#i though he needed to look worse and my hand slipped ok

[ryuarl]

😝

[misspygmypie]

We're A Team, On And Off The Track

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader Requested: Yes Summary: Your period cramps are unbearable after a race and Lando is there to make you feel better. Words: 2.3k

Please do not repost, thank you, and leave some feedback :)

With every corner, you felt the weight of the pain more intensely, and it was getting harder to focus on the track. Your vision was blurring slightly, and you could hear Tom’s voice through the headset, but it seemed like it was coming from far away.

“Y/n, are you ok?”

“Yeah I’m alright,” you stated, taking a sharp breath.

Tom’s voice crackled again, urgent but supportive. “Y/n, just a bit more, you’re almost there. You’re doing great.”

You nodded to yourself, even though your race engineer couldn’t see it. “I’ve got this,” you muttered through gritted teeth. The pain was still relentless and even getting worse, but you were determined to not give up.

You maneuvered through the last few corners with every ounce of strength you had left. Your hands were gripping the wheel so tightly your knuckles were white, and you fought against the nausea threatening to overtake you.

The finish line was just ahead. You could almost taste the relief. You pushed through the final stretch, the sound of the engine roaring in your ears, a welcome distraction from the pain. As you crossed the line a wave of exhaustion washed over you.

Tom’s voice was the first thing you heard clearly after you crossed the line. “P6! Great job, Y/n! We’re all so proud of you.”

You managed a small, pained smile. “Thanks, Tom,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. You were already thinking about the bed and the pain relievers you so desperately needed.

As you pulled into the pit lane, Tom and your team were there, ready to help you out of the car. You could feel Tom’s worried look on you. “It’s okay,” you replied, your voice hoarse. “Just… I need to lie down.”

Lando, your boyfriend and fellow driver of the McLaren team, was already waiting for you in the garage, having finished P4 and smiled at you. But just as you had put your helmet down and were walking over to him it happened. A sharp pain hit your lower abdomen and you could’ve sworn somebody stabbed you with a knife. The lights and colors in front of your eyes swirled together and slowly faded away as darkness took over. The pain was so strong you felt like you were about to pass out and you quickly wobbled over to the nearest wall to lean on.

“Y/n, oh my god,” you heard Lando’s panicked voice. “Baby, are you ok? Tom, get Dr. Hughes.”

Two soft hands grabbed your face and slowly, as your nausea subsided a bit, you could make out the worried face of your boyfriend.

You tried to focus on Lando’s face, his concern evident in every feature. The pain was still intense, but his presence brought a small bit of comfort amidst the stabbing feeling in your lower abdomen. As he gently helped you to a nearby chair, you took a few deep breaths, trying to steady yourself.

“I’m… I’m okay,” you managed to say, though the words came out strained. “Just… cramps. They’re really bad today.”

Lando’s expression softened, though the worry didn’t leave his eyes. He crouched down in front of you, his hands still holding yours. “Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

You looked away, feeling a mix of frustration and embarrassment. “I didn’t want anyone to know. I didn’t want to be seen as weak or—”

“Y/n,” he interrupted gently but firmly. “You’re not weak. You’re incredible, and I hate seeing you like this. You should have told someone.”

Before you could respond, Dr. Hughes - the McLaren team doctor - appeared, his face concerned but relieved when he saw you sitting down. “Lando, can you give us a minute?” he asked softly, and Lando nodded, though he clearly wasn’t happy to leave your side.

Dr. Hughes crouched beside you, his professional demeanor slipping through with a compassionate touch. “How long have you been in this much pain?” he asked as he started checking your vitals.

“Since the start of the race,” you admitted quietly. “I didn’t want to drop out. I thought I could manage it.”

The doctor nodded, understanding. “Here's some medication and I will get some more for you to take with you. You need to rest.”

As he left to fetch the necessary supplies, Lando stayed close, his hand still holding yours. “I hope nobody pressured you into thinking you had to race today.”

“No, Lando, nobody even knew. I made the choice to race. I didn’t think it would be this bad.”

“Ok,” he said, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “But next time, please let me or someone else help. We don’t want you to suffer like this alone.”

Lando stayed by your side, holding your hand and keeping quiet, letting you focus on getting through the pain. His presence was soothing, even if words weren’t necessary at the moment. You leaned back in the chair, feeling the medication start to take effect and the pain begin to recede, albeit slowly.

As the initial discomfort faded, you looked at Lando, seeing the love and concern in his eyes. “Thank you,” you said softly. “For being here. For understanding.”

He squeezed your hand gently. “Always,” he said. “You’re my priority, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re okay.”

Dr. Hughes soon returned with the extra pain relievers and guided both of you through the paddock. “Go to the hotel and rest for a while. We’ll take care of the rest.”

“Thank you,” Lando replied to the man with a sincere smile and just a few moments later you were on your way to the hotel.

Once you arrived Lando carefully helped you out of the car, his arm around your waist providing support as you moved toward the hotel’s back entrance. The side street was quiet, a stark contrast to the front where fans and media awaited. The sense of privacy and calm was exactly what you needed right now.

As you entered the hotel, Lando guided you to the elevator, his hand gently resting on your lower back. The ride up to your floor was quick, and he walked with you to the door of your shared room, fumbling with the keycard to get inside. Finally, he managed to get it open and ushered you in.

The quietness and peace of the room quickly embraced you. You immediately felt more comfortable not having to pretend like your own body wasn’t trying to rip you apart from the inside while being watched from hundreds of eyes at the same time. With a somewhat relaxing sigh you stripped off your shirt and jeans and threw them into the next corner.

“Arms up, baby,” Lando demanded and just a second after you had done so you could feel the soft fabric of one of his sweaters engulf you. Once your head popped out of the hole you were greeted by the soft smile of your boyfriend, who helped take the hood off your head and placed a gentle kiss on our nose. 

Once you were changed, Lando helped you settle onto the bed, propping up some pillows to make you as comfortable as possible. He then went to fetch a glass of water and the medication the doctor had given you earlier.

“Here,” he said, handing you the glass and the pills. “Take these, they should help.”

You took the medication and swallowed it with a sip of water, then sank back into the pillows with a sigh of relief. Lando sat beside you on the bed, his hand still holding yours, his touch soothing.

“Do you want anything else? Maybe some warm tea?” he asked, his eyes full of concern.

“Tea would be wonderful,” you replied, feeling the medication beginning to ease the pain but knowing you could use a bit more comfort.

“Alright, I will be right back,” he proclaimed and hurried out of the room. When Lando returned, he was carrying a small bag from the hotel’s room service, a look of determination on his face. He set it down on the bedside table and opened it, revealing a couple of chocolate bars - comfort foods that he knew you loved - and a kettle he seemed to have gotten from the reception, which he quickly filled with water and turned on before preparing a steaming cup of herbal tea.

With the cup in hand he turned around to look at you. He saw the pained expression on your face and immediately sat down beside you, gently placing the tea and chocolate on the nightstand before helping you to adjust your position so you could get more comfortable. 

“Here,” he said softly, handing you the tea. “This should help with the nausea. And I thought you might like some chocolate too.”

You took the tea with a grateful smile, savoring the warmth of the cup against your hands. Lando carefully helped you sip it, making sure you weren’t burning yourself. The smell was soothing, and you could already feel the calming effect as you drank it slowly.

Once you had finished a few sips, he took the empty cup from you and set it aside before walking over to his suitcase and pulling something out of it.

“Is that my hot water bottle?!” You gasped, looking at the fluffy pig shaped fabric in his hands. 

Lando proudly presented it to you. “I packed it just in case. I just wanted to be prepared.”

You weren’t sure if it was the state you were in, the hormones or the simple fact that Lando proved once again how perfect of a boyfriend he was, but you could feel yourself tear up and soon the first wet streaks decorated your cheeks.

“Oh, baby, don’t cry” Lando begged, once again gently grabbing your face in his hands, his thumbs softly wiping away the tears. Then, he went to fill up the hot water bottle with the remaining water from the kettle, making sure it was at a comfortable temperature before placing it on your lower abdomen. The warmth began to spread, and you felt a significant reduction in the cramping pain.

He sat back down, brushing a stray hair from your face. “You did amazing out there today. I’m so proud of you, but I wish you didn’t have to push through so much pain.”

You looked at him, touched by his support. “I didn’t want to let anyone down. Especially not you or the team.”

Lando shook his head gently. “You didn’t let anyone down. You’re a fighter, but it’s okay to let others help you too. We’re a team, on and off the track.”

You nodded, feeling the exhaustion of the day beginning to take hold, while Lando pulled back the blankets and slid in beside you, wrapping his arms around you in a comforting embrace.

“How are you feeling now?” he asked softly, his breath warm against your hair.

“Much better,” you admitted with one last sniffle, snuggling closer to him. “Thank you for everything.”

Lando rested his chin on top of your head, his fingers gently stroking your back. “You don’t have to thank me. I just want you to feel better. And to know that you don’t have to go through this alone.”

The combined warmth of the heating pad, Lando’s embrace, and the tea made the pain and discomfort feel more manageable. You let out a contented sigh, feeling the support and love radiating from him.

“Can we stay like this for a bit?” you murmured, your voice muffled against his chest.

“Of course,” he said, his tone filled with affection. “We can stay like this for as long as you want.”

He continued to hold you, and the steady rhythm of his breathing, along with his gentle caresses, helped to lull you into a more restful state. Despite the lingering discomfort, you felt a deep sense of relief and safety in Lando’s arms. As you drifted off to sleep, the pain was still there but more bearable.

You awoke several hours later, something wet and clammy sticking to your face - Lando's shirt. 

“Are you feeling better, baby?” Lando asked immediately after noticing you were awake.

You nodded softly. “I’m definitely warm enough as well…”

“Oh, thank god,” Lando exclaimed, “I was sweating my balls off with this thing pressed against my belly!” You chuckled while he tossed the hot water bottle as far away from you two as possible.

Lando’s playful grumbling about the hot water bottle brought a genuine smile to your face, the kind that felt long overdue after such a rough day. 

“I’m sorry about the inconvenience,” you said with a soft laugh, “but I really appreciate you doing all this for me.”

He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead, his face still flushed from the heat. “No need to apologize. I’d do it all over again if it means making you feel better.”

Lando’s fingers continued their circles on your back, making it easy to drift back into relaxation. “How’s the pain?” he asked, his voice tender and concerned.

“Much better,” you replied, shifting slightly to get more comfortable. “The tea and the hot water bottle really helped.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Lando said with a relieved sigh. “I was worried that I might’ve overdone it with the hot water bottle, but it looks like it worked.”

“You were perfect,” you assured him, your hand finding his and squeezing it gently. “Really, I couldn’t have asked for a better person to be with me through this.”

He grinned and gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Well, you’ve got the best boyfriend on call, so you’d better get used to it.”

As you snuggled closer to him, the exhaustion of the day began to fade away. It was moments like these that reaffirmed how lucky you felt to have him in your life.

[blackenedsnow]

can i have a shadow fic? Just with his s/o whos going through extreme burnout and isnt taking care of themselves?...and needs help?..sorry beeing going through this myself and shadow my comfort boy

the weight of rest

WARNING: Burnout, self-neglect, emotional exhaustion

PAIRING: Shadow the Hedgehog x Reader

NOTE: Thank you for sending this in, this means a lot since I know the whole burnout thing too well lately. If anyone else needs a fic like this, please ask anytime ♡ for real, it’s ok to reach out <3. Hope you like this!

SUMMARY: Shadow finds you in a state of exhaustion and burnout, watching as you grapple with your own needs—ones you've left unmet for too long.

Some days you could feel it weighing you down, this silent and invisible load pressing harder on your shoulders, making every step an effort. You don’t remember when it started, this quiet, gnawing exhaustion that turned every little task into a mountain, every step into a crawl. But here you are, slouched over your desk, surrounded by half-finished tasks and reminders of things you should’ve done but couldn’t quite bring yourself to complete.

You weren’t sure when Shadow noticed. Maybe it was the nights you spent awake, staring blankly at walls, the way food lost its appeal, or maybe the quiet sadness that had settled in your eyes. But he noticed. Of course, he noticed.

“Hey.”

The familiar voice makes you look up, your tired eyes meeting his as he stands in the doorway. It’s that rare gentleness in his gaze, one that Shadow doesn’t bring out for many people. But it’s there now, steady and unwavering.

He moves closer, his eyes scanning the scene in front of him. He doesn’t comment on the mess, doesn’t lecture, doesn’t press. Instead, he reaches out, resting a gloved hand on your shoulder, grounding you just a little bit more in the present.

“I think…” Shadow starts, his voice low, deliberate. He trails off, like he’s choosing each word carefully. “You need a break.”

You look away, the words sinking in painfully, almost as if admitting it out loud made the exhaustion worse. But Shadow doesn’t push. He just waits.

“I know,” you manage to say, barely a whisper.

Shadow’s fingers brush along your shoulder, and he kneels down next to you, searching your face. “You don’t have to do this alone,” he says, and his voice, normally so distant and reserved, softens just a little more. “I’m here.”

You let out a shaky breath. You want to tell him everything, the tangled mess inside your mind that’s left you feeling like this. But the words feel heavy, weighed down by fatigue.

Without saying anything else, Shadow shifts his arms around you, carefully pulling you close. You melt into him, letting the exhaustion spill over, almost ashamed at how much you need this. Shadow’s grip is firm, grounding, and for a moment, everything else fades.

“Rest,” he murmurs, his voice quiet yet resolute, like it’s an order.

That was just once though, that didn't make much go away.

You can’t remember the last time you slept without feeling more exhausted than before you closed your eyes. You feel like you're drowning, and every breath is harder to take than the last.

Another day, you can feel him in the room even when you're not paying attention. His presence is heavy, quiet, steady. It’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the world when you're floating in a haze, the edges of your mind blurring, and your body slowly shutting down.

Sometimes you think he must be disappointed in you.

But when you look over at Shadow, sitting there in the corner, his dark eyes watching you with a patience you don’t deserve, you know he’s not disappointed. He doesn’t have to say anything. He’s just there. Always there, like the calm in the storm that rages inside your head.

"Are you going to eat today?" His voice breaks through your thoughts, low and measured, but you can tell there’s a hint of concern buried under the words. It’s not a question he’s used to asking. You've been slipping more and more, and he’s noticed. Once again, he's noticed. Of course he has.

You don't answer. You don’t have the energy to, and you're not sure if you even care anymore. You stare at the empty plate on the table in front of you, feeling the hunger gnaw at your insides, but the thought of putting anything in your mouth just seems impossible. Like you're too tired to even chew.

He moves closer, his heavy footsteps silent against the floor. You can feel the heat of his body as he stands beside you. You don’t look up at him. You don’t want to see the way he’s looking at you.

“I know you’re tired,” he says, voice quiet but firm. “But that doesn’t mean you can ignore yourself. You need to eat. You need to rest.”

The words should comfort you, but they don’t. They only make you feel like more of a failure. You can’t even take care of yourself, and you can feel the weight of that failure pressing down on you, suffocating you. You swallow hard, but your throat feels tight.

“It's okay,” you lie, your voice coming out hoarse, barely a whisper. But it’s a lie you tell yourself every day, and Shadow doesn’t buy it.

“It's not okay,” he replies, softer this time, but with an edge of steel behind it. “I can see it, [Y/N]. I can see what’s happening to you.”

He crouches in front of me, again, just like he did before. His hand gently lifting your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. There’s something in his gaze, something raw and unspoken, and for a moment, You almost feel… safe.

“You think I’m broken,” you whisper, your voice cracking. The thought has been in your head for days, weeks, maybe longer, and you can’t hold it back anymore. “I think I’m broken.”

Shadow’s grip tightens on your chin, just enough to ground me, to pull you back into the present. His eyes soften, and you feel something inside of you stir. It’s not pity you see in his gaze. It’s something else. Something deeper, darker, like he understands in a way no one else does.

“You’re not broken,” he says, voice firm, a contradiction to the softness in his eyes. “You’re just… hurting. And that’s okay.”

“I don’t know how to fix this.” you admit, your voice trembling.

“You don’t have to fix it,” he replies, his voice low and steady, like he’s trying to anchor you to something solid. “You don’t have to do anything right now. Just let me help.”

Just let me help. It’s not a command, not an order. It’s a simple request. One you know he’s made before, but you've always been too stubborn to listen.

But now, you can’t push him away. You can’t deny that you need him. You need him more than you've ever needed anything else in your life.

“I don’t know how to take care of myself anymore,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper, like it’s a secret you've been hiding.

Shadow’s hand moves to your shoulder, his touch grounding, reassuring. “I’ll help you,” he says, and you can hear the promise in his voice. “One step at a time.”

[cozage]

Could you write a short fic for Zoros reaction to his s/o falling down some stairs (but she is ok just bruised) please. BTW love your writing

Characters: Zoro x female reader CW: none :) Total word count: 1k

Slip and Fall

One second you were upright, walking down the stairs.The next moment, you were staring up at the ceiling. 

The pain caught up with you quickly, and you groaned from the aches that riddled your body. Judging by the pain in your back, you must’ve slid down the stairs. Nothing seemed to be broken, but you were certain you’d have a few bruises to show for your misstep. 

You closed your eyes and focused on your breathing, trying to recenter yourself and minimize the pain.

“What the hell was-” Zoro’s irritated voice cut off abruptly, and you braced yourself for some kind of cheap joke at your expense. 

But nothing came. You were certain he hadn’t left, but he also made no move to get closer to you. Or do anything. 

“Y/N?” Zoro’s voice came out as a harsh whisper. 

“I’m fine, thanks for asking.” You breathed out a laugh. The pain seemed to be getting worse the more you lay there. “Help me up, will you?”

“No!” Zoro finally moved, rushing over to you to keep you still. “You shouldn’t move. It could-you could-I don’t want you to-”

“Zoro,” you groaned, finally opening your eyes and instantly meeting his. 

His eyes were so full of worry. They raked over your body, searching for any sign of injury. And you realized that Zoro was truly scared. 

Naturally, his fear made you panic. 

“What?” you tried to lift your head, but Zoro refused to let you move. 

“Chopper needs to check for a spinal injury. If you landed wrong…” He shook his head, as if he were shaking a thought from his head. 

“Zoro, I’m fine.” Though your back was probably blossoming with bruises, you were sure you’d survive.

“Let me go get Chopper. Just stay here for a minute. Please.” His last word was barely a whisper. It was that word, that small act of begging, that kept you anchored to where you laid. 

“Alright, alright.” You closed your eyes. “You fuss too much.”

“I do not-” You could hear him clench his jaw in frustration. “Just stay still for a minute!”

His hurried footsteps receded, and you could hear distant shouts from off in the distance, followed by footsteps coming back to you quickly. 

“She slipped and fell,” Zoro said softly, and you could hear Chopper set down his medical kit and open it. 

“Can you open your eyes for me?” Chopper asked. You opened them. 

“Do you know your name?”

You laughed. “Of course I do!” 

Chopper and Zoro didn’t join your laughter, so you gave your full name to the doctor. 

The reindeer nodded. “And do you know where you are?”

You sighed. “The Sunny. The Grand Line. Don’t ask me where on the Grand Line, because I wouldn’t even know that on my best day.”

Chopper gave a slight smile at that answer, but Zoro was still watching you from a few feet away. He was tucked back in a corner, almost as if he was scared of you. 

“Did you hear me?” Chopper asked, waving a hand in front of your face. 

You blinked. You hadn’t heard his question. You hadn’t even realized he was speaking. 

“What is five plus five?” Chopper asked again. 

“Oh. Ten,” you answered quickly, taking your eyes off of Zoro for only a moment before finding him again. He looked so pale, and his mouth was pressed in such a tight line as he watched Chopper. You opened your mouth to speak, but Chopper spoke first. 

“Zoro, can you come help her sit up? I’d like to check her back for any signs of injury.”

“Chopper, I told you already! I’m fine!” Your words were accompanied with a groan as you tried to sit up on your own. 

Zoro was suddenly there, gently guiding you into a sitting position. You rolled back your shoulders, trying to shake off the stiffness of your muscles. Zoro only watched you, his face still hard as stone. 

“Zoro.” Your fingers cupped his face, forcing his eyes to lock onto yours. “I’m here. I’m okay, really.”

“She’s right,” Chopper agreed, looking at you. “Some icky bruises for a few days, and you probably have a minor concussion, but you’re okay.”

“See?” You smiled. “I’m okay.”

Zoro nodded and pulled his face away from your grip. The panic in his eyes has subsided, but only slightly. 

“I probably need a lot of bedrest though, right Chopper?” You gave a slight nudge to the reindeer. 

“Huh? You don’t-” Chopper caught your wink and worried glance at Zoro. “Oh! Yes! She needs lots of rest. And she shouldn’t be alone…because of the concussion! Zoro, can you look after her?”

Zoro narrowed his eyes slightly, and you gave him a sheepish grin and you held out your hands. “Help me up?” you asked. 

He did you one better, gently picking you up off the ground. He was careful to avoid the sensitive spots on your back. How he knew exactly where they were, you weren’t sure, but you were thankful he was considerate. 

You were quick to pull him into bed and snuggle into his chest. Even if it wasn’t the most comfortable for your sore body, you were happy to be close to him. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

“No.” His response was short, clipped. 

“Okay,” you hummed, curling in closer to him. 

A few minutes passed in comforting silence, and you were almost asleep when he kissed the top of your head. 

“I thought you were dead,” he whispered hoarsely. “I thought I lost you and I just…I couldn’t go through that again. I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t. I’m right here,” you murmured softly into his chest, letting his warmth lull you into a deep sleep.

[hyunjincanraptoo]

hey i just saw your prompts thingy and can i ask for #8? tysm :)

Hi, anon, ofc! I hope you like it

This is from my prompt list. Pick a number and send it to my asks.

Warnings: making out, suggestive.

Word count: 832

Alexa, play Kiss me more by Doja Cat

Getting caught making out in the dressing room backstage (feat. Han)

The dressing room was a little too quiet, the only sound between you and Hyunjin the soft, rhythmic press of lips against lips. You and Hyunjin were leaning against the wall, bodies pressed close, both of you breathless.

The kiss deepened as Hyunjin’s hand slipped around your waist, pulling you closer until you could feel the heat radiating from his body. He tasted like mint and something darker, more intoxicating, and you lost yourself in it as his tongue brushed against yours.

For a moment, nothing else mattered. The world outside this room, the expectations, the fans— all of it was nothing compared to the tension building between the two of you.

Then, just as his hand began to slide a bit lower, slipping under your waistband, the unmistakable sound of a door creaking open shattered the moment. You both froze, faces flushed with heat.

You pulled away instantly, your eyes wide with panic. Hyunjin froze too, his lips still hovering near yours.

Standing in the doorway, eyes wide and blinking, was Han. He stared at the two of you, mouth hanging open as though his brain couldn’t even process what he was seeing, “What... the... hell?”. Han’s voice was high pitched with disbelief as he slowly took a step back, trying to retreat like the mere sight of you two kissing was physically painful, “What in the world is going on here? This is... gross! Ew!”

You and Hyunjin moved awkwardly to adjust yourselves. You tried to smooth your hair, feeling completely flustered, but it didn’t help at all. “No, wait, Han! It's not what it looks like!”, Hyunjin stuttered, practically tripping over his words, “We were just... hum, just…”. Han held up his hand high like he was being mugged, “Nope! Nope! Don’t even try to explain! I don’t need details. I didn’t want to see any of this! Ugh!��.

You winced, suddenly very aware of how awkward this situation had just become. Han looked disgusted, his face contorted like he was trying to physically scrub away the image from his mind. “No, no, no”, Han muttered, shaking his head as if trying to dislodge the scene from his brain. “I was just coming in here to grab my hoodie and then I walked into this? What the hell?! This is... disturbing, seriously! I don’t need to know about your stuff, Hyunjin!”.

Hyunjin looked like he was about to melt down and die on the spot, “Han, please... just go. Don’t make it worse”. But Han wasn’t even listening, “I don’t even wanna look at you guys anymore”, he whined, his voice full of dramatic disgust. He turned away, hands over his eyes, “I’m going to pretend I didn’t see any of this, but I’m scarred for life. My innocence is gone!”.

You could feel your face burning with embarrassment as you glanced at Hyunjin, who was doing his best to suppress a nervous laugh, despite the chaos, “I think three of us are gonna need therapy after this”, you whispered to him, trying to maint some dignity.

Han spun back around, his face still twisted in disgust. “Ugh! You guys are nasty. Just... I don’t know what you were thinking, but never, ever let me walk in on you again. Please. I’ll be traumatized for weeks”. He waved his hand as though trying to shake off the image.

Hyunjin, still bright red, gave him an apologetic grin, "Ok, Han. Never again". But he didn’t even wait for a response. He gave one final exaggerated shudder and bolted out of the dressing room, muttering something about ‘needing to bleach his eyes’.

You stood there, shrunken on the corner, still processing the amount of humiliation you just experienced, "Well, that was... more embarrassing than I imagined". Hyunjin, still visibly flustered, let out a long breath and ran his hand through his hair, “We definitely need a new plan for next time...”

You both stood there, in awkward silence for a moment, before bursting into laughter at the absurdity of it all. At least you’d never have to face Han without remembering that moment. “Maybe we’ll lock the door next time”, Hyunjin said between laughs, “but honestly, I don't think it will ever be the same again”.

If you enjoyed it please consider liking and reblogging. Feedbacks, loves notes and requests are very much appreciated 😊

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

Even without an answer (perhaps the search will be enough)

carry me slowly, my sunlight (these colours, they fade for you only) - series masterlist here

pairing: damian wayne x reader (gender neutral)

length: 2.2k

genre: angsty hurt/comfort

warnings: non-sexual nudity, they're in the shower the whole time, injury / chronic pain talk, hmm trauma lasts forever and you have to live with it ig

a/n: I hope this makes sense I hope it's gooood I hope y'all like it <33

The ache that sets further in as you stand in the steam of your shower, you think, should be more familiar by now. The pain that surges through your back and your shoulder should feel a bit more like home. 

But as you stand with your head bowed under the spray of the shower, hot water cascading over you and tingling your skin as it throbs, you find that you've never felt quite so far removed from yourself. 

It's only the sound of the bathroom door opening, the quiet click of the lock and the shuffle of clothes on the other side of the fogged-up glass that makes you blink. But it doesn't make you move, and you stand, upright and trembling, as Damian slips into the shower behind you, hissing at the temperature of the water but stepping closer nonetheless to press a gentle kiss to the back of your neck.

"He shouldn't have said that to you," he murmurs softly, and as he traces his knuckles up your spine, you squeeze your eyes shut.

"He didn't mean anything by it."

"He's a detective," Damian continues, and there's a razor-sharp edge to his voice that feels so familiar. "He should've known."

"He's your father… I hope you didn't fight with him because of me," you say dully, and your voice is strained in a way that makes Damian put his hand on your shoulders and try to turn you around to face him. When you resist, though, keeping your head bowed, he sighs and squeezes your shoulders ever so gently. 

"I'll close my eyes if you don't want me to see you cry." And he offers it up so easily, holds it out to you like it's a simple allowance that you deserve. It's enough to make your head snap up, and when you turn to face Damian in his arms, your eyes are red-rimmed and sensitive from your tears.

"You've seen me cry before, Dames," you say softly, smoothing your fingers over his soaked, dripping hair.

"That doesn't mean I have the right to see it every time," he responds patiently. "And I'd rather you cry whenever you need to than have the privilege of seeing it every time you do." You hum in understanding at that, looking down at your palms as you press them against Damian's chest, ignoring the ache in your shoulder as you watch streams of water splash down his skin and onto yours. 

"Bruce is… incredibly aware of the toll that this work can take on your life and your body," he continues quietly. "He's made mistakes and learned from them so that we don't have to. For the others who learned to fight under him, it's…"

"It's ok, Dames," you say softly, the rush of water in your shared space nearly drowning out your voice. "I know the difference between me and the rest of you. Bruce reminded me of that."

"He shouldn't have."

"He just said the truth." 

You'd known that in the moment, as well - of course you had. When you'd ventured back into the Cave after a long night of patrol, rolling your shoulders and fighting against the onslaught of an old injury, you'd known that his words came from a place of help - of healing.

"You need to be careful with that," he'd said, and his voice, through the cowl, had made your hair stand on end in a way that only the Batman could. "It's your rotator cuff, isn't it? Easy to wreck if you don't pay attention to taking care of yourself."

"It's… fine," you'd replied hollowly, frozen and shifting on your feet in the face of being caught. 

"There's no use pretending you're not in pain when you are - you'll just make it worse," he'd sighed. "Anyway, there's nothing you can do to fix it now, not when the damage is already done. And it's not your fault that you weren't taught properly. But you need to learn how to take care of yourself out there. You're no use to anyone in Gotham if you wear your body into the ground. You need -"

"That's enough, Father." Damian's voice had been clipped as he strode between the two of you, his eyes narrowed at Bruce. You're sure he had more to say than that - sure that you'd caused some kind of conflict between the two of them, but you'd been too concerned with slipping out of the Cave and away from it all to really care. And Damian, with worry-clouded eyes, had let you go - let you run away once more. 

"Where'd you go, beloved," Damian's voice brings you back, his forefinger tapping gently against your nose as you blink the memory away. 

"Hm?"

"Your mind went somewhere else," he says softly, understandingly in a way that makes you bristle. "I'd prefer if you take me with you, wherever you're wandering off to."

"Bruce was wrong," you say stubbornly, looking up at Damian as he smoothes a hand up and down your spine.

"I know he was. I told him -"

"It is my fault."

"Oh…" he frowns. "No… it's not, my love."

"It is," you continue, plowing over whatever reassurances were about to be offered. You're not sure you could handle it if they really were. "It's my body, it's my problem, it's - I should've…" But you're not sure, really, what you could've done - a child puppeteered by something bigger than you, a soldier fighting a war that should not have been your own. 

"Does that make it better?" Damian asks kindly. "If it's your own doing? Does it make it easier to think that it was self-inflicted?" Your mouth snaps shut at his words, your eyes wide as you stare up at him with an exposed sort of understanding.

Damian takes your hand in his, smoothing your palm over a scar on his abdomen. You remember the incident in which he'd gotten it, of course - it had been some slip-up while he was training, all those years ago with the League of Assassins. His mother had called it a lesson, had declared that the scar should be a reminder of what he'd done wrong. 

"Our scars may be different shapes, beloved," he continues, his voice too kind for someone who's bled so much. "But they come from the same war. It is not your crime that you were controlled as you were. It is not your burden that you were used in such a way."

Your shoulder throbs as Damian speaks and you find yourself crumpling, just a bit, leaning into him and pressing your forehead against his chest as you begin to weep again. He stands, through it all - just as he always has, and you feel a pang of guilt at having shoved him back in the way that you did. 

"Damian, I-"

"It's ok," he soothes, quieting your wavering voice. "I'm right here." And as you sob into his chest, one of his hands coming up to the back of your head to press you more firmly against him while his other hand rubs up and down your back, Bruce's words echo in your head over and over and over.

The damage has already been done. The pain has already been inflicted. The scars have already been carved.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do with it," you choke out, heaving in a shuddering breath against Damian's chest.

"With what?"

"With all the things that are wrong with me now," you say as you breathe deeply, closing your eyes and forcing calmer exhales past your lips. 

"There is nothing wrong with you, my love," he says, and he offers it up so willingly, voice hushed and earnest like a prayer. "There's nothing wrong with you."

"My body is broken," your voice wavers as you speak, fresh tears building in your eyes. "My -  it doesn't work the way it should, or… or the way it used to. And it's not my fault, I didn't  - I didn't want this and - it's not my fault, I swear -"

"I know it's not," Damian interrupts your rambling, shushing you gently and pulling you closer with an arm wrapped firmly around your waist, his skin warm against yours. You bring your hands up to dig the heels of your palms into your closed eyes as you lean into him, matching your breaths to the steady rhythm of his own as the heat of the shower continues to dull the pain in your back and shoulder ever so slightly. 

"I don't know what we're supposed to do now," you admit slowly. "I don't know… How are we supposed to just live with this? How are we supposed to go the rest of forever trying to, I don't know…" You sort of trail off at the end, but you've found that, at this point, there are few words that really need to be spoken between the two of you. You let your fingers trace over the scar on Damian's abdomen and he hums in understanding. 

How are you supposed to live like this? As relics of a war that never should've happened - as altars to something that you'd never wished to pray to?

"I don't… know," he says haltingly, and you feel a bit guilty for asking him such an impossible question. But as you begin to shrink back from it, Damian cups your jaw in one of his hands, his palm warm and calloused against your cheek, and when he dips down to press a kiss firmly to your lips, you find that it's all a bit easier to deal with.

"I don't know, my love, what we're supposed to do with this. But we'll do it together, won't we? Whatever it is, we'll find a way together?"

"You don't have to ask that, love," you reply with another kiss, quick and gentle and promising. "Of course, it'll be together. It always is, isn't it?"

Always," he assures. "Although, I am sorry."

"For what, Dames?" you ask, a frown tugging at your lips as you reach to wipe a trail of water off his brow before it makes its way into his eyes. You can't imagine, in moments like these, when he holds you and shushes you and curls around you in such a way, what he could possibly be sorry for. 

"For not having an answer," he says simply, like he should know what's written in the stars, like he should be able to pluck the impossible from the heavens and lower it down to the earth for you. 

"You don't have to have all the answers," you assure, but a frown pulls at his lips all the same.

"I hate that you're in pain. I hate that… Beloved, you don't deserve it." You hum at that, pressing your lips together as more tears prick at the back of your eyes. You hate it, too, he knows, the dull pain that lives in you inescapably. It wears on you, too, he sees, the way that some days every movement is an ache.

"It's not your job to have all the answers," you say soothingly, and he shoots you a look, like he's pleading with you, asking you to stop comforting him so that he can comfort you. One day, you think, he'll realize that it goes both ways.

"I wish I had just this one."

"Yea," you laugh, and something flutters in his chest at the sound. "I'm sure you do. But this is all I ever need from you, you know. I'm not…" you trail off, shifting your stance as you look away. Damian lets you - always, lets you hide in plain sight in whichever ways you need to. 

"I don't know how we're supposed to live, most of the time," you continue, the uncertainty of it all rocking your stance just a bit, and Damian's arm tightens around your waist as if he knows. And, really, you're sure he does, somehow. "But I - I have always only ever wanted it to be you that I figure it out with. Even if… even if we never really get there."

"We will," he assures, and when you shoot him a long-suffering look, he brings your hand away from the scar on his abdomen and up to his face instead, pressing kisses along your knuckles. "There's nothing else we haven't been able to figure out, my love. This, I'm sure… even if it takes our whole lives, we'll figure this out, too.

"But if we don't -"

"We will -"

"But if we don't -" you continue, "I'm… I'm happy, at least, just to be right here with you. Even with all the damage that's been done. Even…" But you don't have to say it aloud, don't have to speak any of it into existence. Damian knows, and the proof is in the tender way in which he holds you, smoothing a hand over your hair and anchoring you against him with that hand on your waist. He knows. Even without an answer, perhaps the search will be enough.

[ronearoundblindly]

Wide Open Future (1)

Steve Rogers x agoraphobic!Reader

Summary: Steve saves you after the Battle of New York, but you don't want to be taken from your safe space.

Warnings for being self-indulgent, hurt/comfort that's not completed in this part, 'slow' burn (but it's not going to be super long in total), and none of those are actually warnings so much as content descriptions. Originally, this was a one-shot. Go figure. There are zero specification of male or female, ethnicity or size for this reader. WC ~2k

Life was fine until half of your apartment blew apart. In an instant, the whole outer wall evaporated, leaving you seven stories up, the floor (mostly) ripped out from under you.

Obviously, in the emergency, no one took the elevators, and through your front door to the hallway, you heard people run for the stairs. They passed you by, but that’s because you didn’t know any of your neighbors. You didn’t move though. You couldn’t.

The sound…the sounds got worse.

Unearthly shrieks from floating, flying whales. Explosions that rattled you to the bone. Human screams, outside and in. Rubble from the other two stories above you crashed down, chipping away chunks of your floor with it.

Your couch teetered for a while before it finally caved.

Your kitchen island peeled away in bits: countertop, dishwasher, and then the sink plumbing.

For some reason, the worst was your books cascading off the shelves like synchronized swimmers into a sparking pool of ash.

You didn’t move though. You couldn’t.

It grew dark. The sirens never stopped.

You got thirsty, then hungry, yet you stay so, so still.

This has gone on for hours now. Life as you know it is over, and you remain curled at the foot of your front door.

All the electricity is out. Your fridge is off and your food spoiling, but at least water stops shooting out of the destroyed sink. There are no working clocks. Your walls are bare, and your phone long since slid down the slanted rubble to god-knows-where. There’s no signal by then anyway.

You don’t make a single sound. You can’t. You’d rather die here than leave. The dusty air is taunting you. You’ve shifted from hyperventilating to holding your breath.

“I’ve got something. Hang on,” you hear just as a spotlight sweeps across your living room turned paper mache dollhouse.

“Jarvis, can you get me the tenant listing…yeah, looks like…apartment seven-four-three…oh.” The voice says your name. “I’m going to move this off of you, ok? Can you hear me?”

The gentle hand sweeps a thick layer of debris off of your head and back. You chance relaxing your hands to look at the face of your rescuer.

Him.

“No,” you dryly whisper. “I live here. ’S my home.”

“The building isn’t stable. We have to evacuate you.”

“No,” you try to scream, but it’s too hard to focus. You’re fighting to back up out of his reach, but rubble lies behind you. Your ankle slips into a crevice, stopped by strips of exposed rebar.

Captain America grabs your shaking arms. “I’m sorry,” he keeps saying, “I’m sorry. You can’t live here. It’s not safe.”

You repeat yourself, too. “I can’t leave. I can’t leave.”

He talks, but it’s not to you anymore. He checks that you’re the last they’ve found in the building. People got trapped in the stairwell beyond a point, and they’ve been handled. Cap announces he’s going to “see this one through and call it a night.”

You’d rather die than leave. Out there is not livable. Out there is unsafe.

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

You don’t believe him.

“I need you to trust me, just for a little while, alright?”

“I don’t want to go—“

“Close your eyes for me. Please? Just close your eyes until we get there.”

“No, please, no.”

He has to pry your body a little straighter to get ahold of you, and your shaking becomes so violent he adjusts, using sincere force to pin you to his chest before getting a running start.

He jumps across the chasm of your building to land on what sounds like a metal ramp and calls for the Jarvis person to take him home.

Home? It’s not your home. 

“It’ll be okay, I promise,” he says against your temple.

You’re frozen, shaking so badly words couldn’t form if you tried.

“I swear to you it will be okay.”

You haven’t spoken since.

He set you down on a bed, but you promptly crawled to the smallest, darkest space you could find, a closet full of Converses and jackets.

Cap, in his filthy suit, tossing the cowl onto the dresser, simply asks if you’re injured since he can’t get to you. You won’t let him see. The most he can do is hand you a bottle of water and a watch from his nightstand to hold.

Time is still going, still moving, even when you won’t.

Steve is…tired.

What he knows from J.A.R.V.I.S. is very little and very simple: you rented that one apartment for years, it has a magnetic keycard entry for the building, a regular key for your unit’s door, and there is no record of you ever entering since your move-in day. Your utilities are 35% higher than the average in the area. Because you are there all day. Because you never leave.

Because, as you yourself said, you can’t leave.

Steve sympathizes, he does, but he had to make the tough call. He wasn’t going to watch you die. He couldn’t live with himself if he left you there. This is the next-best and now only option.

He’s exhausted and starving. Shawarma only goes so far when vaulting across sheer drops to help find survivors in spots too dangerous for regular emergency crews. Steve alone found thirty-nine men, women, and children. Tony, with jet-pack feet and metal-armor biceps, rescued somewhere in the range of eighty people.

Great. Give Stark a medal. Steve couldn’t care less right now.

That’s not true, exactly, but after back-to-back-to-back calls with shelters all at-capacity or worse, he’s in need of sustenance, a shower, and clean clothes.

First, he chugs two of the protein shakes his fridge gets stocked with. It’s never been by his choice—and he never thought he’d be quite this grateful for modern packaging,—but today’s the day. Next, he chances a sweep through his room, snatching up sweats and then barricading himself in the bathroom. Despite wanting to stay beneath the hot spray forever, Steve rushes, concerned that you’re hurt in a way that wasn’t obvious.

He brings you another water and one of the shakes. He has no expectation of you wanting it. At the moment, however, there’s no other food ready to eat.

He grabs another washcloth, warming it under the tap, and slowly wipes at your face and hands. You certainly look terrible but luckily have nothing more than minor cuts.

Lucky.

He doesn’t feel lucky, and he imagines you don’t either.

“I’ll find you some place better in the morning,” he promises. “I’ll be out that door—“ he points “—on the couch if you need anything. I know you don’t want to,” Steve adds quietly, lacing his voice with as much reassurance as superhumanly possible, “but make yourself at home. You’re going to get through this.”

Before he can push himself off the floor, you grip his fingers in thanks, and he hopes, he wishes, he prays for that to be true.

It doesn’t feel like enough. It never feels like enough.

It’s small.

That’s good for your purposes of adjustment, and the fact that he’s never there (almost never) helps, too.

It’s all his stuff, not your stuff, but your whole life doesn’t exist anymore.

Jarvis, which is actually an AI wired through the walls or something, arranges for you to see your therapist via video chat on an enormous projection in the bedroom.

There’s a bedroom and bathroom. Theoretically, there is a grand common room just outside the door but you can’t.

“I’ve been told they won’t move you until a permanent place is found,” Dr. Lucien cuts in. You were staring at the door again, wondering. “Temporary shelters are so crowded right now people are getting transferred back and forth to wherever there’re beds. I’m told it’s no trouble to let you stay.”

Would Captain America kick you out?

“That’s good." You try to be brave. "I can do that.”

You work remotely—that’s always been easiest—and it’s a weird time where you have both less and more to do because the city is still in chaos, meaning you’re at your computer when Cap knocks before entering his own room.

“Hey,” he says carefully, “I just need to clean up.”

“Of course,” you reply automatically. In your mind, you shrink the world down to just the yard-long desk and this rolling chair. You focus on your screen and everything is fine.

Hearing the shower is no different here than that muted, rushing sound that came from your neighbor’s place before. You’ve had people you know in your space without much incident for a long time; the problem is mostly out there.

Cap leaves immediately. You almost don’t notice at all until a plate is plunked down on the desk.

“I’m gonna rest here for a bit if you don’t mind.”

“It’s…” You can hardly look up, knowing that he’s watching, knowing he can see inside this tiny bubble world you’ve managed to illusion yourself into. “It’s your room.”

“Turns out the couch is not very comfortable longterm.”

You nod and shrug. From the list of tasks left to complete, you’ll be working for a while yet.

“You got everything you need?”

He doesn’t lean in to make eye contact, you notice. He’s patient.

With twitching fingers, you pull away from the keyboard and slowly turn, controlling your breath to not seem panicked.

“I do, Captain Rogers. Thank you very much.”

His eyes are…not full of pity like you expected. He looks like a host eager to please a guest, but that’s ridiculous when you are indefinitely trapped here, constantly invading his home.

“Call me Steve, and I’m glad to help,” he replies softly.

In situations like this, it would be customary to say ‘no, I’ll get out of your hair,’ ‘I’ll just leave you to it,’ ‘please don’t put yourself out on my account,’ but that’s the thing: you cannot get out. You cannot leave. You don’t want to. You never, ever want to, and in this specific case, it’s actually Steve’s fault.

He raps his knuckles on the wood. “Little though it may be…”

Steve chugs a glass of water on his way to the bed—which you’ve made diligently every morning and changed the sheets twice now—and stretches across the half closer to the door. You’re comforted by the fact you didn’t steal the exact spot he sleeps in on top of bogarting his quarters.

You use his desk, you have clothes in the closet which Jarvis had someone bring you, and you etched out a corner of the bathtub rim for wash products. You’ve for sure done enough to invade already, so you stay silent and work while Steve falls asleep, snoring lightly.

You deep clean the bathroom one day when extremely restless, and although he insists you did not need to, Steve beams with gratitude.

You do a little more around the room, and a little more, and a little more.

The single room and en suite bathroom become your oasis, and—as promised—a safe space that you thoroughly dread leaving. The dread includes leaving Steve Rogers.

You know that all of those things will lead to another tragic episode once you have to move again. It makes you do more in hopes of being essential, of being needed to stay.

Steve pops his head in.

"Would you...would you want to watch a movie with me tonight? I checked out a few--well, I guess you'd call them 'classics' now--from the library, and I thought...maybe..."

With one flash of a smile, your oasis grows to two rooms. Life just might be fine again someday, just as he promised.

[Next Part]

A/N: I'm probably going to regret not just completing this before posting.

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp @rogersideup (tagging you because this kinda reminded me of your series Late Night Talking which I love so much!) @rogersbarber @blogbog710 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thiquefunlover63 @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @late-to-the-party-81 @bigtreefest @mistressmkay @astheskycries @veryprairieberry

[seungfl0wer]

*Who do you belong to?*

Paring: Felix x Reader (Fem)

Genre: Pure smut

Warnings: Dirty talk, Unprotected sex, Cream Pie, Biting, Slight choking, Throat fucking, Hair pulling. I think that’s all? I’m bad at these.

This may not be suitable for everyone, this is your last warning.

For @gnabnahcsworld who really needed more Dom Felix and I’m happy to deliver 😘 hopefully it doesn’t suck lol

-🩵

You had come to this party with your boyfriend Felix to celebrate one of his colleagues. Since the party was work related he was off mingling with everyone. You found yourself talking to one of his colleagues about something when Felix who finally found you a good 10minutes later stood there shooting daggers at the other man. It didn’t help The party in question was one of those rich people’s parties, all elegant and snazzy with a dress code. So Felix was in a nice tailored suit tie to match your dress. Your dress was to your knees, it showed off every beautiful curve of your body. It was actually lix’s choice for you to wear it.

The problem with that is you looked so good everyone was eyeing you up. He couldn’t help see how everyone was just ogling. He stood across from you tongue pressed to his cheek brows forward just staring as you spoke to a guy. A guy who he in fact wanted nothing more to punch for how close he was to you. You on the other hand were just happy to be there, you didn’t notice the eyes on you. Didn’t even take notice of the man blatantly flirting with you.

You felt lix’s eyes looking at you not realizing he was getting jealous, you just smiled at him. That smile quickly faded as you could see it all written on his face. Felix was never good at hiding his emotions, his face would always give it away and boy did it ever right now. You made your way over to him before giving him a puppy dog look “what’s the matter lixie? You ok?” You asked. He gave you a slow nod focused on something else. Before you could ask him about it though he had taken your hand leading you across the room.

He lead you to a side room locking the door behind him as you both entered. You turned to him but you didn’t get the chance to even speak before his lips crashed against yours. His kisses were hungry, his eyes dark and his touch feral. He bit the bottom of your lip as his lips latched to your neck. You let out a soft moan before lix had his hand over your mouth. “As much as I want them to hear you screaming my name I’m not trying to get fired.” He said with a soft chuckle.

He left sloppy kisses on your neck, biting down leaving small marks as he licked them soothing them after. His hands found their way under your dress, quickly diving to your soaking cunt. You both groaned at the feeling. Feeling needy. So needy for him.

His fingers curled inside you quickening his pace, as his bites became harsher on your neck. Man loved leaving marks on you. He loved knowing the fact people would know you were his. His and his only.

His hand that was over your mouth found its way to your hair. His fingers tangled in it pulling your head to the side so he could get to your neck better. As his hand slipped away your moans quickly filled the room. He shot a look up to you “keep quiet or your punishment will be worse” he almost hissed. You let out a small whimper bringing your hand over your own mouth this time to muffle your sounds.

Felix removed his fingers from you leaving you whining from the loss of them. He brought them up to lick all your juices off before finding a chair to sit on. As he did so he motioned you over “since you wanna talk to other guys you’re gonna suck me off before I remind you who’s you are.” He said his voice low almost a growl.

You nodded his words making your cunt tremble. He was so fucking hot like this. You loved when he become more dominant. Felix dropped his pants manspreading on the chair cock at full view for you. Your mouth almost watered at the sight. You wasted no time, slowly kissing the tip before bobbing your head down. Your hands went to reach for your clit but lix growled out a deep “no touching” into your ear.

You whined but listened not wanting to get punished for not listening. Felix ran his fingers through your hair again he pushed your head down, making you take all of him. He always enjoyed using your throat for his pleasure. He quickly started to fuck your mouth. Your eyes squinting as small tears welded up at your eyes chocking around his cock. He left out the most sinful groans his movements becoming sloppy as he hit the back of your throat.

He was gonna cum and he was gonna cum hard. He quickened his pace throat fucking you good. You could feel yourself becoming drenched at the feeling of him. You wanted him to cum so he could fuck your soaking cunt.

As he came his hips trembled, his cock still back your throat letting out the hot sticky liquid. He watched as you swallowed it as the good like the good little girl you were. His eyes were so dark, full of lust for you ready for him to burry his cock deep inside you.

He wasted no time standing up. He pulled you up hands under you chin kissing you swiftly before bending you over a desk. He grabbed his cock running it over your sopping wet cunt before pushing in deep. He didn’t give you anytime before he started to pound into you. He went deep. Feeling every part of his cock filling your hole. He knew how you liked it knew the things to get you off and boy was he good at it.

He grabbed your arms pulling them back to grip them as he fucked into you harder “you think that guy could fuck as good as I can?” He said. You shook your head no “say it princess use your words” he said gripping your hair now. Pulling your head to him to say into your ear “Tell me how much you love my cock. Tell me how good I feel pounding you princess. We both know that guy could never satisfy you like I can.” His words finally clicking in your head as to why this all happened. You wanted to tease him tell him you didn’t know if he was better or something but you wanted to walk outta here not have to be wheel chaired out.

You whined back at him your words breathy “n- no one can ever make me feel this good” you said trying to keep composure. You could feel your high coming and the way his cock was twitching his was coming too. “Who’s are you princess, who does this pretty little cunt belong to huh?” He groaned out. Your body was shaking the feeling of him pounding you so hard. His hand smacked your ass leaving a nice size hand print, Before it made its way to your clit. You were so close to coming undone.

“Im yours!” You almost screamed back his hand now playing with your swollen clit “what’s my name” he said taking his other hand to grip around your neck “say my name baby and you can cum.” He said his hand moving fast on your clit as he pounded into you. His thrusts becoming sloppy as his grip around your neck also softened. You knew he was about to cum but he wanted to cum with you.

“Felix!! Fucking god Felix fuck” you moaned his name out loudly loud enough everyone there probably heard you but you couldn’t help it. You felt your high coming “fuck cum for- for me princess I’m cumming too” he breathed out. His hands gripped your hips pushing himself as deep as possible before unloading deep inside of you. You coming undone as well your high hitting you hard. Body shaking as both of your moans filled the room. Felix slumped over you both of you trying to catch your breath.

“That- was hot as hell” you said as he let out a chuckle at your words “yeah well so are you in that dress” he said as he peppered kisses on you. His cock still buried deep inside of you. “Y/n one problem” he said with a smirk. You tilted your head at the his words “my cums gonna drip from you when we go out.” He said as he pulled out pulling your pantries back up. You laughed a bit “well this will make your point that I’m all yours” you teased making you both laugh. He kissed your nose quickly “how about we go home, get some ice cream and just cuddle? I don’t like these parties anyways” he said taking your hand and pulling you out the room.

💙 if you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open feel free to send me something🩵

[dawn-moths]

hi can i please request something with tomura (I’ve been seeing you say you want to write for him again lol plus i love him to so) like maybe something soft and comforting but also with smut in it?

hellooooo (*ˊᗜˋﾉﾉ

yes you absolutely can! thank you for giving into my current hyperfixation lol he has been on my mind sooooo much lately. probably in order to cope with what happened with the source material…

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“Inside the Open Window”

Tomura x afab Reader

word count: 2,000+

disclaimer/content warning: 18+ content! minors dni! size difference mentioned, soft tomura, some smut, some angst, established relationship, afab reader.

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The room, for once, is filled with honeyed light. You blink open bleary eyes and stare out into the shallow pools of morning puddling in swaying shapes on the floor, vision slowly focusing until you catch the lazy swirls of dust motes dancing through the air. You keep telling Tomura to open some windows, let the fresh air in before it gets too cold and you all end up even more cooped up than you already feel you are on the daily, but he’s stubborn about it so you have to sneak his open a crack when he’s not around. So far he hasn’t noticed. Maybe you’ll risk sliding it up a little further this afternoon.

Beside you, you can hear Tomura’s slow, shallow breathing from where he lays, one of his arms slung across your middle, elbow resting in the dip of your waist as you lay on your side, your back almost touching his chest. You find his hand where it’s carefully placed up near your own chest, fingers curled tightly inward even though he wears those two-fingered gloves whenever you two sleep together. You tell him you trust him, that he’s spent a majority of his life learning to sleep through the night without decaying anything while unconscious, but he says having your trust isn’t the deciding factor.

“I don’t trust myself,” he’d snapped one evening when you were pressing him about it, trying to come from a place of reassurance but inevitably pushing him a little too far. “You don’t understand,” he’d continued, after a short huff of a sigh and a trembling hand raked back through his unruly waves. “It’s just— If that were to happen, I can’t take it back. I can’t take it back. I—”

You’d approached him, slow and cautious, like he was an injured animal that looked vulnerable right now but, once within reach, might thrash and snap, bare its teeth and bite down hard. “Tomura…” you’d murmured, reaching out a hand, testing to see if he’d let you place it on his cheek. “It’s ok…” He’d leaned into your touch, let his eyes flutter closed, his next exhale coming out as a shaking, raspy whine. You’d gently pulled him down until your foreheads were touching, hoping that simple act helped to make at least some of his fear melt away, the terror pulling back from shore for a short while even if its return was inevitable. You’d let the silence settle between you two before you’d said, your voice barely above a whisper, “I know…”

So he slipped on the gloves, you buckling them in place around his thin wrists, and from then on some of the tension he held whenever he’s around you disappears.

The first touch is always the hardest though.

It’s always the scariest.

It’s as if he worries the rules of his quirk will suddenly change, that needing all five fingers in order to decay will mutate into needing only one and he’ll be forced to helplessly watch you crumble to dust between his destructive hands, frantically trying to gather up the particles as if he could use them to reconstruct you somehow, or maybe just to keep a part of who you used to be, if worse came to worst.

But once his hand— palm, fingers, and all— was safely resting against the side of your neck, he allowed himself to feel some relief.

Because, like that, you could be his.

Like that, he could hold you.

You stiffly shimmy out from beneath his arm, making sure to carefully lift the limb and set it comfortably back down close to him. You stand, greeted by the quiet crackling pops of a few joints, and make your way over to that cracked window. You glance behind you. Tomura’s still asleep. So you catch the lip of the window with the edge of your grip and pull upward, struggling for a moment before it finally gives and slides all the way to the top, the rush of sound quick but louder than you were hoping for.

When you look over your shoulder again, you see Tomura’s eyes are open now, looking fully alert in just an instant, though his body remains still and frozen in the same position that you left it, tufts of white hair hanging at odd angles in his eyes and over his shoulder.

“Sorry…” you wince, coming back over to sit on the bed beside him. He begins to stir, turns over onto his chest to push up onto his elbows, the tousled sheets slipping and exposing more of his pale back, the scars cross-hatching across the skin shining faintly silver in the morning’s soft glow. 

“You can go back to bed if you want to,” you tell him, feeling guilty for waking him so soon. You know he’s usually one to sleep into the afternoon and beyond.

He clicks on your phone, 8:15 lighting up on the screen before fading to black again. “It’s fine,” he sighs, turning over again to sit up, slouching over a bit as he rubs at the back of his neck, fingers getting caught in a loose knot in his hair as he combs it through, letting out a pronounced yawn. He looks at you as you shuffle closer and asks, “How long have you been up?”

“Not long,” you tell him. “Only a few more minutes before you.”

Tomura opens his mouth, about to say something, but stops when you both hear one of the other members of the League creaking around from downstairs. You’re willing to bet it’s Atsuhiro. He’s the only regularly early-rising person among you.

Whatever words Tomura was going to speak are reduced to a low rumble of annoyance and the clenching of his jaw, as if he’s just been reminded of something he’d been trying to avoid.

In this small bout of contemplation, Tomura shifts from beneath the covers and swings his legs over the side of the bed, bending down to grab up the bundle of black denim on the floor which unfurl into his jeans, fishing out his phone from the back pocket and turning it on only to be greeted with an abundance of notifications. Instead of reading them, he mutters something under his breath and tosses it onto the nearby side table, leaning forward to give you a better view of his back again. Now that you’re closer, you can better see the fading red scratch tracks that travel down his shoulders, though for once the marks weren’t made by his own jagged nails.

The sight of it takes you back to last night, when the room had been doused in silver instead of gold and filled to the brim with the quiet, lilting sounds of your combined pleasure. You could still feel the ghost of him wrapped around you, encasing you in his scent, his touch, his very essence as if attempting to meld you both into one.

But, like most things, no matter how much you tried to tell him he didn’t need to be so delicate with you, doesn’t need to treat you like you’re one touch away from being broken, he doesn’t listen. He’s so gentle, even as his hips meet the inside of your thighs and he drives himself into your tight, wet heat even deeper, as if hoping to burrow a new home inside of you, to leave a piece of himself there so you’ll always carry it around.

Your moans are perhaps his favorite sound in the entire world, hearing the way they break off into a clipped whimper when he hits that soft, spongy spot deep inside of you, his own moans choked out as your silky walls squeeze around his length, wringing pleasure from him in a way that’s both relentless and heavenly.

When you wrap your legs around his waist to pull him in deeper still, he’s on the verge of losing any ounce of control he has left, tempted to take your wrists and pin them above your head so he can pound into you hard enough to well tears in your eyes and have you crying out in a way that’s helpless and hurting and all his, his, his.

But when he looks down at you, sees that telltale trust that reflects back at him in your gaze, he keeps the more carnal parts of his desires at bay. Because, while he may take pride in being a symbol of fear to the rest of the world, if there’s only one person he doesn’t want to view him like that, it’s you.

When you come undone, arching your back as your mouth hangs open with a silent scream, that’s when your nails rake across his flesh quick and hard, not quite breaking the skin but bursting the blood vessels beneath, a speckling of bright red stippling the tracks of a slightly lighter shade.

He’d let out a hiss followed mere moments later by his own body letting go, a broken whine welling in his throat, the types of sounds he only allows you to hear him make. You’d forgotten you’d scratched him so hard last night almost as soon as it had happened, your mind glazed over with a thick layer of pleasure and saccharine lust, the world around you blurring until the only thing you could seem to make out through the dim dark of the room was him and all that alabaster, scar-covered skin sheened over with sweat.

Now, Tomura beckons you back into his embrace, wanting to feel the warmth of your body seeping into his one more time before he’s forced to rise from his bed and slip back into the cold, hardened role of being the leader of the most feared group of villains in the entire country, perhaps even the entire world.

You’re wearing his t-shirt, the soft black fabric oversized on your form, nothing underneath, the rest of your clothes still left discarded and strewn across the room in a trail from the door to the foot of the bed. Like this, you’re enveloped in his scent, and it leaves you feeling calm and sated. Safe. Like nothing inside of these four walls could ever go wrong.

But you really should’ve known better.

The moment you start to get even a little too comfortable is always when something rears its head to remind you there are no happy endings here. 

After a while of listening to your steady breathing and staring out the open window, Tomura works up the courage to say, “Today’s the day, y’know…” hence breaking the illusion that you’d be allowed to live in the fantasy of this haven for more than a single night’s rest.

You close your eyes, let out a long breath, trying to stay your worry. “I know,” you tell him. “I know, but, Tomura…” You turn your face up towards his, hoping to lock eyes with him, even if only for a moment, but he’s still focused on the window he rarely lets you open, furrowing his sparse, silvery brow in a look of intense concentration. Eventually, however, he does look at you, the intensity he held before melting away into something much more concerned.

Be careful, you want to tell him.

If things start to go wrong just get out. Don’t risk letting the heroes get their hands on you.

But what comes out instead is, “Nothing, nevermind…”

You figure he has enough to worry about already. You know he’s fully aware of the risks of this mission and the consequences that will follow if he fails.

So, for now, you allow yourself to sit in this false sense of security and serenity a little longer, whether for another minute, another hour, another day.

He won’t fail, you tell yourself as he places a kiss to the top of your head and smoothes down your hair, rising from the bed and gathering up more scattered articles of his clothing to slip back on before heading downstairs. He can’t.

You then regret opening the window. Perhaps, if you’d left it alone, you could’ve bought a few more hours of peace before the weight of responsibility settled in.

But, at the same time, you also knew that you were both on borrowed time.

Why not enjoy what moments of fresh air and sunlight you could get before it all was reduced to rubble and ash.

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[eomayas]

his friends and his dad hate me • chs

pairing: non-idol!vernon x fuckgirl!reader, fwb

genre: smut 18+ MINORS DNI!!! angst

synopsis: you broke his little heart, he’s a cry baby. OR, reader excels in the male dominated field of being a female fuckboy! (based off ‘crybaby’ by megan thee stallion)

warnings: p in v, oral (m receiving), fingering, riding, vernon gets his heart broke, reader is not a good person

a/n: i’ve had this in my drafts for awhile and needed to finish it 😭 i love when readers are morally gray or just wrong & bad! pls remember this is just fiction ok thx!

despite the protests from his friends and the little (though extremely loud) voice in the back of his head telling him this is a horrible idea, vernon grabs his car keys and tries to slip out of his apartment. “dude, we didn’t even get to finish the game! get back here!” wonwoo shouts, frustration clear in his voice. it’s bible in their friend group to finish any smash tournament that’s started, and he’s breaking the one and only most important rule.

“later!” vernon says, hand on the door knob. he’s sort of stalling, sort of wants to be told that he has to stay behind. the thing is, he’s pathetic, especially when it comes to you. he’d cross all seven seas to get to you, if you asked.

“she doesn’t even like you!” soonyoung shouts. vernon sighs and rolls his eyes, walking down to the hallway and stopping at the entrance of the living room. five of his friends look at him with mild disappointment and he puts his hands up in surrender.

“first of all, she invited me over so you’re wrong—and secondly, you’d all do the same if you had prospects but you don’t,” vernon says, letting out a breath. it felt good for him to fight back like that, though soonyoungs comment does leave him feeling sort of doubtful. very doubtful, actually, because he knows there’s some truth in his statement whether he wants to acknowledge it or not.

minghao and joshua share a look and vernon sighs. “fuck you guys,” he says.

“yeah, whatever. but don’t come back here crying,” soonyoung says, a shit eating grin on his face. vernon flips him off, face flushing in embarrassment at the memory of him getting so drunk that he cried in mingyus arms at the club over you. they’ve never been able to let it go, bringing it up every time your name is mentioned. it’s mortifying, but a slight wake up call. except he’s not thinking with his head right now.

they all snicker, but minghao manages to give him a sympathetic shrug. it doesn’t do much to alleviate the doubt in his head, but the support is nice. simply put, his friends are not fans of you, and he doesn’t necessarily blame them. your relationship started out rocky and unserious—he was a late night booty call for you and a fill-in boyfriend without the title. he did boyfriend things with you—for you, thought you two were together until you dropped the bomb that you didn’t like him or want him like that. he was crushed, but he played it cool and told you that he wasn’t looking for a relationship anyway. that only made things worse, seeing that you only called him when you wanted some attention, and constantly made him feel like you wanted him.

the crying in the club bit was the straw that broke the camels back for his friends. they had a mock-intervention for him, urging him to delete your number and to find somebody else, but as if you were summoned at the mention of vernon moving on, you’d called him a few days later and got him back where you wanted him. he hasn’t been able to escape you since, caught in some spell or trap you put him under.

“whatever,” vernon mutters, pulling off his cap to run his fingers through his hair. “i’m leaving now.” he declares, urging himself to actually make the move to leave.

he’s halfway to the door when minghao calls out to him by saying, “my therapist would call this self-destructive behavior!”

vernon doesn’t have time to deeply evaluate his behavior as ‘self-destructive’, because he spends the twenty minute drive to your place psyching himself up. that alone should be indicative of the issue with seeing you, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. instead, he bumps his music and drums his fingers against the steering wheel.

it’s not lost on him that he was able to make it to your place without directions, though he forgot how complicated the apartment parking lot was. by the time he finds a spot that he won’t get towed and/or fined in, he’s much later than when he said he’d be at your place.

vernon sends you a quick ‘here’ text before making his way towards the door to your apartment building. he presses the buzzer for your unit, and his pulse skyrockets. in the few seconds that it takes for you to answer, he spirals thinking of every negative possibility of your encounter. what if you really do hate him, like soonyoung said? and, if not, what if he sucks in bed? what if he says something stupid? what if you find out he’s a complete and utter loser?

“vernon?” your voice crackles through the intercom and shoots straight to fast beating heart, halting his mental spiral of doom, and putting him back in the moment. he’s nervous in a different way now. he’s so unsure of himself around you sometimes—which is definitely a sign that he should cut ties with you.

“y-yeah,” he clears his throat quickly, trying to cover up his shaky voice. “it’s me.” his finger nearly throbs in pain from how much pressure he’s putting on the buzzer.

with a loud pop, the door unlocks and vernon enters. he hikes the two stories to your apartment, and by the time he’s at your door he’s mildly winded from how fast he got up there. vernon stalls a few feet from your door to regain his breath (and confidence). he chews on his bottom lip for a second and glances down the hallway and considers making a run for it.

there isn’t much thought put into that, though, because his feet take him in the other direction towards your front door, and he’s raising his fist to send three soft knocks your way. vernon shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and sighs, dropping his shoulders and rolling them back.

you pull the door open and his eyes snap down to you, and he swears his hearing goes out for a split second, because his face feels like it’s on fire and his muscles feel heavy. and then you smile at him, and he thinks he may melt into a puddle in front of your door. “vernon!” you squeal, laughing yourself onto him, legs wrapping around his waist and arms encircling around his neck. “you took forever.” you mumble, capturing his lips in a kiss that he’s been dreaming of for weeks.

vernon silently thanks the universe that he didn’t collapse when you attached yourself to him, and that he had enough sense to hold onto the bottoms of your thighs for support. “traffic,” he lies, walking the two of you into your apartment and kicking the door closed behind him.

he stops walking and the two of you make out for a few minutes. his nerves disappeared the moment you latched onto him. granted, hes a bit nervous, but he doesn’t feel like he’s going to pass out, or like he wants to make a run for it. “you look good, baby,” you purr once you pull back from his lips to really look at him. you run your hands through his short, brown hair and smile at him, and he decides right then and there that all of the pain and suffering you’ve put him through might be worth it, if you keep smiling at him like that.

untangling you legs from his waist, vernon helps set you down and lets his hands drag up your bare legs. your skin is soft like he remembers, and he wants nothing more than to spend the rest of his life rubbing and touching it. but your hands make use of pulling down his jacket zipper and subsequently helping him out of his coat, so he unfortunately has to pull his hands away from your thighs.

“have you been working out?” you question, setting his jacket on the back of one of your bar stools. vernon looks down at his own biceps and shrugs. “i lift sometimes, yeah,” he says. you walk back over to him and shamelessly feel him up. he’s still skinny, but there’s muscle in places you don’t necessarily remember him having.

“hmm,” is all you reply—it does a lot to cover up how badly you want to tear him out of his clothes. you grab his hand and lead him down the hallway to your bedroom.

“how’ve you been?” vernon asks. you giggle at his awkwardness and give him a look over you shoulder as you pull him into your bedroom.

“really great,” you push him lightly towards your bed, and crawl onto his lap, lips finding purchase on his neck. you grind down onto him as you suck a purple mark onto his neck. “what about you?” you ask in between kisses, voice slightly breathless.

“uh, fine,” vernon spits out, mind a bit hazy when you slip off of his lap and onto your knees between his legs. “better.” you smile at him sweetly, but your hands make quick work of unbuttoning his jeans. he helps you pull them down to his ankles, along with his underwear.

a soft whimper leaves you mouth at the sight of his semi-hard dick. you press your thighs together and reach forward to grab ahold of his member and start stroking his shaft. vernon looks down at you with parted lips; he feels like he’s in a dream, watching you on your knees below him. you’ve given him head before, but it was conditional. usually, when you felt guilty for something, or knew you made him upset you would suck him off. he tries to push the thoughts away, and succeeds when you wrap you lips around the tip and attempt to take all of him. “fuuuck,” he groans, gripping onto the edge of the bed.

vernon is embarrassed at how quickly you draw out loud moans from him just by massaging his balls as you work your mouth on him. he hasn’t been with anybody else in awhile—and he’s too embarrassed to ever admit that he’s good with just having you, even if he has to wait for you to call him.

“oh, fuck, y/n,” he whines, thighs tensing. he lets go of the mattress to gather your hair and wraps it around one of his hands. you moan against his crotch when he pulls, watery eyes flicking up to meet his own. spit gathers at the corners of your mouth and vernon knows this is an image he’ll never, ever forget. “shitshitshit!” his hips buck upwards and he expects you to pull your mouth off of him to use your hands to get him to his release, but you stay put.

it drives vernon crazy. he comes fast, and he doesn’t have time to be embarrassed because you swallow, and then keep sucking after the fact. he’s never seen you act like this, and you’re a bit shocked at your own behavior—you hadn’t realized you missed him that much.

“y/n,” he whimpers, chin falling against his chest. you take that as a sign that he’s about to pass out, and reluctantly pull your mouth off of him with a pop. a trail of spit mixed with cum follows his cock to your mouth, and it makes you want to give him another blow job, but he looks too spent.

“vernon,” you start, getting off of your knees. he manages to sit upright before falling backwards onto your bed.

“give me a minute,” he croaks. you smile and take a few seconds of your own to catch your breath before you undress completely and crawl onto the bed next to him. vernon opens his eyes and looks over at you. “i wanted to do that.” he whines, referring to getting you naked, and reaches out for you.

you crawl on top of him and settle on his abdomen. his hands moves to your waist and his eyes stray trained on your breasts. you lean down a bit, practically putting your boobs in his face. vernon leans forward and wraps his lips around one of your nipples. he shifts the two of you so he’s sitting up straight, thus shifting you down onto his crotch.

you can’t help but grind yourself against him as he plays with your breasts. he fondles the own that’s not in his mouth, and keeps his eyes on you. you moan softly above him, light little pants leaving your mouth that only encourage him. “nonie,” you whine, running your hands through his hair and gently tugging on the strands. “touch me. i want you to touch me.”

vernon pulls his mouth off of your breast and slides his hand that was on your waist up your spine. he grabs the back of your neck and pulls your mouth down to his own in a messy, heated kiss. he manages to flip the two of you over, propping himself up on an elbow and slipping his other hand between your legs.

“all for you,” you purr when he drags his fingers up your slit, a look of disbelief on his face at how wet you are. “need you, nonie. your fingers, mouth, all of it.” you whine, spreading your legs open for him. vernon liked how vocal you were about what you wanted from him. he wished you were as vocal about other aspects of your guys’ relationship, but he’ll take what he can get.

vernon dips two fingers inside of you, your arousal acting as a perfect lubricant. vernon kisses your neck and chest as he fucks his fingers in and out of you. his thumb presses on your clit and you moan out his name. “more, vernon,” you breathe, gripping onto his hair tightly. “fuck, i want you to fuck me vernon. can you fuck me?” you ask, clenching around his fingers.

his cock jumps at your tone of voice and request. “i can fuck you,” he rasps. he’d rather make you cum on his fingers first, but you wish is his command. he lifts up from you and pulls his shirt off. you rake your nails along his exposed abdomen, applying light pressure. you smirk up at him and he grabs your hand and kisses your palm. it’s much too intimate, but you can’t deny the butterflies it gives you.

“grab a condom,” you remind him, pointing to your nightstand when he grabs onto the base of his dick. he quickly moves to open the drawer, and he tries to ignore the photobooth strip of photos of you and some guy he’s never met is the first thing he sees. he pushes it out of the way and grabs a stray condom, and slams the drawer shut.

he rips open the package and rolls the condom on before grabbing your leg and throwing it over his shoulder and lining himself up. vernon pushes his hips forward and sinks the tip in. “ah!” you gasp at the delicious stretch. quiet as it’s kept, vernon has a big dick and he knows how to use it. it’s unfortunate that he’s hung and is so shy about it—sometimes you wish he’d call you to fuck, rather than you doing it all the time. “fuck, vernon, you’re so big.” his body flushes with heat and he keeps pushing forward.

you suck him in welcomingly. he fits inside of you like you were made to be stuffed by him. he fucks into with a steady rhythm, and each time he pushes inside a moan is pushed form your lungs. vernon can’t keep his own moans contained, moaning our curses with each thrust. it’s dizzying, how turned on he is by you. he feels like he can’t think about anything other than fucking you and staying like this until eternity. he gets the morbid thought that he’d be okay if he died like this, buried inside of you.

“fuck, right there baby! you’re so good to me, fuck!” you shriek, mouth falling open as you look at there the two of you connect. you get lost in watching him disappear inside of you, by the white ring that’s formed at the base of his dick. the sounds vibrate off of the walls; squelching and skin on skin nearly deafening. “fuck me, vernon!” you cry, hips raising to meet his own.

tears brim in your eyes when he pulls your leg from his shoulder and shoves it up to your chest, spreading you open wider and fucking into you at a different angle. “i m-missed you,” he chokes out, shifting his weight to a single arm so he can grope your chest.

“me too,” you pant, chest arching up into his. you chase his lips with your own, wanting to feel as close to him as possible. your mouths press together, but not in a kiss. you pant and moan harshly against each other, his hips rutting into you at a faster, less rhythmic pace.

“i-im close,” he whimpers, placing an open mouthed kiss on the corner of your lips. you whine out his name as he speeds up his pace, your arms sliding up his back. you dig your nails into his skin, definitely leaving scratches. “fuck, you’re perfect.” he whispers, eyes looking into yours.

you whimper and squeeze around him before your release comes crashing over you. “nonie!” you cry, clutching onto him like a life raft as he fucks you through your orgasm. his strokes lose rhythm completely and moments later he’s coming into the condom, stilling inside of you as he does. you almost wish he wasn’t wearing a condom, so you could feel him.

vernon drops on top of you, his arms too weak to hold himself up. you cling to him, hands running through his hair absentmindedly. you don’t mind the weight of him on you, and you especially don’t mind the fact that he’s still inside of you. you have a soft spot for vernon, even though it may not seem like it. he’s the nicest guy you’ve ever been with—much nicer than the guys you’re typically acquainted with—and he’s sweet to you, even when you don’t deserve it. you know you should probably let him go, free him of your games, but something in you won’t let you. and that same something won’t let you like him—love him—how he deserves.

“vernon,” you murmur, rubbing his back.

“hmm.”

“im hot, and you’re heavy,” you say with a soft giggle. he smiles into the sheets and lifts himself up and pulls himself out of you. both of you whimper pathetically at the loss of contact, and laugh at each other seconds later. he drops down beside you on the bed, rolling onto his back. you roll onto your stomach and rest your chin on his chest before resting on your cheek, and he wraps an arm around your waist.

vernon strokes your hair and keeps his eyes on you. if he was a cartoon, his heart would be beating out of his chest and hearts would be shooting out of his eyes.

“you’re staring,” you mutter, rubbing his side.

“because you’re pretty,” he says, hand sliding from your waist to your ass. you roll your eyes and sit up onto your knees and look down at him. you can’t contain the urge to smile or kiss him, so you do both. “you should go pee.” he mumbles, breaking the kiss.

“right,” you say, quickly getting off the bed. no other guy would remind you to pee after sex, but of course vernon does. every single time, too. you wish you could leave him alone.

vernon sits up and grabs his boxers. he pulls them on and stretches his arms above his head, sighing when he feels a pop in his shoulders. somewhere behind him, a phone buzzes once, then twice, then incessantly. he doesn’t know where his phone is, so he digs around in the bed until he finds the source, pulling out the phone from under a pillow. it’s definitely not his, so he feels sort of strange holding it as the name ‘seungcheol’ flashes across the screen.

“what are you doing with my phone?” you ask with an accusatory tone, eyebrows furrowed as you tie your robe.

“i couldn’t find mine, and it was ringing,” vernon says, holding it out to you. you snatch it out of his hand unnecessarily, ready to tell him to mind his business until you look down at the screen and see three texts and a missed call from a guy you’re seeing. it’s not super serious, but you feel bad for vernon having to see it.

“sorry,” you mutter, quickly typing out a response to seungcheol. you try to shove the guilt down as you set your phone down on your dresser. it’s awkward and tense, and you can feel him watching you as you mess around with things on your dresser.

glancing up, you catch his eyes in the mirror and sigh before turning around to face him. you crawl onto the bed next to him and sit on your knees. he won’t meet your eyes, so you try the only thing to bring him back to you.

you kiss his neck and run your hands across his chest. he doesn’t react so you pull your robe open and grab his hand, placing it on your chest and squeezing. “vernon,” you murmur, crawling into his lap. you kiss up his neck, to his jaw, and when you get to his mouth he pulls back.

it’s not his business at all, but he can’t hold back when he asks, “who was that?”

you bite your bottom lip and encircle your arms around your neck. you press your weight into his crotch and bite back a smile when he covers a groan with a throat clear. “he’s just a friend, nonie,” you lie, kissing his cheek. “you have me. all of me.”

he looks up at you with wide eyes, and you feel his cock twitch under your ass. he’s pathetic, and it’s never been more clear to him because he kisses you and palms your breast, pinching your nipple lightly and shoving off your robe. he knows he’s reaches new lows because he lets you push him flat onto the bed and pull his underwear down. when you sink down onto him—with no condom this time—he knows he’s fucked.

you ride him like your life depends on it, like him forgetting that seungcheol ever called is imperative to keeping this thing going between the two of you, because it is. you bring out all the stops, riding him on your toes and telling him things he definitely wants to hear, like how nobody feels better than him, and he’s the best you’ve ever had.

vernon leaves your apartment with clarity on one thing: he understands why his friends can’t stand you.

[witchygagirlwrites]

Fix You-Part 1

Kelly Severide x Reader x Matt Casey/ Sevasey x Reader

You get sent to Firehouse fifty one as a temporary placement when a paramedic is needed. Your first day you meet the house Captain and Rescue Squad Lieutenant.

“Where’s your placement?” your sister asked as you balanced your phone between your ear and shoulder, trying to gather everything you needed to get out of the door. “Firehouse fifty one. They need a new partner for Brett after Dawson moved. I’ve worked with the rig in passing but this will pretty much be my first time working with the truck or rescue squad” you told her as you rushed out of your apartment, locking the door behind yourself.

You’d met with Chief Boden already along with Sylvie Brett but when you’d met with the two of them it had only been them. Today would be your official introduction as a temporary member of the house. You knew most of the firemen by name and face at the very least but you would be there for ten months. You’d hopefully build at least a few friendships.

You parked your truck across the street where Boden told you it was ok then grabbed your gear and headed over to the station house. Sylvie spotted you and stepped out of the bays to meet you halfway “Hey Y/N” you grinned “Sylvie! Glad you’re here already. I would’ve hated to walk into this without at least one friendly face at my side” she laughed and slipped her arm through yours “They’re not that bad, really”

You raised an eyebrow and she shrugged “Ok, well they’re not worse than any other house” you laughed “Now that I believe”

The two of you walked into the bays and you spotted a few men sitting around a table, one in a freaking recliner. “Who’s the grandpa?” you asked without thinking about it and when he turned around you wanted the floor to open up and swallow you. It was Squad Three Lieutenant Kelly Severide. A grin slipped onto his face as he stood up to face you “Who’s the spitfire Brett?”

You recovered from the embarrassment fast enough to smirk “Spitfire huh? I kinda like that. Name’s Y/N. I’m the temp paramedic here as a partner for Brett until Boden finds someone who’s a fit” he nodded as you held your hand out. He shook it then winked at you “Think I’ll stick with Spitfire, suits ya just fine” 

Matt Casey, the house Captain, walked out behind him and put a hand on his shoulder “Is this idiot bothering you ladies?” you shook your head “My fault really, I called him a grandpa” 

A grin split Matt’s face at that as he cut his eyes at Kelly, affectionately running his hand over the other man’s grey hair “Grandpa huh?” “Don’t you dare babe” Kelly replied then nodded at you “This is Y/N, the temp para but I think we’re gonna call her spitfire”

Matt looked back at you “Spitfire?” you shrugged “I like it” he nodded “Then it’s settled. Sylvie will show you around, get you a locker. If you need anything feel free to holler at me or Kelly” you nodded “Thanks”

Within about a week or two  you were on a first name basis with everyone you were on shift with and knew everyone who worked out of the station house. It was a family of sorts and even though you were only a visitor they were welcoming you in with no hesitation. 

“Why are you working as a temp?” Cruz asked one day when all of you were picking at breakfast before any calls had come in. You shrugged and sipped the coffee in your hands “Haven’t really found a house that fits me. This way I’m still doing what I love and helping houses that need it in the meantime” Kelly leaned back from where he was sitting across the room next to Matt and you knew the moment he grinned he was about to tease you “So you’re a stray sniffing around for a home?” 

Matt slapped him behind the head then looked at you “I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to house train him for years but it hasn’t taken” you laughed as Kelly rubbed his head and cut his eyes at his boyfriend. “It’s fine Matt, he isn’t wrong really”  “Think you may stay here?” Sylvie asked and you shrugged, feeling very much like you were in the hot seat “I don’t know yet. I mean I like working here so far but it’s a little too soon to tell”

Matt met your eyes and you knew he could tell you were uncomfortable because he cleared his throat “That’s enough with the twenty questions” you shot him a small smile as a thank you as everyone turned their attention back to their food or other conversations. 

A call rang out for a structure fire needing the truck, rescue and ambulance so everyone was on their feet and in motion, any semblance of breakfast long forgotten as you headed for the bays. 

You ran past Matt and smiled “Thanks for that” he nodded so you hurried to hop into the driver’s seat of the rig as he ran to the truck and Kelly ran to the rescue squad. Sylvie cut her eyes at you as you fell into the line of vehicles as they pulled out onto the road “I think you’ll end up staying”  You laughed lightly “That you thinking or hoping Brett?” She shrugged “Little bit of both?”

You walked into your apartment and considered for a second just crashing across your couch instead of making it to your bed but your phone chimed with a text from Sylvie We’re going to Mollys. You in?

You were tired but it was a friday and you were off the next two days…screw it. You texted back Meet ya in twenty? And she replied See you there!

____________________________

You walked into Mollys and spotted Sylvie sitting with a few women from med and the twenty first so you headed towards her. You smiled when Kim Burgess greeted you “How’s fifty one treating you?” you cut your eyes at Sylvie then nodded “Best partner I’ve had yet” and Sylvie grinned broadly. You looked around “Where is the rest of your unit Burgess?” she shrugged “Adam is currently retrieving our drinks, we got you one too. Jay and Mouse are over there in a booth with Fireball” she nodded and you saw the men in question with their girlfriend. You knew Fireball well, she was a trauma nurse at Chicago med. One of the best you’d seen. Probably from her time as a combat medic, from what you’d gathered that was how the three of them had met.

“Where’s the other two?” you asked and she grinned “Kevin has a date with that new nurse from med that just moved here from scotland and Firecracker stayed in tonight with Will and Connor”  you nodded as Adam made it back to the table carrying the drinks and passed them out, shooting you a smile “Here ya go spitfire. If it’s not right, blame your partner” you laughed “It’s fine Adam. A free drink is a free drink. Especially one I know I can trust”

____________________

You and Sylvie had Adam and Kim laughing about a call you responded to where a frat guy got his head caught in a stair railing. “He was breathing fine, not in distress but I swear it reminded me of something that would’ve happened in a movie from the eighties” you laughed around your drink.

You’d only drink two with alcohol then switched to soda but the company was good so you were still enjoying the night out. “There’s our medics” you heard Matt’s voice and cut your eyes up with a smile “Captain” he shook his head “We’re not at work, just call me Matt” you nodded “Ok Matt” Kelly grinned at you from next to him “And you always call me Kelly anyways” you laughed “That’s cause Matt always acts like a captain. You only act like a lieutenant when we’re actively on a call”

They nodded to the table “Can we join you four?” you shrugged and looked around. Sylvie shrugged and Adam patted the table “Sure” Kelly went to grab them drinks as Matt sat down next to you. “So, spitfire, how long is your contract for anyways?” you grinned “Trying to get rid of me already?” he raised an eyebrow so you grinned “Ten months unless I put in a request to stay. Boden said I’d have that option as soon as six months hit”

Sylvie gasped “You did not tell me that” you grinned “Because I don’t want the twenty question game to start back up” Matt shook his head “It won’t. I won’t let it” “Thank you” you replied and turned back to your previously abandoned conversation with Sylvie and Kim as Matt started talking to Adam then Kelly came back over and joined their conversation as well. Maybe you could find a place at Fifty one? 

It was still a little soon to tell but it was starting to feel like home already.

@desimarie12

[wayfayrr]

hey uh. if requests r open. would it b possible to request a follow up to that self-aware-twi fic. if not thats ok i just wanted u to know i havent stopped thinking about it since i read it. altered my brain chemistry, touch-starved twilight princess link my beloved, etc etc. ur writing is top-tier <3<3<3

I think the best part about this ask is - I've had this written since early January. I actually wrote part two as a birthday gift for a good friend of mine @glowyskull <33

So this is more just me finally posting it sfbgdfbgdb. it's also funny to think that the twilight fic is my most popular fic now considering how the self aware au really started as just a really guiltily self indulgent fic - something fun to write that I didn't think could get as big as it did on my blog. and I'm glad that you liked it so much <333 whimpery touch starved twilight princess link is just so AUGH love him so

[masterlist]

“Oh you’re finally wakin up then darlin’.”

“...hmm?”

“C’mon darlin’, you can’t have forgotten what happened earlier already? Can you? Your fever - cold isn’t that bad so you can't have…”

Who’s rambling… and why does it sound so familiar?  Wait does that mean - is everything that happened earlier all real then, did link really crawl out of my tv just because he was lonely. Because I left him there, left him all on his own to rot in his own solitude. 

“Link? You - that - everything was real then? All of it?”

“All of it darlin’, from how I got out to how I’m never gonna leave ya.”

“Huh..? I could’ve sworn that you didn’t even mention anything like that…”

“Mhm, well you’re ill and still a little out of it darlin’ so you probably just forgot, you did agree though.” 

It does sound like something that I would agree to, I mean I’m the reason that he’s sentient. It would be cruel of me to throw him to the other wolves, he isn’t from here but besides even that, he isn’t from here. He doesn’t know how this world works, it would be worse than sending a dog to a shelter. It would be his death sentence for certain, and after all that I put him through for a simple pause in playing. The way he’s petting my hair like this though, it’s enough to simply just wash the rest of my worries away, if I could I would spend the rest of my life right here easily.  

“About your illness though, do you have any red potion anywhere?” 

“No, no things like that don’t exist here link and the painkillers I have aren’t worth moving for.” 

“If you’re sure… I’ll go and get them for you the second you change your mind.”    

“You don’t even know where I keep them.” 

His hand paused at that, causing me to let out an involuntary whine. I couldn’t even think to stop it with how it slipped out instantly, which he seemed fond of. Cuddling me closer to his chest and resting his head on top of mine, with what felt like a giant smile on his face. 

“I can look for them, It’s not like I won’t need to learn where everything is now that I’m living with ya… besides I’ve already put you through so much stress when you’re not well.”

“You didn’t mean to link, how could you have known I was sick?”

“...I don’t know - I just - it shouldn’t have been hard to know with how you looked when you opened the game. I’m sorry love I just wasn’t even thinking I just wanted to be out, but I should’ve been more considerate to you.”

With how silent he is in the game you could never have guessed how much he likes to ramble, it’s the second or third time it’s happened since he crawled out of the glas- the glass. Are his bandages holding up, he seems fine but he’s not from here, any infection could be deadly. He wouldn’t even see it coming with how much he’s fawning over my comfort right now. 

“Link?” “Yes, darlin’?”

Oh wow, he - well he’s whipped already. Is it real love or has all that time trapped alone twisted him into this. I’d look into getting him therapy but… if he mentioned the truth then it would be a matter of seconds until he’d be diagnosed with something inaccurate. No one. No one at all would ever believe that a video game character actually broke out of their game - especially not someone like Link falling for an exhausted student like me.

“Are you feeling alright? You have so many cuts and wounds right now.”

“It’s nothing that’s worse than anything else I’ve ever had. They do feel more real though.”

“...real?”

“They feel like real wounds, not something that could be healed away in seconds and they’re just tiny scrapes.”He sounds so giddy as he’s talking about being hurt - it’s unnerving when he starts holding me even tighter when he’s saying it. I don’t think I’m ever going to be getting away from him ever again… if I wanted to. Why shouldn’t I take a chance at having a relationship though. He cares about me - he really does even if it’s unhinged - it would be so nice to come home to him, to be able to spoil him and be spoilt by him. Even being held like this feels so unreal, so impossible that I shouldn’t be here with him. So much so that I want to stay here and fall back asleep without any argument. Didn’t he even say he wanted to be my lover? Why look over a gift too closely?

[apdreadful]

Two sides to every phone call..or, still Buck

Tommy’s phone dings in his pocket.

It’s a text from Chimney

Chimney: I want to go on the record, I tried to talk him out of it.

He starts to reply asking what Evan has done now, his phone rings.

“What’s he done now?” He asks as a way of greeting.

“Your man is gearing up to do something really stupid. Or more accurately not gearing up”

Tommy could hear Evan’s voice in the background “You called Tommy! What the fuck Hen?”

“Well god knows you never listen to any of us” she replies.

“Put him on” Tommy says torn between wanting to laugh and also throttle his husband.

“You’re part of my team” he hears Evan grouse “Where’s the loyalty?”

“He was part of my team first. Also, do you really want any of us to have to explain to Tommy why you went splat?”

Tommy hears a rustling, presumably Evan taking the phone, and then a masculine sigh “Hey”

“Evan” Tommy says softly

“Yeah?”

“What were you about to do that Hen and Chimney both had to reach out to me”

“Chimney too?” Bucks voice rises an octave “Et tu Bruté”

“Did you just quote Julius Caesar?”

“Yes. I do know how to read, babe. I’m more than just a pretty face”

Tommy pauses for a beat, and when he speaks his voice has taken on a different tone “I am both annoyed and totally turned on by you right now. A state which I am becoming more and more accustomed to”

“You got a boner?” Evan stage whispers.

“OH MY GOD!” He hears Hen exclaim “You’re on my phone! No boner talk on my phone”

“Sorry babe. Hen wont let me talk spicy to you on her phone. Apparently her phone isn’t into dick either” He snickers.

Tommy manages to bite back his laughter knowing that will only encourage him more.

“Evan” he repeats.

Buck clears his throat. “Yes?”

“What were you about to do?”

Buck hesitates “Well..Crawl up an apartment building, balcony to balcony”

“Without a harness!” Hen yells.

“You are all the worst kind of tattletales” Evan grumbles. “It’s only like six stories”

“Evan” Tommy uses the tone that always gets Bucks attention.

He hears Bucks small intake of breath “Babe. You cannot use the bossy bedroom voice on me when I’m at work” he says huskily.

“Oh for fucks sake! Give me back my phone. Ya’ll are worse than a bunch of horny teenagers”

“You’re the one who called him to tattle on me and handed me your phone”

“Not for you to have phone sex with him. I swear the two of you are actually worse since you got married.”

“Awww thanks Hen” Buck says sweetly.

“That wasn’t a compliment”

“I’m choosing to take it as one though” he volleys back.

“Evan, please do not attempt to climb up a building without a harness” Tommy asks.

::Silence::

“Evan?”

“Ok. I won’t”

“Thank you. I’ll see you tonight. I love you”

“Love you too” Buck replies.

“Be safe” they say almost simultaneously.

Tommy grins as he ends the call and slips it back into his pocket.

“Judging from the dopey ass look on your face. That was Buckley”

“Don’t be jealous, Hayes” he winks.

Buck:

Buck hands the phone back to Hen “Still think you’re a tattletale.”

Hen narrows her eyes at him “That was surprisingly easy”

“What?” Buck says as he heads to the rig to get a harness and ropes.

“Did he threaten to put you over his knee if you did it anyway?”

Buck snorts out a laugh “Like that would have been a deterrent..He asked me not to go up without a harness”

Both Chimney and Hen gape at him “That’s it?? He asked you?”

Evan shrugs “Yes” after a few moments he adds “He’s my somebody, that person that needs me to come home to him”

Hen smiles softly and gives Buck a one armed hug “I like this married Buck. He’s a lot more sensible”

“Regular sex will do that for you!” He quips with a wink.

Hen makes a gagging sound “Never mind, still Buck”

<a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/55979032"

[sothisart]

1972

Remus couldn't sleep. His injuries from the night before still hurt, apparently Madame Pince's potion started to wear off. He was used to it though. He'd had it worse most of his life. Hogwarts hospital wing actually gave him a big relief with all the treatment he was getting every full moon after starting school.

"Remus..."

A quiet voice interrupted Remus' thoughts.

"Are you sleeping? Can I hop in for a moment?"

Sirius's big eyes were looking at him with this inexplicable expression, like a little puppy asking for permission to sleep in his bed.

"Sure...," he answered though he was not sure how that would work, he had never had anyone visiting his bed at night. Well, except for being cuddled by his mum on nights like this.

Sirius climbed up, settled himself next to him and whispered.

"Does it still hurt..."

"Yeah, but it's better than it has usually been," Remus whispered back.

Sirius was silent for a moment. Then he lifted his gaze and looked straight into Remus's eyes.

"I'm sorry, I wish I could help. I...."

Remus didn't know what to say to that, Sirius had discovered his secret just a couple of weeks before, and Remus still wasn't used to talking about it so openly.

"I just want to say... you're my best friend and you'll never be alone with it." Sirius said, his eyes shining in the darkness, his arm slipping around Remus's back to held him close.

#wolfstar #wolfstarfanart #wolfstar 

1975 

Remus was lying on his back, trying not to think about the events of previous several days. He still couldn’t suppress the haunting memory of Sirius’s cursed body after he’d escaped the Black mansion for, hopefully, the last time. Remus was trying to relax his muscles and, maybe, fall asleep like he hoped Sirius managed to do. Sirius was now safe, only that mattered.

“Moony… can I…” he heard soft whispering.

“Pads, are you ok? You should be resting…”

“I know, I will. Just I…” Sirius said but didn’t finish.

Remus shifted to the side of the bed, grabbing his hand and pulling him in. He knew sending Sirius back would only make him feel worse, and he wanted Sirius to feel better after what he’d been through.

Maybe Sirius couldn’t sleep either.

Maybe he’d had a bad dream.

Maybe he was scared even though nothing bad could happen. At least for now.

“You’re safe here, Sirius,” Remus whispered before you could stop himself. He didn’t know if that’s something you say to your friend, even the best one, but Sirius only shifted closer and wrapped his arms around Remus’s back to held him tight, and whispered:

“I know.”

1976 

Remus sometimes still needed to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. He’d shared the bed with Sirius so many times over the years. It wasn’t even slightly suspicious to any of their friends who were used to them frequently waking up together in one four poster. Platonically of course. Only the way Sirius was pressing his mouth to Remus’s neck was not a platonic as they were thinking.

(I’m not sure I’ll write sth for other years, they are quite clear from the pictures anyway 😅, I had like 5 examples of more pictures to this story, but somebody stop me cause it would never end)

Also, huge admiration again to MsAlexWP and her @languagelessonswolfstar - I loved the idea of them sleeping together from the very first year at Hogwarts, the idea original to Language Lessons! It inspired me to draw this series.

[deadsetromance]

IN THE WEE SMALL HOURS OF THE MORNING

(not my gif!)

gerard way x gn!reader

summary: he's your roommate...but maybe he's more than that.

warnings: unedited writing, fluff, no use of [y/n]

note: so sorry i haven't posted in forever! i have a few requests and a few more half-complete drafts, so hopefully those should be up soon &lt;3

you supposed there were worse roommates out there. actually, thinking about it, you realized how lucky you were.

you got along really well with your roommate, gerard. he’d been sharing an apartment for nearly two years now, and you were sure you knew him better than you knew yourself.

you know he forgets to take the coffee pods out of the keurig, and sometimes he leaves the heater running for too long.

you don’t think you’ve ever seen him sleep. sometimes you wonder if he’s a vampire or something, what with the scribbling coming from his room at all hours of the night.

to be fair… you’re hardly any better. you sleep little more than he does, when you do fall asleep it’s usually on the couch, and you leave the television on all the time.

you’re incredibly lucky, you realize. lucky that he’s as sweet as he is, bringing you coffee in the mornings, and stopping by your job on his commute. he’s even slipped a few drawings your way. some are drawings of you, others are silly little doodles he gives you when you’re having a bad day. sometimes, he’ll show you characters for the comics he’s working on, asking for your input.

you realize that you’re lucky that he’s so helpful, that he’s not a creep, that you both get along so well. you’re lucky that you’ve found a friend who will sit and watch television reruns with you when neither of you can fall asleep.

that’s why you slip a record under his door one night. you don’t know if he even likes sinatra, but you give it to him anyway. there’s no special occasion really, you just thought of him when you found in the wee small hours in the record store you visited. you don’t sign your name on the post it you stuck to it. all you write is “from one insomniac to another”. you feel embarrassed for some reason you can’t place, and something slithers in your stomach. maybe you shouldn’t have given it to him…maybe he doesn’t like sinatra. it’s too late now though, it’s already done.

☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎

it’s late one night…or early, depending on how you look at it. you’re tired, whatever movie you were watching forgotten and on mute. you can hear gerard milling around in the kitchen, you can smell the coffee he’s brewing. you’re tired, but you can’t fall asleep.

“thanks for the record” gerard called from the kitchen. “i really liked it”

you smile, one of those hazy tired smiles, the kind you do when you’re between being awake and asleep. “i didn’t know if you liked sinatra, i hope it’s ok”

you miss the way he grins at you, too busy yawning.

“it’s great i actually…” he walked off in the middle of his sentence, a habit you’d noticed he had, only to come back with the disk in his hands. “do you mind?”

it didn’t matter if you said no, he already turned to put it on, smiling back at you as he dropped the needle to the record.

“what are we watching?” he asked, sitting next to you on the couch. close enough to be touching you, but still far enough to give you space. it’s like a paradox, you think, but then you tell yourself to shut up. you’re too tired to know what you’re talking about.

“i dunno, i stopped paying attention.” your eyes flit to the movie playing on the television, watching the car chase for a moment before turning your attention back to him. “you’re going to keep yourself up all night drinking coffee this late.” you might have frowned at him if you weren’t too busy beaming.

he knew you were teasing, you could tell by the glint in his eye. “i just need a few finishing touches on my project and then i’m done.”

you didn’t say anything more for a while, taking a moment to take everything in. the record playing softly in the background as you curled closer to gerard. his head resting on yours as you listened to his breathing, memorizing the pace of his heart.

it’s quiet…intimate, and you’re tired. tired and happy.

“you tired?” he questions softly.

“a little,” you don’t know why you’re whispering.

“do you work tomorrow?”

“yeah, i open,” you groan, rubbing your eyes. you think you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head, but you don’t want to get your hopes up.

it’s quiet again, though this time it’s too quiet. you’re left with thoughts of gerard running through your head, and you wish that one of you would say something. you should be ashamed, you scold yourself, thinking of him the way you do when he’s sitting right next to you.

“what are you thinking about?” he prods gently. he’s soft with you, the way he always is, careful not to overstep with his questions.

“nothing really,” you lie, because you’d rather not risk what comfort you have now. “what are you thinking about?”

it seems like he didn’t expect the question to be turned back on him. he hesitates, and the silence is thick…too thick. his face is illuminated by the light from the tv, and he looks nervous. you don’t think you’ve ever seen him look quite as terrified as he does now. the lighting shifts, and he’s blanketed in darkness again, but you notice something change in his eyes.

“i think i love you” he whispers against your ear.

you feel like you can’t breathe. you think you heard him wrong. you’re worried this is all a dream, a good dream, the kind that would leave you reeling when you wake up.

you want to hear him say it again.

you lean your head back against his shoulder, and he breathes out with a shudder. you watch the explosions on tv as your hand finds his. “i love you too.”

that’s it then, everything is out in the open. maybe you’re tired, but you sigh gently as he cups your face in his hands. thinking back, you can’t exactly pinpoint when your feelings for him changed, but you suppose it doesn’t matter now. he loves you and you love him. it’s surprisingly simple.

“can i…?” he doesn’t need to finish his question as you lean in closer to him. his breath is warm, and he smells like coffee and sleepless nights, and you’re waiting for him. your eyes are closed as you breathe him in, and they stay that way as he kisses you softly.

he’s…soft, softer than you imagine, and you can’t help but smile.

in the wee small hours of the morning, he is yours, and you are his.

[morganski-19]

Chills Right to the Marrow Part 64

ao3 link| part 1 . . . part 61, part 62, part 63

the first part takes place after part 53, the second takes place after part 55, and the last before/during part 52

“Jesus Christ this wallpaper is terrible,” Eddie comments as he shuts the door behind him. As he, apparently, followed Steve up the stairs. Because he can’t give Steve a moment to deal with this. To not yell at him for not being prepared.

“I said I don’t want to talk about this again,” he repeats. Firm in his tone.

Eddie practically falls onto Steve’s bed, rolling to lay on his back. “I’m not focusing on that right now. I’m focusing on the fact that I just climbed a flight of stairs and am fucking winded. Holy shit, when did stairs become so hard.”

Steve snorts. Grateful for a moment where he can think of something else.

“So this is Steve Harrington’s room, huh,” Eddie continues. “This is what all the girls were so excited to see. From what I can see from laying down, I guess it’s ok. The décor is terrible though, what the hell is this furniture.” He pauses, because Steve took off his shirt, briefly, before slipping on a sweatshirt. “Oh, never mind, I get it.”

“You knew that they weren’t coming here for the furniture,” Steve mocks, laying down next to Eddie.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Well aware. Just a joke. And maybe my round about way of asking to see you without clothes.”

“Could just be direct. Not like it would be unwanted or anything.” He takes a deep breath. “But that’s not what you came up here for.”

“That is not what I came up here for,” Eddie confirms. He turns on his side, looking at Steve. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, and I know Robin keeps bothering you about it, but I think not talking about it is worse.”

“Eddie,” Steve exhales.

“And,” he persists, “there is something that you’re not saying. And I think it’s better if you did.”

Steve lets out a deep breath, sitting up and Eddie does the same. He looks at Steve expectantly, but patiently. Reaching to take one of Steve’s hands and hold it. Waiting for him to open up.

“The more I think back on times in my life,” Steve starts, “my parents weren’t always terrible parents. When I was a kid, my dad would play catch with me in the yard, put in the pool when he learned I loved to swim, would help my study when I needed it. My mom, she would take me to the movies on my days off from school, bring me to the park, read to me. They went to all my games, had interest in my life and my friends, even insisted they met Nancy when they learned we were dating. Even if by then they had already pulled back.”

It was more for approval, he realizes now. But then, it was everything. There were times that Steve could look back on and try to find something wrong, something that made them out to be bad, but he couldn’t. There were other times that proved the exactly opposite of that, plenty of those times, but they all happened later.

Before high school, his parents were there. They seemed to enjoy being parents. Even if it was all a ruse, even if it was for a motive not obvious at the time, it still felt real.

“Sometime in high school, they just stopped caring. My dad cheated on my mom, and she started following him on all his business trips. They were home less and less. Each time they came back, it was clear that they weren’t interested in hearing about me anymore. This house was just a pit stop for them.”

Before, back in middle school, report card day used to terrify him. He was never good at math or science, something he could never wrap his mind around. No matter how hard he tried, he could never get that grade to an “A”. Something to be proud of. Yet, every time that report came through the mail, he was greeted with a smile from his mother, and a good effort from his dad. A motivating message to try and get better. It felt good in the moment.

There were a lot of moments like that. Where it felt good in the moment, but as Steve grew up, he understood the tone a little more. The meaning behind the eyes he was too scared to look in. It finally set in when he almost failed his freshman algebra. Passing wasn’t good enough, it wasn’t rewarded, just accepted. A lot of things were accepted and not revered.

Trophies were never allowed downstairs. It was a shelf in Steve’s room, that was their place. Because he should be proud of them, and be happy to look at them every day. And when people came over, his parents got to boast and have him run up the stairs to go and fetch the trophy for viewing, before being shunned again.

It wasn’t until he went over to Nancy’s for the first time, the proper first time, and saw Mike’s science fair ribbon hanging on the fridge next to Nancy’s straight “A” report. Dozens of pictures that Holly drew decorating their fridge. That was what real pride looked like. Even if they were just there for the day, it wasn’t shunned. It was acknowledged.

Steve’s accomplishments, his personality, his life was kept from the rest of the house. From them. Everything they ever cared about was things that could be bragged, and then hidden back away. When his notoriety ended, so did their love.

“I wasn’t interesting for them anymore.”

Eddie squeezes his hand, leaning on his shoulder. Steve didn’t realize that he started crying, not until a tear dripped off his chin and fell onto his lap. He stares at the small dark stain, and finds a way to finish.

“And as much as I hate them, as much as I can now see how bad they really were. There is still this part of me that is waiting for them to come back. Them selling the house is just proof that they never are.”

The air feels cleaner now that he’s said it out loud. The room less heavy, his mind a little more blank.

“They don’t deserve you,” Eddie says quietly. Using his hand to pull him closer, kissing his temple. “They don’t deserve you at all.”

“No, no they don’t.” Steve shakes his head, looking around at the only bedroom he’s ever known. “Where am I supposed to go after this?”

Eddie’s hand cups Steve’s cheek, his thumb rubbing away the tears. “One step at a time, right. We’ll get through this one step at a time. This is step one right here. Step two can come when it needs to. Step one point five can be us, sitting here, while you feel whatever you need to feel. Then we’ll get up, and we’ll eat something because I don’t know about you but I’m fucking starving. And then maybe we can watch a movie or something.”

Steve laughs, turning to look at Eddie. “I think I can do that.”

. . .

“So you’re moving in with Eddie?” Dustin asks unprompted.

Steve stills, setting the pile of tapes on the counter. “Uh, yeah, I am. How did you know that?”

They didn’t tell the kids about that yet.

“Not that hard to guess, considering you’ve been dating in secret.”

Also didn’t tell them about that.

He looks around, instinctively making sure no one is there. Even though the front door is locked, Steve just finishes up his closing tasks before he can go. Dustin had insisted that he stay so he didn’t have to bike home in the dark, which was a ruse, he knew. He just hoped that this wasn’t why.

It’s not like he never wanted Dustin to know. Just, that he wanted a bit more time. Robin knowing didn’t mean much, Wayne knowing meant it couldn’t go as unacknowledged. Telling Dustin meant it was real, though. This was it. No take backs if they mess up. No reverting back into awkward friends. Their relationship was real. Known.

Which wouldn’t be such of a problem if Steve wasn’t so scared he was going to mess it up. Every past relationship he’s had, even the small ones, have proven to him that things don’t tend to work out for him. It starts out great, better than he could possibly have imagined, and then it goes south. He says things he regrets, they say things they regret. It’s awkward for two years until a murderous psychopath forces them to spend enough time together to find a way to be friends again.

Robin says he’s projecting too much, but he thinks it’s being cautious. He’s been hurt. Sue him if he didn’t want to be hurt again.

“No one’s here, Steve,” Dusitn confirms when he notices him looking around. “It’s just me.”

Somehow, that doesn’t make it any better.

“I know.”

He truly doesn’t know how Dustin is going to respond. Which side he’s going to pick. He was close with both of them, it was going to be hard.

Steve was hoping Dustin would pick him, but he’s not sure about that.

Dustin makes a motion for him to continue, as if he’s supposed to have something to say.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say here. You seem like you already know everything.”

“I don’t know,” he exclaims. “Maybe hearing how long? How it happened? When you figured out you liked dudes? Something.”

Steve sighs, setting in more tapes to be rewound before answering. “When I worked at the mall, that’s when I figured out I liked guys. Or when I started to question it, I guess. I don’t think it was until after that I finally accepted it.”

Dustin nods, taking it all in. “And when you started liking Eddie?”

“I’m not exactly sure on that one. I know it was somewhere between getting stuck in the upside down and the final battle. But it all kind of hit me before we split off.”

“So that Nancy thing, that was all a fluke?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, kind of.”

“You know you are going to make this insanely complicated for me if you guys break up.”

“I am aware.” He switches out the tapes again. “Hoping that doesn’t happen, though.”

Dustin’s silent for a moment. Steve’s waiting for the shovel talk, ensuring that he doesn’t hurt Eddie. A sign that he’s lost Dustin in the potential breakup. Proof that, again, no one was going to stay.

“You seem happier,” Dustin says instead. “I didn’t notice it at first. But after you guys stopped fighting with each other, which is when I’m assuming you started dating, you changed. I haven’t seen you this happy before.”

Before Steve can find anything to respond to that, Dustin comes around the counter and hugs him.

“I know you didn’t exactly tell me the way you wanted, but I’m glad I know. And I’m glad that you’re happy.”

Steve smiles. “Thanks.”

“I’ll egg his house or something if he ever breaks your heart.”

He laughs. Selfish relief washing over him. “I appreciate it.”

. . .

His room never was the most cluttered thing there was, but it was still weird seeing it bare. His drawers empty, the pile in the back of his closet finally cleaned out. It was the end of something.

Life is always described in chapters. One bit of life ends, and the next begins. For Steve, though, it felt like up until this moment was one book. Everything that included this house was all tied together in one binding. The novel that this house created impacting its reader enough for a lifetime. Impacting Steve for a lifetime.

Tomorrow, when he leaves this house for the last time, he hopes that it starts a new book, instead of a chapter. A completely fresh start. A sequel, of sorts, but a whole new plot to further his future. His life. Something else to be the conflict that weighs on him.

He hopes that tomorrow, he can walk through the front door for the last time and leave all the pain this house gave him behind.

“Holy shit,” Robin says while helping him find anything else he wants to keep in the house. “Is this you?”

He turns to find her holding a large photo album. It’s been years since he’s seen that. “Yeah. I think was five in that picture.”

“I haven’t seen a picture of you before you were twelve, I thought you popped out as a preteen.”

Steve laughs. “If you want to keep thinking that don’t turn to the front of the album.”

Her eyes widen as she flips to the first page, many pictures of Steve as a baby laid out on the pages. Robin starts teasing him, saying how she’s going to find a weird one and make it a point to show everyone. Which isn’t going to be hard, considering the outfits his mom used to make him wear.

It’s nice, knowing that someone liked to look at these pictures. Wants to keep them, somehow. He always thought his mom took the book with him, but it was in the one cabinet in the living room the whole time. A sad feeling washes over him that his mom was going to sell the house without coming to get it back. But it’s nice to know he gets to be the one to keep it. It’s better in his hands anyway.

“What’d you find,” Eddie asks, coming into the room.

“Baby pictures,” Robin jumps to explain. “Look at Steve in this stupid outfit.”

Steve makes a face when he sees that one. He doesn’t remember wearing it, but it looks like so many others he was forced to wear. All of them were so itchy.

“Oh my God. You were so little.” Eddie takes the book and looks closer, before bursting out laughing. “What the fuck is that hat?”

“I will never know what went through my mom’s head when she dressed me like this.” Steve lets them look a little longer before taking it and placing it in one of his boxes. Going back to searching for anything else he wants to keep, or steal.

Eddie has started finding his own things as well, and Robin. They both had what they considered fancy blankets and pillows that they wanted to keep. Some of the kitchen stuff is already at the house, but Steve is making sure he has what he’ll need when he eventually moves out as well. And then there are the movies and records he wants to keep. He’s also taking the nice record player, because why not really.

Not much he really wants to keep, though. Except for his room, much of the space was never really his. He didn’t need all the fancy decorations and excessive touches. That all could stay and die in the house.

But the photo album, the things that he allowed himself to add over time, the memories he wanted to keep, that was all his. It was allowed to leave with him.

“I can’t believe that you’re actually leaving this place,” Robin says while helping him load some boxes into his car. “I thought I’d have to drag you out of there.”

Steve scoffs. “I would have left eventually. Just . . . wanted some time to process everything first.”

She stands next to him, staring up at the house. “You know, I’m only going to the community college in the next town, it wouldn’t be a stretch to see if we could get a place together. Be close for both of us.”

“That’d be nice. I don’t think I want to live alone anymore.”

He drives her home, leaving some of the boxes he doesn’t immediately need and her parents graciously offered to hold in their basement. Then he drives back to his house that’s only his for one more night. It will be the last time he ever drives up the driveway. What a weird feeling that is.

Eddie’s waiting for him when he comes home. Watching something on the tv. “You ready for tomorrow?” he asks, softly, as Steve comes and sits next to him.

“I’m not sure.” He wraps an arm around Eddie, pulling him close.

“I guess we’ll figure it out together then.”

“Yeah.”

Much like when Steve feelings for Eddie started, he can’t tell the exact moment that they turned into loving him. There was just a morning when he woke up, and it was the first thought in his mind. He spent so long fearing for the next time he fell in love, he forgot how nice it felt at all. With Eddie, it just felt right. He couldn’t explain it, but it was freeing.

The evening is the normal he’s become accustomed to. A house that doesn’t suck the life out of him, simply because there is someone there. Someone to drag his attention away from the space that is left empty.

When he wakes up the next morning, it’s before anyone else.  He walks through the house one more time, the quiet surrounding him. It’s not as suffocating. It doesn’t drag him in and keep him there. Instead, it pushes him out the door for the last time, as ready for a new start as he is.

The last of the boxes get put in his car, in Wayne’s truck. He locks up, slides his key off the key ring and places it in the envelope with the rest of the copies. Takes his ability to enter this house and puts it in the mailbox. Leaving the house behind.

So many memories in this house, a mix of good and bad. He thought that leaving would feel like a massive weight off his shoulders, something to make him feel different. There is that lose of weight, but nothing that makes him feel that different. Nothing that makes the change hard, it was all easy.

Yet, when he makes the turn off his street, and heads to the other side of the town, he feels a sense of freedom he can’t describe. One that makes him smile for no real reason at all. Sun glaring in his eyes as it moves into the afternoon.

He pulls into the driveway of the Munson’s house, feet no longer stuck to the ground. He is moving forward now. Moving on.

It’s terrifying, but he’s ready for it.

I cannot express in this moment how much I will miss writing this fic. It has been an experience for me that I was not expecting when I started it, but came to me in moments when I needed it the most. Tomorrow I will post the very long reflection post I do for my fics, where I will be able to go into how and why this fic means so much to me, so check back to my blog for that if interested. But for now, I further cannot express the love I have for all of you readers. Writing this was never something I imagined to get the support that I have. I found myself surprised to see you all read this, and react in the way that you did. To know that I wrote a story that other people loved as much as me is something I can never understand, but am grateful for every day. To those who have left likes, reblogs, and comments, know that I read and saw every single one. I awaited your reactions, and they always brought a smile to my face. Thank you for your support, it means more than you can ever know. Thank you for reading this story, it was a pleasure writing it.

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