#i don’t really know How to do that and i don’t have That many hours in a day

[semisasseater]

I don't like how you paint me― se-mi

⤷ Yet, I'm still here hanging

pairing : gf!se-mi x fem!reader | genre : angst, hurt, romance for 1 second, drama| warnings : hurt, eavesdropping, self-doubt + insecurity, implied emotional neglect. | summary : Se-mi’s apartment had always felt like home to you—until you overheard her conversation with Min-su The words cut deep, shattering the sense of belonging you thought you had. Heartbroken, you leave without a word. | wc: 1,174 | authors note : guys i have something to say.. i fucking LOVE gabby also do yall fw the new layout?

if you enjoyed likes or reblogs would be amazing! feedback is appreciated also requests are open!!

Se-mi’s apartment had always felt like home to you. Maybe that was your mistake.

Your hoodie hung on the back of her chair. Your toothbrush sat next to hers in the bathroom. Your makeup cluttered the counter, your perfume lingered in the air. Every little thing made it seem like this was your place too, like you belonged there just as much as she did.

But you didn’t. Not really.

Not after what you heard.

It was supposed to be an ordinary night—one of many spent by her side. You had been talking, laughing, feeling the warmth of her attention. But when you went to grab a drink, you stopped in your tracks at the sound of her voice.

“No, Min-su, you—ugh. You just don’t get it. She’s just… how do I say it? Too clingy.”

Your heart stopped.

Min-su’s voice was hesitant. “Noona, don’t you think that’s a bit rude?”

“I know it sounds rude and stuff, but she acts like a fan. She’s obsessed with me! Name one time she lasted a week without sleeping over at my house. Almost all her clothes and makeup and shit are at MY place! Why can’t she just—I don’t know? Min-su, I already have a lot on my plate right now! I don’t need a clingy girl just hanging around my apartment like she lives there! She’s always coming without my permission and shit! She’s too much, she’s annoying, she always—”

You didn’t stay to hear the rest.

You turned on your heel and walked out before you could hear another word.

Did she really think that?

Like a fan? Like an overbearing nuisance?

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you swallowed them back. You couldn’t fall apart here, not in front of people, not when you needed to move.

You hailed a cab and went straight to her apartment—the apartment that was supposed to be your second home. And the moment you stepped inside, you saw just how much of yourself you had left there.

Clothes in the closet. Shoes by the door. Your favorite mug in her cabinet. Your books on her shelves.

God. No wonder she felt suffocated.

For the next hour and a half, you packed. Every little thing that was yours, you shoved into bags. One by one, her apartment stopped looking like yours and started looking like hers again. When you were done, there were four full bags of your belongings sitting by the door.

It finally looked like Se-mi was living alone.

Just like she wanted.

You stood there for a moment, forcing a smile despite the way your heart ached. You were being ridiculous, right? You were clingy. You were overbearing. You had practically moved into her space without asking. This was your fault, wasn’t it?

Your phone buzzed.

You looked down and saw her name flashing across the screen, dozens of unread messages filling your notifications.

“Y/n? Baby? Where are you?”

“Y/n, where did you go?”

“Baby, this isn’t funny.”

“You said you were just getting a drink. Where are you?”

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Please come back.”

“Did you go back to the apartment?”

Your grip tightened around the phone. How ironic. She was acting worried now, like she hadn’t just been complaining about how much she wanted space from you.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

Instead, you walked.

The 30-minute walk back to your own place felt longer than ever. By the time you got home, exhaustion weighed on your body, but the ache in your chest hurt more. You took a shower, scrubbing yourself clean, washing away the scent of her that still clung to you.

And then you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.

Tears slipped down your cheeks, silent but unstoppable.

Did she ever love you the way you loved her?

Was it all just too much?

The buzzing of your phone woke you at 1 AM.

More texts. More missed calls.

“Y/n, why didn’t you tell me you left?!”

“Who picked you up?”

“Why’d you take your stuff? I was fine with it being here.”

“Y/n, just please tell me how you’re doing. I’m really worried.”

“Please, baby…”

“Y/n… I’m confused about all of this. You left the party randomly, then you took all your stuff back. What’s wrong?”

You laughed bitterly through your tears. What was wrong? Really?

You stared at the screen for a long moment before typing.

“I heard you.”

And then you turned off your phone.

You needed to change.

You needed to be less.

Less clingy. Less needy. Less overbearing.

Even if it hurt, even if it meant suppressing everything, you would do it.

If it would make Se-mi happy—

If it would make her stop seeing you as a burden—

If it would make her love you again—

Then you would.

Even if it broke you.

@semisasseater

[juyeoz]

SOFT SPOT — HAN TAESAN

SYNOPSIS — To the eyes around you all, you and Taesan are enemies. You hate anything to do with each other and recoil at the mention of your names. However, behind closed doors, you two are completely different — inseparable. Clearly, Taesan and you will go to an extent to keep your relationship private.

PAIRING — fake-enemy-but-boyfriend!taesan x gn!reader

CONTAINS — kissing, corny love birds Likee i kinda recoiled when writing some lines, and literally just fluff.

WORDCOUNT — 1007 words

NOTE — soph sent that taesan pic and our lives were changed……..and this fic was born duhhh!!!!

“Absolutely not!” You exclaim and spin around in your chair after hearing a few words leave your superior's mouth.

Mr. Lee looks taken aback by your response. Yes, everyone knows about the ongoing battle between both Taesan and you, but your reactions to each other’s names being mentioned never fails to catch them all off guard. 

In the office, you and Taesan never get along. It's been this way since the beginning of your careers. 

Yes, you two have taken a liking to one another since you met, but you couldn’t let anyone else at work know about it, so you played it off as enemies. 

Well, you two at least pretended to want to do nothing with each other to make things less obvious. 

The “enemies” title was given by your coworkers.

Therefore, working with each other is never an option. You “can’t” even stand being in the same room as him, making working in the office a “terrible” experience.

“I won’t work with him.”

“Please, the two of you are the only free ones. We need this proposal by tonight.” Mr. Lee explains with a pleading gaze.

“Then I’ll work on it alone. I don’t need his help.” You say while collecting your scattered papers on the surface of your desk.

“That won’t do.” 

“And why is that?” 

You stack your papers into a pile and turn off your computer in a swift motion as Mr. Lee sighs from behind you.

“It’s too much for one person to handle. With his help, you’ll surely get it done.” He crosses his arms over his chest as you snicker.

Is he looking down on you right now?

“Whatever that means,” you begin and stand up from your seat, with your papers in hand. 

“I’ll work overtime. It can’t be that hard.”

Although it has only been three hours since you uttered those words, you surely are regretting them now.

There you sit, staring at a blank document showcased on your monitor. No matter how long you sit in silence, nothing is coming to your mind. 

Brain fog is after you, and clearly, it doesn't need to try so hard to catch up.

The longer you waited for something, a starting sentence, words — even an overall idea to come to your mind, the more and more workers left. The sun is starting to set, casting an orangey light on your belongings.

In distress, your hands pull at your strands as you let out a groan of frustration. 

You should have listened to what Mr. Lee suggested, but you couldn’t let your relationship become known.

Everyone is used to both you and Taesan rejecting any projects that have to do with one another, so, if you switched up, would they have questioned it?

It sucks, really. You want to spend time with your boyfriend at work, but there are too many eyes on the two of you. To be honest, you can’t even recall why you chose to keep your relationship a secret. It could be because of the awkward tension that would come if you two ever break up and everyone knew about it.

That is a possibility.

The only times you two interact romantically are in the break room when you coincidentally both end up there at the same time. The teasing glances that make your eyes lock with one another and break out into a smile. Or when he secretly leaves anonymous sticky notes on your desk belongings.

Other than that, there is nothing. However, despite that, things will be seen eventually. 

“What’s worrying your pretty mind, love?” A voice approaches you from behind, instantly calming your tense figure due to the familiar warming tone. 

It’s Taesan — your loving boyfriend and so-called workplace enemy.

“A proposal.” You inform as Taesan’s hands slide down from your shoulders and his chin rests on your head.

“Is it the one Mr. Lee suggested we do together?” He asks and you hum in response.

“Why’d you say no? I would be more than glad to help you.” 

“It’ll draw too much attention if I agree, no?” Your head begins to turn to look his way, causing him to rise from his resting position. He looks down at you and smiles while you look up at him.

“That’s too bad.” Taesan begins, then leans down to give you a short and sweet kiss on the lips, which you happily return. 

“If it didn’t, then I could’ve done that many times during work hours instead of after hours.” He teases while your face becomes slightly flushed.

“Why don’t I just help you now? I mean, there’s nobody around…” The boy suggests as your hands lower into your lap.

“Would you actually?” 

“Of course. Here, let’s have a food break first. You seem too overwhelmed by everything to even continue your supposed brainstorming process.” 

You roll your eyes at what he truly meant — your flustered expression — and rise up from your seat for him to lead the way to the break room. 

“A coffee will do?” Taesan questions and you nod. 

“That and your presence, of course.” You reply, giving him another kiss on the cheek once you reach his side.

“Hey.” He stammers out because of the sudden warmth on his cheek. Now, it’s his turn to be left a blushing mess.

“Only I can catch you off guard with a kiss.” He says and you laugh while interlocking your hand with his. 

Out of nowhere, his thumb rubs against the skin of your hand — a reflex he has whenever he intertwines your fingers with his own.

You hum at his words, pondering on his new sudden rule.

“Doesn’t that seem unfair?” Your brow raises as you say your question and look over at the boy interrogatively. Taesan looks back at you, holding eye contact with no signs of breaking it and smiles.

“Not at all.” Taesan replies to your question.

Best believe, after his words, you earned yourself another kiss on the lips for him to prove whatever point he had.

© JUYEOZ

BOYNEXTDOOR PERM TAGLIST — @ancnymcnzjy @miumura @ilovedallywinston @i03jae @borednia @s0shroe @leehanwish @sol3chu @en-dream @ribbeoms @itsactuallylina @macapunoz @hollxe1 @r1kification @mensisim @mydearyeseo @sunghxxnie @taesanfav @wonzzziezzzz @ijustwannareadstuff20 @tanghuyuj @ranjupotato @mimimimiaa @ningizuo @hyunjinslongasslegs

[vershautece]

you and lu watching your own sex tape together :)

the two of you are cuddling in bed - you’re watching a movie curled into lu’s chest, legs entangled in his, while he scrolls through his phone, playing with your hair absentmindedly and pressing soft kisses to your forehead. there’s comfortable silence between you for a while as the movie plays, and you’re starting to fall asleep so you’re not really paying attention to it. you move down his body a little to lie completely on him, head nuzzled into his neck. your eyes start to flutter shut, so content in the moment when suddenly you feel lu’s erection against you. you shift a little against him, seeing if he reacts, and you hear his breath hitch and his clothed cock harden even more. he’s still on his phone, and you sit up on his thigh, wrapping your arms around his neck and looking over at his phone to see what he’s looking at. before you manage to get a look at his screen, he turns to look at you with a teasing smile. ‘just going through my camera roll, beautiful’ he kisses your forehead. ‘every picture i have of you is perfect. you’re so pretty’

‘mm, baby’ you kiss his cheek, moving your hands to his curls. ‘i felt you getting hard under me’ you giggle, and he smirks at you in response, before going back to scrolling through the pictures. his camera roll is basically just you and pictures of his travels - he takes pictures of you whenever he thinks you look cute and sometimes when you’re not looking; he’s got pictures saved that you’ve taken yourself and sent him, and he’s got so many pics and videos of you on your knees for him, of him pounding you into the mattress, of you riding him, for those times when he can’t be around you and needs to see you. of course you’re right next to him now, and he didn’t mean to get hard but he was sorting through his camera roll and ended up lingering too long on certain pictures.

you watch as he scrolls through a few photos of you on holiday in mexico, and you’re blushing at what he says to you. ‘you looked so beautiful in this dress, bambina, i couldn’t take my eyes off you that night. always so perfect.’ and then he scrolls to the next photo, of you guys that same night a few hours later, with his thumb in your mouth while he’s above you in missionary. you choke out a gasp, forgetting he had that picture, and you start to feel your panties dampen because you’ve been sitting on his thigh for a couple minutes at this point and now you’re desperate for his fingers in your mouth. he bites his lip gazing at the picture, a slight smirk evident on his face again. ‘baby - so pretty f’me looking up at me like that. bellissima’ he kisses your cheek, and scrolls again. it’s a video in your hotel room, 20 mins long, and you remember the sex tape you both made that night. you’ve made a handful of them together, including two that went on for several hours, but you’ve never actually watched one back. luigi has, because they’re on his phone and he watches them when you’re away - he hates porn, instead using these videos of you as a healthy alternative to get off.

‘remember this night?’ he looks at you with those pretty hazel eyes, before kissing your nose softly. ‘i love this video, it’s my favorite of us’ he moves his arm around your waist, his thumb rubbing softly on your hip as you start to squirm on his thigh. ‘i’ve never seen it’ you reply, keeping your eyes on the screen as he presses play. ‘i know - you can watch yourself now, beautiful’ he tells you softly.

in the video, the camera is set up to get the perfect view of luigi on top of you while you make out. you’re wearing a tight mini dress, boobs spilling out because he’s pushing your dress down from your chest while he kisses you. watching this, you instinctively open your legs a little on his thigh, rocking on him without even thinking. too fixated on the video, you don’t see how he smirks at the feeling of your slight movement on him, but you do feel him grip your waist tighter. ‘look at your pretty tits, my love, hm’

‘i remember this night so well’ you say, but it comes out almost as a whine as you start to rock your hips on his thigh. ‘yeah, you do? me too, baby, i’m so glad i have it all recorded’ he looks at you, and then a teasing smile forms on his face. ‘mm, you okay, princess? you trying to get off on my thigh, huh?’

all you can do in response is let out a soft moan, and your hands around his neck move to his curls; you’re still moving slowly on his thigh in your tiny shorts as the two of you watch luigi grip and knead your breasts in the video. you start to knead one of your breasts while you watch, and you look down to see how impossibly hard luigi is right now, only turning you on more. he looks back at you: ‘you getting wet watching your pretty tits get played with, hm?’ & you nod, biting your lip as you move a little faster. ‘you need something, dolcezza? yeah?’ his eye contact is insane, and you nod, then respond: ‘mmm, baby, want you to make me feel good’

‘yeah, the way i do in the video, baby?’ he speaks so softly to you, and you can’t ignore the teasing glint in his eye. ‘carry on watching yourself, and you can tell me exactly what you want me to do for you, okay?’

you whine in response, as the video shows luigi, still on top of you, start to play with your clit as he sucks and massages your boobs. you’re both naked now, and the camera angle showing luigi’s muscular back and side profile is too much for you to handle. you can’t take the sexual frustration anymore, so you slip your hand into your panties under your shorts, and start rubbing your clit. luigi is transfixed on the video, hand starting to palm his cock through his boxers, but of course he notices your moans getting louder from beside him and he turns to look at you. the sight of you pleasuring yourself on his thigh sends a rush through his member, and he grips it tighter, while his brows raise at you in amusement. ‘i told you to tell me what you wanted, baby. take your hand out of your panties, if you wanted me to play with that pretty clit you could’ve asked me, my love.’ you whine as you remove your hand, the loss of contact frustrating you like hell, and you’re getting even more soaked as you watch him palm himself through his boxers while he looks at you. in the video your soft moans and his quiet grunts against you are getting louder, and you’re so desperate for him now.

‘cmon, what do you want from me, dolcezza? tell me’ as he speaks he turns his gaze back to the screen again to tease you, pulling his cock out of his boxers. you’re a whiny slut on his thigh, letting out a desperate gasp at the sight of his fully erect member. his hand slowly moves up and down the shaft as he bites his lip, watching how his fingers begin to slip down from your clit into your entrance in the video.

‘want you to play with my clit, lu, want your fingers inside me’ you moan, all you can do is continue rocking yourself on his thigh because he won’t let you do anything else - he knows he can pleasure you way better than anything you could do for yourself. he smirks at your words, pumping his shaft faster as he continues watching the video, where you’re now moaning his name loud, back arched as he fucks you with his fingers.

‘yeah, you want this right now, huh?’ he asks you, a soft moan escaping his throat. ‘mm, luigi, don’t tease me, god, you know i need you’ you’re getting so restless just straddling his thigh, riding it pathetically in your soaked panties and your frustratingly tight shorts while you wait for him to give you what you need. ‘i’ll give it to you, baby, i know. take your shorts off and push your panties to the side for me’

you breathe a sigh of relief that he’s ending the teasing, and you move off his thigh to take off your shorts, before you quickly begin pulling down your panties. as soon as you try to, he stops you by gripping your thigh, looking at you with those pretty bedroom eyes. his hand slows on his cock a little but still maintains a steady pace. ‘i said push ‘em to the side, baby, don’t take them off’ he speaks to you so softly; he’s telling you what to do but in that same honeyed voice he always speaks to you in, and you’ll do whatever he says. ‘they’re soaked, lu’ you say, put you pull them back up and push them to the side like he asked. ‘yeah i know princess, i can see from here, that’s why i want them on, okay?’ his gaze on you is insane, and you feel your wetness start to spread down to your inner thighs. ‘sit against my chest, dolcezza’ he says, caressing your thigh softly with his thumb before you move over to sit in between his legs, back pressed against his chest. you sigh in content as you lean back on him, anticipating how good he’s about to make you feel. it’s difficult to act normal though, when you can feel his 7 inch cock pressed up against your lower back. he smacks it against you a couple times and you giggle, rocking your hips instinctively. ‘luigi, stop messing with me, need your fingers’ you grab his wrist on the hand that isn’t holding his phone, and you drag it to your clit. you feel him laugh softly behind you, and he leans forward a little to whisper in your ear: ‘so desperate f’me, hm? gonna give you everything you need, baby, i’m gonna make you cum, don’t worry. just watch yourself on the screen while i get you there, okay?’ he taps your clit suddenly, and you jolt at the feeling, before leaning back onto him comfortably as his fore and middle finger start to draw slow circles. ‘that’s it baby, just relax, and keep those pretty eyes on the screen, mhm’ he continues whispering in your ear, pressing soft kisses and bites on your neck and earlobe. you’re moaning quietly in content, your hand drifting upwards underneath your tank top to knead one of your breasts. he starts giving you a running commentary on the sex tape: ‘see how beautiful you are underneath me? while i’m fingering that pretty pussy, getting you so close to the edge - yeah, baby, so beautiful for me’

his fingers start to work faster, sliding up and down your slit to collect more of your wetness, and the feeling of his hard cock pressed against your back with his soft moans is literal heaven. the video would be enough to make you cum on your own, but resting against your man as he pleasures you and praises you while you both watch your own sex tape feels surreal. he’s moaning directly in your ear: ‘you’re so wet - fuck, you smell amazing, baby - you’ve soaked my favourite panties’

he moves the phone to rest against a pillow in front of you both so that he can make use of his other hand, to pull down your tank top and replace your own hand with his, kneading one breast at a time. you’re moaning louder than you’d like to admit at this point, your eyes shut, back arched against his chest as you rock against the sheets. you reach up to grip his bicep as the pleasure increases, and each time he looks down at you and notices your eyes are shut, he gently pushes your face back to watch the phone screen, tongue pressed to the side of his cheek in frustration that you keep looking away. you can’t help it though, you’re feeling so dizzy already from just his fingers on your clit. you’re leaking all over his hand, and you don’t know if he’s aware you can feel his precum also leaking onto your back.

in the video he’s taking his fingers out of you and moving you closer to the camera by your legs as you both giggle, and you’re squealing underneath him, drunk from the many cocktails you’d consumed that night at the bar. he slaps his cock on your pussy a few times, sliding it over your clit to tease you, and the camera gets the perfect angle. luigi has seen this video a million times over, meaning he knows exactly how it goes, so the second he’s slapping your pussy with his cock in the video, he surprises you with a sudden slap to your clit while you watch. ‘oooh my god, fuck’ you moan out so loud at the shock, and grip his bicep tighter. in the video he starts to guide his cock into you, and your gaze flicks between his huge size slowly pushing into you and the look on your own face as you struggle to adjust. as you both watch, lu starts whispering in your ear again: ‘you watching how my cock slides into that tight pussy, hm?’ ‘mhmmm’ you moan in response. ‘let me stroke your cock, lu, i wanna get you off at the same time.’ you feel his dimples widen against your neck, and he moves you to sit next to him, both of you against the headboard. he’s fucking you now in the sex tape, so deep in missionary, your legs wrapped around his waist as you scream - you know you pissed off a lot of people in the hotel that night.

now that you’re both sat up, you immediately reach for his cock, wrapping your fingers around his shaft without another second to waste. ‘you wanna feel my cock, baby, yeah?’ he shoots you that teasing smile. ‘let me carry on working that pussy, c’mere’ he grabs your thigh and moves it across his so you’re as close as possible, and wastes no time in slipping in a finger, while his thumb pleasures your clit. ‘oh, fuck baby, yes’ you moan out, gripping his cock tighter as your hand moves quicker on his shaft. ‘oh, fuck, that’s it baby girl, pump up and down for me, so good.’ you adore his moans, not only are you obsessed with the feel of his hard cock in your hands but those soft whiny moans he lets out are so beautiful that you could probably cum from the sound of them alone. you love that only you can get this reaction out of him, only you will hear those angelic sounds in your bedroom. nevertheless, he still tries his hardest not to end up a complete moaning mess for you, wanting to stay in control but he ends up like this for you every time. ‘baby, fuck - your nails look pretty, i like that colour’

‘yeah, lu? thank you for paying for them, i love you, mm’ you try to respond through strangled moans, and he slips in another finger without warning. he’s skilfully thrusting and curling upward two fingers into your pussy, thumb still rubbing your clit. it amazes you every time how skilled he is, so undone for you as you work his cock but able to pleasure you with so much precision at the same time, never slowing the pace. you’re both still fixed on the video, where luigi is on top pounding you into the mattress, your tits bouncing underneath him.

he continues with his commentary on the video as you pleasure each other: ‘look how gorgeous you are, hmm, so pretty underneath me’

‘cum for me, bella ragazza’ his fingers are thrusting into you at an insane pace, and the movement of your hand on his cock slows down because the pleasure is too distracting. you’re so dizzy, rocking against the sheets as you reach your release, and luigi stops watching the video to watch you cum for him. ‘that’s it, baby girl, get it all over my fingers, cmon’ his mouth is open, gazing at you intently as you moan for him. ‘oh, luigi, fuck i’m gonna cum, ohh baby i can’t-’ and then you scream, as you squirt all over his hand and the sheets beneath you. luigi chokes out a shocked laugh, slowing the pace of his fingers to bring you down from your high. ‘fuck baby, i know i’m good but i wasn’t doing anything different tonight’ he laughs. you’re blushing at him, breathless as you try to pick up the pace on his cock again. the sheets are completely soaked underneath you on the side of the bed luigi usually sleeps, but of course he won’t mind, and he slides his fingers up and down your pussy to spread your juices, before bringing both fingers to your lips. ‘open’ he orders, and you open your mouth to taste your release. his dark eyes watch you intently, and as he removes his fingers you remember you’re supposed to be helping him cum. ‘lu, i’m sorry, let me suck you off, i got distracted’ you move between his thighs, immediately taking his leaking cock into your mouth. ‘oh i know, princess. sorry for distracting you’ he winks, shooting you a teasing smile that fades the second you start to kitten lick his tip. ‘oh just like that, dolcezza, mm’ his whiny moans get louder again, and he tightens his hand in your hair to create a makeshift ponytail, caressing your cheek with the thumb of his other hand. ‘that’s my girl, so pretty with my cock in your mouth.’ you try your best to deepthroat him but it’s impossible, so you work your hand on the rest of him that you can’t fit in your mouth. the sound of you gagging on his cock is bringing him so close to his release, and he starts to buck his hips up into your throat, but slows down a little as soon as he realises he might be going a little too rough. you look up at him with doe eyes, mascara running, watching his pretty face as he gets close. the way you look right now, gazing up at him while gagging on his cock is like something out of a porn video, and luigi knows that’s enough to make him come undone. ‘oh I’m so close, beautiful, fuck, that’s a good girl, make me cum, oh i’m gonna-’ he cuts off his whines with a guttural groan, as his hot cum shoots down your throat. you swallow it all, and give his tip a couple of kisses as you bat your lashes up at him.

‘you like that, lu?’

‘i don’t know what i’d do without you, beautiful girl.’

[darnell-la]

I just saw a post where they mentioned what if Logan mocked your moans while he fingered you, or was doing anything really. It seems like it would feel silly coming from him but also so perfectly degrading

summary: y/n had always had a crush on Logan. not the worst Logan, but her timeline Logan. sadly, he died, and now she was stuck with this variant Wade had brought back home. sharing an apartment with an asshole was bad enough, but sharing one with an attractive, cocky, asshole, was far worse. especially when he knew how he made you feel.

note: this story will be the worst Logan. as always, he’s grumpy, and just an open asshole who thinks he’s better than the people he’s around.

———

“Who do you think you are?” Y/n looked up into the man’s eyes with anger, upset that he wouldn’t let her leave the apartment to go out with her friends. She goes out every weekend, and every weekend, he tries to stop her.

“Wade’s gone, and you’re out again — What are you hiding, y/n?” Logan asked, knowing whatever she did was none of her business. “I’m the legal age to drink and club, and you’re in my business about it? — Let me go,” y/n tried taking her arm away.

“You don’t pay for the bills here. Wade does, and-“ Logan tried making up some story about how disrespectful she would be to do what she wants. “And, Wade doesn’t give a shit. What now? I’m a grown woman. I could have a whole family if I wanted to, and you’re trying to trap me in the apartment like I’m some teen,”

“You don’t need to be out there, y/n,” Logan said, knowing what she goes out there for. He couldn’t stand it. Usually, when he teased women and they played hard to get, they didn’t just go out and party. Y/n did, and he couldn’t handle that.

“Get off of me, or I burn you,” y/n threatened as her body temperature heartened. “I’ll heal, and I don’t think you want to deal with me after I do,” Logan threatened as he moved his face inches from hers.

Within seconds, the man let go of how hot her skin was getting. Y/n instantly turned around and left to get out and away from the man who was trying his best to control her.

Fast-forward several hours, y/n finally returned from the nightclub she had attended with her lady friends. Many hours of drinking and plenty of hours of kissing random men had accrued that night.

That only made Logan’s blood boil as he watched every second of it pass by. He debated on lashing out at her every time she went to the bathroom, but when she went, she was always with a girl-friend.

The older man had to suffer for hours as the woman he’d been dying to have, had been kissing other men.

He couldn’t understand why y/n was so stuck up. Last he checked, women lived them rude and cocky. What happened in this timeline?

“Finally home,” Logan spoke in the corner of the darkroom as y/n stumbled into the apartment. She instantly rolled her eyes and sighed as she kicked off her shoes, barely being able to open her eyes or stand correctly.

“Gonna at least speak to me? Or are you too pissy drunk?” Logan asked, knowing which one it was. “That’s what I thought,” the man shook his head as he got up to walk toward her, but she paid no attention and made her way to her room.

“You didn’t even lock the door!” Logan shouted after her, but she ignored him, barely able to think about anything that was happening around her. Once she left the club with loud music, that was it for her.

Logan locked the front door and straightened up the shoes she kicked off on the front mat before he made his way toward her room. The man went to open her door, but she had locked it to shut him out for the night.

Logan sat in his room for a good hour, thinking about the way he should handle y/n. Should he kick her door down and yell at her? Should he talk to her from outside of her room? Should he wait to bring it up tomorrow? Or should he never speak of tonight?

Through the hour, he also thought about those men she let touch all over her and explore her mouth. He swore he’s never been too pissed off about a woman in his life.

It’s almost like she knew he was there to rub it in his face, and if that was the case, and he were to ever find out, he wouldn’t know how far he’d get upset.

All the men she kissed tonight waited for her, like some dog. It’s like Logan could see them a mile away. Why did she choose them, and not him? Logan was the real man here, not them.

“Fuck that,” Logan growled low as he pushed off of his bed and made his way out of his room. The man walked down the small hall before kicking y/n’s door open, causing her to jolt a bit in her sleep.

“Get up,” Logan demanded, but she barely understood him. She was still drunk, and now half asleep and in her dream. “What?” Y/n asked low as she saw the huge man make his way towards her.

“Up!” Logan demanded again before he ripped her cover off. “Hey-“ y/n went to say before Logan grabbed and pulled her up until she was seated in her bed. “Logan, what’s the deal?” Y/n asked, always irritated as he shifted her bottom to the edge of the bed.

“I want you to tell me if they mattered,” Logan spoke, only confused y/n. “What-“ y/n tried saying before Logan ripped her panties off. She had only worse panties and a bra to sleep in tonight instead of a nightgown like she usually wears. She was far too drunk to go through her drawers and find one.

“Hey,” y/n said as she went to push Logan’s fingers away that she rubbed across her heat. “You’re not even wet — They couldn’t have been that good, then,” Logan’s delusion fully kicked in before he stuck to fingers deep into y/n’s mouth.

Y/n tried pulling away and shaking her head, but Logan continued until his fingers were soaked with her saliva.

“Don’t bitch if it goes in dry then,” Logan said before he pushed two fingers at her entrance. “Hey, no-“ y/n went to stop him, but her voice cracked out as her hands stayed in shock right next to her thighs.

The young lady gripped her sheets as Logan curled his two fingers inside of her. “At least you’re empty — Maybe you’re not such a slut after all,” Logan said as y/n whined at the instant feeling of her stomach tightening.

“Aw, what’s wrong? Am I too big? — Fuck, I haven’t even put my dick in you yet,” Logan chuckled as he began to push his fingers in and out of her heat, focusing on her moans and the way she gripped around him.

“L-Lo-L-Lo,” y/n stuttered as she tried her best to keep herself up. “Lo-Lo-Lo — Fucking pathetic,” Logan mocked the girl as he looked into her eyes. She could barely hold them open as Logan played inside of her.

“No more,” y/n cried low as she felt herself near, upset that she wasn’t pushing the man off. She was strong enough to get rid of Logan, but something in her didn’t want him to stop this.

“You didn’t tell those little boys to stop — What makes you think I’ll fucking stop? Huh? — Ian stoppin’ princess,” Logan assured y/n, only making her roll her eyes, fully turned on by the way he was treating her.

For so long, y/n has been waiting for Logan to show just how cocky and asshole-like he could get. Finally, tonight, he decided to let it out.

With her being drunk, she couldn’t love this even more. There was nothing she could do about the way she was about to gush all over him.

“I’m gonna cum,” y/n said low as she fell back onto her mattress, getting ready to give Logan what he was trying so desperately to get from her. “There you go — Relax that body — Give it to me, Bub,” and with that, she did.

Y/n’s body locked up for a few seconds before shaking. Logan couldn’t help but laugh at her to taunt the way she got because of him. “Look at how I get you,”

Logan licked himself after he pulled out of y/n, making sure to get a treat for himself. That had triggered his mind to pick her up and take her to his room to continue eating her out.

“Get those fucking hands away from me, or I’ll make you count till ten,” Logan threatened after y/n tried pushing his head away from her heat. “No more — Please,” y/n begged the man as she took deep gasps.

All Logan did was chuckle into her heat, knowing he had too many more orgasms to go.

[hitlikehammers]

Rockstar!Eddie Leaves What He Had With Steve Behind in Hawkins 💔 to Chase His Dreams 🎸

(so why is it that he’s back in Steve’s bed Hawkins every couple months for ‘very pressing reasons’ that are straining Steve’s heart honestly anything but? 🫤❤️‍🩹🥺)

NOTE: this was originally a fill from @eddiemunsonbingo AGES ago, and I’m only bringing it over here NOW because something for the @steddielovemonth is going to be posted soon that is a standalone in its universe, but also very much a sequel to it ♥️

Steve really does try not to think about it in terms of…time.

Maybe that’s foolish. It’s mostly denial. Lots of it isn’t reliable anyway: the score his body keeps isn’t accurate, war-time left over from too many near-misses with a fucking alternate dimension but the popping in his joints and the ringing in his ears and the white hair he pulled out of his scalp and stared blankly at in the sink for a good twenty minutes: those are real things, but they don’t chart the passage of days, of hours, months and fucking years with any real meaning.

It’s been four years. Roughly. Depending on what the start point is. Whether it’s that Spring Break. Whether it’s the first winter. Or the spring after, when Robin begged him to go with her—there’s still time. She still begs, because they still talk given the thread inside them stays tied unbreakable to one another, oblivious to miles between. Maybe it’s measuring from the graduations, the kids—only Erica’s left at Hawkins High, now, though Steve gets calls from the whole bunch of them, Eleven the most, which was maybe surprising, then it’s a good split between Dustin and Will, another surprise. Max calls enough but her calls are calls, with a weight most of the others lack. Lucas’s calls aren’t super frequent but always long, mostly because he talks around the point forever, whatever the point happens to be. Even Mike usually ends up on the other end of the line once a month. It’s…that could be where the time starts from.

Or it could be the summer, that first summer. The one that taught Steve what it was to have a heart just to fucking break it.

Could be that. Impossible to say.

(It’s been 3 years, 7 months, and 14 days. Steve had only counted in retrospect, in the wreckage left behind, because while he’d known there was a deadline in it, to it all, he’d thought he could be enough. That he could change a mind. He’d thought…

Foolish things. Bullshit. Didn’t matter. Could be any fucking date.)

But since the point's come up, and it’s front of Steve’s mind, his least favorite (most favorite) place to find it: he hadn’t expected it. Robin liked to say she saw the signs but. Steve hadn’t watched it happen in slow motion because there wasn’t a single goddamn slow thing about it. Which was…for whatever it was worth, Steve knew falling fast and hard and with everything he was had maybe failed him every time, thus far, but at least he knows that for him?

That means it’s real. He’s all in. He might not be met equal on the other side of the equation—hadn’t been yet, maybe wouldn’t be ever, but he wasn’t having any luck trying to fucking change that fact so, learning to work with what he had was the best he could do. And he had love. He’d never been able to name it to himself so far: not before, and certainly never since. But.

Figuring out the sexuality thing had been a not-bathroom-but-definitely-floor talk on the shitty Family Video carpet sometime around November of ‘85. Slow days, idle comments, and Robin’s suspiciously-but-reliably-gentle-when-the-need-was-dire hand to his shoulder to say no, no: actually wanting to kiss people of any gender wasn’t really…the default Steve had always expected it had to be. How could anyone look at, say, Harrison Ford and not think, oh yeah, I would at least suck his face?

Turned out probably at least half the people on the planet. As in the straight guys and the lesbians. Steve had spent the majority of three days on that disgusting fucking carpet, open to close, popping up to ask Robin if she was sure because what about—

She was sure. And eventually, through a couple of needs for deep breathing and a handful of assurances that it was okay to cry—he appreciated that, but he kept the crying to his room after these long-ass shifts and if Robin stayed for some of those times, that was because she was half his head, half his heart, and she knew what he was going to do sometimes before he did.

They did end up on the floor of his bathroom, a clean one for once, at one point. Maybe because they both held to tradition. Maybe because Steve had largely come to terms with the mindfuck of yet another piece of his world, his self unravelling and rewriting itself, and thought the vodka in his dad’s liquor cabinet was a good way to celebrate. The label was entirely in Russian and Robin had been practicing on hers, said she was pretty sure it was the good shit.

Sometimes you can drink enough of the best shit on an empty stomach, though, and still spew the whole of it up.

Steve sometimes does think he drinks his dad’s best liquor that way on purpose, though. Delightful going down and yeah, it sucks to chuck it up but. The idea that it’s ultimately wasted feels…right.

Anyway: Steve had settled with it all by New Year's, and while he’d hosted the rugrats who could only blabber about their latest campaign with their epic DM, and he’d kissed Robin when the clock turned, well. It felt like a new start, a fresh page.

Something that had the chance at being a good thing.

And nothing much happened in the two-and-a-half-months that followed save for finally catching a glimpse of the D&D god who ran their little club while he was idling in his car to pick up the shitheads, this legendary DM who did not make Steve jealous one tiny bit and who was cool and was edgy and was so fuckin’ cool, Steve, did we tell you got cool he is?! and Steve had said language as monotone as he could before he squinted as out came all the metal and the ink and he’d said your club president dude is Eddie goddamn Munson and he should have kept his mouth shut because the amount of talking that ensued left him with a headache the size of Montana; but.

That was really all that happened until about…mid-March.

Then Spring Break happened.

It could be argued Eddie and Steve grew close enough to pass the acquaintances benchmark, ended up as at least tentative friends on top of necessary battle mates as early as the Upside Down. Whatever reason Eddie gave, he jumped in after Steve. Whatever speech Steve landed on, he didn’t want Dustin orEddie hurt.

It could be argued Steve wasn’t paying attention and didn’t stop in time and landed in the land of Tentative Friends You Wouldn’t Mind Added Benefits With after the…at least after the way Eddie leaned in close and his lips we so red and he called Steve big boy and…

Yeah.

When Steve carries what may or may not be Eddie’s still fucking corpse out of the Upside Down—he can’t tell, every time he tries to check again his own heart's too loud, his own breaths too shaky—but by then, they’re family. Bound in blood. Steve would die for him, like the others. He won’t let him die, if he can fucking help it.

Between him and Max, Steve almost crashes, breaks. Steve’s there when Max’s fingers twitch and he laughs with tears in his eyes and hands over hands and tells her he loves her and he’s sorry and he’s there, tries to talk around the letter he opened and resealed without evidence because Steve knows some tricks too, okay, and her words had broken him but now he could live up to what she thought she was leaving behind, could make sure she had every goddamn thing she thought she was giving up in spades, to roll around in in abundance. He was going to take care of her, whatever she needed. Whatever it took.

Her lips had quirked and the doctors called coincidence, don’t get your hopes up but; Steve knew Max. That was all her.

And there were more tears, he let her fucking feel them; he fucking hoped she’d notice, and remember, and give him so much shit.

Eddie takes longer, pulls out of the woods enough to exhale a few days later, and the way Steve slips out to find the hospital chapel, the only goddamn place he won’t be found by anyone he knows, and bawls his goddamn eyes out?

It’s family, and it’s love because it’s family but…it’s been so quick. It’s been intense, and that probably speeds it along but…

Shit. Shit.

That’s when Steve knows he sets a new goddamn record for himself and falls hard and heavy and stupidin, like, a week and change. Jesus Christ.

It’s in the recovery that they build something though. Something that’s not trauma or terror or the threat of imminent death. Steve spends most of his hours between two hospital rooms listening to progress reports and taking notes and the kids gravitate toward Max—Dustin would have been the outlier but Steve knows he’s not ready, and so he gives his own updates just to his brother when he drives him home after visiting hours—but that means Steve’s Eddie’s most common conversation partner. They talk about bullshit. Steve defends a-ha to the last breath he has. Eddie’s rendered speechless for a second and then frantic when challenged to pick his favorite band. Again when it’s his favorite song, from his favorite band. And again when it’s his favorite song of any song, ever at all. Steve's heart swells in the watching. He’s foolish enough to bask in the glittering of Eddie’s eyes when Steve indulges in talking, scene by scene as guided by the master in the bed beside him, about what his opinions on Star Wars really were. And then guided by no one, just invited to share what his opinions are on the last movie he saw and loved: which was Weird Science, the last movie he watched in a theatre because he and Robin had gone to face their fear or some shit after Starcourt and it was easier than he’d expected. Eddie listens, and nods, and asks if they can rent it when he’s out, before making sure to add  but you should really have a new choice like, eight months later, man, you work at a video store.

Steve was mostly just focused on Eddie more than implying, of his own volition, that he wanted to have a movie night.

Eddie’s released before Max, largely for mobility reasons, so they both go to visit her now. Robin’s put on the night shift when they schedule their movie night and Steve immediately moves to reschedule but she says no, she’s seen it, make Eddie suffer this time. So it’s just them.

They sit closer than they have to, on the couch.

And it’s little things that build from there. Max’s physical therapy is a government secret, like some fancy space-age protocol that has real hopes to put her on her feet again so she needs a ride, and while they could take turns, Steve and Eddie just take turns as to which vehicle they hop into to drive her. They stay when she needs them—not when she asks because she’s Max and she never asks—but it ends up three days a week back and forth and during: together.

And a lot of nights, for a movie or a smoke or a nightmare or a pulled stitch before they’re all taken out: together.

And shifts where Steve doesn’t even bother to bring his own lunch because Eddie Munson, unpredictable and wholly forgetful super-super senior—who Nancy and Hopper and most of all Joyce convinced the School would be finishing his final senior year at home save for tests, and only that once he was cleared by his doctors—that Eddie Munson brought Steve something every single time he worked. A burger, a chili dog, chicken fucking nuggets. A PB&J clearly homemade and cut diagonal.

So yeah. It starts out how it does when Steve’s in trouble. But it builds like…Steve’s never known before.

They kiss in May. Maybe so that it’s not their first, and a total cliche, when Steve kisses him for graduation behind the bleachers.

The sleep together after graduation, high on the thrill of it, and that’s maybe a cliche but Steve could not give a shit less.

And then they're EddieandSteve, only to find out they have been for a while; and this is just something a little deeper, a little bit more.

In ways that mean everything.

Looking back, Steve knows Eddie never minced words about his plan to leave Hawkins in the fall. With a mixtape and a prayer if I have to, Stevie-boy, he’d said once even, and Steve had laughed.

He’d fucking laughed.

So he’d known.

But July bleeds into August and Steve…Steve’s in love, okay, for real in a way that he’s never felt before. Right in a way he’s never felt before. He kinda just…overlooks it. Because Eddie seems to be at least on the same wavelength. Touches him first, reaches for him first: wants him. Looks at him with not just desire or attraction but…something no one’s ever looked at Steve with before.

And so he hopes. More than hopes.

But when Eddie starts packing, Steve can’t breathe.

He buys a set of luggage and goes home to start the same, has half of his not-excessive possessions shoved in when he realizes:

He’s not invited. Eddie’s never asked him to come.

Looking back, he’s afraid he wasted too much of those last weeks. Scared of giving too much away, the hurt from so many sides and the heartache that’s already taking root, but also: the way he clings, but tries not to make it obvious.

Fuck; but of course it was gonna be obvious, and how much energy did he waste, how many opportunities slipped by, because Steve was trying not to give away that Eddie leaving—to get away from a town that hated him, to try and make a real go with his music, to be anywhere without Steve so he could live out the dreams that predated Steve, that Steve had no place in—to try not to give away that all of it; it’d fucking destroy him.

Steve doesn’t know, to this day, how he stood and let Eddie kiss him breathless out the driver-side window, how he waved until Eddie was out of sight. He doesn’t know.

Kind of like he doesn’t know how he fucking keeps doing it.

Eddie throws tapes to every radio station with Van Halen or other top-played bands written on the insert in sharpie like that gives nothing away, and sneaks a demo in every underpaid delivery boy’s hands to record executives as he drives to the West Coast, sends Steve postcards what seems like has to be every goddamn day, filled up with his rambling until there’s no space left, has to draw lines around Steve’s address to make it clear where the damn thing’s going lest it get confused. Like they’re SteveandEddie still. Like only…only the things that changed after graduation are gone.

Steve sobs after about a month of it all, grateful and resentful, hateful and still so goddamn full of love it’s sickening. Literally, it makes him feel nauseous. He…

He keeps every postcard.

When one of them comes to say some idiot in San Francisco accidentally played Corroded Coffin on what’s apparently an important station, and Eddie got a letter in response from one of the labels, he says he’s coming back for the boys, they need to be ready. Steve knows he’s not one of the boys, but.

Eddie wouldn’t have told Steve he was coming if it wouldn’t matter to Steve. And maybe Eddie wasn’t in love with him anymore, maybe never was in love with him.

But he’d be lying if he said he thought Eddie didn’t love him. In a different way. A…you-don’t-get-to-come-with-me-but-I���d-still-want-to-see-you-when-I-stop-back kind of way.

And Steve…Steve’s not a fucking monk or anything. But even Robin doesn’t try to push him when he finally just tells her what he feels, lovesick and pathetic as it is:

I gave everything I had to someone else, and it’d be different if I wanted to back, to give again, but…I don’t.

I don’t want it back, not from him. Not if any part of him, wants to keep any part of it.

And because she’s Robin, she knows he means something else when he says ‘it’. And because she’s Robin? She’d push if she thought it was worth it.

She just holds him, and that’s really the best thing he could ask for.

But it becomes a thing. The boys go with Eddie, and they record new shit to impress...whoever. And they do. They come back for Halloween, because Eddie loves it. The label’s dragging its feet, but they’re not deterred, they’re energized. They come back for Thanksgiving because Wayne loves it—except he doesn’t, Steve knows that, Wayne actually hates trying to make a bird and Eddie had lamented more than once that they ended up with lunchmeat cut into cubes one year when Wayne was particularly frustrated with the process. They go out East, and try a few studios in New York. They come back for Christmas.

Eddie spends most of his time with Steve. Steve doesn’t fucking fight that; wants it…like…

There’s nothing to compare how he wants it to. Nothing exists that fits.

Eddie spends most of the time that he spends with Steve, though?

In Steve’s bed.

And here’s the thing: Steve had a decent amount of experience to compare to, but once they’d fallen into a rhythm, got past the awkward bits, the learning curve? Sex with Eddie had been a goddamn revelation. Not just because he was a man—after he’d left, Steve had forced himself to try, and dispelled that possibility quick as hell—and now?

Now, it’s like they never stopped. Every fucking time, it’s like they never stopped.

Steve’s not surprised in the slightest that he remembers every give and tell of Eddie’s body—of course he goddamn does—but that Eddie doesn’t miss a beat in touching, sucking, licking, worshippingSteve’s? That’s insane. That’s…

Unexpected. Every time it’s unexpected and every time Steve’s shown he wasn’t forgotten when he probably should have been. Eddie’s building a life that doesn’t include him.

He’ll only get in the way.

But Steve is selfish and stubborn and maybe it’s often, like almost strangely so, but it’s only a week or two at a go so he tells himself he’s allowed. He tells himself that it felt like making love in the beginning because Steve was in love, and that it still feels exactly the same because Steve…Steve never stopped.

Steve is still just as goddamn in love.

So yeah. Steve sleeps with Eddie and it’s like…it’s like rationed air. He gets a regular taste and he gets to keep breathing.

And it’s okay. Probably more then. Because he gets Eddie—even a little bit. Even just in scraps. When he has Eddie?

He has him, even for moments that were never made to last.

It’s Easter, this time. The band put out their first record in January. It’s doing really well. Eddie’s over the moon. Someone called about a magazine cover for a publication in Cleveland that’s apparently kind of a big deal, Alt..something. Steve will buy every copy in a fucking 100-mile radius. 200 miles. 500—

It’s Easter. Eddie didn’t lament not celebrating it after Spring Break in ‘86 but he’s back every year now. And if it’s just…come to mean something, or maybe did then and circumstances won out against it? Steve will be here. Steve will be comfort and a reprieve or a hot as hell romp with a familiar body, Steve will…

Yeah. Steve will do whatever’s needed. Wanted. Anything.

Pathetic.

But so much better than nothing.

Case in point: they’re both naked, sweat mostly dried, sharing a joint and it’s comfortable. It’s quiet and gentle and put up against sitting alone on a weeknight, not with Eddie?

It’s heaven.

“So when’s the dream happening?”

Steve looks cross-eyed toward his lips; he hasn’t smoked this thing long enough to have heard wrong. He squints up at Eddie, whose chest he’s laid out on, confused. Offers him the smoke but he waves it away.

“The dream?” Steve asks finally, when Eddie doesn’t seem to want to answer on his own.

Eddie looks at him weird. Not weird for its own sake but like: like he’s staring into him, and then like he’s disbelieving, but then also like he’s seeing him for the first time.

That kind of weird.

“Getting the fuck out of here,” Eddie answers like it’s obvious. “White picket fence. Little nuggets.” He spreads his hands as wide as possible without tossing Steve from where he lies. “See the sights.”

And Steve’s response is immediate. Doesn’t even require a thought.

He laughs. Like, ugly-laughs.

“Man,” he shakes his head as he catches his breath, and passes the joint off this time with purpose, not an offer or a choice as he snorts a little; “that’s not the dream.”

When Eddie doesn’t grab the smoke, Steve finally looks up. Eddie…

Eddie looks like what Steve’s always struggled to understand the word ‘poleaxed’ to mean. He thinks it might be this.

He looks…like something stuck him through the gut. Slapped him silly across the face.

“What d’ya mean?” And it’s just three words, one that’s a cheat, and he says it slow enough to take an age.

Steve breathes out, and then, if he’s gonna be honest, and if he has to keep holding the damn thing anyway, decides to take another drag before speaking:

“Figured out what the dream was, inside the dream,” Steve says, wondering if he’ll get away with the vagary; knowing he won’t.

“All we see or seem?” Eddie jokes a little, but it falls flat, his tone eerily kinda…strained but hollow.

“I like poetry.” Steve smiles up at him, soft, and offers the joint again straight to Eddie’s lips. He takes it this time.

“It was about family. It was about stability, not,” Steve shakes his head, stops talking half-assed around the lungful he’s holding, and lets it out slow; “not in a place, fuck, not in a house, but,” a person he doesn’t say, but he hears it in his head; “it was about sharing it.”

And that's it. That’s the simplest, most straightforward truth. Steve doesn’t think there’s anything complicated, or offensive in it. Hard to swallow. Even if he’s come to terms with it. Is mostly at peace with it.

Which is why it’s weird, that Eddie feels suddenly rigid beneath him.

So Steve turns, and braces his hand on Eddie's chest for balance, and frowns when he doesn’t even have to push down to feel the way his heart’s a fucking riot.

“What?” Steve asks, gentle; Eddie’s face is a portrait of conflict, of distress and Steve can’t fucking figure out why, they just came like four times between them and are sharing some very nice Cali weed—they’re nestled close, they’re together, it’s…

Eddie’s quiet, his breath disconcertingly steady for how his pulse pounds, and then he breathes out slow before covering his face:

“I don’t think I can fuck this up any worse than I already have, so,” he mutters, dejected for reasons Steve can’t even guess, then he laughs, humorless, shakes his head:

“Let me try, I guess.”

Steve frowns, uncomprehending, until:

“I’ve been in love with you forever.”

Steve thinks the world stops. His heart does, at least. Suspended. Silent so he doesn’t miss a syllable.

“And I told myself,” Eddie bites at his lip, worries at the bottom swell; “end of that summer, from the very first, I said: don’t ask him to come with you, even if it breaks your heart,” and oh god, oh god after all this time: Steve doesn’t think he’s projecting to hear the genuinely broken heart in those words for just remembering.

“Don’t ask him to settle, you’re not even in the same universe of what he wants,” fuck, what lies Eddie’s saying; did he believe them? Has he always—“what he needs.”

But Eddie is everything he needs, always was, will always be—

“You’ll never have the picket fence. You can’t give him his nuggets. You should never be trusted to park a Winnebago.”

They could have had a shitty studio apartment. They could have had the kids in college. They could have run the BMW until it died, or sold it to put toward a better van for equipment. They could have—

“You’re selfish, Munson, you’re a rat fucking bastard but,” Eddie’s still going, heart still hammering under Steve’s touch even as Eddie swallows hard and fails to smile, looks ill with the attempt like it hurts to try: “you love him too much for that.”

Oh. Oh god.

“It didn’t break my heart, though,” Eddie clears his throat and glances away, to the ceiling, eyes too bright: oh fuck; “broke my goddamn soul,” and a tear falls, and Steve can’t help but wipe it away, and kiss the track. Even just once.

So he does.

“When I saw you again that first time back,” Eddie starts again, voice rougher and shakier as he reaches a hand for Steve’s. “I could have asked the boys to fly out, the execs offered, but,” and this time, the attempt to grin is more successful, like a weight’s lifted from it: “and you smiled at me, it felt like,” and when he shakes his head this time it’s for disbelief, but the kind that comes with awe; “and when we slotted back together like we’d never been apart, it was…”

Eddie’s voice trails, but it cracks at the end—Steve doesn’t know which does more to stop his words.

He’s grateful, relieved, when they come back. He’s powerless but to give when Eddie touches his cheek so gentle and breathes:

“And I had to tell myself again, and again,” he murmurs, stroking Steve’s skin like he’s precious: “you love him too much to take his dream away from him.”

“What did it matter?” Steve can’t help but ask, no malice in it, just the need to understand. “You had your dream, you have—“

They have a contract. They have an album climbing the charts. They’re not just on their way—they’re there. The only next step is to get bigger, and bigger, and—

“Dreams within dreams, wasn’t it?” Eddie murmurs close to Steve’s cheek, where maybe he’s pressing to be close, or maybe he’s hiding a little, so Steve strokes his hair because he can either way and relishes how Eddie leans, melts into it like always. “Inside the dream?”

Steve nods, more to encourage more words. More Eddie.

“Break my dream open and there’s you with me, every step,” Eddie whispers, his lips warm on Steve’s skin. “Break my heart open, same damn thing,” and that causes Steve to shudder, and his heart to pick up now, too. “Both just kinda crumble if you take out the center.”

Steve can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. Wants to. Doesn’t think they’re lies. It’s just, he…

“Those,” Steve tries to speak but his voice cracks; he clears his throat and kicks his lips while he tucks Eddie into his neck, under his chin: “those would be good lyrics.”

“No,” Eddie shakes his head and nuzzles Steve’s throat with the motion and this can’t be happening.

This can’t be happening, can it?

“No, those words were only ever meant just for you.”

And Eddie kisses the pulse point close to his mouth and holds there, like a sentry and a miser, and holy shit.

Holy shit.

“And I don’t know,” Eddie’s saying more, but it’s pitchy, thready, like he’s barely holding the words together at all; “I don’t know if it’s nostalgia, or convenience, or routine,” his voice breaks again and the sob’s in the word when it comes even if it’s not streaming down on his cheeks: “pity,” and no, no, not fucking ever, how—

“I was never your dream then, and I don’t even know if I can be your inside-dream now, and,” Eddie’s rambling, and he does that when he’s desperate, when he’s overwhelmed and overfull with feeling—and Steve knows that. Steve knows that about him.

Steve knows. Better than he knows himself, Steve still knows him.

“I just want the world for you,” Eddie whispers, stroking up and down Steve’s jaw; “my sweetheart. My sunshine,” he smiles so real and soft and Steve melts, like the heart in his chest starts spilling through his ribs, warm and liquid: “you deserve more than the world, more than fuckin’ me and I,” Eddie shakes his head again, more this time like he’s stopping himself, like it’s a defense mechanism and Steve reaches for his cheeks, broad palms on either side to hold him still because…he doesn’t want Eddie to stop.

Ever.

“Did I ruin it?” Eddie breathes, and barely at that, eyes so wide and swimming and oh, god; “did I—"

And Steve can’t help it. He can’t help but kiss him with all he’s got, even if it couldn’t be all Eddie’s worth in all the world. Steve can’t contain all that Eddie’s worth.

But he can give everything, because this is the man who already has it.

“What the hell was I supposed to be to a rockstar?” Steve tries to talk through his own tight throat, his own growing smile, his own threat of tears bubbling close to the surface. “How the fuck was I ever going to measure up, ever do anything but hold you back when you could have—“

“I come back to you, for you,” Eddie answers immediate; it’s not what Steve’s asking but he won’t lie and say he didn’t want to know, at least a little. “The handful of times I’ve tried,” Eddie shakes his head once now, definitive; “I have always left my everything with you.”

The idea that Steve’s spent all this time feeling empty, and hollow, and missing the best of himself where it lived in the man he loved—the idea he was wrong, that they both were so fucking wrong is…insanity.

“I had a bag half packed.”

Steve doesn’t need to explain further. The noise Eddie makes is pure pain.

“Baby,” he nearly croons, falls into Steve somehow closer, wraps him up tighter; “I wanted to kidnap you in the night.”

“I sobbed in my bed after you were out of sight.”

“I pulled over before the town sign, because I couldn’t see the goddamn road.”

And Steve…Steve doesn’t really have a decision to make about what he says next. What dream he wants; always has.

“I never got rid of the luggage.”

And Eddie hears everything he says in those words, because after everything, Eddie Munson knows him, and…yeah.

Steve’s been kissed in a lot of ways before. By this man in particular, even.

But this: if leaving broke Eddie’s soul, if somehow the lack of Steve somehow did that?

This is…this is the body meeting another body, heart to heart and tasting the way a soul slides back in place. It's Eddie’s hands in his hair like hell never let go and he’s happy about the idea; blissful for it, even. It’s—beyond anything Steve’s ever known. So: yeah.

It’s not a decision. It’s just a fucking given.

♥️

🎸also on ao3

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[talkingaboutmybullshit]

quick unedited thing i wrote after i saw a bitches love me tiktok about Tim in the 90s. And kinda a response to a lot of fandom tim thinking he’s a loser that hasn’t dated or slept with anyone when canonically he’s had like 20 live interests.

“Why are you asking boy Virgin over here?” Jason said

“Jason don’t be mean,” Dick chided

“What because it’s true,” Jason flipped Dick off

Tim couldn’t hold back a snort.

“Why the hell are you laughing like you’ve gotten laid ever in your life?”

“Did you forget that him and Steph dated for a year,”

“I don’t think I was there for that? Is that why she hangs out around us because she dated the shrimp? She’s to cool for him.”

Tim made a so so motion with his hand “Officially for like a year ish. Then we kinda had this on and off thing for a few years after that. Though she wasn’t the only girl I got with during that time. I was actually dating another girl when I first got with Steph,”

“How the hell did you get not one but two girls interested in you?” Jason asked “How the hell did you even have time for that?”

“Look when I was Robin and in high school I had a lot more extra time than I have now,” Tim explained and then scrunched up his face at the memories “and that wasn’t one of my proudest moments,”

“Honestly I don’t know how you can even keep track of how many people you been with,” Dick rolled his eyes “I swear you were talking to another girl every week before you got with Bernard,”

“Oh I got a spread sheet,” Tim answered non chalently

“You got a whole ass spread sheet?!?” Jason said

“Yeah,” Tim at least looked sheepish

“Why?” Jason ask

“Well back in high school me and my friends were talking-“

“You have friends?” Jason asked

“Well back in high school at least I had a decent amount. Then I dropped out and went around the world looking for B. I kinda got out of touched with them. You know the normal post high school kinda stuff,”

“Totally,” Said the guy who died Freshman year of high school

“Anyways,” he rolled his eyes “They were asking me how many girls i slept with and honestly I didn’t know off the top of my head. So I went home, started a list. Then that kinda morphed into a spread sheet because that’s easier to manage than like a google doc. Then I was like well I have a spread sheet I can document like umm,” he looked away trying to figure out how best way to say it without being to crass “bases and stuff I got to. Then I kinda just kept up with it over the years. Started a guys data section too since bases work a little differently and-“

“You’re a freak, of course you have a spreadsheet about your sex life,” Jason said “forget I said anything and never answer questions about sex again,”

“Gladly,” Tim shakes his head wanting this whole thing to be over

“I’m surprised you didn’t know this,” Dick said “Not the spread sheet thing but Tim ummmm…”

“Apparently getting with everything that moves,” Jason answered

“Yeah that,”

“Hey!” Tim objected “I do not. Plus I think the worse of it was when Jason wasn’t around. I had more time when I was young,”

“Dude you’re still like 20,”

“Plus I got a boyfriend now so I’m settled downed. I’m busy with work and being a vigilante,”

“Never stopped you before,”

Tim cringed at that “ok high school me wasn’t the best but-“

“When the fuck did you get a boyfriend,” Jason, who just had his twentieth revelation about Tim that hour, asked

“Oh a while ago when I rescued him from this pain cult,” Tim waved him off “we were friends in high school and reconnected after that. Really I think he brings out the best in me-“

“Meaning he hasn’t gotten bored yet from a lack of adrenaline and gone on to the next person who catches his eye,”

Tim huffed “I do not want to hear any slander from the guy who fumbled Starfire,”

“You fumbled Superboy,” Dick said

“When did you even get Superboy?” Jason exacerbated by Tim’s way to messy love life. Maybe the spread sheet was necessary. Jason at least needed a time line to get this straight.

“There was nothing even going on there!” Tim said

Dick turned to Jason to answer this question “Superboy was Tim’s first gay situation ship,”

“Was not!” Tim fought back

Jason groaned accepting he opened Pandora’s box of Tim’s messy love life.

[asheepinfrance]

i wrote this with futile devices in mind but i don't think that really shows. i don't think it matters cause i think this one's silly. there's not much of a plot, this is just sorta a day in patrick's life after moving back in, in my mind a week or so post-new rochelle. i hope you like it. as always, feel free to leave any thoughts, critiques, etc. in the comments, should you have any advice on where to improve. thank you <333

The sun rose an hour ago, and Patrick woke with it, whether or not he wanted to. He can blame Tashi for the disturbance, because apparently she’d been the one to choose the thin, white curtains that are doing absolutely nothing to block out the rays of sunshine threatening to make him actually do something with his day. He’d rather not, really, when it’s better to curl up and pretend nothing is real besides the warmth of his blanket for another few hours. Eventually, Tashi and Art join the sensory input keeping him from sleep. He’s not even comfortable anymore, too leggy and curled up to fit onto their couch properly, but he can’t make himself move. He likes that he knows they’re looking at him, learning to watch him exist again. Learning to be comfortable with him the way they used to be. 

It’s quite easy, actually, to get comfortable again. He hasn’t changed in too many ways, though there’s an air about him that hadn’t been there in their younger years. Whether that came with age, a natural maturation, or their absence they weren’t sure. They’d feel less guilty about the former, though. Tashi’s holding a mug in both hands, the warmth slightly stinging at her palms, heating the metal of her wedding ring up. She watches Art watch Patrick, who shifts slightly to cover his face with the throw blanket they’d lent him. How he’d ended up staying the night at their hotel the first time was unclear. Now, here he is, curled into the couch of their actual home, acting as Dad #2 for Lily when she and Art are training, and switching off when she finally gives in and coaches Patrick a bit. She’s sure her mother appreciates the break. 

She laughs through her nose, her shoulders bouncing with it, and the sound, or lack thereof, breaks Art from his trance. “Has he always been this deep a sleeper?”, she asks like she doesn’t know the answer. Art drums his fingers against the marble countertop, a satisfying, rhythmic wave created by just some skin and bone. She wishes she could be an artist in that way, just moving her body and making something worth seeing. She used to have that. “I don’t know, it’s been a long time”, he shrugs, sniffles a little bit. They both know that he won’t move until about 12 in the afternoon, just like he always had done.

Patrick “wakes” to Tashi’s eyes level with his, and he can’t imagine why she’d kneel for him of all people, and just for the sake of greeting him. The roles should be reversed and he knows it, Art probably knows it from wherever he’s watching this display from. He feels a bit like a child with the way she speaks to him, airy and soft like he’s delicate. He isn’t entirely aware that he is. “Hey… you sleep ok?” He grunts when he sits up, a noticeable ache in the muscles of his lower back that her gaze immediately falls to, her lips pulling down the slightest bit. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like for that disapproving of hers to be born out of concern. “You know you can always sleep in the guest room, right?” He shakes his head, waves his hand somewhere in her direction to signal disapproval, and she doesn’t really understand why he won’t take the easy way out. After all, isn’t Patrick known for it? But he thinks he hasn’t earned it yet. He has to make Tashi and Art remember he’s sweet, that he can be a better man than he’d shown himself to be, because no one loves a man who only wins for himself, and then again he rarely wins at all. Everyone loves a selfless champion, so no one could quite love him. So he needs them to remember he values their attention so deeply that just knowing the layout of their house now, watching them exist and love one another, knowing the name of their preferred coffee, that’s enough for him. He isn’t sure whose approval it is that he needs more at this point.

Patrick’s favorite part of the day, or at least, part of the day to himself, has become showering. He remembers the first night, back at the hotel in New Rochelle, he’d watched dirt he hadn’t known existed run off of his skin in that warm water and he felt new. He felt clean and pure and cried like a baby, curling onto that cold, tile shower floor. He only snapped back into his own body when Art had knocked on the door after an hour, fearing Patrick had fallen. Patrick isn’t sure why he let Art come in, shakily voicing his consent through the unlocked door, considering his state, but Art didn’t mind. He minded so little that he kneeled at Patrick’s side, still clothed, and held him through it. He ignored the shirt now sticking to his skin, the inevitable heaviness of wet denim, and let Patrick fall into him like he’d needed to for 13 years. His awe at consistent availability of warm water hasn’t run off, and he can’t get out until the jack-and-jill bathroom mirrors have fogged up with steam, and he lets himself hope for a bit that his toothbrush will join theirs in that little cup in between the two sinks. 

When he watches Lily later that day, sitting on his knees to watch her intently draw on a sheet of yellow construction, she doesn’t seem to notice the weight of her words when she says, “You know, Mama and Dad haven’t been fighting so much now that you’re here.” She’s like Tashi in that sense, not knowing that every little thing she does has everyone’s heart aching. He can’t help the little scoff that comes out, more from disbelief rather than annoyance, and Lily just goes back to scribbling on her paper. “Whatcha drawing, kid?” He asks, forcing himself to change the topic and not wallow in something sickening and sweet in front of this little girl he’s still finding his way around interacting with. She pushes the paper towards him, and when he flips it over, he finds four disproportionately drawn figures, two tall men, one woman with two lines for hair, and a smaller girl furthest right. He decides then and there he’s going to hang it on the fridge, and wonders when he got so comfortable so as to feel he can make an imprint on their home. Even one so small as paper placed on the fridge with a magnet.

At night, a time that comes with a star-riddled sky, after Lily’s been put to bed and Patrick insisted on washing the dishes leftover from dinner, he finds himself staring at a small family photo on their wall. Art, Tashi, and Lily, clearly younger then, on some sunny patch of grass. He wonders what life would be like had he been there, what their walls would look like if they had traces of him, too. He feels like it’d sully their image. Selfishly, he hopes they wouldn’t mind that hit to their reputation. Maybe he hopes they actively choose to endure it. It’s late now, Tashi and Art’s voices carrying quietly from their bedroom, and he knows he won’t sleep. He couldn’t sleep anymore because he was happy, and he’d become accustomed to only dropping from sheer exhaustion. From a brain shutting down purely because it couldn’t withstand consciousness anymore. He feels like a child awoken from a nightmare when he knocks at their door, blanket draped over his shoulder, twiddling his thumbs, asking if he can sleep in their room. He insists it’s just for the night, they insist they wouldn’t mind if it was for longer than that. He tucks himself between the two of them as carefully as he can, avoiding Tashi’s knee at all costs, though he knows it’s years past being healed. They don’t do anything but touch him, a natural press from lack of space, warm breath to goosebump prickled skin, and he has to force himself not to cry, laugh, moan. He just closes his eyes and lets himself melt. He thinks if he lets his eyes close long enough, melt enough, he’ll fuse into them. Maybe that’s what he needs.

[bettystonewell]

So I woke up to 100 followers this morning, and I was really surprised.

THANK YOU!

I’m still learning my way here, but hopefully I’m getting better.

I know people on all different platforms do celebrations like writing prompts and stuff, but a) I’m a slow writer and b) I’m lazy. So I thought, now might be a good time to release this:

TO YOU I BELONG

SNEAK PEAK

Chapter 1 coming 21/02 🇦🇺⏱️

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

From Chapter 7: Honeydaying

Sitting on the edge of his bed, hunched over, arms leaning on his thighs, Dean twisted the small pill bottle in his hands, listening as each tablet fell to the bottom. There weren’t many, six at most, and they rattled around in there, waiting for him to open the lid and take one out.

Or man up and throw them in the trash like he’d planned.

The problem was, he knew how his body would react to not taking the daily suppressant. He’d experienced it before. And if his inner alpha was overprotective of you now, it was about to turn into a possessive dick the second the drug’s effects wore off in T minus twenty-four hours, if he…

No.

Not if.

He was doing this. He was gonna claim you and make you his.

Which is why even though the trashcan was only three feet in front of him, he still sat there unmoving from the memory-foam cushioning his ass…

Fuck. Why was this so hard?

He put the pills down on his bedside table and leant back into the mattress, fishing his phone out from his jean pocket. The denim hugging his hips was too tight, and he had to lift himself up a few inches to yank the device free, unlocking it with a couple of taps and a swipe up.

His fingers continued to work the touch screen, locating contacts, flicking down to the letter J, and hitting the green call button. At least there was one thing he wasn’t hesitating over.

He heard the click and a familiar voice fondly speak his name before he’d even brought it up to his ear.

“Dean Winchester.”

“Hey, Jody. How’s it going?” Dean stood up off the bed and moved to the closet.

“Good. Although I’m a little surprised to hear you ask me that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The door creaked in protest, as did his back, though it cracked more than creaked when he arched over to reach his green duffle he’d thrown on the floor after the hunt in Iowa. The couple of weapons he hadn’t bothered to put away hit against each other as the bag swayed and gravity played with their weight.

“Just that you don’t call me unless you need something or someone’s dead. Oh god. Is Sam okay? What have you boys gotten into now?”

“Alright, first off, that’s insulting.” He emptied the contents onto the bed, pulling out a shirt that had wound its way around his shotgun. “And second.” He brought the fabric up to his nose for a sniff test. It needed washing, or burning with added salt. The remnants of nameless monster guts clung to the collar, and he didn’t hesitate to throw it out. Those pills though... “Everything’s fine. Sammy’s alive last time I checked.

“I wanted to know how you were. What’s wrong with that?” He caught the phone between his neck and shoulder, freeing his hands up to open the chamber of his prized weapon. The racking was rather loud when he closed it back again, and he grimaced. Jody was going to notice that.

“Nothing,” she said. “But that’s not why you’re calling.”

Why did he attract people who could see right through him? “Well, ah, to be honest, I need a favour.” He took a long breath in, preparing himself to deliver his news. “I met my soulmate and—”

“What?” Her high-pitched squeal had him dropping his shoulder and her. “Are you sure?”

Seriously! It’s like she was trying to cut him deep. “What do you mean, am I sure? I know my own damn initials,” he shouted down at his phone. Luckily, it had only landed on the bed. He did not have the patience or time to get a new one.

He ditched the shotgun and picked up Jody, bringing her back to his ear.

“So you’re no longer running solo, huh? Finally claimed someone! What are they? An omega, a beta? Or another alpha like you?” She chuckled. “I’d love to see that.”

‘Bitch.’

‘Dude. This is Jody.’

‘She’s insulting our mate.’

‘No, she’s insulting you, you dick.’

“Ah, an omega, and I haven’t claimed her yet,” Dean said, cringing when his inner alpha interrupted him again. His eyes searched for the pill bottle and gave it a once over. No, no. This was gonna be hell, but he’d grin and bear it. “That’s why I was calling—”

Main Masterlist

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[harpersdragons]

New Fic! (again)

It's Fine if We Know We Won't Change

Words: 2,033

Description: Jason realizes just how rough it was for Tim when he was training to be Robin

not canon-compliant, idk enough about canon for it to be.

Jason spins, dodging the incoming strike. He ducks under and slashes with the wooden sword. Tim blocks, ducking low and trying to sweep Jason’s leg.

“C’mon, pretender, that all you got?” Jason taunts, jumping over Tim’s leg.

They trade blows for a long time, dancing back and forth with each other. Eventually, Jason disarms Tim and tosses the bo staff across the cave. Tim jumps out of the way of his next strike, setting his jaw and considering Jason’s stance. Jason lets him take his time, tossing his sword in the same direction as Tim’s staff. In a real battle, Tim would need to be prepared to be unarmed and facing a weapon, but this isn’t a real fight. Besides, not many criminals on the streets are fighting with swords.

Tim smirks as he launches himself at Jason again. Jason dodges again, knocking Tim’s arm out of the way, then spinning around and sweeping his legs. He locks Tim into an arm bar.

Tim groans and thrashes his legs, trying to loosen the tension on his arm and shoulder, but Jason’s grip is iron. One leg is keeping Tim’s body pinned to the floor, the other bracing his arm as Jason bends it back. His thigh digs into Tim’s bicep, Tim’s breath is coming in short pants.

“You gonna yield anytime soon?” Jason questions, increasing the tension. The rule is generally to keep increasing tension until they tap out, but he might have to call it soon if Tim doesn’t tap out himself.

Tim just groans in response and struggles more. His upper body twists, and a sickening snap sounds through the cave. Tim yelps, and Jason releases him immediately, scrambling back. Tim rolls over, cradling the injured arm against his torso.

“The fuck? Why didn’t you yield?”

“I knew how to get out, I just needed a few more minutes.” Tim pants, pushing himself up slowly.

“Jesus christ, tap out if you need to. This isn’t a real fight.”

“If it was, I could have died. I need to know how to get out of that.”

“Yes, but this is training. We’re going on patrol in a bit, this wasn’t meant to be that serious.” Jason stares in shock as Tim walks to the back wall. “Where are you going? The medbay’s the other way. We need to call Alfred.”

“Calm down, will you? I can set it myself, it’s just a dislocated shoulder.” Tim doesn’t look at him, sets his back against the wall and bunches up his shirt, then tucks the end into his mouth. He grabs the wrist of his injured shoulder and guides it out in front of him.

Jason jumps into motion before he can do anything else. He gently stops Tim from popping his own shoulder back into place, and guides Tim back to the medbay.

“Sit.” He points at the cot, then moves around and gathers lidocaine, syringes, and a sling.

“You don’t need to do all that. If you insist on helping, give me something to bite down on and do it. I don’t want to go on patrol with a numb shoulder.”

That stops Jason in his tracks. “You’re not patrolling tonight.” He doesn’t glance at TIm, he just goes back to gathering his supplies. “Either I’m doing this, or Alfred or Bruce is. Your choice.” He sets the supplies on the cot next to Tim and then gently starts feeling around his shoulder. Tim’s scoff turns into a groan and he grits his teeth.

“Please, Bruce isn’t going to take care of my injuries. I doubt he’d let Alfred do it, either. So get it over with, or I’m going back to doing it myself. And I am patrolling tonight, so no local.”

Jason stares at him, taking in the way he’s braced for it, jaw set and staring straight ahead at the wall in across from them. He sighs, “Look, if you really don’t want the local, I won’t do it without your consent. But if your only reason for not wanting it is because you have some deluded idea about going on patrol an hour after dislocating your shoulder, I can promise you Bruce isn’t letting you out of this house tonight.”

Tim finally looks at him, an exasperated look on his face. “Bruce has never once stopped from going on patrol after being injured. Just get this over with before it swells too much.”

Jason huffs, then presses the call button on the cot. “The fuck you mean Bruce never stopped you from going on patrol injured?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. I’d get injured in sparring, we’d go patrol that same night. I’ve never been benched for an injury.”

The way he says it, so deadpan, like it’s expected and normal for Bruce to not go full mother hen when one of them is injured.

“How is that even possible? You’ve seen how he gets when one of us is injured.” Jason takes a step back, so he and Tim can be face to face for this.

“That’s different.” Tim shrugs, then winces when it reminds him of his shoulder. “You’re his kids. I’m just some random kid who forced his way in.”

“Tim—” The word sounds punched out of Bruce. “What? You really think that?”

Jason glances over, to see Bruce entering the med bay with Alfred right behind him.

Tim scoffs, pushing himself off the cot. “It’s always been true, hasn’t it?” He stalks past them, going back to the wall. Bruce gently grabs his good arm to stop him from leaving.

“It seems I’ve messed up with you. Let me start fixing it?” Bruce stares down at Tim, waiting while Tim considers it.

“Don’t worry, B, I’ll be fine by patrol. Just gotta deal with this.” Tim tries to pull out of Bruce’s grip.

“That’s not what I asked. I’m not worried about patrol, I’m worried about why you think I want you to patrol after being injured. Go sit down, and please let Alfred or I take care of you this time.”

“I don’t need the help! I’ve been patching myself up since I started this vigilante business, I’m fine!”

Jason frowns, if he or Dick refused medical help like this, or even Damian, Bruce would force them into the medbay and keep them there until someone else has seen to their injuries. Jason used to hate it, but he’s come to realize it’s one way how Bruce shows he cares. But Bruce doesn’t push. He doesn’t scoop Tim up and place him on the cot. He just…waits. He waits while Tim glares up at him, body stiff and unyielding. He waits as the younger man considers what he’s saying, considers his options, and then ultimately decides to go back to the cot.

Bruce follows, making sure TIm is comfortable where he’s sitting as Alfred checks Tim’s shoulder.

“Jason?” Bruce calls over his shoulder. “What happened.” It’s not a question, not even a statement. It’s an order.

Jason winces, Bruce is already pissed and he doesn’t even know what happened yet. Jason doubts that’s going to get better when he finds out Jason’s part in this.

“We were sparring, he didn’t tap out.”

“Why didn’t you stop before this happened?” Bruce’s voice is barely more than a growl, more reminiscent of Batman’s voice than Bruce’s.

“How was I supposed to know he was that close to being hurt! He didn’t tap out!”

“Use your intuition. We don’t take sparring that far.”

“Clearly you did, if the kid has that much of an aversion to tapping out. Where do you think he learned it?”

Bruce turns, getting in Jason’s space. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think I have a pretty good idea.” Jason crosses his arms, drawing himself up to his full height. Bruce is slightly taller, but they have pretty much the same build.

“Guys, stop.” Tim calls out. Bruce visibly deflates immediately, stepping back to Tim’s side.

“Why the fuck does Tim think he can’t tap out?” Jason scoffs.

“Knock it off, Jason, it’s not a big deal.” Tim winces as Alfred finally guides his shoulder back into place.

“Bullshit!” Jason snaps, “Sparring isn’t that serious. Injuries are supposed to be bruises! Not fuckin’ dislocated shoulders!”

“Drop it! You don’t know what it was like after you died! I had to fight every second to prove I deserved to be here. Bruce didn’t want me, if I missed a patrol, someone could die. I was weighing someone’s life against my own injuries every goddamn night. If I tapped out, I was admitting defeat. I didn’t tap out. I learned to escape, or suffer the consequences.” Tim is glaring now, he’s hopped off the cot and stalked close to Jason. “You think when I was searching for Bruce I was allowed to ‘tap out’ of a fight? You think I had someone patch up my injuries? It’s great, that Bruce cares enough about you guys to be worried about you, or keep you from making your injuries worse. But you don’t get it. Bruce changed. You had him before. You have him now, when he’s slightly more well adjusted. When he’s trying. I had him when he was broken. When I had to stop him from drowning himself in alcohol, or crossing a line he can’t come back from.”

Jason stares, speechless, at his little brother. Tim doesn’t talk much about what’s going on in his head, or what he’s been through. And honestly, Jason didn’t think Bruce was that affected when he died. He knows now that Bruce loves him, and it’s been a long ass road to get here, but he didn’t think Bruce had gotten to that point after he’d died.

Bruce looks heartbroken, and he steps forward, reaching for Tim, but Tim sidesteps and turns to leave.

“Tim, wait—” Bruce calls.

“It’s fine, B, you don’t have to worry about me.”

Before Tim can take another step, Bruce grabs his good arm again. “Tim, can we talk before you leave, please?”

“Why bother? I know where I stand, Bruce. I’m not your son, I never have been. Don’t sweat it.” Tim doesn’t even seem bothered by the words coming out of his mouth. Like it’s just common sense.

“No, see, that’s why we have to talk. You are my son.” Bruce speaks in a rush, as if he’s trying to get all the words out before Tim leaves. Maybe he is, maybe if Tim leaves after this, he won’t come back. “I didn’t see you that way at first, I’m not going to lie to either of us by saying that. It took me an embarrassingly long time to realize it. But you are my son, Tim, and I will do everything in my power to help you see that.”

“Why now?” Tim’s voice is rough, his head tilted downwards, as if to hide how close to tears he is.

“Because I only just realized you didn’t see it. I was stupid to believe you’d just know how I felt. That’s on me, son, and I’m so incredibly sorry.”

Tim sobs, and Bruce tugs him into a hug.

“I know it won’t change overnight. I know there will be good days and bad. But please, give me a chance to fix this.”

Tim grips at Bruce’s shirt, nodding slightly against his chest. Jason winces as he sees Tim’s injured arm pinned awkwardly, that has to hurt.

“I’m gonna—” Jason points at the door and starts to head out, before Bruce grabs him.

“We’re going to talk about you not realizing how much pressure you were putting on his arm.” Bruce narrows his eyes over Jason’s head.

“Yeah, yeah. Hug your kid, B, I’m gonna go patrol.” He tugs his arm out of Bruce’s grasp, and makes his way quickly to his gear.

He can hear murmuring in the med bay, probably Bruce and Tim talking more, but that’s not his problem now. They’ll work it out. It won’t be easy, but they will.

After all, if Bruce could convince Jason to come back home, that he loved him, that he is , then he can convince Tim.

[asphodelsandpomegranates]

You All Deserve This (Huggy Wuggy x Reader):

(A/N: This is NOT entirely based on the Hour of Joy in chapter 3. i wrote this long before chapter 3, I think it must have been between chapter 1 and 2 when i wrote this. So, please keep this mind.)

You blinked at Dr. Pierre for a few seconds. “You’re…y-you’re what?” 

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). But we must let you go.” he repeated. 

You blinked again for the second time. “Why? What…what the hell has brought this on?” 

Laith Pierre took a resounding sigh as though your confusion frustrated him. “Complications.” he answered. “We can no longer keep you on anymore. Especially considering your…’relationship’ - if you can call it that - with Experiment 1-1-7-0.” 

You felt your jaw clench. “Don’t call him that. He has a name, you know that.” 

“A name that covers our backs into what really goes on here. A name you came up with.” 

“I know that and so do you.” 

Laith shrugged. “Regardless. We cannot allow that creature to go soft as you’ve made him.” 

“That’s the reason as to why you’re letting me go? Because you’re scared you’re no longer going to have Huggy Wuggy as an..’attack dog’?! Huggy is a living being!” 

“He was created by us to keep the factory safe.” 

“You do realise that if you fire me, then Huggy will no longer respond to anyone here. He’ll tear this place apart. He’s been alive for all these years and for more than half of them, he’s been allowed to roam free. You did that, Laith! You can't turn on him, Laith, he’ll turn on you. I know him better than any of you here.” 

“All the more reason to let you walk.” Laith answered. “You know too much.” A knowing smile came up on his face. “Don’t think I don't know what you two get up to when you’re alone with him.” 

Even though your face was passive, you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. You knew full well what Laith Pierre was saying. A year after looking after Huggy Wuggy, the two of you had become something more. Something intimate. Mates? Was that the right term? It had just happened and soon the sex became more. It turned into love making and it was such a struggle to leave the poor thing on his own when you left to go back home. But you always returned and Huggy, when he saw you, would scoop you up into his long limbed arms and hug you to him. According to some workers, Huggy was a different being around you, which made you a little happy. 

A chuckle broke your thoughts and you glanced up at Laith to see him smirking at you. 

“You know you can’t lie to me. It’s all on the security cameras. Every. Single. One. How many times has that beast - that thing - taken you? Where did he not take you?” 

“If you’ve seen the security footage, then you already have your answer.” You sniffed. 

“So, you’re not going to deny it?” 

“Why would I? I’m not a liar. I’ve not gone out there in front of the public and lied through my teeth about what really goes on here. Have you?” 

Laith’s eyes narrowed at your words. He got to his feet and went over to the large window that looked out onto the large factory floor. 

“What is Poppy? Really?” you asked him. “She’s more than what she appears. I’m sure the others do as well.” 

Laith stared at you, hard. “I’m going to give you two weeks.” he finally said. “And you’ll leave this place and…Experiment 1-1-7-0.” 

You got to your feet, still staring down at your soon to be ex-boss. 

“You’ll have plenty of time to say your goodbyes to the ‘experiment’. Now, get out of my sight.” 

You did as you were told, slamming the door in the process. 

Your head and heart was pounding! You felt sick, you wanted to cry, scream. Something. You were being let go because of how close you were to Huggy. Because they thought you were making him soft?! How ridiculous did that sound? 

You stopped in your tracks and glanced upwards to a security camera that was pointed right at you. A red light blinked like a sleepy eye. You glared at it hard, knowing that Laith Pierre was probably watching you with a satisfied smile on his face. 

The tears finally came and you stormed off. 

You didn’t go straight to the lab where Huggy Wuggy was being kept; you couldn’t face him just yet. You made your way to the ladies’ bathroom and clambered into a cubicle. Locking it, tightly, you sat on the toilet seat with the lid down and buried your face into your hands. 

More tears began to fall and sobs began to escape from your lips, muffled from your hands. 

****************

Two hours, you had sat in the toilets, crying your heart out and when you had finally cried enough, you sat trying to calm yourself down before leaving and going down to see Huggy. 

You found Huggy out of his cage and was being inspected by a few of your colleagues. He looked disgruntled at being poked and manhandled by people who weren’t you. He never liked others touching him for too long. He preferred them to just look and have you doing the inspections and the prodding. 

When you entered the room, Huggy instantly spotted you and chirped a happy greeting. A smile came up on your lips and everything that had happened moments ago flooded out of your mind. 

“Hello, boy.” you cooed, spreading your arms out in a welcoming hug. 

Huggy broke away from the small group and lumbered his way to you, causing the scientists nearby to shuffle back in fear of being knocked over by the big creature. 

The hug you gave him was tight. Tighter than any you had given him or he had given you. It would be one of the last ones you would give him in two weeks. 

How on earth were you going to tell Huggy? 

*****************

Within two weeks, you stuck by Huggy’s side and did your job. But that did not mean you would not stop loving Huggy because it would be the last time you would be together…

…unless? 

Two days before your last day, you sat in a corner of Huggy’s cage. Huggy was half lying on top of you, half snuggled into your bare side. The two of you were both coming down from your cloud of bliss after making love for a long time. You had wanted to make it last as you did not have much time left with him. 

You continued to run your hands through the blue fur on the plush’s head, enjoying the soft sensation against your skin. Huggy cast his large head upwards to look up into your eyes  and mewled, happily. You giggled and pressed a kiss to his cheek, making him purr. 

Suddenly, the thought of leaving him on his own entered your eyes and it made the tears come back to your eyes. Huggy had seemed to notice the change in your behaviour and chirped a confused sound. 

“S-s-sorry, Huggy. It’s not you.” you did your best to wipe away the tears but to avail. “I…I didn’t want to tell you this but I’ve had no choice. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner.” 

Huggy didn’t respond but looked at you intently. You slowly sat up a little more against the glass wall and Huggy knelt in front of you, close. 

“They’ve…they’ve…fired me.” You said, simply. The big blue creature tilted his head in even more confusion. “It-it means…I will no longer be working here. You won't see me anymore.” 

Your heart seemed to shatter as the confusion quickly changed into sadness. The poor thing was heartbroken by this news. 

“I was so scared of telling you.” you told him. “I didn’t know how to tell you but I wanted to make every moment with you count. Because I love you so much, Huggy. And it breaks my heart to know that the day after tomorrow will  be my last day.” 

Huggy made a low growling noise, his expression hardening. You leaned in and took one of his paws in your hands. 

“But it’s all right, though. I may have an idea for us…to stay together. You up for it, sweetheart?” 

Huggy’s trademark smile returned. 

“All right, then. Here’s the plan.” 

*******************

You walked in the next day, with your head held high and hoping that you and Huggy had in mind would work without a hitch. You clocked in a few minutes before your start time, feeling the many eyes on you as you began your day. The first port of call was and always was to Huggy’s cage down in the basement labs. 

As you made your way through the factory and down the stairs to the labs, you could see the other scientists and factory workers all coming to a halt and watching you pass. 

You guessed that your secret relationship with Huggy was no longer a secret and now they were treating you as some sort of freak. That or news of you being fired had circulated and had been interwoven with lies to cover up the knowledge of you and Huggy. 

You entered the lab and made your way to Huggy’s cage. The big furred creature sat against the glass wall and smiled down at you as you made your way over–. 

“Miss (Y/L/N).” called the familiar voice of Laith Pierre. 

You stood stock still and waited. The whole lab had gone silent. Huggy’s head turned in the direction of Pierre’s voice and growled. 

“Miss (Y/L/N). For your last day, I would advise you to stay away from Experiment 1-1-7-0. You have other jobs to do. Rich and Avery will take care of the beast.” 

Trying your best to ignore the rising anger in your veins, you slowly turned into Laith; your face passive. “Thank you but no thank you, Mr. Pierre. I will pass on the offer.” 

Laith scowled at you. “It was not a request, Miss (Y/L/N).” 

“And I'm still saying no. I know my rights. And I will stay with Huggy.” 

The whole room had gone deadly silent. All eyes were focused on you and Huggy. It was almost as if they were waiting for something to happen. 

But… 

“Miss (Y/L/N), please. This is your last day and I would prefer it if you didn’t make things difficult.” 

“Difficult?” you laughed. “That's rich coming from you, Dr. Pierre. Or have you forgotten the last several years?” 

Small collective gasps echoed through the lab at this. You were sure that you could see the vein in Laith’s head popping. 

“(Y/N). You don’t have a say in the matter–.” 

“I do!” you snapped, followed by Huggy Wuggy snarling behind the glass. “I’ve had a lot to think about over these last few years, Laith. But especially the last two weeks. Everything that you’ve put us through. The experiments, the abuse, the trauma. The discrimination. I’ve had enough. You all claim that this is in the name of science, when really this is all madness. We’ve created these living beings only for them to be used and abused for your own gain. These amazing creatures could have done so much and what do we do? We torture them. We all drag them into this madness we’ve created. With no possible way out. 

You cast your gaze to Laith as your hand fell to the keypad behind you. 

“Has any one of you wondered where Poppy came from? Do any of you know where Stella went? Do any of you care?” 

Silence only met your words. 

“Thought not. But you’re all cowards. Keeping Poppy locked up in that room! In that case! How can you do that? Most of you are parents. Imagine if someone put your child through that. You would be screaming and kicking, demanding answers. I cared about every single one of you.” 

Beep (5)

“I had the same passions as you all did when this all started.” 

Beep (6) 

“But now, I could care less about any one of you. Except one.” 

Beep (4) 

“There’s only one person in this very room who I care about in the whole wide world.” 

Beep (3) 

“I love Huggy Wuggy. And I won't deny it. He’s more than an experiment. He is a living creature. He’s the love of my life. He’s my lover.” 

Beep (7) 

“And your undoing.”  

Beep, beep, beep, beep. 

“Holding cell open.” 

As the door to Huggy’s cage opened, Laith’s eyes widened in horror and realisation. “Get out!” he roared. “Everyone!” 

Huggy Wuggy crawled through the doorway and stepped past you. He stared round at the moving crowd and roared in anger. Then with one fell swoop, he swiped his claws into the workers nearby, slicing them open, blood pouring across the ground. 

You ducked under Huggy’s lumbering legs, knowing that he would keep you safe. You followed him through the lab as he moved. You glanced up to see Laith Pierre moving over to the door of the lab you had walked through with others following at his wake. 

You slipped your hand into the pocket of your lab coat and pulled out a remote. You pressed a button and soon the room was swamped with red lights and a piercing alarm, followed by a voice: ‘Red Alert: factory shut down in five minutes.’ 

You then pressed another button that was linked to a room upstairs. 

“Huggy!” you called to your lover. He turned, a dead and bloody lab worker hanging half way from his mouth. “Let’s go. Come on.” 

Huggy gave a crunching bite down on the co-worker and followed you. It was a tight squeeze getting Huggy through the door but once through, he picked you up in his long arms and placed you safely on his shoulders before bounding up the stairs like a child on the swing bars. 

You clung on to him for dear life, hoping that he wasn’t going to drop you. 

Reaching the top of the stairs, he took a large swipe of his arms sending your colleagues hurtling to the ground. He reached for you and ushered you through the doorway and out into the corridor. 

The sounds of chaos and panic were still ringing in the air, almost deafening. You glanced down the halls to see splatters of blood. 

Where had Laith Pierre gone? 

Turning, you saw Huggy pushing his way through the doorway. 

“Come on, sweetie.” you encouraged. 

The two of you ran down the corridor, trying to see any signs of Pierre. 

Suddenly, there came a loud bang making you turn with a start. Hugy let out a roar of anger and took a swipe. Looking round Huggy’s legs, you saw a factory worker with a tranquilizer gun, now being crushed against the wall in a splatter of dark crimson. You looked up to see a gaze from whatever it was that had been shot by the gun, had scraped against Huggy’s leg. 

“It’s all right, boy. We’ll get you patched up once this is all over.” 

Huggy made a small growl but lumbered after you, keeping close. You glanced back every now and again to cheek on Huggy’s wound. The last thing you needed at this moment in time was for Huggy to be seriously injured. 

Turning a corner, you reached a foyer to find a blood bath. Two large toy-like figures were gulfing down a few lab or factory workers. One was a large yellow bunny with green dungarees and the other was a large dinosaur you knew as Bron. Huggy made a threatening growl and loomed over you in a protective stance. 

Bron glanced over with an arm in the sleeve hanging out of his mouth. He let out a low noise from around the arm. 

Suddenly, one of the heavy metal doors began to slide open with an awful creak. Everyone went still, all eyes on the opening door. Your eyes widened at the sight that was standing behind the door. 

(The End)

[popcornforone]

Upon One’s Self

A Dave York Fan Fic

It’s been a while but happy Dave York Saturday. You’ve missed them haven’t you? I have. This was never the plan for this week, but then last Saturday someone in a conversation gave me an idea & now here we are with filth for our stabby stabby.

Synopsis:- you’ve come back from a top secret mission with the army, but you need to go through protocol first.

Word count:- 5800

Warnings:- DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18! DAVE YORK COMES WITH HIS OWN WARNING AS THE MAN IS A MENACE! PIV unprotected sex, fingering, lack of consent, previous relationship, hook up, easy fuck, squirting, swearing, daddy is used once, work colleague having sex, dominating & controlling behaviour, choking, spitting.Basically standard Dave. This is also Young Dave so he isn’t seen as being a cheater.

Thanks as always everyone for the read. Hope you enjoy peoples.

8 months you’d been undercover. Very few people knew. You only told your family you were going on tour with the army. But no you had a special mission. One only a handful knew to about. It’s been scary & multiple times you thought your cover would be blown, but you survived, flashes of the nightmare you endured creep into your sleep even before you were out. It’s been hell.

4 days ago your supervisor called you back. Enough intel had been gathered, enough for a strike to happen. But you had to be out of harms way within 30hours or you would join as an unfortunate. You were told to report to the nearest outpost. That’s someone high up would come & get you within a week, & explain the situation, you would be rewarded beyond anything you could imagine for a low level corporal. Not many Americans are in this area, with your training & previous special ops experience you were prepared for a hostel hosting from the outpost, to be questioned, to be intimated, to even possibly be taken out of an equation, those are the rules. You knew this was the game, but that’s also part of the reason why you were sent on this mission. You’re strong & you know what you’re capable of. You are one of the best at what you do. Only a handful are better.

You were greeted by 4 guns pointed at your head as you arrived. All shouting at you to drop to your knees before getting within 10ft of the outpost. You did as you were told. Your Hands on the back of your head, making sure they can see your US army dog tags hanging around your neck, you’d remembered to put them on as soon as you knew you weren’t being followed. You’re a little bit breathless & tired, walking for more than 2 days in the desert has had its toll. All you had was the rations on you, & 2 bottles of water.

“Name & rank?” & voice over a tannoy booms & you reply clearly with your full name including all of your military information.

“Why are you here”

“Classified, contact Admiral Loughton, tell him the detachment is back” you say & lift your head. You blink, unable to see in the scorching sun. So bright, it had not been your friend. You are trying to make out how many people are near you. But then you are plunged into darkness. A black bag thrown over your head. You don’t mean to scream but it’s instinct as you are pushed to the ground. The material the only thing protecting your face from getting scuffed up by the dirt, dust & stones your face was being buried into. You’ve been in worse situations than this. You are Completely flat face forward, hands still on your head, as another hand pushes you down. You can almost taste the dust in your mouth.

“Check her pockets” it’s a voice you recognise & you gasp. Surely not. Not here. You’re then dragged to your knees & across the dirt & into the compound, wondering if the voice was a ghost or if it really was him.

The bag is lifted off your head about an hour later. You squint & blink before then adjusting to the dim light. It’s a small grey room. One window, a matress, a sink, a toilet, a table, 2 chairs & a hole in the wall for food to be delivered. Compared to where you had been on the mission in the last 8 months this was an improvement. You knew this was protocol, you knew this would happen. You’ve previously had to observe people who claimed to be us army officials who have come back or arrived at the wrong out post. It’s not nice but you are all fully aware of the drills. It’s just worse for it to happen to a woman than a man.

The door creeks open a while later, sounding like the hinges have never seen oils. The sound of army boots heavy on the floor clonking. You lift your head as the door shuts & your eyes are wide. Your ears didn’t deceive you. It was his voice.

Standing before you is Dave York. He was 2 years above you when you joined army training. He taught you a lot. You used to come up with strategies in notebooks, plan the missions you would one day both hope to be on. Often you exchanged rations, decided to split your phone calls you were allowed when it was someone’s birthday or celebration you knew. You looked out for each other. He was a confident first, then a friend, then a teacher & for one brief afternoon a lover. You were nervous before going on your final training assignment, that you didn’t think you were ready for & Dave calmed you down in medical examination room by sticking his hand down your trousers. You weren’t caught but Dave railed you that afternoon. Making your cunt contract in the most exquisite ways. The look on his face as you came & he snarled before his own orgasm, will be a look you will never forget. It worked. You were much calmer before the assignment. When you got back & told Dave excitedly how it had gone, he informed you he had been posted to a special operation & he wouldn’t be back for a few months, but to wait for him. You watched him pack his bag, taking one of your note books with a couple of jokes in, just to make him smile when he was down & alone. This was 5 years ago.

You’d tried to keep tabs on him but he was a ghost, a very good ghost, you did this up to going on this recent mission. Part of your brain always Wondering if he would look for you too. That’s why you became a special operations recruit, to find Dave. But you’ve never been put on the same mission or exercise. Maybe he was too good, or maybe you weren’t or maybe you were even better than him, you weren’t sure. But every time since that afternoon when you’ve thought about him or had sex with anyone, it’s just not the same as the release you had with him.

Dave stands there & looks you up & down. You can’t deny you do the same. He’s still in brilliant shape. That green tshirt touched every mussel on his torso, those shoulders are so broad. The way he grip the clipboard tightly, with those large hands. Not one hair is out of place. Yea he’s still glorious, unlike you, you think. You’ve not washed for a week & you’ve had to escape & track through a Harsh desert. Your clothes still stink of the camp fire from your mission. Your hair hasn’t been cut in months, there’s dirt & dust in every crevice. Blisters on your skin, sunburned in places. You are not the girl Dave would ever want to come back for.

“So…” he says softly reading out your name. He scoffs reading out your paper work. “Long time no see”

“Yes corporal…”

“It’s first sergeant now” he interrupts. A smug look on his face that he’s leapt up the ranks.

“I still prefer Dave” you reply.

“& id prefer sergeant York or sir” he’s very formal, as he rubs his bare forearm.

“Yes sir” you say & nod with a polite smile. You know this will get rough but at least it’s someone you know. “I gotta be honest, it’s nice to see a familiar face” you state. “8 months is a long time being undercover”

“I can imagine” he says as he walks further into the room & grabs one of the small chairs & sits behind the table. The clip board you can see has all your official data on, clearly they have checked you are who you are. It’s only as you look at it that you realise your dog tags are attached to it, you hadn’t even realised they were not around your neck anymore. “So 8 months, why such a long mission?”

“It was compulsory, could have been longer. special ops take time to deliver intel, to make sure we get the right person, surely you know that” you say presumptively. Dave looks up at you. Dave exhales sharply through his nose, tapping the clipboard against the table a couple of times. His gaze is unreadable, but you catch the flicker of something in his eyes, curiosity, irritation, or maybe even something softer.

“I know how it works,” he replies, voice measured. “What I don’t know is why you were sent. Why you specifically.” You lean back against the cold wall as you are still standing, crossing your arms over your chest.

“You’ll have to take that up with Admiral Loughton.” His lips press into a thin line.

“I already did.” He tilts his head, studying you. “They were very keen for me to keep you here until further notice. Which means either you’re extremely valuable…” His eyes darken slightly. “Or you’re a liability.”

“Surely You don’t believe that.” Your jaw tightens.

“I don’t believe anything yet,” he replies smoothly, lacing his fingers together. “All I know is you walked into this outpost alone, with no backup, carrying classified intel that I don’t have clearance for. That makes you a security risk, regardless of how well I used to know you.” You swallow, watching the way his forearm flexes as he leans forward. He’s playing the role well, keeping the professional barrier between you. But you know Dave. Beneath the cool, disciplined exterior, there’s a flicker of something else.

“I didn’t come here to be interrogated,” you say finally. “I followed protocol. If they told you to hold me, fine. But you know I’m not a threat.”

He tilts his head slightly.

“Do I?”

You feel a twinge of something dangerously close to hurt. Has he really forgotten how dedicated you were, it may have been 5 years since you last saw each other but the man must still remember certain things, be it personal or professional, were you really the friend who kept a a lot of information in a notebook or were you just an easy shag who he befriended. Before you can respond, he pushes back his chair & stands, looking over you. His expression is unreadable again, but his eyes, those sharp, knowing brown eyes, are scanning you, looking for something. A crack in your armour.

“You’ll be in here until I get further orders,” he says. “Until then, you eat when I say, sleep when I say, & answer when I ask you something. Understood?” You stare at him, heart pounding. The way he’s looking at you, it’s not just authority, it’s something else. A test. A challenge. You recall that he likes a challenge.

“Yes, sir,” you reply, voice steady & do the training salute you used to do to each other as a joke. Dave holds your gaze for a moment longer. There’s a small smile on his face, he remembers.

“So you know how this part has to go” he states sternly.

“Yes sir” you gulp. Suddenly remembering that it’s about to get extremely intrusive.

“Good” he throws a chair your way. “Sit” you do as obliged. He reaches into his back pocket & puts on two black latex gloves. “Legally I now have to say for the recording that I First Sergeant David Christopher York am about to conduct a strip search to insure that there is no contraband…” you both know this is legally bound to be said. After this point the recording will end & then Dave will destroy all of the clothes you are wearing & inspect every inch of you. It will be violating but it must be done. Who knows what you could have on you or inside you. If anything is found Dave has the right to do whatever he has to, to remove it. When he finishes his speech about your rights you gulp.

“I consent & I can calmly before we start, state that I have nothing upon one’s self, I am clean.”

“I’ll be the judge if that” in the corner of your eye you see the camera light blink 3 times & then go off. It’s now just you & Dave.

Dave exhales & stares before believing orders.

“Stand up”

You obey without hesitation. Your pulse quickening, suddenly there is no saliva is in your mouth, it’s dryer than the dessert you walked through. Usually a strip search is by someone you don’t know but today, it’s someone you know, who you’ve searched for. It’s Dave.

Each touch even with the gloves on makes you flinch, your arms out stretched as he pats you down. When he kicks your legs apart you try not to think of the naughty things he would do in other circumstances, with this move. The way his hand skims down your spine sends shivers, you’re just not sure if they are of desire or from being scared.

“Tshirt, off”

It wasn’t a request, & you don’t hesitate. Your modesty disappeared a long time ago. You slowly reach the hem & peel it over your head. Your body battered & bruised, you’ve lost weight in the last 8 months. Daves trying to keep it calm & professional he has a job to do. But he looks at your bra, memories of sucking on your breasts, flag back to him. How your nipples respond with each lick. How you whimpered his name. He know his jobs going to get harder the more he orders your undressing.

His hand instinctively while checking your skin, skims over your bra, he can hear your breath hitch. It makes him smirk, he try’s not to show you, but you can sense it.

“Trousers too, belt first, throw it towards the door.” His voice is hoarse.

With the belt gone as you step out of the trousers (your shoes were taken on arrival) you feel the most vulnerable & petrified you have been in the last 8 months. In your bra & panties as your body shows your increasing pulse standing in front of Dave. He’s more of a challenge than any special operation.

His gaze never leaves, his own heart pounding. He remembers it all so well. He remembers his intention of coming back too, now filled with guilt, but maybe just maybe he could set this right.

You hear the knife blade spring free. It’s from behind you as is Dave. It slices through the back of your bra with ease. You shake your shoulders so it falls to the floor without you touching it. His large hands go up & down all over your bare back. Dave exhales sharply. His touch lingering on your exposed skin.

“Turn around” another order & you do so. Your eyes closed, no wanting to see Dave’s reaction to your breasts. He sighs as he looks. There they are, the pillows of joy he once tasted, still perky, the coldness of the room & their exposure making them erect already. His hands gently lift them up & check nothing is underneath. You gasp & wince at one touch & he stops. His hand softly goes back & sees as incision to the side of your left breast.

“What happened?” He asks softly, concerned by the wound. Clearly older than the mission you have been on, but still a violent shade, enough to make him ask.

“Syria 2 years ago, I was the lucky one” he sighs, he had been in Syria too, he lost a friend in a lobby when a building fell down on them.

“Sorry” he says before he softly rubs it. Hands that kill being extremely gentle with you.

The room falls still & silent for a few moments. Your eyes flutter open as his hands Grace your ribs. But there is no time to mourn the loss of friends & colleagues you know the drill, & this is no time to get personal either. Dave then takes your hand & walks you in just your panties over to the table before he drops to his knees. Your stomach clenches, butterflies appear as his gloves fingers go into your waist band. You don’t realise you’re panting, but Dave does. He slowly & deliberately rolls them down from your hips & down your legs, lifting your feet up to free you from them. Along with the rest of your clothes they are tossed in a pile to be destroyed. Your hands grip the table behind you As he slowly parts your legs. Your hadn’t shaved in the 8 months & you should not be feeling aroused but feeling this hands even if through a glove on your thighs heading for your sex make you whimper. You can’t stop it escaping your mouth. You look up to the ceiling telling yourself in your mind that it’s just a usual strip search, but you’re also then thinking it’s Dave. & you know where those fingers have to go. Those fat delicious fingers.

His jaw tightens & hes trying to be calm. He has a job to do, he stands there looking at it. That perfect little cunt, that was so tight for him, that made him feel so good. What he does next is instinctive.

You hear the spit & you gasp. He’s got moisture on his gloves & your eyes bolt open even before he gets close & you look down at him.

“Let’s at least make this comfortable for your” it’s a steal line delivery. You see the spit in the black gloves as he spreads your open. You try to stay silent but your can’t. You moan. Three fingers slip inside your pussy, curling up, stroking your walls. Your body has missed this sensation from anyone, but to get it here when you can’t say no from Dave, your walls contract.

“Fuck” you pant as he softly moves around. He’s trying to keep his mind in the job but he can’t. Your hips are moving, he can sense the arousal that will be covering his gloves. He should withdraw them now, he knows your cunt has nothing inside it but he’s here, a few more pulses to make your feel good won’t hurt. He thrust his fingers in a few more times. Your toes curl.

“Fuck Dave”

“Sir”

“Fuck Dave Sir” you whine. He tries to cough over his laugh but you hear it. You then moan at the loss of being filled before his hands grip you & spin you around, you bend over the table you know what’s coming, & you know this is the best position for this professionally & sexual. Dave does the exact same inspection on your arse hole. You stand on your tip toes trying to not moan, wondering if he would take you from behind. You are breathless when his fingers come out. He looks at the mess of your privates, clearly aroused, your sex dripping, your arse puckering. He takes his gloves off & tosses them into the pile. He’s feeling his trousers tighten, but he knows he can’t or shouldn’t. Not when you’re so vulnerable. He sighs & shakes his head.

“On the chair” again more demands. You pull yourself off the table & sit down. Your hands in your lap to cover your modesty, which even if you didn’t have much to start with has now been completely stripped away. He drags the other chair over & sits on that. Your head was lowered but he’s lifted it up with his fingers. “Cavity check” he says & you open wide. Dave then inspects every tooth to check there’s nothing unusual, except for the back molar with the suicide pill. Standard issue for special ops. He sighs when he’s done & you close your mouth.

“All clean” he state & you let out a big sigh of relief. You look propely into his deep brown eyes for the first time since he started getting intimate with this strip search. He also lets out a sigh before saying “good girl”. Before then standing up abruptly & marching towards the door. He pounds it 3 times & is delivered some clothes moments later that he put on the chair he had sat on.”For you, for protocol” he says seriously.

“Yes sergeant” you reply & you see Dave twitch. Clearly he likes it when you say that. You try to not make it too obvious that you know he likes that. He always liked it when you called him by his rank. “Problem sergeant?” You ask, his face is flustered & blushing, he gulps, his Adam’s Apple quivering. Dave clears his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His hands twitch at his sides, like he’s not sure whether to fold them behind his back or shove them in his pockets. You’ve never seen him this flustered before. The temptation to lick your lips is growing.

“There’s no problem,” he says, though his voice betrays him, a slight waver in his usual authoritative tone. He lifts his chin, trying to regain some composure, but his blush is still there, creeping past his collar.

“Good. I’d hate to think I’d done something to rattle you, sergeant.” You smirk as you say the line, before moving your hands to your side. Your legs do part but it’s a clear sign to Dave of your intentions. His jaw tightens, & for a moment, you think he’s about to rebuke you, to remind you of protocol, but instead, he exhales sharply through his nose. His eyes lock onto yours, an intensity there that wasn’t present a moment ago.

“You’re pushing it,” he murmurs.

“Am I?” You start to twist your hair with one hand as the other trails down your body, to that place he wishes to plunder, your voice softer now. Teasing. “Wouldn’t dream of it, sergeant.”His breath catches. Just slightly. But you hear it.You shouldn’t enjoy this as much as you do, but there’s something about watching Dave, from memory he was Always so composed, so in control, but now fall apart under the weight of something unspoken between you.For a long moment, neither of you moves or speaks. The air is thick with tension, the kind that crackles like a live wire.

And then, finally, he speaks.

“Fuck you” he shouts & the kicks over the chair & marches over to you. His face is like thunder. As red as a strawberry that’s about to burst. But his eyes are wide & filled with desire. Those heavy boats stomp over to you & he gets to you then grabs you around the throat. You gasp & your legs part.

“Wanna play it that way darling?” He questions “want a proper search? Want to be properly violated?” His grip is harder, you gasp but croak the words out.

“Yes sergeant” you lick your lips. Suddenly his spare hand is down your throat attacking the gag reflex. You splutter.

“You don’t just obey, or eat or sleep when I say” he snarls forcefully removing his fingers which now drip in saliva. “You also don’t cum until I say you can” your cunt quivers just thinking of that.

“Yes sergeant” there’s no pleasantry’s. Those sodden fingers are thrust inside you. You go to gasp but can’t make a sound as he kisses you in a frenzie, not waiting for permission. His tongue being more thorough than he was earlier with the inspection. Only breaking to spit in your mouth & then continue again. Moans escape you when you have a chance to breathe. Over stimulation is happening. Your clit, so neglected over the last few months. This fat thumb making sure it experiences the pleasure it deserves.”so fucking needy” he says but doesn’t return to kissing you. He’s concentrating on his rhythm, while those eyes burn a hole into your skull, they are filled with lust.

“We’re gonna count down from 5 & on 1 you’re gonna cum” he says & you pant but don’t reply.”answer me god damn in” he grips your neck a bit more. Your eyes almost popping out of their sockets.

“Yes sergeant” it’s a whimper.

It’s the slowest count down you’ve ever heard but as soon as Dave mumbles 1 which is just audible you combust. Drenching his hand, squirting, your slick coating your thighs, pubes & the chair beneath you. Your whole body trembles. You had little time on your 8 months mission for self pleasure, so this feels like an ungodly power to suddenly have. To find that release of ecstasy.

“Good girl” he says before removing his fingers & sucking two clean before letting go of your neck & slipping the two sodden fingers in your mouth. “Forgot your cunt tasted this good” he says & then tuts. “But look you’ve made a mess,” he shakes his head sarcastically. He then grabs the hem & pulls off his green T-shirt. Every muscle defined. A few scars from past missions but other than a small trail of hair going from his belly button to where was now tight, he looks spectacular. You lick your lips, still tangy from the cum. “Like what you see” he says has he undoes his belt before lifting you up. Your naked body pressed against his bare torso. He feels firm, your hand automatically glides down his body. Over those abs, down the happy trail & into his trousers, gently tugging his penis once you’ve made contact. He closes his eyes & groans, his face full of want & need. To have this cunt once more. He then remembers he’s meant to be calling the shots & pulls your hand out of his trousers. “Who gave you permission?” He says sternly.”I could have you suspended for sexual harassment?” He says coldly as he unzips his fly.

“I could say the same Dave” he raises an eyebrow as you say this before he lifts you up & plonks you on the table. You lie down already a mess but waiting for pleasure to consume you.

“Didn’t hear you complaining 5minutes ago?”

“& you shouldn’t have got me aroused during the strip search”

“Do you always answer back?”

“Yes” you say forcefully “you always liked the challenge back in the day”

“Yes I did” his trousers & boxers pool on the floor & he kicks them away. He strokes his length a few times before pulling you near the edge of the table. He licks his lip as he rubs his length against your dripping cunt. “& I know you liked it hard & fast”

“Yes…. Oooooh fuck” no words are needed, he’s not even slowly edged in. You’re filled to the brim. He’s so girthy, so big, bigger then you remember. Your whole body judders in delight as the special spot it already being hit.

“Fuck sweetheart” he groans on the second thrust. “So fucking tight” his large hands grasp at your flesh. His hips already moving at a rapid pace. “best cunt” his eyes close & he rolls his head before they blister open as you moan.

“Fuck Dave more more” his eyes bolt open

“Needy little whore”

“I’m in need of a good fuck”

“Are you?” He leans over & grips your neck again. “Well it might be quick, but I’ll have you wishing for a special strip search every day” the grip is tighter around your neck. You sit up a little trying to get air into your lungs. Your thighs turn to jelly, your pussy contracting. Pleasure hits you with each thrust as Dave increases his movements. The sweat dripping off him more precious than water in the desert. He’s glorious. The intense eye contact & tension in a room filled with wants & moaning as you both give into your lust. You know you could both be in huge trouble for this. Dave would be much more fucked over than you but all the while he is fucking you, he doesn’t care. He is enjoy each contractions inside you, your cunt gripping around him. He’s looking as your eyes glaze over. He listens intently each time you say fuck. It makes his heart leap & makes him thrust more. He’s at one with you like this is the last time he will fuck anyone. He doesn’t break the eye contact until he can feel your own rhythm change.

“Usually I’d be more dominant” he grunts, feeing his own release coming”but I want you to cum for as long as you can” he looks down at his penis which is sodden. “Cum for me, cum for daddy” you don’t deny him. You see all the stars as you let go. Your body feeing like it’s on fire in a good way, every nerve tingling, a release like no other.

“Fuckkkk” you scream. “Yes yes yes” that sets Dave off. A couple of seconds & thrusts later & he can’t hold back. He quickly withdraws knowing he wasn’t using a condom & ropes off his cum cover your torso. White & sticky. He closes his eyes as he jerks it all out.

“Oooh yes sweetheart yes” it splatters as he mumbles, before he then grips the table so he doesn’t fall down. You lay there completely spent, panting. Feeling more on edge that you had for the mission. You dare not move. You close your eyes & try to calm down.

You suddenly feel something damp & wet grace over your sex. Not again you think but also secretly wanting more. Dave had got a cloth to clean you up. Being delicate with those large hand that had been choking you only minutes ago.

“Dave” you whisper. He pauses & then looks softly at you.

“Yes”

“I’m guessing this goes no further”

“Yes” he says & he then throws the cloth in with the clothes that are to be destroyed & looks at you. Memorising every inch of you, from your horrible scars to your beautiful brown eyes. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear before kissing you delicately. This was the Dave you remember from the past, you cup his face, as you let his tongue dance with yours & you both moan, as you move closer together. Your hand runs down his back & squeezes his bum. He lets out a soft giggle. “& it’s sergeant” he says with a wink. He then steps away & starts to redress as you put on the new clothes he got you.

“Yes sergeant” you reply. As you fasten the last button on your shirt, you glance up at him, watching as he adjusts his belt & straightens his tshirt with practiced precision. The air between you still hums with the heat of your lust, but the moment is already slipping away, replaced by the weight of unspoken rules and the reality of your situation.Dave clears his throat, his expression unreadable once again.

“You stay here until you receive the all-clear. Shouldn’t be long.” You nod, shifting on your feet, suddenly hyper-aware of how exposed you still feel despite the fresh clothes. He notices, of course he does he’s Dave York, but says nothing. Instead, he steps towards the door, his hand resting on the handle before hesitating.

“What else am I gonna do Sergeant” you hear him sigh softly.

“I dunno, but I know you’ll be good to go soon”& then he’s gone, leaving you alone with your racing thoughts & the lingering taste of him on your lips.

6 days later you’re released. Your mission a success, your superiors proud & the strike was hit with precision. You know you have served your country & the world well.

As you cross the tarmac to get onto a plane, you are a different person to the girl who arrived at this outpost. Shiny prestige uniform, a hair cut, clean, well fed, you feel more like you again, ready to head back home. As you walk, you hear your name being called. You stop & remove your aviators, your uniform & medals as perfect as they can be. A far sight from the girl who arrived at this outpost a week ago. Fast walking towards you is Dave, with a little book in his hand.

“Sergeant” you say wondering if he will call you by your new rank.

“Major” he says & you try not to laugh & look smug. He salutes you with the gesture you both used to do, as you are now higher ranking than he is. “This is yours” he says. You grab the book wondering if it was from your mission, but it isn’t. It’s the little note book he packed. A note book you both used in training years ago. Worn & damaged over the years. “It was always my intention.” He gulps Looking awkward, scuffing his shoes on the ground…”to return this to you but you were off on your own missions when I returned from mine & so I kept it upon one’s self, just so then I knew part of you was always safe” he lifts his head bashful, the dominant man drifting away to show his own vulnerability “…so that you were always with me”

You turn the book over in your hands, the faded cover rough beneath your fingertips. Flashes of the past come rushing back, late-night study sessions, scribbled notes in the margins, inside jokes no one else would understand. You swallow, caught between the weight of nostalgia & the gravity of the moment.Dave had always cared.

“You kept this all these years?” you murmur, flipping through the pages, the ink smudged but the words still clear. Dave shrugs, his usual confidence faltering.

“Yeah… figured you might want it back one day.”He try’s to bluff. It had meant something all those years ago. You look up at him, studying his face, the same, yet different. Older. Wiser. Just like you. The silence lingers between you, thick with unspoken words. You should say something meaningful, something to acknowledge everything this gesture carries. Instead, you offer him a small smile.

“Thanks, Sergeant York,” you say simply. He exhales, almost relieved, & nods.

“Anytime, Major.”

With a final glance at him, you tuck the notebook into your jacket & turn towards the plane. Your heart wanting to leap out of your chest & Wishing you could give all this up to be with him.

He made you who you are & you made him into the sergeant standing a few feet behind you wondering if he should join you. His thoughts betraying him.

As you reach the stairs on the plane you hear that familiar tone.

“Wait…”

You pause & smile.

[inkedinshadows]

For the requests: "I would certainly take all night" with Eris, please. I would be forever indebted to you. Can be smut or not, write it however you want! :)

Held in Firelight

Pairing: Eris x f!reader

A/N: Hi! No need to be indebted, don't worry! I just hope you'll like this bc I really liked this idea but I wrote it after six hours of class so it might not be my best work. I also don't know how to label it because it's a bit fluffy with a tiny sprinkle of angst and allusions to smutty bits? Idk idk I really like it tho

Warnings: arranged marriage, cheating (but the parties involved are aware so idk)

Word count: 1k

“I think he has a new lover.”

Your words cut through the comfortable silence that had settled over the sitting room. Eris raised a brow, but you continued to stir the wine in your glass, your eyes fixed on the swirling red liquid.

The silence stretched, broken only by the crackling embers in the fireplace. Eventually, he asked, “What makes you think that?”

You shrugged one shoulder. “He spent every night out this week. He doesn't do that if he's just sleeping around. He still comes home.”

Eris hummed, as if contemplating your answer.

These were your favorite moments—when Eris didn’t have court duties to attend to and could spend hours talking and drinking with you. It was your favorite way to ease the stress and tension of the life you had been forced into.

“He was out even two nights ago?”

You looked up at him. The firelight flickered on the side of his face, turning his hair into molten copper. You felt a sudden urge to reach across the couch and run your fingers through it.

“Yeah,” you replied. “Why do you ask?”

“It was your birthday,” he stated simply.

“So?”

He looked startled. “You really don’t care that he forgot?”

You sighed, setting your glass down. “Eris, he hasn't remembered my birthday in years.”

He didn’t reply, but his jaw clenched. You couldn’t tell if the flames in his eyes were just a reflection of the fire or if it was that simmering power of his.

With another sigh, you pressed on. “Let’s say he remembers,” you said. “Then what? You really believe he would spend the whole night with me, taking his sweet time to make me feel cherished, at least on my birthday?” You shook your head, the mere thought making you scoff. “No, I prefer it this way. He doesn't care about me, I don't care about him, and there's no point in pretending we do.”

Eris remained silent, his gaze fixed on the fireplace, his fingers clutching the stem of his glass so tightly you thought it might break. You knew he cared about you, that he hated your situation as much as you did, but even he couldn’t change it. Maybe once he became High Lord he’d banish arranged marriages and spare others from this fate, but it was too late for you.

Picking up your glass again, you tucked your legs beneath you and settled back against the pillows. You took a sip of wine, hoping that its rich taste might offer an excuse to change the topic, but you came up empty. You’d already commented on the flavor when he opened the bottle.

“I would certainly take all night.”

His voice was quiet, almost thoughtful, but when you turned to look at him, he was still facing away from you.

“What?” you blurted out. Surely, you had heard that wrong.

Finally, his eyes met yours, determined and unflinching. “I would take all night with you,” he repeated, “I would cherish you. And not just on your birthday.”

Your breath hitched. There had been a few lingering touches, a brush of fingers, words whispered after one too many glasses of wine. But never like this—so plain and blatant, so unguarded.

“Don't say that,” you murmured.

“Why not?” His eyes bore into you, pinning you in place. There was no escape—not that you wanted one. “We both want it.”

He was right. There was no arguing with that. Yet you still shook your head. “Eris, we can't.”

He moved closer. You didn’t resist when he took your glass and set it on the small table alongside his. An empty bottle stood next to an unopened one.

“Why not?” he asked again, his voice gentler now. “Just because you’re married? How many other females has he been with?”

Countless.

Maybe Eris was right about that too. Maybe you didn’t owe loyalty to a husband you had never wanted—a husband who had never been loyal to you. If he could have all the females he wanted, then maybe you could have the one male you wanted. The one person who always understood you, who never judged or mistreated you.

“When was the last time someone made you feel cherished?” Eris’s hand covered yours, his slender fingers intertwining with your own, squeezing once. “Made you feel good?”

You had never thought about your marriage in those terms. You had never wanted that union in the first place, so you had clung to the small things. Time away from your husband was good. You hadn’t shared a bed in a long time, and your conversations were awkward and stiff enough that the thought of intimacy hadn't crossed your mind in years. And you’d told yourself that was good enough.

But deep down, it had never really felt good.

Eris was still looking at you, his expression soft and understanding. As if he could see your every thought.

You looked away, unable to stomach it. “I don't know,” you finally whispered.

“Let me be that person.” He reached out, gently tilting your chin. “Let me make you feel good.”

Your eyes met again, and your resolve wavered. Then he brushed his thumb over your lips and spoke in a barely audible whisper.

“Let me love you.”

That word.

Love.

Your husband had never uttered it to you, nor had you to him. But hearing it from Eris… you knew he didn't mean just now—a stolen moment to carry in your heart. And that realization was the final push you needed.

You didn't know who moved first. One moment you were staring into each other's eyes. The next, your lips met.

He tasted like a wish come true after years of waiting.

You were done longing and yearning in secret, done pretending you didn't know what you truly wanted.

And as Eris loved you in front of the fireplace, you finally felt good. You felt cherished. And he took all night to make sure of it.

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @ivy-34

1k taglist: @onebadassunicorn @thegoddessofnothingness

[obvithe-bestsoph]

No. 43 | "Charming, you know how to make a girl blush." HF32

masterlist requests

prompt list (if you request a prompt, please request a player for it as well!) genre: best friend's cousin to lovers lmao word count: 2.7k (ish) warnings: swearing, mentions of pregnancy at the end.

When you were 16, your best friend, Amira, moved from your guy’s hometown of La Almozara, Zaragoza, as she was going to go and live with her aunt and uncle in Barcelona to do her Bachillerato because she preferred the options and schools there over the options in Zaragoza. 

But now, 18, and a free woman, you’ve got a fresh driver’s license and a best friend to see. 

You have also decided to move to the infamous Barcelona, studying at Universitat de Barcelona while having an internship at a nearby physiotherapist clinic. However, it’s still a few days until your new apartment will be ready, and you’re going to stay with Amira in the meantime while you wait.

You make the three-hour road trip from La Almozara to Barcelona and now, here you are, standing outside the door of the address Amira had given you. You ring the doorbell and hear footsteps and some cluttering, until the door finally opens, revealing your best friend. “Y/N!” she squeals, throwing her arms around you. “Hola, Ami!” you grin, hugging her back. 

After a short reunion on the front doorstep, she brings you inside. The house is big, and expensive looking. You glance around the entryway for a moment, pulling your suitcase behind you. “I can see why you moved here.” you laugh. “Definitely, it’s so nice, right?” Amira laughs back and leads you into the kitchen. Standing behind the large white marble countertop, making breakfast, is Amira’s aunt, María. Sitting across from her on the island, eating an apple is her uncle, Carlos. 

Amira introduced all of you to each other, and just as you were leaving to go upstairs to her room, the front door opened and closed once more, and in walks her cousin, Héctor.

Now a rather famous footballer, playing professionally for F.C. Barcelona, he’s still dressed in his training kit, having come straight from the stadium. He flashes that perfect smile of his at you, and speaks up in his smooth, accented voice. “Hola.” “Hola, how-” you reply, about to ask how he is when you’re cut off by Amira. “Héctor, wipe that stupid smile off your face and stop trying to flirt with my best friend.” he laughs and she rolls her eyes, taking your hand and continuing to lead you up the stairs. You and Héctor hold eye contact as you watch him over your shoulder as you’re dragged away, before looking away and shaking your head, as if trying to shake away the thought of him.

Once upstairs in her room, Amira shuts the door behind you and flops down on her bed. “Sorry about him, he’s actually such a flirt.”

Laughing, you sit down on the bed beside her, “It’s alright.” Amira tugs on your arm again so that you’re laying down next to her. “So what’s all the tea that I’ve missed?” “Tea? No, not really anything.” “Still no boyfriend?” she teases.

“Me? No way. You know I don’t do boyfriends.”

“Fine. Any new hookups then? Talking stages, even?”

“How many times do I need to tell you, Ami? I don’t need any boys.”

Amira rolls her eyes and laughs, shoving you playfully, “You’re so boring.” “Oh, am I now? How about you then señorita? Any new boys for you, hm?”

She glares at you for a moment before laughing slightly. “Okay fine, fair point, no new boys either. Well, not really…”

“Hold on, what do you mean, ‘not really?’” You ask with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m not talking to anyone, but I’ve discovered that I have the biggest crush on one of Héctor’s teammates.” You laugh, “Which one, they’re all, like, stupid hot.” “Lamine.” “Fair.” 

“I mean, have you seen those biceps?” she grins. “Not specifically, we can’t all be as pervy as you.” that remark earns you being hit with a pillow. “Cállate (shut up), he’s just really fine, vale (okay)?” “Okay, okay. So have you ever actually talked to him, or are you pulling the usual Amira move of just admiring from afar for years?”

“We follow each other on Instagram.” “Well that’s a start.”

“Mm.” she hums flatly. “What?” you ask, confused by her lack of enthusiasm.

“You like Héctor,” she states simply. 

You panic, thankfully she can’t see your face from the way you’re both lying face up. “Pffft, no. I already said, I don’t need a bo-” “Oh would you stop with that, it’s painfully obvious you like him.” Amira cuts you off. “Why don’t you just admit it?” she rolls over so she’s facing you. “I know he’s my cousin, but I don’t have a problem with it or anything.”

“You don’t?” “Why would I? His life, your life, not really my business… unless it’s me somehow helping you two get together.”

You sigh in defeat, “Fine. Maybe I like him a little bit.” Amira grins, “Liar.” “Okay, fine. Maybe I like him a lot then.” her grin turns smug. “Knew it.” “Shush.” “So what are you going to do about it?” “Nothing, you know the kind of guy he is. He’s a flirt, not a boyfriend.” “True, but that’s not to say the right girl couldn’t change his mindset.”

You laugh, “Don’t get my hopes up.”

“Whatever. But you should know that it’s now my own personal mission to get you two together.” she grins, poking your side.

Squirming away and laughing, you reply sarcastically, “Sure. Good luck with that.”

The conversation moves on and you guys chat the day away, until eventually heading to bed. 

The next morning, you wake up at 7 AM, Amira still snoring away peacefully next to you, you’ve always been an early riser and she’s always been able to sleep for hours, so long that occasionally you question whether or not she’s actually alive behind her eyelids.

Knowing very well she isn’t going to be awake for a while, you get up and head down to the kitchen for a glass of water. When you enter the kitchen, Héctor’s already sitting at the kitchen island, eating some eggs and a bowl of cereal while scrolling on his phone. You freeze and then turn around back towards the direction you came in, contemplating going back upstairs again, hiding there until he leaves for training, however, that thought process is interrupted by that smooth voice again.

“Buenos días, guapa.” you can practically hear the amused smirk in his voice. Begrudgingly, you surrender to your fate and turn back to face him, smiling. “Buenas días, Héctor.” 

“Sleep well? Amira’s always been a bit of a snorer.” 

“It was fine, gracias,” you say tightly, heading back into the kitchen to get the glass of water you originally came for. 

“I could make you a coffee if you want.” he offers. “No thanks, I don’t drink coffee.” “Why not?” You shrug, continuing with your water. “Makes me feel weird, I dunno. Just don’t like it.” “Huh, okay then, I guess,” he replies casually, but on his phone, he swipes out of TikTok and into his notes app. He goes into the note titled, ‘Things I know about Y/N.’

So far, his list consists of: - Her name is Y/N Y/L/N.

- She and Amira have been best friends since they were 8.

- She’s supposed to wear glasses but never does because she doesn’t like how they look.

- She supports Barça.

- She looks very pretty in brown and white.

- She’s studying sports physiotherapy at university, specialising in knees.

- She used to play football, and was good, but then got injured and had to stop playing.

- Won the 2022 U-17 Women’s World Cup with Spain.

And the most recent addition, 

- She doesn’t drink coffee because it ‘makes her feel weird.’

Héctor finishes typing and puts his phone down, watching as you drink from your glass, admiring the way you look in the mornings. You put your now empty cup in the dishwasher, before turning to leave the kitchen, but you turn back around when Héctor calls your name,

“Y/N?” “What?” “Um, I’m, er- I’m going into town later if you need a ride. We could go and see your new apartment?” he offers, looking almost… nervous, shy even.

“No, I’ve got my car. That’s all good.” you decline politely, a slightly confused look on your face as you give him another smile before continuing your way up the stairs. 

Weird. Why was he nervous about talking with you? After thinking about it for far too long, you decide that you were just imagining it.

Once back upstairs again, you slip into bed once more, Amira still dead to the world. You open your phone to scroll on TikTok for a while, and as if it could hear your thoughts, for some reason, your For You page has decided to start feeding you Héctor Fort edits. Great.

For the most part, you just scoff and scroll past them, aside from one random one (i’m imagining this one), that you decide to watch for no particular reason, and dios mío (my god). It’s almost embarrassing how many times you watched it. No.

‘I don’t do boyfriends, and even if I did, he doesn’t do girlfriends.’ you remind yourself firmly, closing the app and putting your phone down, needing a second to think after that.

Meanwhile, in his own room down the hall, Héctor’s on his phone, texting his best friend Marc Guiu. 

Héctor: Hermano, she’s actually so fine, I can’t.

Marc: Who? That friend of your cousin's?

Héctor: Yeah, Y/N.

Marc: And you haven’t asked her out yet, becauseee..?

Héctor: Because there’s no way she says yes.

Marc: Okay, fine, but what’s the harm in asking? You can’t predict her answer.

Héctor: Maybe… I’ll think about it. I just don’t wanna get rejected, yk?

Marc:Well, obviously. No one wants to get rejected. But getting rejected is better than saying nothing and wondering what could’ve been, or seeing her with another guy.

Héctor: Since when’d you get so wise? Calm down.

Marc: What can I say? Apparently London’s changed me. 

Héctor: Whatever 🙄 Anyway, I’m gonna go help my mamá. I’ll talk later, sí?

Marc: Vale, hermano. Have a good day. Text later. 👋🫂

Héctor: Adiós, hermano. 👋🫂

Héctor sighs and puts his phone down, staring at the wall for a moment before sitting up and heading down to the kitchen to help his mamá like he said, as she’s making her usual weekly batch of baking. 

Being an only child, and his father working during the day, growing up, Héctor spent the most amount of time with his mother, and he’s a total mamá’s boy. So as they make some cookie dough together, he asks her for advice. 

“Mamá, I think I like a girl. Different than how I usually like girls.” María raises an eyebrow, “Sí?”

Héctor nods, “Sí, she is very pretty and I like her personality. But I’m scared to ask her out. What would you do?” “Buy her flowers,” she says simply.

“Yeah, but I can’t just… *buy* her flowers,” he replies, frowning as if that was just obvious.

“Why not?” “Well, because, um…” Héctor then realises there isn’t really any good reason. “What kind of flowers do girls like then?” he sighs.

His mother just smiles, picking up the tray and sliding it into the oven. “Red roses. A handwritten letter with them wouldn’t do any harm either.”

He gives her a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek before heading back up to his room. “Gracias, mamá.”

“Any time, mi hijo.” she smiles, hugging her much taller son back, patting him on the back and letting him go.

That night when you and Amira get back from your day at the beach, sitting on the pillow of the side of the bed you’ve been sleeping on the past few nights is a bouquet of long-stem red roses, an envelope sitting on top of them. You freeze when you see them before walking over to the bed and picking up the envelope. 

Amira is already going crazy, her face right next to yours as she leans over your shoulder trying to read the letter. But you laugh and hold it close to your chest, not allowing her to see.

“Let me read it first, and then depending on the contents, I’ll let you.”

Slightly annoyed, Amira agrees.

You carefully open the envelope and slide out the piece of paper from inside. 

Dear Y/N,

I’ve never really done this before, so I asked my mamá, and she said girls like flowers and handwritten letters, so I hope you like them too. I was going to get white roses, but then I saw the red, and they reminded me of your fiery soul, so I got them instead. 

As I say, I’ve never really done this before, the whole ‘romantic love confession’ thing, so sorry in advance if I do it wrong. 

I don’t know if you remember this, but we first met when we were 11, at Amira’s birthday party. Amira and all the other girls were playing with the new toys and things she had gotten, but you came and kicked around a football with me for basically an hour because I was the only boy there and had nothing to do. Amira got so mad with you. But I never really forgot that, it’s a shame you can’t play anymore, you were really good. Long story short, your little action back then has stuck in my brain, and ever since then, the memory floats back through my mind sometimes, and it always makes me smile. 

Especially these past few days, with you being here all the time, I’ve realised just how much I do feel for you. I know that on the outside, I’m flashy and flirty, but really I’m a little shy to tell you all this in person, and I figured a letter was better than a text. 

A date, for me, is kinda the end goal here, but I’d really even just take a follow back on Instagram. 

This feels like really fucking primary school, but:

WILL YOU GO ON A DATE WITH ME?

YES   🔲        NO   🔲

Please say yes,  - Héctor.

You put the letter down, shocked. You hadn’t been expecting that. Amira was already reading one your shoulder, despite your original protests.

“You know, I think he’s being serious. He’s not one for heartfelt shit like this, you clearly mean a lot to him. It’s not often he actually says ‘please’.” Amira speaks up once she finished reading.

“Yeah, actually. I think I will.” You say firmly, nodding. 

“You’d be a little stupid not to, honestly.”

You pick up a pen from Amira’s desk, ticking the ‘Yes’ box, and writing on the back. 

It’s funny you think I’d ever say no to that. DM me and we can plan our date? And yes, I do love the flowers, it's charming. You know how to make a girl blush.

Taking the letter with you, you slide the letter back under his door, knocking and then quickly ducking back into Amira’s room before he can catch you.

Héctor hears the knock on his door and immediately jumps up from where he has been on the bed, anxiously waiting until he got some sort of reply since he heard me and his cousin get home from the beach.

He sees the tick and reads the note, a smile growing on his face.

And now, here you are, 2 years later, sleeping peacefully in Héctor’s arms, his hand resting protectively over your small 3-month baby bump, calming the kicking baby girl inside so her mamá can continue sleeping. He admires your face as you turn your head to bury it further into his chest, taking comfort in his familiar smell and touch. 

A lot has happened since the day he left those roses for you on the pillow, but he only loves you more. 

He’s also glad he listened to Marc, and to this day, it’s the only thing Marc is allowed to say “I told you so.” about.

[blueberrymocha]

misc hc ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

┌──────────────────────────────────────┐

ׂ╰┈➤ fluff

➣ characters: gon, killua, kurapika, leorio, hisoka, illumi, chrollo

➣ a/n: slightly different post 🧐 might make a part 2

└──────────────────────┘

gon

• he’d get a dog after coming back to whale island. probably an outdoor one that he’d show around the island—keeping him occupied for days.

• in fact, i think he’d always wanted one but because he was waiting most of his childhood to become a hunter/find ging, he didn’t want to raise a pet just to immediately leave for years while he searched.

• you know when you’re mad at someone, so you don’t talk for days? he’s the kind of person who would practically force you to interact with him unintentionally.

• like he’d wake you up for breakfast or call you when he heads to the market to ask what you want—forgetting you’re supposed to be fighting.

killua

• he had restricted media access growing up, so now he loves binge watching shows and movies.

• of course, everything is better for him when you’re around, so he’d force you to watch them with him. the perfect afternoon for him is gathering some snacks and watching whatever for hours, and he might even let you be cuddly.

• he has a lot of twisted ideas about what love looks like. there would be moments where he feels like you don’t love him because you’re not as overbearing and controlling as kikyo/illumi.

kurapika

• finds the sound of breathing very soothing, especially his s/o’s—sometimes while you sleep he’ll just lie beside you, watching your chest rise and fall and listening to your breaths.

• he’s pretty tenderheaded, so if you ever try to brush his hair or run your fingers through it while it’s tangled, he’d ask you to stop.

• adding onto that; i feel like you’d have to be very, very close for him to eventually allow it. the action would just remind him too much of being a child and having his hair taken care of by his mother.

leorio

• loves jazz and oldies music + occasionally will sing or hum along (he’d do the thing where he sings one part and then points to you to finish the lyric) (please match his energy).

• he becomes very chill at night compared to his usual intensive personality. what that looks like is him speaking often but in a softer, ramble-type voice. he’d narrate his actions, occasionally talking to you as he basks in the quiet atmosphere.

• as for his actions, he’d do nightly chores around the house regardless of your insistence he doesn’t need to. he hates the prospect of being useless—something he feels often with his friends. so around you, he just really wants to help.

hisoka

• he has harmful and harmless magic tricks. he loves to show both off.

• none would be harmful to you, but you’d have to establish early on that you’re not okay with him pulling things like the flower petal trick in front of you (unless you are 🧐).

• if he had a pet, it’d be a bunny. and on that subject, he completely disapproves of animals in magic shows (thinks they’re cheap tricks).

illumi

• this man cannot cook to save his life. and can you blame him? if i had servants on servants, i wouldn’t pick up a spatula either.

• still, he hates not being able to do things, so he often finds himself asking you to teach him. with cooking, not everyone is made for it.. he is a perfect example. no matter how many lessons, how great the advice or recipe is; it won’t turn out if he’s in the kitchen.

• his behavior towards killua would be entirely different from how he treats you. he views you as his equal, not a puppet, and it’s not his job to change/mold you. so generally, he’s nowhere near as controlling or manipulative (though because it’s his nature, i wouldn’t rule it out).

chrollo

• the gentleman act he puts on for people like neon is probably how he’d act around his s/o a lot of the time. not to manipulate you, but just because he’s not used to showing his natural self around non-spiders, so he puts on a facade he knows you’d like.

• the longer you spend around him, the more you’d begin to notice his real personality creeping through. it’d start with small remarks and comments that he doesn’t tell others, almost like he’s on a reality tv show and you’re the audience. eventually, he’d become more comfortable with you seeing him while he’s emotional.

• he’d read all the books you read so you could have conversations on them. even leaving sticky notes at certain parts so he remembers to tell you about his initial reaction.

[noellawrites]

Dark!Sonny Carisi R*pe and Impregnation HC’s

a/n: happy anniversary my love @rafaslittleboy <3 also gender neutral but afab reader

warning: DARK CONTENT AHEAD, please do not read if this disturbs you! includes: rape, impregnation, virginity loss, inaccurate portrayal of abortion laws, manipulation, forced pregnancy, lmk if i missed any

- As Dominick Carisi Junior’s paralegal, you have a very professional relationship with him. Always running errands, filing papers, gathering reports

- But one day, he asks if you’re free that evening to babysit his three kids

- And you agree, of course, knowing he’s been going through a rough period with his wife

- But when you arrive, only Sonny is there

- “Sorry kid, there’s been a change ‘a plans. ‘Manda’s mom’s watchin’ the kids, ‘n ‘Manda’s off doin’ work stuff,” Dominick sighs, welcoming you in

- You’d been alone with Mr. Carisi many times, but this felt… different. The vibes were off

- He tells you to stick around, that you can help him out with work stuff and he’ll still give you money for it

- You share a few drinks, not unlike some of the late nights you’ve spent in his office together

- Later on, you’re definitely tipsy and sitting on the couch next to your boss

- All of a sudden, his lips are on yours in a passionate kiss, and you feel sick and confused

- Your brain is lagging behind your body, and Mr. Carisi is pulling your underwear and bottoms down your legs

- “Shh, this is jus’ between us, kiddo. Lemme make ‘ya feel good,” he say in your ear as your head lolls back

- At some point, you end up on the bed and he’s pulling his dick out of his pants

- “Been waitin’ so long f’this,” you hear him growl before he pushes in, painfully taking your virginity as you lay paralyzed with fear

- “Mr. Carisi, s-stop!” you whimper, which is pretty much all you can do as he fucks you deeper and more passionately

- He’s thrusting so roughly, and after a few moments you can feel him blow his load in you as he tells you how tight your hole is

- You pass out at some point and wake up in his marital bed the next morning with a dull, throbbing pain between your legs and a check for seventy-five thousand dollars on the nightstand next to you

- You think you must’ve imagined it, you’re in shock and disbelief. Your boss, the man who has worked to bring sexual predators to justice for the last decade? Raping you?

- And the next day at work, Mr. Carisi acts totally normal. Talks about how proud he is of his kids, how his son just took his first steps. It’s almost like nothing ever happened between you

- He gives you a wink, saying he’s always down for some more fun, and that’s the last you hear of it

- You love your job, and you need it, so you go back to acting normal with Mr. Carisi

- Until six weeks later, when you start arriving late and disheveled, sometimes calling out entirely

- “What’s goin’ on with ‘ya, kiddo? C’mon, talk t’me,” Sonny presses, putting a hand on your shoulder comfortingly

- He hasn’t crossed your boundaries since that night, so you’ve gotten more comfortable with him again

- “I’ve just been really sick,” you mumble, rubbing your forehead

- “Maybe ah’ should take ‘ya to a doctor,” he frowns, feigning concern. He knows exactly what’s “wrong” with you.

- “I’m fine,” you mumble, but after a few moments you get up and run to the bathroom to puke again

- “Let’s go,” you sigh, “I probably have the flu or something.”

- The doctor writes down your symptoms and orders a blood test, and you wait in the lobby with Sonny for about an hour until your results are ready

- You know you must be imagining it when the nurse tells you that you’re pregnant, about six weeks along

- Sonny hugs you, tells you how amazing it is that you’ve created the miracle of life together, and you stand still in shock.

- The first words to come out of your mouth are, “when can I come back for an abortion?”

- Sonny’s smile falls and he grabs your wrist, “what tha’ hell?”

- You tell him you don’t want a kid, you’re too young and not ready for it, but he’s not listening

- "'Ya really want an abortion? I ain't gonna let that happen, kiddo. I'll see 'ya in court," he snaps.

- The nurse gives you some resources but you know that Mr. Carisi will find a way to get what he wants, like always

- Your lawyer tells you that Amanda has been unfaithful to Sonny and he just found out that Nicky Carisi isn't his biological son, which is why he's so adamant on forcing you to carry to term

- Your lawyer goes for the rape angle, since you were actually raped and shouldn't be forced to carry the child

- Needless to say, Sonny and his lawyer eviscerate you on the stand, and it's emphasized by the sob story of what happened with Amanda

- He truly sees you and this child as his second chance, and there is no way he's letting you ruin it

- You can't take care of your newborn in New York City on a paralegal salary, and Sonny convinces you to move in with him and out of your shitty apartment

- You share custody, but slowly you can feel yourself becoming more attached to both Sonny and your baby

- You have to work from home, both the new baby and the postpartum struggles making it too hard to go in and do your job

- Before long, Sonny is already talking about baby number two. He needs this family, needs to rebuild what he lost through Amanda's infidelity

- That's when you realize, it was hopeless to ever try and leave

[sunflowerhae]

Serotonin

Angel - massive attack

The secretary, Britney Spears office siren, jeno in a suit (do you blame a girl cmon now) Don’t you guys know I’m utterly insane? Lmfao anyway sorry I was feeling some type of way for yearning office jeno tn I guess lol, should I make a whole smut for this or just keep being silly?? Anyway I love the secretary and I love this office siren/ceo BDSM relationship trope what can I sayyy like please imagine pouty jeno who just wants to please reader 😭 also definitely listen to angel by massive attack while reading thanks (just click link!)

Warnings: highly suggestive, office romance, switch!jeno x switch!reader kinda?, INSANE foreplay, mention of public masturbation, intense sexual yearning

•

It was a game you played, the two of you. Between the boring office talk, long meetings - even longer hours - and cups of burnt coffee with stale muffins; there was that ache. That ache you only felt when his burning gaze turned towards you. When your eyes shifted away from your computer every hour or so - the repetitive glare from your screen burning through your corneas and begging for a release - slowing trailing up the length of the grey, monotoned carpet and to the edge of his desk; chills burning through your spine as his brown eyes are caught locked on your frame, already staring; already waiting.

The game was simple.

How many times could he make you uncomfortable in an eight hour work day? How many times could you hold yourself back from the shiver he forces through your body, like when he softly touches your waist in the break room, or “accidentally” spills steaming hot coffee down your top while during a routine status check? How many minutes are spent unfocused; day dreaming of the night time when you know he’ll be yours to play with? You find yourself sitting at your desk, mind off in lala land as you unknowingly rub your thighs together - biting the tip of your No. 2 pencil so intensely, one might assume a dog chewed at it. You imagine his callused hands running up your legs as he kneels in front of you in awe, worshiping you as a deity. You glare down at him in disgust, your grip on his tie strong. You don’t let him take off his suit; you like to see him dressed in his work clothes. You like to imagine forcing him to slowly take your clothes off with his teeth, feeling his hot breath down your body as he struggles to keep mental control over himself. He wants you to feel bad for him; to pity him. Really, it just makes you laugh.

“Poor puppy wants attention, doesn’t he?” To solidify your point, you pet through his messed up, yet perfectly shaped hair and watch as he ruts hits head into your palm in glee. He doesn’t say anything, choosing to instead nod as he finally finishes taking your panties off and sits nicely, waiting for further instructions. His reaction makes you scoff, shocked at his audacity.

“Cat got your tongue, puppy?” You force two long, red pedicured nails down his throat, and he immediately starts sucking at them, “well, good. You don’t need anymore attention from me, don’t you agree?” And as if using your fingers as your controller, you push his head up and down in a nodding motion, “I thought so,” and pop your fingers out of his mouth without another word. “Now, I had a long day at work, and since you’re not willing to talk, let’s put that mouth to good use, yes?” You don’t even have to ask before he’s eagerly getting up and rushing to the bed, laying down on the position he knows you like. If he thought anything about your endearing laugh, or even had the mental capacity to acknowledge it at this moment; he didn’t say anything. Before you can walk to the bed, however, you’re thrusted out of your imagination by the sound of paper slamming onto your desk.

“I need these done by tonight, y/n. I’ll stay late with you if I have to but we’re getting them done.” Jeno no longer occupied his usual space across the office from you, instead he was hovering over you, staring at you once again with that all-consuming greed in his gaze, “and don’t fuck them up like the last set. It’ll just keep us here longer.”

“Yes sir.” A small smirk played on your face as you picked the stack up and moved it closer to you. Without another word, Jeno nodded stiffly and turned around, walking back to his desk. Shortly after that, you once again felt that familiar sensation of being watched, and turned to look at him through your lashes - breath getting heavier when you see him slowly palming himself under the desk; the depraved act only noticeable to you, just like he liked.

You know how much it got Jeno off; knowing that while walking around this office you both had very specific roles to play - Him, The Boss, and you, The Lackey. The power he held in his hands controlled him; forced him to spiral every minute he looked at you, knowing that he had the ability to decide how your day was going to go, every day. It’s the reason why work was a living hell for you. It’s the reason why Jeno would pull you to the side almost every day and degrade your outfits (if the skirts were too long, or heels; too short) or work style. You despised Jeno at work; he loved it. Because he knows the more he gets you to hate him at work, the more he’ll be punished after work. Every verbal assault, every push of his body against yours like when he forces you to bend down in front of him, every glare of disgust he sends your way; it was all for fun.

And that was your game. You don’t know who started this sick and perverted routine you and your boss have somehow fallen into. Who pushed first? Who fell first? Who could push each other more? Who cared. In the end, it was all the same; it was all Serotonin.

This bitch is my icon

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