“

You shake your head, grinding desperately into his taunting hand and throwing your head back as his fingers graze over your clothed clit. “Just for you, Bucky, only this- Fuck,” he’s stared to kiss a wet, open line over your collarbone, and you don’t know when he ripped off your shirt, but you don’t really care. “It’s you-“

“Me?” He smirks against your skin, his voice a little too soft and devout to be mocking. “Am I the only one who’s ever gotten you this needy, sweet girl? Is all this,” he tears off your panties, shoving two broad, metal finger right into your cunt and drawing a high gasp from your throat. “Just for me?”

“Yes,” your hands dig back into his hair as his tongue flicks right over your nipple and his fingers start to pump, and you’re going to ascend or burst into flame or scatter across the universe like a million stars or something- “Bucky, please-“

“I’ve got you,” he mutters, his fingers scissoring and crooking inside of you under you’re a puddle of needy sounds below him. “Always got you, doll.”

He really does. Bucky knows just how to play you like an instrument, how to finger fuck you so that you stay right on the edge but never go over. Neglecting your swollen clit in favor of pressing right against that deep, sensitive spot inside of you that he can rub his fingers against, all while kissing and marking you over your chest. Then suddenly returning to steady thrusts of his fingers and sucking and biting at your nipples until you’re yanking at his hair and he growls around you, and repeating the pattern over and over in cycle until you’re out of your mind-

More than out of your mind. You’re going to die. This is too much, and not enough, and you need to cum so bad but Bucky’s being mean and keeping you from falling, crashing up into the sky and coming fully unraveled below him-

“Bucky,” you swallow another loud, hopeless whimper as he hums against your skin. “Wanna cum, need it, you’re- Fuck-“

He rises back up over you, but doesn’t stop moving his fingers in and out of your dripping pussy. “That feel good, sweet gi-“

“Yes.” You cut him off with another half-screaming moan, and he chuckles.

“Think you can cum like this? Just with my fingers, fucking your pretty pussy until you’re screaming my-“

“Bucky,” you scratch at his shoulders and try to push off the mattress, desperate to get his mouth back anywhere on your skin. “Please, Bucky, please-“

He smirks again, shaking his head as he drops down to give you a tauntingly soft kiss, his voice rough and deep as he speaks against your lips. “You never let me finish talking, you know that?”

“I- sorry.” You mumble, but you don’t really mean it. Not when his fingers hit a new, rough and world-shattering pace, and you’re so close-

“Don’t be sorry. Love you too much to really care. Love that you get mouthy and needy and so fucking loud for me.” Bucky’s kiss deepens like he’s trying to fuse his mouth to yours, right as his fingers yank out of you without warning, leaving you squeaking in protest and clenching around the air. 

“Why-“

He laughs, pushing back up to watch you as he drags your arms up, pinning them over your head with a grin. A real, wide grin of adoration and wonder, scanning over your body like he has all the time in universe to just watch you, flushed and panting and squirming on the mattress, pouting and glaring at him because he doesn’t have all the time, you feel like you’re going to explode and he needs to save you-

“Want you to cum on my cock,” he hums, trailing soft fingers down your body, watching you shiver and lean into his touch with a dark, reverent expression. “That sounds good to you, doll?”

You nod, spreading your legs as wide as you can manage. You’ll take anything, as long as Bucky’s the one giving it.

“Yes.” You whisper, your eyes trailing down his body to where he’s started to stoke his cock, lining it up with your weeping cunt. “Bucky, please-“

Your plea is cut off with a scream that’s a half curse, half prayer of his name, because Bucky slams into you and you break apart in a second. Then he hits that deep spot, his thumb pressing down and rubbing furious circles on your clit, and it’s euphoria. Wracking your whole body with sobs of his name as the pleasure crests higher and higher, and Bucky just keeps fucking you.

It’s not clear when he starts and you end, but you’re too far gone to really care. The first orgasm wanes for only a second before a second, smaller one rushes through you in an aftershock, and by the time Bucky falls down to kiss you—harsh and starved with his dick filling you up and hitting you so deep you know you’ll feel it for a week—you’re so fucked out you can only moan and whine against him. His tongue pushes down to trace over your teeth and press against the back of your throat as he growls praise of good girl and taking me so well and so fuckin’ beautiful, and all mine, feel so good, cum for me again, doll, c’mon-

You squirm beneath him as your third orgasm washes through your body and your back arches off the bed, your pussy squeezing and fluttering around his cock as he keeps fucking into you, harder and harder until you’re sure the bed is going break, until you’re gasping his name and begging him to cum with you, you’re going to fall apart for him one more time so please fall with you-

Bucky hauls you up his chest as he sits up, his mouth never once parting from you as he moves you to sit in his lap. Your arms wrap around his neck on instinct as his hands moves to grab at your hips, guiding you up and down his cock, meeting your with a thrust that hits so deep in your body you think you’re going to lose your voice screaming his name-

“Last one, doll,” he grunts in your ear, drawing rough circles on your hips as you gasp against his shoulder. “You got one more for me, and I’ll fill you up like you want-“

You nod like a bobble-head, because God, you do want it, want all of Bucky in whatever way he’ll offer it, but you do also think he could tell you to fly and—in this moment, where he’s hammering into you and you’re nothing but a blissful, cockdrunk mess against him—you’d find a way to pull it off.

Bucky pulls you into one last, heavy and deep and smooth kiss—set in a stark contrast to how he’s bruising your cervix and dragging you into the fire of one last, mind-numbing and head-spinning orgasm—and when you breath his name into his mouth, he cums with a roar that seems to shake the whole earth.

The world becomes all color and good and Bucky as you fall right over the edge with him, his release hot and warm in your body and his breathing ragged against your skin as you both float down from your highs, and stay a tangle of heartbeats and limbs in the center of the mattress. He holds you so carefully against his chest, like you might shatter or dissipate if he makes the wrong move, and you play with his hair, letting your brain return to your body.

Bucky clears his throat, his hands pausing their untraceable patterns on your skin as you bury your face in his neck.

“I love you. A lot. Just so you know.” His voice is almost sheepish in your ear, and you giggle. 

“I think I’ve got that, Buck.” You hum, your nails digging into his back and he starts to shift beneath you. “What’re you-“

“Gotta take care of my girl.” Bucky’s muttered words in your ear are more of a command, angled at himself as he tries to pull his half-hard cock out of where he’s still sheathed in your body. “Made a mess of you, doll, need to clean it up-“

You shake your head, tightening your grip around his neck. “Stay.”

He leans back to frown at you. “I am staying, but you’ve got my cum dripping down your thighs-“

“Romantic-“

“Shut it.” He flicks your nose, his eyes softening slightly at your still-dazed smile. “You need to be cleaned up-“

“I need you.” You squirm to press impossibly closer to his body, dropping your brow against his chest. “We can just stay like this,” you roll your hips, and Bucky lets out a low hiss as his cock twitches inside of you. “And I think you like that I’m a mess-“

“I like you, pretty girl. Could even say I love you-” 

You smile at him. “You have said it-“

He rolls his eyes with a grunt, tugging you fully forwards and pinning you to his chest. Your yelp turns into a loud, happy sound when he catches your chin and tips it back, giving you a long, easy kiss that doesn’t ever seem to be waning of that new, fully unleashed love quality. “And you are a mess, I’m not just gonna-“

“Don’t want you to clean me up,” you hum, scratching slightly at his back in one last plea to stay like this. Maybe turn to stone and be crawled over with ivy and flowers, your body still wound with Bucky’s and the whole world this bright, happy feeling forever. “Please.”

He pauses, leans back to scan over your face, and you let it paint all over your features. You do love him, and that’s not revolutionary but it’s Bucky so it’s stronger and can withstand more than anything else in the world. You know he can see it, how if you were shot down into the core of the earth or vaulted up into the cold of space, you’d still love him as ash or frosted, broken and scattered particles. Because it’s all you. Every single bit of you that’s tangible and capable of being anything at all loves Bucky, and it right here. 

For him to see, and have, and take. 

And you know he’s worked it out, because his face splits into a painfully rare, wide grin that makes him barely look past twenty-five. That’s all boyish charm and glee and pride, and that Steve’s told you used to be common, but has become something reserved for only moments like these.

Moments where Bucky gives in to your plea, and shifts you both so he’s against the headboard and you’re still curled on his chest. He never once unsheathes himself, never once breaks his gaze from yours, and when your both settled, he presses a gentle kiss to your brow and lets it linger until you’re almost stained by his touch. Where you can feel how much he loves you in every breath and pound of his heart, against his skin and almost taste it in his throat when he kisses you once more. 

And the sun is starting to break through the window in a million, iridescent colors as Bucky stays right here. 

Right where he belongs. 

With you. 

End Note: I could write dissertations and movies and plays and speeches about love being something that rewrites your whole body chemistry, and how that's honestly more romantic than predetermination or soulmates to me. This is me doing that but where's it's not going to annoy my friends.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

@foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr @Youdontknowe @panicking-outside-the-disco

@Ambiguous-avery @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @ilovedeanwinchester4 @tiana-kh

@woaheasytig3r @winchester-whiskey @jsudsgf @deans-yn @jofinka

@megara0224 @funkenniffler @disappearintofanfiction @sheneedsjesus @bonkydarnes

@whimsicalcherry @charliethemanticore

[writing-mlm]

Hii!! This is my first time request so if you feel uncomfortable you can ignore this!

So Plus size male reader who was traumatized by getting bully in the past and body dysphoria. So he always wears baggy clothes and long sleeves shirt that cover his bruises and his body. Simon Riley is curious why reader always wear that types of clothes until he knew the reasons. After you confronted to him, he always cherish and praise you every where especially on the bed and tell you to wear more revealed clothes just for him!

To be loved

Summary: Simon’s trying his best to show he cares and you’re trying to open up Pairing: Simon Riley x Male Reader Word Count: 2.3k Tags/warnings: talks of prior bullying, sexual themes, talks of body issues, I still struggle to write accents, reader is offhandedly mentioned to be a firefighter, soft Si, plus size reader, mild hurt/comfort A/n: gasp is sharky projecting neverrrr anyway the first draft of this is gonna be part 2 that won’t come out for a while

“Nah, mate, you’ll love him!” Gaz had promised after Simon had finally agreed to a blind date. Soap was going to set it up but Simon didn’t exactly trust his taste in partners. And, believe it or not, Gaz was right. One blind date turned into five real dates and now a six-month mark in dating. 

He stares at you from across your apartment, cleaning up after a sip n paint kit your sister had gotten you as a birthday gift. He’s cleaning the dishes— well, he was. Now he’s leaning against the sink and watching you. 

Dressed in a long, extremely baggy sweater and pants, he tilts his head and tries to see your face. There’s some sweat building on your forehead and he’ll have to admit the apartment is pretty warm and he’s in a t-shirt and jeans. 

“Lovvie,” He calls and you hum, looking up from where you’re wiping up some drying paint. “It’s burning in here, you sure you don’t want to get changed?” 

“Mm-mm, I’m fine, baby,” You reply, tossing the cleaning wipe into the trash bag. He hums and pushes off from the counter, crossing the room over to you. You laugh as he hooks an arm around you and pulls you over to the couch. 

“Come ‘n’ sit, watch a movie,” He nearly begs, pulling you onto his lap. You pause, shifting so you’re not pressing all of your weight on him before sliding down so only your legs are. 

“What movie?” Plucking at the sweater so it stops hugging your chest and stomach, you look over at him. “No more RomComs please!” You beg while reaching for a throw pillow to place over your lap. 

“You pick,” He shrugs while his hands make work at going under your sweats by the ankle cuff and massaging your calves. You’d been called to a search and rescue earlier and came back with a bruised arm and leg— not that he saw. He found out because you were complaining about it over the phone. Apparently it was huge and hurt like a bitch. 

He can tell because when he presses, you wince and nearly jerk away from him before apologizing. 

“Why don’ you change so I can help?” 

“I’m fine, Si, it’ll heal in a couple of days. Just a bruise,” 

He sighs, not loud or frustrated. Just, he wants to take care of you and it’s hard when you don’t let him. When you’re in those clothes that’re going to cause a heat stroke, in pain from bruises he can’t even see the extent of, and you won’t even sit close enough that he can cuddle up with you. 

“Love,” He slowly says and you look over from the movie selection. “It’s blazing in this flat and yer dressed like it’s the middle of winter in Alaska.” 

“I’m fine—“

“You’re sweating and it’s dripping onto the couch. Don’ lie to me. What’s so wrong about changing into a bloody shirt and shorts?” You sigh and rub your face, collecting the sweat before wiping it on your pants. 

“I just…” You shrug, looking away to think for a second. “If I do change, can we turn the lights off?” He wants to say no, he wants to be able to see you. If he wanted to be around you with the lights off, he would’ve offered to turn in for the night. He wants to tell you that whatever you’re worried about cannot possibly be worse than what he sees in the field. But he doesn’t think that’ll help much, at least not right now. 

“Can I ask why?” Chewing on your bottom lip, you shrug, making a point to avoid looking at him. 

“It’s just… guys always made fun of my body.” You explain, your voice smaller than it was earlier. The smallest tone that he’s ever heard you speak in before, to be honest. “I don’t like talking about it but I just, it’s better for me if you don’t see me.”

“I want to see you, though.” He stresses, holding your face in his hands. You shrink under his gaze but he coaxes you out with ease. “And if I ever think about making fun of yer body, take my gun and shoot me in the head, alright?” You laugh and nod. He smiles, a small barely there smile that hardly moves his lip scar and removes the pillow from your lap. 

“Get changed into something better, please, love. Yer killin’ me in that outfit,” Reluctantly, you agree and leave the room to change. He waits, and then continues to wait. Nearly ten minutes have passed before he gets up and ventures down the hallway to your room. 

He knocks, once, twice, and goes for the third when you speak up. 

“I just—“ You shout before stopping yourself, hands shaking as you look at yourself in the mirror and then the door. “I need a minute, Si, please.” You don’t even know why you keep that mirror, you hate it. It must be one of those funky mirrors because you swear you don’t hate yourself that much that you don’t like staring at your body. 

And now with the bruises, the way it wraps around your extra skin, how your stretch marks seem more visible than they have the potential to have an audience other than yourself and your primary doctor. Hurriedly wiping your face, you look at your shirt. You only really have work shirts, button downs, and sweaters. Your parents didn’t let you buy normal t-shirts growing up, and you guess that stuck with you. 

This was a gift, a silly firefighter pun t-shirt the whole squad got as a Christmas gift from the chief's wife some years back. It even has your last name on the back. You’ve never worn it, though. Aside from the one time everyone did a group picture when they got it. 

“Love, I—“ Simon pauses, unsure if he’s about to make the situation worse. “Can I come in?”

“No!” You quickly respond and toss the t-shirt on just in case he didn’t hear you. “I’m done. I’m coming out,” 

“Okay,” He takes a step back from the door, waiting for you to open it. He waits a while, longer than it would take to walk around the whole apartment, let alone your bedroom. But the door knob twists, slowly. Painfully slow before the door cracks open.

“Please don’t laugh,” You urge, looking at him through the crack. 

“Never.” He promises and you nod, looking away before opening the door. The first thing he sees is the massive bruise blooming across your left leg and then your left arm. “You should be resting! Go and sit, I’ll get ice for ya,”

“No, it’s fine. I bruise easily, iron deficiency. It’s not that bad,” 

“Go and sit.” He points to the living room and you decide not to argue because he didn’t make fun of you. And you owe him that much, right? 

“Why did you think I was going to laugh?” He asks, coming back with two ice packs. He lays one carefully on your leg and you hiss, tensing at the sudden coldness. 

“Most guys do,” 

“Am I most guys?”

“No,” You smile.

“Then why?” He pushes and you realize that he’s serious— about this and about you. You might as well spill your guts now rather than later when you’re in too deep to take it away. 

“There was this guy in my high school. Mitch, he… was a fucking asshole. Star player for our sports team— I think it was basketball— he got everyone to call me Tubs or Snorlax. Someone decided to be original and write LardAss on my locker for a week straight. The school and guys were popular enough that it stayed with me through college. Every guy I’ve dated has known one of them somehow, they always slipped up and called me that.”

“I doubt a couple of names made you like this— no offense,” He backtracks, eyes wide as if he’d made a grave mistake but you shrug. 

It’s true. You hardly cared about the names, sure it stung the first couple of times, but then they just got boring. Just sounds. 

“They’d try and shove me in lockers, tied me to the flagpole using rope, tripped me during the mile run, and would loosen the screws on my seats before class. We went on a trip to a farm once…” You trail and cover your face with your hands. “They fucking locked me in the cattle chute. They took pictures and they posted it. I… I was—“

“I get it,” He nods. “You don’t gotta continue,” 

“Thank you,” 

“Don’t thank me, lovvie. Now, c’mere,” He pats his legs and you shake your head. “No, ‘m serious. Take a seat, I promise you’re nothing compared to what I have the recruits lift.” Reluctantly, you agree and let him pull you up. It hurts a little, with the bruise and all, but he puts you so your back is to his chest and rests his head on your shoulder. 

“See, light as a feather,” He says, feeling that you’re still tense so he starts messaging your sides, easing you until you’re fully relaxed against him. “Wanna watch Scarface?”

“You hate that movie,”

“I can make an exception,” 

—

When Simon’s deployed, you don’t hear much from him. There are the letters, all of which you’ve saved and cherished greatly, texts, and sometimes you’ll get a package. This is one of those times. 

It’s a plain box, crudely wrapped in tape and sent from Brisbane. So he probably sent that out ages ago since he’s currently stationed in Ireland for some intel. 

“Oh, something from Lieutenant Simon?” Your sister grins as you grab a pocket knife to cut the box open. He’d gotten you that as a gift after you spent longer than two seconds staring at it in the mall.

“Yes,” You laugh, sitting with your legs tucked under yourself. The basketball shorts ride up a little and you wince as the tape scrapes against your skin, quickly pulling them down. “From Australia,”

“Careful, it might be a giant spider!” She giggles as she makes crawling motions up your arm. “Turn you into Spiderman!” Laughing, you open the box and grab the letter on the top. Of course she leans over your shoulder to read it too. 

“Aw, he’s so sappy!” She cries. “Wait… ew, I didn’t want to read that part.” She leans back and you cackle, hiding the letter. “I can't wait to be suffocated by your legs for a change! Oh my god, you two are gross!” She gags and moves away from you, wiping her eyes as if that would erase the words from her memory. 

“Don’t read a love letter, then!” You huff, carefully folding it and setting it to the side. The inside of the package has some clothes, stuff you know he sent because he wants to see you wearing it, and others because he figures you’d like it. Then there’s some snacks, along with some lollipops with a note that your sister shouts at again. 

“You two are freaks!” She cries. “God, wait until I tell James!” James, your older brother, as if he was the high authority. 

“Fuck is James gonna do?” You huff and she just shouts, unsure of what to say. As you roll your eyes, you see a call is coming in from Simon. “B-R-B!”

“I don’t wanna hear phone sex!” She calls as you walk away. 

“Then leave!” You shout, closing the bedroom door behind you. Picking up, you flop down onto your bed as Simon’s face takes over your screen. You’re glad you convinced him to upgrade his phone from the stone ages.

“Hello, love,” He greets, removing his mask. 

“Hey, Si, how’ve you been? And I got the package, the clothes are really nice?” 

“They came?” His eyes widened a fraction as you nodded. “You should try them on. Right now, on the phone,” Shaking your head, he nearly groans and sits on the corner of his cot.

“My sister is here, she’s already traumatized by the letter and the lollipops.” He laughs at that but apologizes. “But I’ll definitely try them on later. If you’re free around ten, call.” 

“I should be,” He nods and licks his lips. It’s more out of habit than anything. He looks up and then rolls his eyes. “Ah— Gaz says ‘ello. Bloody bloke won’t leave me alone,”

“Ah, hey Kyle! Tell him to come over when you guys are done and come back home. We haven’t seen each other in ages now,”

“You’ll be busy after I come back,” He promises, the innuendo doesn’t go over your head and you bark a laugh. “Gaz can wait until the week after,”

“I really hope he didn’t hear that,” Unfortunately, Gaz pokes his head into frame and plugs his ears. 

“I hear too much about you, mate. Please come ‘n’ get your boyfriend. He talks about when he sleeps!” Simon promptly shoves him away and looks down at you before nodding. 

—

Simon’s been back from deployment for two days now, two days where the front door stays locked and your phone was left turned off. Unfortunately, you had to go back to work so you were eating breakfast while he was coming back in from his workout. You’re in your uniform, a short sleeve navy blue shirt with the station logo and matching pants with leather shoes. 

Sitting at the dining table, you cross your arms as you watch the news. They’re reporting on a fire you’d been called to the night before, it had wiped out an entire building. But thankfully no one had died, a couple of hospitalizations but nothing beyond that. 

“Sit on my face,” Simon says as he walks past you. Fast enough that you don’t register it for a second before you laugh and look back at him. But he pretends to not notice as he grabs his mug from the cabinet. 

“Wanna repeat that, baby?” 

“Hmm?” He looks over at you. “Oh, I said your arms look good in that shirt. You should wear it more often,”

“You just like my arms flexed,” He shrugs and walks over, leaning down to kiss you on the lips. 

“I just like you,”

[gay-dorito-dust]

Will you do a scenario of how we’d meet Bill for the first time and what he would be like if you were sort of “friends”? 🙏

You were minding your business while walking through the woods of Gravity Falls, just needing a change of scenery and finding the woods to be the perfect place to do so with it’s mushrooms, flowers and the wildlife that crossed your path.

Everything was seemingly fine and not out of the ordinary until you started to feel like you were being watched from somewhere, you looked to see if you could spot anyone, but all you could see were birch trees that had markings on the bark that suspiciously looked like eyes. You were just about thinking of leaving until you heard a voice from somewhere.

‘Hey kiddo!’

You looked to the left, nothing

‘Other way kid.’

the to the right, nothing

‘Colder.’

Up? Nope, nothing.

‘You’re practically an human popsicle at this point.’

How about looking down? Still nothing. Now you were getting confused, scared and annoyed.

You heard the voice sigh and say ‘you’re starting to make me feel sad, here I’ll make this a little easier for you.’ Then before you could say anything, a small yellow triangle with one eye wearing a top hat and bow tie appeared before you.

‘It’s great to finally meet you y/n.’ It said and immediately you were freaked out.

‘Who are you and how did you know my name?’ You asked, uneasy.

‘The names Bill Cipher and I know lots of things, lots of things.’ Bill replied, shrugging. ‘Wanna see what I can do?’ He adds after a brief pause but before you could answer him, he held his hand out to a nearby deer as its teeth were taken out of its mouth and into his small hand in a neat pile. ‘Deer teeth for you kid hehe.’ He then chuckled as he dumped the pile of deer teeth into your hands.

You on the other hand didn’t find this funny and fought the urge to vomit as you offered Bill the deer teeth back. ‘Mind giving the deer its teeth back? I’m sure it has more use for them than either of us.’ You ask as Bill did as you asked and gave the deer its teeth back as it galloped off elsewhere, leaving you alone with the weird triangle in the woods. Everything that had happened within the past five minutes had been overwhelming for you, too overwhelming that you had to sit yourself down on the trunk of a fallen tree and put your head in your hands, muttering to yourself.

‘This isn’t real, this is all some weird fever dream or I’m tripping balls. There’s no other explanation.’

Bill only chuckled as he floated next to you and patted you on the shoulder. ‘There, there human I can reassure you that what you just saw was very much real.’

You looked at him from your hands, unamused. ‘You fucking suck at comforting people you know that?’

‘I think we’ll get along great!’ Bill chirped gleefully.

‘We absolutely will not.’ You replied but you had an inkling that your opinion on the matter didn’t matter.

Now onto how bill would be if you were sort of ‘friends.’

He’s got a weird way about showing his feelings in any capacity.

The little shit put rats, dead rats outside your door, spelling out your name on random ass occasions that made it look like to others that a) you were haunted or b) had a weird stalker who liked to form your name out of dead rats.

He doesn’t want you having friends outside of him because and I quote ‘I’m the only friend you need, why bother with anyone else. So don’t even try cuz I’ll be watching you.’

Will leave sticky post it notes anywhere and everywhere saying to get more silly straws or else he’ll find a way to possess you and make you do embarrassing shit. Ie: walk through town in your underwear, make you speak backwards, kick a child-

Bill was a brat and his pranks were often traumatic but apparently they were ‘light’ in comparison to the stuff he did to his other meat puppets. You didn’t ask any further questions about what he meant by that in fear that he’d show you one as an example.

You are probably the only person who bill has told about his secret technique with mascara and eyeliner, even seeing him do it once when he insisted that you had a ‘sleepover’ at your place. He even points the mascara brush at you warningly as he threatened that you were to never tell people about this or else.

His version of jealousy when he sees you spending time with others is to trash your house and try to act cute when you catch him in the act. You don’t fall for this and give Bill the silent treatment for the rest of the day as he practically lost his shit over your lack of attention.

Probably air horned you awake once.

Bill Wouldn’t tell you this but he make your enemies do stupid shit that resulted in their deaths, for fun he claims but he didn’t want his favourite meat sack to start leaking water from their eyes every time something went wrong in their life. So he just cuts them out in the most brutal way possible.

Bill was stuck to you like glue and there’s was no way to hide from him as he would ultimately appears where you are, even if you’re in the fucking shower, he don’t care.

Bill: *appears in shower* my favourite meat sack have you- stop screaming it’s only me, have you seen a king cobra anywhere, I must’ve dropped it somewhere here-

He probably once threatened you with the whole ‘steal your eyes’ thing like he did with Ford but you had witness enough of Bill’s behaviour to know that he was joking about that, to which he was proud and would magically make a cake filled with worms, bugs and other unpleasant things appear in celebration.

You may or may not have been sick that day.

Your and Bills friendship was weird, probably not the healthiest in all honestly and you should seek help and or maybe therapy for the shit he’s out you through.

You were his property, you were his pet, HIS MEAT SACK and you wouldn’t be allowed to go anywhere without him knowing and or being nearby in hopes of catching your eye.

Just a yellow triangle with one eye and a top hat and bow tie floating ominously in the background was enough to unnerve anyone.

You had no freedom as far as you were concerned in this ‘friendship’ but bill likes to claim that he has given you the most freedom out of anyone who has ever existed.

[brittle-doughie]

Hello BD is... 👹 Anon taken? If so consider me a- eh ehm... Sorry 'bout that what I want to ask is normal story Y/N without the Beasts traumatizing them (I am female so for some reason I hate reading x male!readers tbh... But gender neutral is fine... So lets have this gender neutral for the boys and grills) aka the beasts are not in their head or something... And they accidentally find Charles or Choco Werehound Brute drink tea alone and he/she/it/they is embarrassed or something but decided to invite Y/N for tea and Poison Mushroom joined by wandering in(?) Also what would CWhB be like if it was a yandere? (RAAAH! 👹👹👹👹👹👹👹 My freaky ahh out!) *Jumps off a cliff into water below~*

I’d like to believe that Brute would make it very apparent to Cookies around you that you were taken by him.

Whether that be him boisterously declaring it or threatening others with his hammer, he’ll make sure this fact will be the only thing threats will remember, whether they live to tell the tale or not.

He’ll have a sensitive side to him under all that bravado is a soft heart that might feel a little down when he sees you interact with others. It makes him wonder if he was good enough for you, that bout of self-doubt and insecurity might lead to him lashing out against his perceived threats for you.

It’s up to you to console him and let him know that there was nothing going on between you and this other Cookie, that he was all you needed. It might not work right away, but it will calm him down enough for Brute to not want to crush his target under his hammer.

Don’t even get started for when he dons the princess attire. You, by his side, ALL THE TIME.

[girlboypersonthingy]

Hiiii I wanted to request hazbin boys x injured male reader? Reader gets into a scuffle, gets roughed up quite a bit and comes home not looking too well (I wanna see em fuss over the reader lol)

Mmph, yes yes, I love boys fussing over their injured darling. Too fuckin cute! I have so many great requests for Hazbin and Helluva, I’m so excited 🫨 thanks for the request and enjoy anon 💟

Notes: gn!reader bc anyone can get into a scuffle so why not, mostly fluff with a sprinkle of angst

TW: blood, bruises, fighting, cussing, of course it’s suggestive during Angel’s part 😉

Includes Lucifer, Angel Dust, Husk, Sir Pentious, Vox and Alastor

Hazbin boys x reader- Bruises 🖤

You’re not sure who roughed you up, you barely got a look at the dudes before you were laid out on the dirty sidewalk getting punched and trying to push one of the perpetrators off you. Whoever he was, he was strong and brutal and must’ve really had a problem with you because damn, you were fucked up. Not that you couldn’t hold your own, but there was more than one of them and they really caught you off guard. You had suffered several blows to the face and a few kicks to the stomach and back. Seemed like the group showed just a bit of mercy tho- they could’ve broken your legs or straight up killed you. Luckily, you limped away with only minor injuries but a huge blow to your psyche. While it could’ve been worse, it was horrific and traumatizing regardless.

It’s hard trying to stay tough and take care of yourself because you’re scared, feeling like you’ll have to look over your shoulder from now on when you’re out on the streets. It was also a bit embarrassing considering Husk and Angel offered to tag along with you to keep you safe but your dumb ass insisted you were fine alone.

It was late now, around the time everyone went to bed at the hotel so you were expecting to silently creep inside, hobble to your room and take care of yourself in secret. And if anyone asked about the marks or bruises the next day, you’d just blame it on a wild night of partying. To your surprise, as you walk in the door the entirety of the hotel’s staff and residents were sitting on the floor and couches in the front room, drinking and talking by the fireplace. Of course, Charlie had everyone doing some bonding bullshit late at night. The sound of the door clicking open has everyone’s eyes looking towards you now. “Ah, shit…” Leaves your swollen lips as the crowd gasps and one by one, they all stand and approach your damaged figure. Finally, the one person you really didn’t want to see you like this comes rushing forward to get a good look at you.

Lucifer 🍎

“Oh, Satan! (Y/N), are you okay? What happened? Ohhh, my poor angel!”

Proceeds to fuss and worry over you while wearing the saddest expression :,( his poor bb

Might actually cry a little…just hurts him to see his darling all banged up.

It’s not just the physical pain he senses, it’s the emotional pain you feel too- the fear and the trauma and the stress of it all

His hands just hover all around the most damaged parts of you- fingers almost touching your eye which was now swollen shut, his thumb ghosting over your busted bottom lip

Whisks you away to his room and runs you a bath. Gets you all clean and is probably still whining and crying over you as he watches the bath water turn red with all the blood washing off you and gets you ready for bed.

He’s an emotional man, okay?

He also feels extremely guilty for not being there to protect you. Even if you bluntly told him you don’t need his protection, he feels like it’s still his fault at least a little bit.

Miiiiiiight start a silly little argument over you never leaving the hotel or his side ever again lol

“I just want to protect you, my love. Please! Stop being stubborn.”

He’ll really really baby you tho.

Like even if your legs are working fine, NOPE! Don’t move an inch. Luci will carry you anywhere you desire.

“Lucifer, I just have a black eye and some scrapes. I can walk just fine, babe.”

And he’ll just ignore you and continue to coddle you and do everything for you

For sure this man peppers very gentle, very soft and slow kisses on your tender face once you’re cleaned up and finally resting in his bed

And he for sure cries again in the morning when he wakes up and your face looks even worse

Probably even panics a bit like-

“IM TAKING YOU TO A HOSPITAL OH MY SATAN!!! MY POOR BABY WWAAAA!”

“It’s just some bruises! Luci, they always look worse before they look better, I’m fine.”

Just calm him down with some kisses and words of love

Angel Dust 🕸️

“Holy shit! What happened, babe? Oh no…this is bad. This is sooo bad! This is why we wanted to go with ya.”

Also gets very dramatic and concerned, looks so sad over your battle wounds

But of course he’s a flirt even under tough circumstances and can make a dirty joke even in the most dire situations

He’d definitely tell you you look hot asf and that you’re soooo brave~

Tries to lighten the mood a bit

“(Y/N), I wanna be the only one who gets to rough you up.” *pouts but also winks at you*

Angel has had his fair share of beatings courtesy of Valentino so he’s very good at first aid and knows tons of tricks to help with bruising, cuts, scrapes, preventing scars, relieving the pain.

He’s great at the clean up part but even better at the comfort part

Brings out all six arms to wrap you up in while you lay in his bed, cuddling up to you while offering soft kisses to the parts of you that aren’t so sore.

Angel is always down to fuck so if you’re feeling up to it, he’ll offer you some great sexual healing while being oh so careful of all your wounds and all the painful spots.

Will let you take control too, he hopes it’ll make you feel better and maybe return some of the confidence you lost from this scuffle.

He can spot a bruised ego from a mile away and he’ll do anything to get you feeling happy and secure again.

Also argues with you about never letting you go anywhere alone ever again lol he just loves you too much. If you’re gonna get jumped, he’s either gonna be there to help you out of it or he’s gonna be taking half the beating right next to you.

Reminds me of a song…

“I wanna walk with you, wherever you go to. I wanna hurt with you. Whatever you go through, I do too.” -sour switchblade by Elita

Yeah that’s Angel, just wants to be beside you no matter the circumstances

Husk 🃏

“Oh, you dummy! This is why we wanted to go with you. Oh, doll face. Who did this? You alright?”

Yeah, he’s mean sometimes so he’s gonna scold you for going out alone before the comforting starts.

Ultimately, he doesn’t pull you away to get you cleaned up or anything. Lets you decide what to do next, where to go. He just follows you and keeps a hand on you somewhere to let you know he’s here for you.

Will whip up any drink you ask for in hopes of it relieving the pain a bit

But he’s sneaky, he’s gonna ask you tons of questions about what happened, who did it, where you were, how many of them there was. Won’t give you your drink until you answer him.

Husk is plottin and schemin, wanting to get back at the assholes who did this to you. Hes thinking about all the cool, little weapons he has and what he can do with them to teach those jerks a lesson.

In the end tho, he does get more sentimental and soft spoken later while cuddled up to you in bed.

He’ll purr softly in your ear while letting his hands gently roam your body, tracing comforting circles all over your bruised skin

Will def wrap you up in his silky wings and then proceed to pour out his entire heart to you.

“I love you. I’m so glad you’re okay. You need to listen to me. I know better than you, I’ve been down here a long time. You have to be more careful. I dunno what I’d do if I lost ya, doll. You gotta stick with me, I’ll always protect ya.”

Once you fall asleep, he wanders out to the lobby to find Angel at the bar and there they talk about teaming up to get revenge on the assholes who dared to touch Husk’s little babe

The next morning, of course they’re still talking about it. You’ll have to tell these idiots to stop and just let it go bc omg they sound crazy rn they’re gonna make a mess if you let this continue

Buuuut if you kinda like them fussing over you this much, then by all means let them do their thing as you sit back and enjoy the attention

Ooooh, Husky is getting maadddd. Kinda cute when he lets a protective growl slip out while talking to Angel. Aww he loves you~

Sir Pentious 🐍

Immediate tears and full blown panic attack at the sight of your battered face.

“OH MY GOODNESSSSSS!!! My baby! My darling! Ohhhhhh, you poor thing, come here! I’ll take care of you.”

Doesn’t care that the entirety of the hotel residents are crowded around watching you two- Pentious holds you like a baby in his arms and carefully sinks to the ground with you, holding you so tight it actually kinda hurts due to all your bruises.

Cries for a while like this- goes back and forth between examining your bruises and cuts and bloody nose with his watery eyes to then burying his face in your neck as he weeps for you.

“Pen, I’m okay. Just a little banged up. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“I CAN’T HANDLE IT!!! You’re too pretty to be beaten up like thisssss. Aawwwww.” And he’s crying even harder now.

And this goes on for a while until you finally decide to get up and go to your room with him to get cleaned up.

Babies the absolute fuck out of you- brings you food in bed and tries to feed it to you, gets you in the bath and refuses to let you touch anything while insisting he do all the work for you, carries you everywhere.

It’s actually so nice tho- he washes your hair for you real slow and firm as he scrubs your scalp, very carefully washes the dirt and dry blood from your skin only to reveal more bruises he hadn’t seen before, carefully applies ointment to your bloody cuts and scrapes

Listen…this man is not gonna stop crying until you are 100% healed up. Even the next morning, you wake up beside him to see his face wet with tears as he sniffles.

At least you know he really truly deeply cares for you and loves you 💚

“Oh, it’s okay, babe. I’m felling so much better today, especially since I get to start my morning in bed with you.”

And now he decides he’s gonna keep you in bed all day and continue to baby and pamper you

Keeps his tail and most of his body wrapped around you loosely all day as you watch movies and relax. Cant stop staring at your face and focusing on each blue and black bruise you wear, eyeing every cut and scrape and the split skin on your lip.

You took a beating and he thinks it’s only fair that you and him stay in bed until you’re truly feeling well enough to resume your normal daily tasks.

Of course, he has to stay with you in case you need something! Can’t leave his injured partner alone, wouldn’t dream of it!

Vox 🖥️

(I know he’s not at the hotel, pretend you just walked into V Tower instead, k?)

REVENGE REVENGE REVENGE

“WHAT. THE. FUCK?! Who? Where? When? HOW FUCKING HOW DARE THEY-“

You’ll have to cut him off or he’ll go on an entire raging tangent about revenge and eventually short circuit lol

“Voxy, I’m okay. Don’t worry about it. I just wanna get clean and go to bed.”

He slowly cools off and begins to focus more on you and your injuries, asking if you’re okay or if there’s anything he can do. Now behind closed doors, his entire attitude changes.

He’s following you into every room, watching you with an expression of intense sadness and concern, wishing he could take all your pain and give it to himself instead. He’d suffer for you if it meant seeing you happy and healthy

Sits in the bathroom in silence but keeps you company while you wash up. He might ask if you need help but also wants to give you space and make sure you feel safe

Assists you in getting dressed while making it very romantic and being very attentive. Vox will so slowly slip your pajamas onto you while letting his claws ghost over all your bruises.

Will lean in and kiss your busted lips right as your head pops through the top of your shirt, followed by a smile and probably more kisses

Listen, most of these boys are gonna become way more over protective after this incident okay? Vox is most definitely not an exception

Insists that either He’s gonna be with you every where you go from now on or he’s gonna send security with you every where you go from now on.

And no matter who is with you when you’re out in the streets, his cameras will also be watching over you.

Oh yeah, and he goes back in the cam footage and has a perfect view of the whole incident. He watches it over a few times before ordering a hit on every sinner who dared to mess with his lover.

You’ll never have to worry or look over your shoulder or worry again 😘

Alastor 🩸

Doesn’t say much or even stay long to worry about you at first.

He’s more angry and bent on revenge than anything. He’s worried about you too but he knows you’re strong and can take care of yourself.

He slips off to do some exploring and investigating to find out who did this to you

Spends maybe an hour figuring it out and then promptly goes on a murder spree to take care of all those pesky sinners who dared to lay a finger on his beloved

Okay, now that that’s out of his system, he can come back and take care of you.

Isn’t as cuddly and romantic as the others but he still babies you and refuses to let you do anything for yourself.

“Now now, darling. Just relax. I’ll have you cleaned up and feeling better in no time.”

Bathes you, dresses you, tucks you into bed all while humming slow tunes to you

Doesn’t cuddle you but sits on the bed beside you and gives your head some gentle pets

“You won’t have to worry any longer, my dove. I took care of those degenerates and I’ll never let you wander the streets of hell alone ever again.”

Will place a gentle kiss on your throbbing head before leaving you to rest.

He’s serious tho, anywhere you go he goes too. You’re never leaving his sight again ❤️‍🩹

[ladykailitha]

Eddie Lives!

Here we are at the final day of celebration! Thank you all who have followed along with me and sent me all the asks.

Sorry I didn't end up doing the headcanon asks, but I've done a lot of headcanons in the past and I still had a bunch of asks from WIP Wednesday so I hope you weren't too disappointed.

Summary: Steve hauls Eddie out of the Upside Down and now is forced to wait until he wakes up from his coma. A million seconds. But who's count? Steve.

Also this is loonnnng. Like longer than I would normally put in one post, but I'm taking my hiatus starting tomorrow and I really don't want two stories hanging over my head when I already have the dream soulmate one that I'll still be putting out.

~

March 27th, 1986

Steve woke up in hospital, his sides, arms, and back completely bandaged and one angry Robin glaring at him.

“It’s a good thing you fainted after getting Eddie to the hospital,” she growled. “But that doesn’t excuse from fainting in the first place. You were septic! You could have died!”

Steve grimaced and said, “But I didn’t?”

She glared at him harder. He wasn’t sure how she managed it, but somehow she managed to look even angrier then before. “Yet! I haven’t decided if I forgive you or not. So you still might end up on the Missing; presumed dead list yet!” She crossed her arms in front of her chest, glowering.

Robin launched herself at him, hugging him tightly. “I thought I lost you, dumbass!”

Steve sighed and held onto her just as tight. “It’s gonna take a lot more than an evil wizard and all his minions to keep me from you.”

She pulled back and looked at him, tears streaming down her face. “You promise?”

“I promise,” he swore. “Now, tell me about everyone. And I mean everyone. Even if it’s just we don’t know yet. I desperate for news.”

“First off,” she said sitting back down with a sigh, “we only know that El is alive because she piggybacked on Max to take out Vecna, but we don’t know if the others are with her. Max is alive. She has two broken arms and one sprained leg, but they have her in a medically induced coma for the shock. Lucas and Erica ran afoul of the Three Stooges, Jason, Chase, and Andy, but Lucas managed to kick his ass and get the headphones on Max before the damage was done.”

“Assholes,” Steve growled. “Once I’m out of here, I’ll kick all three of their asses personally.”

Robin snorted and cocked her head to the side. “Jason’s dead, the bastard. A vine burst through the Upside Down and bisected him. So yeah...Erica is still insisting that was the most traumatic thing she’d every seen.” She went on to tell him about the whole event in the Creel house attic.

“May he rot in hell, then,” Steve said fiercely. “I’ll just kick Chase and Andy’s asses then. Jesus fuck, Andy needs to be in jail or something. Psycho.”

“Agreed!” Robin crowed. “So they’re all okay. Dustin busted his ankle, the idiot, trying to get to Eddie. Everyone else is fine.” She paused for a moment. “Which I guess is just me and Nance.”

“You’re avoiding talking about Eddie,” Steve said bluntly. “Did he—”

“We don’t know yet,” Robin said waving her hands back and forth. “He’s in surgery. Still. But! He’ll be in here with you! If–I mean when he gets out of surgery.”

“Robin...” Steve warned. “What aren’t you telling me?”

She sighed. “I hate it when you’re the one with the brain cell. It’s so annoying.” He glared at her until she folded. “Fine. They aren’t sure he’ll survive the surgery and that if he does, he’ll make it twenty-four hours before succumbing to his injuries anyway.”

Steve let his head drift back onto the pillow and pressed his lips together, he let out a shuddering sigh and then another. “I want to be angry. Or even sad or surprised. But I’m not, I’m more surprised that either of us made it to here if I’m honest.”

Robin sat in the crummy plastic chair and let that sink in for a moment. “Yeah.”

Steve drifted off to sleep to the sounds of Robin breathing and the beeping of his own heart.

~

March 28th, 1986

They wheeled Eddie in at 3:27:09 in the morning. Steve had been awake before that, dozing in and out of consciousness when the nurses came in with Eddie all bandaged up.

The first thing Steve noticed was that they hadn’t touched his hair. It had merely been pulled out of his face so his neck was clear for them to operate. The next thing he noticed was that his hands were free of any harm, just a couple of nicks and cuts, but no real damage.

From what Steve could make out craning his neck, it seemed the most of the damage had been to his neck and torso. Which was good, that was where Steve had concentrated his first aid efforts. It was nice to see he had been right.

The sound of Eddie’s heart monitor lured Steve back to sleep.

~

Steve woke up the that morning and looked over to see that Eddie was still not awake. He sighed. He knew that the doctors didn’t have faith that Eddie would last another day, much less wake up. But he had to believe.

The alternative was just too horrible to bare.

Robin was there first thing in the morning, hugging him dearly. “Have they said anything about how the surgery went?”

Steve shook his head. “They’re waiting until Wayne gets here.”

They didn’t have to wait for too long as Wayne showed up not long after Robin had. The doctors soon afterwards.

“I have to admit, your nephew is one tough son of bitch,” the doctor said, cocking his head to the side and then shaking it. “Every time I thought I was going to lose him on the table, he would come back even stronger. We have him in a medically induced coma to help him heal that damage. He looks like one of those kids from the news only eaten instead of their limbs being broke.”

“That’s horrible,” Wayne said, his brown eyes filling tears. “Will he wake up?”

“That’s up to him I’m afraid,” the doctor said solemnly. “If he manages to stay stable for six to seven days, then we will take him off the medicine and let him come to naturally.”

Steve breathed a sigh of relief at that, and Wayne did too. Eddie was a fighter, no matter what the Upside Down tried to teach him, he stood his ground when it mattered most.

But most importantly, something the doctor said made the hamster wheel in his head, start turning.

Robin eyed him critically as Wayne and the doctor talked about treatment options and how the next few days were going to look for Eddie.

As soon as the doctor left, she rounded on him. “All righty, Steve. I can smell your hair burning from here. What’s got you thinking?”

“The doctor thinks that Eddie was one of the serial killer’s victim,” Steve said slowly, “Max too, I bet and since they were brought in together, so if they say that it was...” he paused for dramatic affect and both Wayne and Robin leaned forward in anticipation.

He cocked his head to the side, “Say, Jason Carver?”

Robin slapped his arms. “Holy shit, Steve that’s perfect. Carver’s dead, both Max and Eddie are in coma’s. Lucas and Erica would totally agree to say it was Jason.”

“One problem,” Wayne said, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. “You’re not going to get Andy and Chase to turn on him.”

Steve grinned like a hyena. “Oh but I know I can. I’m pretty sure the threat of prison for the torture of one Gareth Hughes would be stellar incentive to say that Jason made them do it.”

Robin and Wayne shared a glance. Then Wayne looked over his shoulder at his nephew. He turned back to Steve.

“Yeah, son,” Wayne said slowly. “That about sums it up. I’ll let Hopper and that Dr. Owens know and get the ball rolling. The only reason he’s not in cuffs right now is the police don’t know he’s here, not with so many people injured, missing or dead thanks to that earthquake.”

Steve looked over at Eddie. “And the faster we move the less time he’ll be in handcuffs, better if it’s no time at all.”

~

March 30th, 1986

They released Steve two days later. He didn’t like it, he tried to protest that he would be better taken care of there at the hospital, but was told that they really needed the beds. They were letting go anyone who wasn’t critical and could manage without much help. Which unfortunately meant him.

So with Robin’s promise to help him change his bandages twice a day, Steve signed the release forms.

Then he strolled right back up to the reception desk and signed in as a visitor. The receptionist glared at him, but couldn’t turn him away. But she did make him wait.

“We are putting someone else in that room,” she huffed. “So you’ll have to wait until the nurses are done getting it set up.”

Steve blinked at her for a moment, slack jawed and then he nodded and sat down in the waiting room.

Robin came up to him and sat down beside him. “You do know that Wayne is in there watching him? You could go home, get a shower and come back.”

Steve blushed a dark red and hung his head. “I know and I should but I’m afraid that if I do, I’ll be bombarded with people wanting things from me when all I want to do is be here, for Eddie and Max.”

“Oh.” Robin blinked at him for a moment and then put her head on his shoulder and took his hand in hers. “I know it’s hard when everyone is pulling you different directions and you feel like you can’t say no, but you really can. Tell them no. Tell them that from visiting hours you are otherwise engaged and that if they want something that they can wait until afterwards.”

Steve sighed and rest his head on top of hers. He knew she was right but it was so hard. He just wanted to do something good for a change, and staying with Eddie felt like that was that.

“I’ll stay here,” she promised. “Hold down the fort and will call you if they let us back in before you get back.”

He let out a shuddering breath and then another. “And you’ll help me with the bandages again?” he asked chewing nervously on his lip.

“Of course I will,” Robin said and gently pushed him off her. “Now go!”

Steve got unsteadily to his feet. Robin snorted and shook her head.

“And maybe a nap you dork,” she huffed. “And don’t give me that BS about needing your bandages back on, I know you’re a stomach sleeper. And it would be good to let the water dry before getting back into your car.”

Steve blushed deeply and then nodded. He shambled off to his car and then got in. He braced himself against the wheel and tilted his head back. He wasn’t sure he should even be driving. He knew he shattered but didn’t want to leave Eddie behind.

Suddenly there was a tapping on the window. Steve startled and looked the window to see who had scared the shit out of him. His jaw dropped and scrambled back out of the car, throwing his arms around Hopper.

Hopper grabbed his face and sobbed happily. “I heard you got hurt and feared the worst, but you’re okay. You’re okay.”

“And you’re alive!” Steve whispered back. “I think that’s the greater miracle here.”

“I’m okay, Steve,” he said with a wobbly smile. “So is everyone else. Joyce, Mike, Will, Jonathan, El, and even Jonathan’s little stoner friend. I’ll tell you all about it later, you looked like you were heading somewhere.”

Just then Steve’s knees buckled and Hopper was forced to catch him before he fell. “Or maybe you should be back in the hospital, kid.”

Steve shook his head. “I literally begged them to stay, but there are too many people who need beds and I’m low priority.”

Suddenly he felt a warmth infuse his bloodstream and he was a little less exhausted. He looked over Hopper’s shoulder to see El standing there in an all white jumper wiping a bit of blood from her nose.

“Supergirl!” he cried and she joined in the huddle. “I’m glad you’re all okay.” He kissed the top of her head. He could feel the weight being lifted off his shoulders now that there were actual adults in town.

Hopper turned to El. “Hey, sweetie, would you tell Joyce and the boys that I’m going to take Steve home and will be right back?”

El nodded. “I’m glad everyone made it out okay,” she whispered before she slipped out of their grasp to do as she was told.

“Come on, kid,” Hopper huffed, “let’s get you home.” He gruffly got Steve into the passenger seat and slid into the driver’s seat.

The wheel hit his knees. He snorted and spent a good while adjusting everything so that he could fit in the damn car. As he pulled out of the hospital parking lot he cursed, “This is why I prefer trucks.”

“Maybe after this all blows over we can get me one,” Steve murmured from where he was pressed against the glass of the window, almost asleep.

Hopper looked over at the now sound asleep Steve and shook his head. “Yeah sure, kid. Whatever you want.”

~

Hopper manged to get Steve showered, rebandaged, fed, and into bed with very little fuss, though he could tell that Steve was clearly worried about the Munson kid. And after getting the story from him he could see why.

He decided he was going to make a short pit stop on the way back to the hospital. Maybe with the Ghost of Chiefs Past, he might be able to scare them into dropping the charges on Eddie Munson.

He knew the kid, better than he would have liked to admit; having bought weed off of him a time or too many. But Munson was as dangerous as a roasted marshmallow. He might appear hard on the surface, but he was soft and gooey on the center.

So Hopper strolled into the police station and no one stopped him. Probably thought he was ghost. And maybe he was. He hadn’t felt alive in a long time. Not since Sara died. Yeah, sure, the Upside Down and El had pulled him out of a funk. Joyce, too. But feeling alive?

He couldn’t say that for sure.

The door to his old office was open.

Good.

He strode right up to the desk, slamming his hands on the desk and growled, “Boo!”

Calvin Powell let out what could only be called a shriek. Then he saw who was standing there in all his six foot three inches of not dead Jim Hopper glory and shrieked again.

“Miss me?” Hopper said gruffly, a slow grin taking over his face.

“But you’re supposed to be dead!” Powell cried.

Hopper stood up and slammed the door shut, then he pulled up a chair, flopping in it. He put his boots up on the desk and settled into chair, locking his fingers together over his belly.

“The news of my death has been grossly exaggerated.”

“You’re actually alive,” Powell said breathlessly. “Holy shit. Where have you been?”

“A Russian prison fighting monsters from another dimension,” Hopper said with a grin.

Powell stared at him. “Uh, okay. Um... yeah. So how long have you been back into town?”

Hopper glanced at his watch. “Five hours, seventeen minutes and roughly twenty-three seconds.”

The sound that escaped Powell sounded like a cross between whine and a whimper, much like air being let out of a balloon.

“Oh.”

“So Cal,” Hopper said dryly, “I’ve been hearing some very not good things about how the police have been run while I was dead.”

“Now see here!” Powell said leaping to his feet. “You don’t know what’s been going on, kids being murdered in gruesome ways, other kids run around trying incite a mob, and even more kids trying to be cops. I’ve had my hands full!”

Hopper licked his lips slowly and examined his finger nails. “You’re even dumber than I thought.”

“What?”

The look on Powell’s face was comical. He looked like a fish out of water.

“You put Rick Lipton in jail for a start,” Hopper said shaking his head.

“He’s drug lord!” Powell huffed. “Of course I put him in jail.”

“Yeah, so who’s supplying the drugs now?” he asked, cocking his head to the side.

“No one!” Powell cried out, his breath starting to quicken. “That’s the point!”

“See? That just proves how dumb you are.” Hopper shook his head. “Drugs were found in the Munson trailer, right? So where did they come from if Lipton was in jail?”

Powell’s jaw dropped.

“You were so concerned about the murder that you didn’t look into anything else,” Hopper growled. “I used to be like that until that Byers boy. But killing the snake you know just invites snakes you don’t to fill the gap. Also what do you really have that proves Eddie Munson did any of the killings?”

Powell frowned and slowly sat down. “How do you know about that?”

“For fuck’s sake Cal,” Hopper growled sitting up, waving his arm. “It’s all over town. I’ve heard it from four separate people and I’ve only been in town for less than a day.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’!” he snapped. “You only have the word of two traumatized kids that he, what? Levitated them, broke their bones and gauged out their eyes? You want to know what that sounds like to me?”

“Drugs?” Powell whispered, hanging his head.

“Drugs, Cal!” Hopper bellowed. “And I hear you let that Carver kid just take over the town meeting and he damned near got the whole town after someone who you had no evidence of wrong doing? I’m even willing to bet that you don’t even know that Munson is in the hospital in a coma from being ripped apart. You want to what I think?”

Powell let out a shuddering breath. “No, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me anyway.” He settled back against the chair.

“Sounds to me that someone has been killing these kids in a ritualistic murders,” Hopper said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Munson is just one of the victims not the perp. The kid doesn’t have a wicked bone in his body. I don’t know who I’d pin for it, but not him.”

“He deals drugs to high school students,” Powell said, ticking things off on his fingers, “he repeated his final year of high school twice, his dad is in prison and who the hell knows where his mother is? Probably drugged up in a ditch somewhere. Wayne Munson never graduated from high school. He plays that game. The ‘kid’ as you call him is a bad egg, Jim and you know it.”

“Weed,” Hopper huffed. “He sells weed. I’m gonna bet that the other drugs that were found weren’t enough to sell, probably only samples.”

Powell got up and went to his filing cabinet and pulled out the Munson file. He opened it up and proceeded to flip through it. He muttered the amounts and then let out a sigh.

“I wouldn’t even consider them samples,” he huffed, handing the file to Hopper. “They’re barely enough personal use.”

Hopper looked through the file, slowly and methodically. “You ain’t got jack shit and you know it. Were you really going to railroad this kid on so little information? Like this would barely make it past Mac’s desk let alone a fucking jury.” He slammed it on Powell’s desk. McKenzie Peterson was a hard-nosed district attorney who had gone after former mayor Larry Kline with both barrels.

“So what do you expect me to do, Jim?” Powell asked. “They’re baying for my blood and want answers now, not later.”

“Your fucking job for a start, Cal,” Hopper said standing up. “Find out who really did it. Because it sure as hell ain’t Eddie Munson.”

He walked out the door, leaving a defeated Sheriff Calvin Powell in his wake.

~

April 2nd, 1986

Over the next couple of days, between the efforts of Hopper, Dr. Owens, and Wayne, the police department posthumously declared Jason Carver the killer and the town got to focusing on healing and rebuilding their town.

Steve spent everyone moment that he could visiting Eddie and Max, the hospital putting the two of them in the same room.

Which helped assuage Steve’s guilt about wanting to make sure Eddie woke up and being their for Max.

So every day Steve watched both of his friends. Everyone else came through on a rotation, Wayne being the only constant. Lucas had wanted to spend everyday with Max, but his parents insisted he go back to school.

The basketball team refused to look him in the eye and the Hellfire Club had been disbanded, permanently.

Well, all right Nancy and Robin were fighting to get it reinstated, but for now it was dead in the water.

On the fifth day, Max opened her eyes. And after several tests, they determined that she would see again, but with needing glasses.

“Great,” she huffed. “Now I’m going to be a nerd.”

Lucas burst out laughing. “Welcome to club.”

Steve could tell she wanted to cross her arms but couldn’t with them both in a cast.

Soon enough, Susan had gotten everything ready for Max to come home, and the hospital released her at the end of the week.

Steve stopped one of the nurses as Susan wheeled Max out to her car.

“Who’s going to replace Max in Eddie’s room?”

He didn’t want it to be some stranger who’s family might not appreciate Eddie’s presence in their loved one’s room.

“No one,” she promised. “We’ve been able to clear out a lot patients to other hospitals or sent them home. We don’t need to double up any more. He’ll be able to have the room to himself.”

Steve let out a sigh of relief. “That’s great. Yeah, really great news. Thank you.”

She nodded and then went to help Susan get Max into her car.

He let out a shuddering breath and went back into Eddie’s room. After making a pit stop for the trunk of his car, that was. He knew that even with the press and the police saying Eddie was innocent that certain people might take exception to that. And he was going to protect Eddie at all cost.

~

April 5th, 1986

Steve stopped at the door when he saw someone he didn’t know.

“Uh, this room is off limits if you aren’t on the approved guest list,” Steve growled, moving slowly toward the lamp in the corner in case he needed to defend Eddie.

The man, or rather kid turned around. He was black kid wearing a Megadeth t-shirt. His hair was neat shaven and Steve could tell he had an easy smile.

“I think I’d be more concerned that you’re on it, Harrington,” the kid said, cocking his head to the side, “then me being here if I’m honest.”

“I’m the one who resuscitated him and brought him barely breathing to the hospital,” Steve said with a sneer. “So you if you don’t tell me who you are I’m gonna start screaming.”

The kid held up his hands. “Jeff Lawrence I’m in Hellfire and Corroded Coffin with him, you know, his band?”

Steve tilted his head to the side. “The other guitarist, right?”

Jeff blinked at him for a moment and then huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, man that’s me. I’m not as good as Ed, but I do alright.”

“I’ve only heard him play once,” Steve said with a shrug, coming further into the room. “And that was a six minute song that came out only three weeks ago, so if he’s more impressive than that, then he really should be selling out stadiums, not playing to five drunk dudes every Tuesday.”

Jeff stared at him in wide-mouthed shock. “Holy shit. How do you know so much about him?”

Steve moved to the other side of Eddie’s bed and Jeff’s body moved to keep him in his sights. “I’ve been soaking up whatever information Wayne or any of the kids have been able to tell me.”

“Kids?” Jeff’s confusion only cemented more and more with each word out of Harrington’s mouth.

“Dustin Henderson, Lucas Sinclair, and Mike Wheeler,” Steve said with a shrug, picking at the blanket draped over Eddie like a shroud. “I think they’re all in Hellfire with you guys.”

“Uh, yeah,” Jeff said. “I know them, but how do you them?”

Steve raised his head and Jeff was struck by how haunted Steve looked. His eyes had bags under them, his cheeks were shallow, and his clothes hung off him.

“Man, what the hell happened to you?” the words were out Jeff’s mouth before he could even think not say them.

Steve looked at him slack jawed for a moment before he realized what Jeff was asking. “Oh! Eddie and I were both mauled by the same animals, so I’m getting over my own injuries. I just wasn’t bad as Eddie was so I got released a couple of days ago.”

“Maybe they should readmit you, dude,” Jeff said cocking his head to the side. “Because man, you look like shit.”

Steve barked out a laugh. “I’ll bounce back, I always do.”

“Whatever you say, man,” Jeff said pulling up a chair and sitting in it. “So back to how you know Eddie’s lost sheep...”

“I’ve known them since they were barely middle schoolers,” Steve huffed with laughter. “Mike Wheeler is my ex’s little brother and they’re friends with Jonathan Byers’ little brother, Will. You know, Zombie Boy?” He shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Whatever the fuck that is supposed to mean. Like it wasn’t as though he was actually dead.”

“You’re different than what I thought you’d be,” Jeff admitted. “I thought you’d deny knowing them if I’m honest. Because those kids talk about nothing else but how cool you are. But you straight up defended them like a mama bear. I like that.”

“Oh!” Steve said, the light coming back into his eyes even just a little. “I get it. Bit of an ass in school, couldn’t possibly be the hero the kids described. I’m not sure I believe half the stuff I’ve actually done to protect those little shits and I did them!”

“There was the pack of wild dogs...” Jeff said, listing off the things they’d brought up.

“True,” Steve said shaking his head. “But that was because Dustin brought home a baby one and thought he could raise it on his own.”

Beat.

“It ate his cat.”

Jeff leaned forward, eyes wide. “No fucking way?!”

“Oh yeah,” Steve continued deadpan. “And then I had to help the little shit track it down when it escaped from his basement. Never getting a dog after that, man.” He shuddered a bit.

“Yeah okay that’s fair,” Jeff said, settling back in the chair. “What about t-boning Billy Hargrove’s car because he was about to run over a couple of them?”

“Don’t even regret it,” Steve said shaking his head. “Dude was a real asshole. Like the genuine article. Piece of shit. May he rot in hell.”

“Amen.”

Jeff looked at him for a moment. “So you were in the mall fire, too, huh?”

Steve nodded, fussing with Eddie’s blanket again. “Concussion number three.” He held up three fingers.

“Shit, dude,” Jeff said, shaking his head. “How many have you had?”

“If we include being hit in the head as baby, four that I know of.” He cocked his head and then nodded. “Yeah four.”

“What were the other two?” Jeff asked, even though he knew he really shouldn’t. It wasn’t any of his business. But here was King Steve sitting vigil next the bedside of his very comatose best friend and he was compelled to find out why.

“Jonathan Byers, junior year,” he half shrugged. “I deserved that one. But I was very upset and wasn’t thinking, I just wanted to hurt him the way I felt I had been hurt.”

Jeff could tell there was more to that story than what Steve was telling, but this time he really wasn’t going to pry. It was clearly too personal.

“And number two?”

Steve looked him in the eye and Jeff felt a fierce protectiveness coming from like the mama bear he had compared him to when Steve had walked in ready to fight him off.

“Billy Hargrove went after a friend of mine,” Steve growled, “because he was black boy daring to talk to his step-sister.” He tilted his head to the side. “Hargrove not the kid. I fully believe that if I hadn’t stepped between them, Billy would have straight up killed him. I had him on the ropes, too. The bastard cheated.”

Jeff snorted. “Yeah, how’s that?”

“He took a plate and smashed it into the side of my face,” Steve said, then shoved his tongue into his cheek.

“Wait...” Jeff huffed. “I think I do remember that. You came to school the following Monday looking like someone had dragged you face first into hell. And Billy stayed clear of you after that.”

“Yeah.”

They fell into a comfortable silence for a moment.

Jeff’s eyes drifted to the far too still form of his best friend. Eddie Munson wasn’t meant to be lying in a hospital bed, still as death. He was supposed to be jumping on tables and climbing things he shouldn’t.

“How long has he been here?”

“What day is it?” Steve muttered, wearily.

“Saturday the fifth,” Jeff supplied. He briefly wondered what kind of life Steve was living that he didn’t even know the day of the week.

“Eight days, twelve hours, seventeen minutes,” Steve rattled off and then he looked at his watch. “And 52 seconds.”

“And you’ve been keeping him safe the whole time?” Jeff breathed, leaned forward again.

Steve shook his head. “I was out of commission for a couple of days, but as soon as I could, I put myself between him and those that would hurt him.”

“Why?”

Steve frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Why are you throwing yourself into danger for a guy you barely know?” Jeff asked frowning back. “Like, you two are opposite sides of the cliques in high school. Hell, I know you were on the basketball team and that’s one of Eddie’s favorite topics to rant on. I don’t think the two of you had even spoke more than ten words together and now you’re swearing fidelity like some knight taking an oath from his king.”

Steve cocked his head to the side as he regarding the other boy. “He was the first person who treated me like a whole person and not just someone they could get something from. Even if that thing was protection or friendship. He saw me when everyone else just saw that jerk in high school. I gave all that up my junior year. Like I had almost a year and a half of not being that, but everyone makes excuses for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“‘Oh don’t mind him, he’s a reformed former jock’, ‘He’s a little dumb, but he means well’, ‘If it wasn’t automatic, he’d probably forget to do it, but he’s really good at hitting things, that’s why we keep him around.’”

Jeff’s breath caught in his chest. “And these people are your friends?”

Steve let out a snort of laughter. “They have other qualities that endear me to them, yes. But there was no judgment with Eddie. I think it was because he recognized someone who had been counted out again and again and decided he wasn’t going to add to the shit pile. So yeah, I would walk into hell for him.”

“Orpheus and Eurydice.”

“With a less tragic ending,” Steve whispered. “I hope.”

“Me too, man. Me too.”

~

April 8th, 1986

There was a knock on the door to Eddie’s hospital room.

Steve stopped from where he was reading “The Last Unicorn”. They had just gotten to the gypsy encampment.

He turned to the door where Amanda was peering around the door in at him.

“Sorry to disturb you,” she said with a sad smile. “But it’s just that visiting hours are up. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

Steve looked down at the book with a sigh. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll just be a minute and then I’ll clear out.”

She nodded. “Just don’t forget to sign out this time. You forgot yesterday.”

He gave her a jaunty salute and she laughed. She shook her head and closed the door behind her. Steve turned back to look at the still sleeping Eddie.

Because he was sleeping now. He had long since been taken off the medications that kept him under.

Long.

Steve snorted. As if it had been weeks or even months since they removed the tubing. It had been roughly four days. But it felt like an eternity to him. Because the long Eddie stayed in the coma, the less likely he would ever come out of it.

He started packing up his things and throwing away the garbage that had built up as he read to Eddie.

They all took turns reading to him as the doctors said that he could hear them. They all tried to read to him from the same book as to not confuse him with too many plots, but Wayne would read the newspaper to him. As if he was keeping Eddie up to date on all the happenings in town. As if Eddie would care.

Maybe he would.

Steve wouldn’t really know.

He shouldered the bag and walked over to the bed. He had been allowed to wash Eddie’s hair in a basin so it wasn’t a rat’s nest, so it was soft as he ran his fingers through his hair.

“I’m sorry, Eds,” he murmured. “They want me out of here. I don’t know why visiting hours end at five, not with most people getting off work then, but they won’t bend the rules for anyone. Not even your uncle. Which I thought was rude. He’s your flesh and blood. He should be able to visit you any time he wants.”

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to his brow. Like he had the last two nights after talking to Jeff. After the comparison to the Greek myth, Steve come to realization that yes, he was in love with Eddie. And that he had been bisexual for a really long time.

Only this time as Steve pulled away, he found that he was looking into the biggest brown eyes he had ever seen.

“Eddie?” Steve breathed.

“Steef?” Eddie mumbled back.

“Holy shit!” he said gleefully. “You’re awake! I have to the tell the nurses. But it’s so good to see you awake.”

Steve looked at his watch and the time read 5:13pm, he would have to do the math later. But Eddie had been asleep for almost two weeks.

He pounded on the call button.

Suddenly the room was being flooded with nurses as they responded to the call. They began fussing with Eddie’s equipment. Steve bounced on his toes for a moment and then rushed out to the pay phone.

He rummaged around for change but he didn’t have any.

“Shit!”

He pounded the zero and let it go to collect then dialed Wayne’s temporary digs.

“Please state your name for the person to accept your call,” came the polite female robotic voice.

“Eddieisawake!” Steve huffed into the phone.

But instead of hanging up and not accepting the charges like Steve thought he would, the call went through.

“Are you sure?” came the clipped voice of very worried Wayne.

“Yeah,” Steve said, a little breathless. “The nurses are in with him now. He said my name, Wayne. He remembered who I was.”

“I’m so glad you were there with him,” Wayne said, his voice cracking. “I’m on my way.”

“Would you at least call Dustin so he can spread the word?” he said, his own voice starting to wobble.

“On it!” Wayne said. “I’ll be there soon.”

“Bye.”

Steve ran back into the room and skidded to a stop just steps into the room. It was just Amanda and another nurse topping off Eddie’s fluids and adjusting the bed.

“I should have known you’d do anything to stay longer,” Amanda teased over her shoulder. “But I didn’t think that you would go so far as to wake up my patient.”

Eddie and the other nurse chuckled as Steve turned bright red.

Eddie held out his hand to Steve and like a moth to the flame, Steve took the steps to take his hand.

“I made it,” Eddie said with a crooked grin.

“You absolutely did,” Steve confirmed giving his hand a squeeze. “I called Wayne, he’s on his way. He also is going to make sure everyone else knows you’re awake.”

Eddie nodded. “Is– I mean did everyone else make it out okay?”

“Yeah, man,” Steve murmured, petting Eddie’s hair to soothe him. “Everyone’s fine. More than, actually. Apparently Jim Hopper is alive. But Vecna for sure is dead.”

Eddie let out a huff of laughter that turned into a sob of relief. “You swear it? Everyone is okay?”

Steve squeezed his hand again. “Yeah, we just waiting on you to be dramatic and come to.”

Eddie’s lip quivered as tears ran down his face. Steve started whispering all the things that had happened while he was asleep, by the time he got to the part where Steve fainted after bringing him barely breathing to the hospital, Wayne had arrived.

Steve stepped back and let the two of them have a moment alone. He chewed on his lip a moment before deciding to go back to the waiting room.

Thankfully it only had a couple of people in seats so he was able to have his pick while he waited for his friends to show up.

He was grateful when everyone showed up, even Eddie’s friends and Chief Hopper.

“He’s awake and talking,” he said, standing up to meet them. “The nurses have looked him over and everything is normal. Wayne’s in with him now.”

Dustin ran into Steve’s arms. “Thank you so much! He wouldn’t have made it without you!”

Steve put his arms around him and held him tight. As much as he wanted to refute the claim, he knew it was true. His first-aid skills combined with literally carrying Eddie out of the Upside Down and getting him to the hospital was why he alive to fight to live in the first place.

“Yeah, bud,” he whispered.

“Whoa!” Wayne said, coming out of the elevator to see the assembled crowd. “I wasn’t expecting to see all’y’all.”

“The news spread like wild fire,” Mike said with a shrug. “He’s our friend. We all wanted to make sure he was okay.”

Wayne chuckled. “Only a couple at a time and don’t stay too long.”

They all agreed and it was decided that the Corroded Coffin boys went first as they had been his friends for longer.

They all chatted while different groups went to talk to Eddie.

While waiting for his turn Dustin sat next to Steve and just put his head on his shoulder.

After a moment or two he raised his head and frowned. “What’s wrong with your watch? It’s flashing.”

Steve hummed and then looked at the watch. “Oh that. I was timing how long Eddie was in the coma.”

“Why?” Dustin asked, his brow furrowing deeper.

“Something to keep my mind off why he was in the coma I guess,” he said with a shrug. “I was reading about how if the coma went on too long he might never come out of it and I–”

“Yeah, I get it,” Dustin murmured. “Something to ground you when it seemed all impossible.”

Steve worked his watch off his wrist to show it to Dustin. “It’s a got a little stop watch feature that includes days, so I’ve been counting on it. I stopped it when Eddie woke up.”

Dustin gently took the watch, know how important it was to Steve not to accidentally erase the time.

Then he just started laughing.

Everyone stopped to look at him in confusion. The other patrons were eyeing him, clearly annoyed.

“How accurate do you think this is, Steve?” he said when he finally caught his breath.

Steve shrugged. “I mean, as accurate as it can be, why?”

Erica got up and took the watch away from Dustin and then raised an eyebrow at Steve. “There’s no way this is real.”

“It is though,” Steve defended. “They forgot to take off my watch when I fainted, and when they wheeled Eddie in I pressed the stopwatch button. It’s not like there are three dozen clocks in this place, so I just never used it for that.”

“What’s going on?” Wayne asked as he stepped into the waiting room with Jeff, Brian, and Gareth.

“Eddie being as dramatic as possible,” Dustin huffed with a giggle.

Both of Wayne’s eyebrows shot up. “And how’s that?”

Erica tossed him the watch which he caught.

“Eddie was in a coma for eleven days, thirteen hours, forty-six minutes, and 40 seconds,” Dustin said with a grin.

Wayne looked confused as everyone else good at math groaned.

“That dramatic asshole,” Jeff sighed.

“Anyone want to fill the rest of us in?” Robin said dryly, arms crossed over her chest. “For us people in which math was a struggle?”

“Eddie was asleep for one million seconds,” Mike said, grinning from ear to ear.

“Wait, what?” Steve said, cocking his head to the side.

“That’s how long Eddie was asleep,” Dustin said. “He woke up after a million chances.”

“Knowing Eddie,” Gareth said, “he probably heard the words one in a million chance of surviving the night and his brain took that to mean a million seconds.”

Steve laughed brightly. “Yeah, that sounds like Eddie. Dork.” He shook his head.

“Ed is asking for you, son,” Wayne said to Steve. “He just wants to talk to Steve alone for a moment and then he’ll see everyone else.”

There were some grumbles, but Max pointed out that Eddie probably wanted to thank Steve for saving his life and didn’t want other people there to see him blubber.

~

Steve walked into the room to find that Eddie was lightly dozing. He had had a rough day after all. He came up and stroked Eddie’s hair, gently rousing him from his sleep.

“If you need me to go out there and tell them to come back tomorrow so you can sleep I will,” Steve said fiercely.

Eddie shook his head. “I want to see everyone, I’m just resting my eyes.”

Steve snorted. “Nice try, Bilbo, but I’ve seen that movie.”

Eddie broke out into a grin. “Should have known there was a secret nerd buried in you somewhere, Stevie.”

“Do you even know Dustin at all, man?”

Eddie barked out a laugh. “You have a point. But yeah, I wanted to talk to alone for a moment.”

“And here I am,” Steve teased, throwing out his arms.

“So Jeff and the boys were telling me that you were my personal bodyguard while I was under.” Eddie twisted the sheet in his hands nervously.

“I know too well that once someone sees you a certain way,” Steve said with a half shrug, “that you could turn into a hellbeast and they’ll treat you like you never changed at all.”

Eddie winced. “The whole asshole jock that everyone else seems caught up on? Even though you haven’t been that dude in literal years?”

“Right in one,” he said. “Though yours is a lot more dangerous to your continued survival and I wasn’t going to let them undo all my work to keep you alive.”

Eddie ducked his head and Steve could make out the barest hint of a blush.

“Is that the only reason?”

Steve reached out and covered Eddie’s twisting fingers with his own to still them. “Did you want another reason?”

“Some would consider it an act of true love...” he mumbled.

Steve brought one of his hands to his lips and kissed it tenderly. “That’s because it was. I love Nancy, I always will, but I know how bad we are for each other.”

Eddie raised his head and looked Steve in the eye for the first time since he walked into the room.

“You’d want to be my boyfriend?” he whispered in awe.

Steve laughed. “Yeah, Eddie. I’d like that a lot.”

“Yay!” Eddie said with childish glee.

“And when you get out of the hospital I’ll take you on a proper date,” Steve promised.

“It’s a deal, Stevie,” Eddie murmured, fondness just oozing out of every pore.

Steve pressed a brief kiss to his lips. “I’m going to get the next gaggle, okay?”

“Yeah, babe.”

Steve kissed him again and then gave his hand a squeeze, before leaving to do as he said.

As the kids went into see Eddie, Steve turned to Robin.

“You’re on the clock now, missy,” he teased her. “You have until a certain someone gets out of the hospital to be the first of us to go on a gay date. So you better ask Vickie out before then.” He winked at her.

Robin’s eyes went wide. “You sly dog! I can’t believe you got a boyfriend before I got a girlfriend. I’m going to hate you forever.”

“No you won’t.”

She sighed. “No I won’t,” she repeated, putting her head on his shoulder. “I’m happy for you, dingus.”

“Thanks, Rob.”

As he sat there in the hospital waiting room waiting for his friends to come back, he never thought he would find love after Nancy and his relationship blew up. Back then he would have told you he had a one in million chance especially here in Hawkins, but now?

It was the start of something beautiful, he could feel it. He had something to look forward to for the first time since the defeated Vecna. He had a date to plan.

~

Tag List:

1- @itsall-taken @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @irregular-child @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request Grimmjow getting jealous of his s/o gushing over cute cats?

“Who’s a pretty kitty? Are you? Yes you are!”

Grimmjow growled under his breath. Watching [Y/N] pet some stray that had walked up to them and scratching behind the cats ears. Their loud purring and [Y/N]’s incessant cooing at them was getting annoying.

“Can we go? I’m tired of standing around out here.”

[Y/N] gave a quick ‘oh, sure’ and stood up. The two of them moved to leave and just as they got a few paces ahead, the cat was following them. “Awww! Look Grimm! He’s trying to follow us home.”

“This is why you shouldn’t pet strays.” He grumbled.

“But he was just so cute! Do you think he’ll really follow us the whole way home?”

Grimmjow growled again, then turned around a hissed loudly at the cat. The feline instantly shuttered and took off with it’s tail between his legs. “What was that for??”

“I don’t want it following us home.” He told them. Grabbing their hand and pulling them along.

[Y/N] frowned and tried to wrench their hand away. But, no luck. His grip was too strong. “That was still really mean Grimm. There’s no reason for you to scare the poor thing like that. He’s probably traumatized.”

The Arrancar scoffed. “Please. He’s a wild animal. He’ll be fine.”

“He’s a stray cat. Not a jaguar.”

“Which you already have at home.”

[Y/N] stopped all of a sudden. Acting as an anchor to their walk and stopping Grimmjow as well. “Is that what this is about? You’re jealous of a little cat.”

He looked shocked before he quickly frowned. “No! Don’t be stupid! I just don’t want all those fleas around the house. I don’t want to get contaminated just because you keep picking up strays.”

He pulled them along again, and this time [Y/N] followed. After a moment they told him, “if you want me to pet you when I get home I can.”

“I’m not jealous!” He snapped at them. But, after a moment as well, he told them, “if you wash your hands first….”

[persephonesdreams21]

NSFW Alphabet with Lee

A/N: I had to write something for him. This is the character that threw me into my Timmy obsession. Ugh Lee, my tragic handsome baby. I need everyone to write more fics for him kay thanks! Also side note- I try to keep my readers a little ambiguous so that everyone can feel included- but Lee and a chubby! Reader just make sense to me.

Warnings: Not safe for work. Smutty. Talks of Switchy/Bottom Lee. Lee x AFAB!Reader.

After Care(what they're like after sex)

Lee is surprisingly gentle after sex. He’ll grab the towel from the hamper in the corner and clean both of you up with it. You were super embarrassed about it the first time he did it but like. It’s something he enjoys doing, a part of his inner routine. He wants you to open your legs and let him wipe you down. Then a lot of the time he wants you to play with his hair. Needy thing.

“Spread em” Lee drawls as he comes back from the bathroom with a wet rag. You’re still loose limbed and fuzzy brained and it takes a minute for you to realize what he’s saying “Seriously, I’ll clean you up”

“You don't have to, it’s fine” Your messy cum wet thighs clamp shut.

He approaches you slowly, like you’re a skittish animal that might bolt. You’re two seconds away from burying yourself under your thick duvet and hiding from him. Lee sits by your feet and reaches for you. His rough fingers run along your smooth calf.

“But I wanna. If you’ll let me”

Body Part(their fave body part of theirs, and of their partners)

Lee’s too skinny, his words not yours. All ribcage and gangly limbs. If he’d have to pick a favorite, he’d say his hands. They’re capable; he’s got long tattooed fingers and calloused palms from hard manual labor. He can build just about anything with them. He can take care of you with them.

Lee loves your thighs and what's between them. They’re so wide, so plush. You complain about cellulite and ingrown hairs and he’s just like? What? They’re perfect. Let me use them as earmuffs. He wants to be cradled by them forever. Loves your belly too any thing he can dig his fingers into.

Cum(anything to do with it)

Lee is into watching both his cum and your own drip out of your puffy pussy after an intense bout of fucking.

It’s almost routine now, like praying before bed. Like watching the sun rise with your morning cup of coffee warming your hands before work.

The sex with Lee is always good. Always surprising. There’s nothing this man won’t do to you, or let you do to him. It’s an adventure with your best friend, one that ends in you both writhing in pleasure.

With him filling you up.

You and Lee hadn’t been together for long, your six month anniversary’s just on the horizon, but if you know anything about this man. It’s that once he got the green light, he doesn’t finish anywhere but inside of you.

And then. Then he wants to see the damage. He wants to peel your thighs apart and stare right at your puffy, swollen cunt. Ah, his poor baby’s pretty pussy. He’s gentle as his bony fingers probe the tender lips. Spreads them-

There’s your hole. The one he’d just pulled out of, all tiny again now that it’s not stretched around his girth.

He watches hypnotized as milky fluid, both his cum and yours, leaks from inside of you. So much that your body just can’t hold it, no matter how hard you try.

You have your routines. Your prayers. He has his. His religion is right here. In between your legs.

Dirty Secret(self explanatory)

Lee loves anal play. On both you and him. This boy wants to be pegged!

“Have you ever done that?” He asks as he sucks on the end of the joint he’d rolled for the two of you. There’s no judgment in his voice, just curiosity.

The topic is anal. And if you’ve ever had it.

“Yeah” you bite in your bottom lip. “It kinda sucked if I’m being real”

You’d had an ex who’d shoved his prick up your ass and made you cry. He hadn’t even taken the time to properly relax or lube you up. It had kind of traumatized you to be honest. You tell Lee all about it, because you tell Lee about everything these days. There’s no secrets between the two of you.

He frowns, thick brows furrowing “nah, it’s not supposed to be like that. That fucker didn’t treat you right, it’s supposed to feel good”

You shrug “If you say so”

“I do. I love the way it feels whenever anyone does it to me” Lee says it so casually, but keeps an eye on you, gauging your reaction.

“Really?”

“Really” it’s factual, punctuated with a little nod “I’d let you try it. If you want. We can like- do me first and then I could show you how anals actually supposed to feel”

Your pulse picks up with excitement. You can feel it in your pussy, and you know the way you squeeze your thighs together to get any kind of friction isn’t discreet.

Lee pretends not to see but his smile is hungry.

“Okay, yes. I want to try”

Experience(how experienced are they? Do they know what they're doing?)

Um. He’s so experienced. With both men and women. Lee’s done alot in his young age. Had to, to survive a lot of the time.

When he realized you didn’t judge him for his past, that's when he really started to feel the emotional attachment form.

“You’re not a bad person for what you’ve done, Lee. Everyone’s done shit they’re not super proud of…it doesn’t take away from who you actually wanna be”

Favorite Position(this goes without saying)

He doesn't really care. But he’s partial to you riding him. He loves feeling pinned underneath you and watching you bounce on top of him.

Goofy(are they more serious in the moment? Are they goofy?

Lee’s a fucking goofball. He’s making you giggle. He’s choking on laughter as you choke on his cock. He can be serious, for sure. But a lot of the time the two of you are very playful with one and other.

Hair(how well groomed they are)

Lee never really cared before you, but he gives himself a courtesy trim now. Still a pretty thick dark bush. You kind of love it. You also do not play about personal hygiene- showers Lee. You’ve got to take them. You know there was a point in his life when he didn’t have access to them. Had to bathe in rivers and McDonald’s bathrooms- but that’s not the case anymore.

He tried to pretend he doesn’t like your expensive skin creams you share with him but you’ve got him hooked.

Intimacy(how they are during the moment? The romantic aspect)

Lee has had a lot of sex with a lot of people, but it’s never felt like this. He's addicted to you. He wants to be close to you, inside of you, like 24/7. He really cant believe he gets to be with you and alot of the time when he’s fucking you he’s just staring at you. In awe.

Jack Off(masturbation headcanon)

Lee’s always got a hand down his pants lol. He loves to masturbate. He loves when you watch him stroke his cock. He wants to watch you play with yourself too. It’s a whole thing.

Kink(one or more of their kinks)

Peg him. Also- mommy kink. Yes. Lowkey might have a thing for breastfeeding/titsucking. He just thinks your’re the most luscious woman he’s ever met…and yeah he does lowkey have mommy issues.

Location(favorite places to do the do?)

After fucking and being fucked on the side of the road or in dirty bathroom stalls, he really just loves having sex in the safety of your apartment. In your big cozy bed or the comfortable couch.

He also likes it when the two of you go camping or stargazing and he can fuck you under the night sky, with only the stars at witnesses.

Motivation(what turns them on? Get’s them going?)

You and that teasing little smile you give him. The one where your canines look like fangs. The one that's usually followed by coy barely there touches and feather light kisses. Yeah. All it takes is a smile.

No(something they wouldn't do? Turns off’s)

He doesn't want to hurt you. He’s hurt so many people before. He can't do anything past mild choking and spanking. He WON'T.

Oral(preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc?)

He loves it. Both giving and receiving. But he just feels so good when hes between your thighs. He’s your pretty boy when he’s sucking on your clit. PLEASE sit on his face.

Pace(are they fast and rough, slow and sensual?)

Lee wasn't used to someone wanting to take their time with him. It almost made him uncomfortable the first time that you slowly ran your hands over his body. Cherishing him. Savoring the closeness to him. Kissing every inch of his skin, not caring about scars or cheap tattoos. It makes him feel flayed alive. He learns to love slow paced, agonizingly tender sex.

Quickie(their opinions on quickies, how often?)

Hell yeah.

Like he gets home from a long day at his shitty grueling job he just wants to quickly fuck your brains out, and then watch one of your shared TV shows before bed.

Or when you’re getting ready for a nice dinner out with your friends, and your makeups done. And your hair is all bouncy and you smell good enough to make his mouth water.

Or in the car before an aquarium date. Lee will take what he can get when ever he can get it when it comes to you.

Risk(are they game to experiment? Do they take risks?)

Loves taking risks in the bedroom. Honestly once the two of you have built that trust between each other, there’s not much you won’t do. Lee’s a Sub leaning Switch(in my humble opinion) and will literally lay back and let you have your way with him. He doesn’t care. There’s no shame in his sex game.

Stamina(how many rounds can they go? How long can they last?)

He can fuck. Over and over. He’s like a rabbit.

Toys(do they own toys? Will they use them?)

Lee’s game. But then again he’s game for pretty much anything. He likes making you writhe on your vibrator, overstimulating you until you're sobbing. Have you made him wear one of your butt plugs to dinner? Yes you have lol

Trips to Sex Shops are frequent, fun affairs.

Unfair(how much they like to tease)

Lee’s a fucking TEASE. He's just too good at playing the game of cat & mouse.

Volume(how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc)

Lee is sooo vocal and you adore it. You’ve never been with a vocal man and he’s such a whiner. He’ll whine and grunt and beg. He’ll dirty talk you to the ends of the earth. He’ll call you Mommy, Pretty Girl, Sweet Heart. Babe. Sexy. It all makes your head spin.

Wild Card(a random headcanon for the character)

Lee wants you to fuck him. Wants you to hold him in your arms and play with his rim. Prostate massages are “awesome babe. Here. Let me show you how to do it”

X-Ray(let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Big thick cock on that twiggy man. A healthy 7 1/2 inches and girthy. The first time you see it your eyes nearly bulge out of your head. You guess its true what they say about skinny tall boys.

Yearning(how high is their sex drive?)

Lee’s a very sexual creature. Like in a primal way. Every interaction can be erotic with him and its honestly a little bit overwhelming to be around.

Zzz(how quickly they fall asleep after)

Lee has his little routine after sex. Cleans the both of you up, half assed sometimes, and then he’s out like a light. No seriously. Lee has been homeless more than a few times in his life(I was exploring. It was by choice! he’d protest when you pointed it out) he’s slept under bridges and in tents and surfed lumpy couches. You and your warm pussy and your lush bed knock him out.

[love--and--venom]

A (Not So) Meet Cute: Chapter Two

Chapter Summary: You finally get home, the skz boys talk about you, and you get added to a very chaotic group chat (sorry i kinda suck at summaries)

Warnings: None for this chapter, it's mostly building plot

Series Masterlist

Chan held your elbow to steady you as you stepped over the shattered glass on the ground. Once outside, you started towards the closest bus stop, eager to get back to your apartment and take a goddamn nap. 

“Where are you going?” The grip Chan had on your elbow tightened slightly, stopping you from walking away. His eyebrows were furrowed, and you mirrored his expression.

“To the bus stop? How else am I supposed to get home?” This felt like an obvious answer to you. 

“Nah, I already messaged one of our drivers. He’ll be here any minute now to bring us to your apartment,” Chan explained. Your eyebrows shot up toward your hairline. 

“Us?”

“I’m not about to let you take public transport by yourself with your phone dead. You’ve had enough excitement for one day, yeah?” A car pulled up right as you opened your mouth to protest. Chan opened the back door, tilting his head like he was daring you to say no. You sighed but climbed into the backseat, scooting over when Chan got in next to you. 

“Hey Dohyun, thank you for getting here so quickly,” Chan greeted the driver. He dipped his head in a quick bow to return the greeting, then looked at you. You told the elder the name of your apartment building and he quickly returned to the road. The car was comfortably quiet, the only sound being a soft jazz melody. You stared out the window, trying to process the events of your day. All too quickly Dohyun was parking the car in a visitor spot in the apartment’s garage. You and Chan both unbuckled your seat-belts and you shot him yet another confused look.

“I don’t want to overstep your boundaries here. You can totally tell me to piss off, but I’d feel more comfortable if I could walk you to your apartment. I want to make sure your phone turns back on and my text went through,” Chan rambled in your stunned silence. “You don’t have to, of course, but-”

“Chan, it’s fine. You can come up for a bit,” you interrupted. Chan looked genuinely relieved. You shook your head and stepped out of the car. What the fuck was your life right now?! The Bang Chan was in your apartment, sitting on your couch. You focused on keeping your composure while plugging in your phone. 

“You’re going to press charges, right?” 

“Oh, um, I hadn’t really thought that far ahead. Maybe?” Your statement sounded more like a question. Chan shot you a look that you couldn’t decipher. 

“The other boys and I will help, you know. We’ll testify against that man,” Chan insisted. Your heart swelled with gratitude and admiration for the leader. You stomped down on the butterflies fluttering around your stomach.

Don’t get it twisted, Y/N, he’s being nice because you went through a traumatic event. He doesn’t- your thoughts were cut off by your phone vibrating endlessly on your desk. 

“Jesus, it figures I’d get a million notifications on the only day my phone is dead,” you mumbled in English and picked your phone up. Chan snickered behind his hand. You ignored most of the notifications for now, opting to look for Chan’s text first. You could go through the rest after he left. 

“You get it?” You nodded and sent a message back to him so he’d have your number. “Good. I should get back to the studio to make sure the boys are alright.” Chan stood. You walked him to your door, and he turned back to you once he was in the hallway.

“Seriously, I can’t thank you all enough. I don’t know what would have happened if Seungmin didn’t show up,” you repeated. Chan smiled but shook his head slightly.

“Is it alright if I give your number to everyone else?” 

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Alright, remember to text one of us if you need any help with the court process. Or just text us for fun. I think I can speak for all of us when I say we’d like to get to know you.” Your cheeks heated and you lost the ability to form a coherent sentence, so you just nodded. Chan looked very pleased with this. With a small wave, he strolled down the hallway toward the elevators. You closed your door, leaning your forehead against the wood to calm yourself. 

Chan returned to the car and hopped back into the backseat. Dohyun raised his eyebrows, giving the younger man a knowing look. Chan rolled his eyes but couldn’t contain his grin.

“Just get back to the studio, please,” he pleaded. Dohyun chuckled but didn’t inquire any further. 

Back at the studio, the other members of Stray Kids were discussing everything that happened while they helped clean up the mess. 

“How the hell did you manage to get such a cute girl’s attention?” Changbin poked Seungmin on the cheek. The younger swatted his hand away.

“Dude, she was being followed by a man she didn’t know,” Seungmin scoffed. “I happened to be the first person that went into the cafe.”

“Hey I had no idea what was going on!” Changbin held his hands up in surrender. “I came out here to Minho cursing and talking about calling the cops. Next thing I know, a brick is breaking our door and you and Chan are getting in some guy’s face.”

“You waited that long to see why we all left the recording booth?” Jisung teased. Changbin rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t notice you leaving, I was messing with the backing vocal track.” Seungmin dragged a hand down his face at the rapper’s obliviousness. Felix filled him in with an abridged version of the situation. 

“Oh, shit.”

“Wait, you didn’t know what was happening and yet you joined the fight anyway?” Seungmin quipped with his eyebrows raised. 

“I wouldn’t really call it a fight,” Felix commented. Seungmin glared at him half-heartedly. 

“You and Chan got up in the guy’s face. I trust you both, so I figured he must have done something to deserve it,” Changbin explained. The rumble of an engine interrupted them. Moments later, Chan was stepping through the broken door. Multiple voices spoke over each other until Chan raised a hand.

“Guys, guys, one at a time,” he sighed. “Before you even ask: yes she’s home safe and yes she said I can give everyone her number.” Jisung sprung up, phone in hand. “Jisung, chill. I’ll send her contact to the group chat.”

“You couldn’t have done that on your way back?” Hyunjin asked incredulously. The eldest just shrugged in response before sending your phone number to the “single father of seven” (Seungmin was to blame for the name) group chat. 

“You’re sure she got to her apartment?” Seungmin questioned. Chan nodded, still distracted by his phone.

“Yea, I waited with her until her phone turned on.”

“You got to go into her apartment?!” Jisung shook Chan’s shoulder. “You cheater!”

“What?! How and why am I a cheater?”

“You got to spend alone time with Y/N!” He accused. “You’re trying to get her to like you more.” Chan rolled his eyes at Jisung’s shit-eating grin. 

“You’re a menace,” Chan snickered. “Alright, we’re done for today. Let’s get back to the dorms.” The boys filed out of the studio. A second car had joined the one Dohyun occupied. Chan, Minho, Seungmin, and Jeongin climbed into Dohyun’s car while everyone else got in the other. 

“Hey, Chan?” Seungmin started.

“Yes, I told her that she should press charges and that we would help if she wanted it,” Chan answered before he could even ask the question. Seungmin closed his mouth, a little annoyed that he was so obvious but mostly relieved that you knew they would be there for you. The car fell to silence as they chatted in the newly made group, this one including you. 

You: I seriously can’t believe I’m texting Stray Kids right now :0

Jeongin: are you stay?

Seungmin: obviously not, if she didn’t recognize me lmao

You: hey!! I was a little distracted >:(

You: but to answer your question, i listen to your music sometimes but i wouldn’t say i’m a true stay

Jisung: booooooo! 

Hyunjin: im offended

Chan: pls chill i am begging

Felix: yea, its not that big a deal. we can turn her into a stay >:3c

You: oh sweet baby jesus, should i be scared?

Jisung: no

Hyunjin: no

Felix: no

Seungmin: yes 🙄

You: …………

Chan: im so sorry 

You giggled throughout the conversation. Sure, you were a little starstruck but you were definitely playing up your nervousness. It was funny watching them argue amongst themselves. You spent the rest of your afternoon half paying attention to a new show on Netflix, but most of your focus was on the group chat (which Jisung lovingly named “certified yappers”). You had an oddly warm feeling in your chest bloom as you learned more about the personalities hidden behind the idol image. 

You: i need to go to bed, i have work in the morning. gn guys!

You got a chorus of “goodnight” texts from everyone except for Seungmin. Oh, well. He might have fallen asleep already. No use worrying about it, you thought to yourself while going through your night time routine. Another text came through right after you settled under your blankets. You gaped at the message.

Seungmin: im walking you to work tomorrow. dont even bother arguing, ill meet you outside your building at 8:30. goodnight, Y/N