#if he's awake he's a goddamn menace

[youngpettyqueen]

I think if you asked Julian who the worst patient on DS9 is his answer would change depending on the day but if you asked literally any other member of the medical staff they would all say "Doctor Bashir" with absolutely no hesitation

[godmadeaterribleerror]

As Much As I Do - No Love Lost Bonus Chapter

Series Masterlist

Read on A03

Author's Note: One-shot request from my love lordofthunderthr! Extra thanks because I've been waiting for the genuine smallest reason to use this gif because it's in no way going to fit into the actual story. Title from Bob Dylan by Fall Out Boy (you guys can pry my Fall Out Boy song titles from my cold, dead hands)

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary/Warnings: Takes place after Chapter 14 and around Chapter 15. It's fluff. Horny fluff.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, fluff

Ben felt like a fucking cat. She was touching him casually while he “slept” and he was pretty sure he was fucking purring. The Thing was definitely making some sort of goddamn low sound, and Ben couldn’t blame it. She was touching him like it was simple, his head was buried in Her neck, and one arm wrapped was between her body and the mattress while one splayed out across the bed because it goddamn could. He was in their fucking bed and Ben could do whatever the hell he wanted on it. 

Except fuck Her. 

Ben wasn’t allowed to fuck Her. 

He wasn’t allowed to make Her moan and scream and feel fucking good. Fuck Her until she said his name and smiled at him and looked so fucking perfect, undone below him. Or above him. Or against him or in front of him or clinging to his body. He didn’t give a single shit, as long as it was Her. Wanting Ben, touching him, letting him touch her. Like this—where Ben’s breath was in time with her heartbeat and her perfect hands were running through his hair—but until She’d been ruined. Until her beautiful face was flushed and her hands were clawing at his back and her pretty eyes were blown out and lustful and all of it was for Ben. For how he was making Her feel, how she was gasping and begging for him to do it again and again until the only words She knew were Ben and please and everything else was just moans and whines. Until she felt half as damn good as Ben did now, resting on top of Her as she fucking pet him and he had to fight the Thing’s urge to just stay here for the rest of goddamn time. 

“I know you’re awake, Benjamin.” Her voice was so perfect, humming everywhere around him and soothing the Thing, that Ben almost missed her actual fucking words. “I can feel you.” 

He didn’t answer. Maybe She’d just give up, and keep him right fucking here—where they both belonged—forever. 

He should’ve known better. Ben knew Her too fucking well to think she’d ever just let anything go. 

“You’re heavy,” She said, and one hand dropped to the base of Ben’s neck. “And you smell like shit.” 

“Shut the fuck up. I smell fucking fantastic.” Ben didn’t move as he grunted the words against Her skin. He wouldn’t move, not until she damn made him. 

“I knew it.” 

Clever, impossible, perfect fucking woman. With Her happy giggle when Ben squeezed her closer and her gasp when he nipped the skin of her neck.

“That’s a goddamn underhanded move, Sunshine.” He muttered, and when he looked up at Her it was like he’d been struck by lightning. She was smiling at him so gently, eyes still heavy with sleep, and so fucking beautiful. Just looking at him, watching Ben like she’d never want to look anywhere else. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Pretty Boy.” She kept smiling at him, voice smug. “I didn’t do anything.” 

Ben rolled his eyes. “You didn’t know I was awake,” he said Her name, and her smile widened. “You fucking baited me.” 

She shrugged, body shifting under Ben’s and making a small sound that sent a rush of pure fucking hunger through him. “Prove it.” 

Ben had a lot of favorite sounds She made. The small squeak when he flipped her body over his—sitting up with his back against the headboard and sliding her down his chest—was certainly on the damn list. 

“You’re a fucking menace, beautiful.” Ben pulled Her forward slightly, leaning down to growl in her ear. “I don’t think I’ll have to prove it. I think I’ll ask you again and you’ll just tell me.”

When Ben moved back, meeting Her eyes, he could feel her heartbeat under his hands. Resting right at the line of her shirt, never higher. Holding her right where he fucking wanted her. Against him, so when she squirmed he’d feel it. 

“Fuck yo-“ 

He didn’t wait to make a teasing remark or dirty joke. Ben just leaned forwards and touched Her. Kissed her pretty mouth until she opened for him, pushing his tongue in—almost down her throat—and just trying to get closer. As close as he was allowed to be, while still touching her more, making her feel good. Make Her hands pull at his hair, make her whimper a fucking perfect sound from her throat that Ben got to devour. He’d lost sight of his original plan, but he didn’t really fucking care. Not when he bit her lower lip and could revere in the way she leaned further into him, or when he had to try not to lose his fucking mind when she started to grind down on him. Started to practically fucking climb up his body. 

When Ben sucked on her tongue and she made maybe the best sound he’d ever heard in his life—unintelligible and breathless—he had to wrap his arms around Her and pull her into his chest. Hold Her there until he could get goddamn control of himself and not have to explain why he’d fucking cum in his pants. 

“Ben,” She whispered, head in his chest. “You really do smell terrible.”

He chuckled. “Brat.”

“Cunt. Can you please shower so we can train?” 

“I told you last night, we’re not fucking training-“ 

“And I told you, Benjamin, that I do not care what you told me.” She glared up at him, so fucking beautiful, and now Ben had to goddamn pretend he hadn’t already given in. “I am training, with or without you.” 

“You’re a pain in my fucking ass.” 

She smiled at him. “But…?”

Ben rolled his eyes, leaning his head back, forcing himself to stop staring at Her perfect face. “Fine.” 

“Fine?” 

“We’ll train.” 

“Thank you,” She kissed his neck, near his jaw, and hummed against his skin. “Now go shower. You smell like balls.” 

The only thing that kept Ben from taking a year in the shower—letting the Thing grab him and show him all the ways he could’ve just fucked her on the bed, buried himself in her and made her scream—was that sometimes, when they trained her singing, his doppelgänger would appear. It would make Her face flush, make her eyes wide and heartbeat quicken, and Ben would get to taunt her until one of them moved and he was kissing the air out of her lungs. It was something to look forward to. Something that made Ben fucking haul ass, getting in and out of the shower in four minutes flat. 

Ben hadn’t left the room when he realized that She was already singing. She’d gotten more comfortable with it, the longer they practiced, and sometimes would hum softly during movies or while doing normal things. Normal, easy things like laundry or dishes or cooking, simple fucking things that Ben got to share with Her. Got to watch how Her humming would send the world into a spiral of her, all the perfect fucking parts of her cast across the room for Ben to exist in. Colors and lights that he got to watch her sway in. 

This wasn’t that. This was singing. 

With words and instruments and a beat that ran through Ben’s body and bones. With the room turned into a dark club, with lights that flashed and changed in time with the bass. 

And She was dancing. She was singing and dancing and moving with the music like it had been made for Her. Like the rhythm had been designed to follow her legs, and the guitar had been made to move her hips. Like the whole fucking song had been perfectly tailored to her voice and how she moved through it. How she didn’t stop for even a second, never losing a breath, performing for no one like her life depended on it. 

It didn’t, but Ben’s life might. Everything in the world might hinge on letting her just dance like that forever. The Thing wanted all of this. All of Her, forever, like this, or it would fucking explode. Ben had no will to push against it. Not when She was dropping down and twisting and turning her body and so lost in it that she didn’t even see Ben. Falling to her knees and leaning back while her hands gestured with the lyrics. Trailed down her body and up again. Wrapping around her throat before falling to the side. Her whole fucking voice saying every word like it had been written for her, the whole face twisting with the emotions of the song, smiling and dropping into a pout and so fucking perfect. 

She only saw Ben when the song ended. When the club disappeared and they were back in the apartment, leaving Ben no longer hidden in the shadows of her illusion. He should probably feel like a goddamn creep, but Her mouth fell open and her heart picked up, so he couldn’t really bring himself to give a fuck.

“Hi,” She whispered, and Ben grinned at Her.

“Hello.”

“How long-“ 

“About three minutes,” he crossed the room until he was standing above Her. “Almost the whole fucking show.” 

“You, um, you showered fast.” 

Ben winked at Her. “I’d have showered faster if I’d known I was missing something. You do dance like a fucking slut.” 

She scoffed, wrinkling her nose at him. “That’s pretty high and mighty for the manwhore to say.” 

“It was fucking hot,” he lowered himself down until his nose was bumping hers. “I think I prefer your slut dancing, Sunshine. It’s more you.” 

“More me?” She gave him a flat look. “Fucking rude.” 

“How the hell is that-“ 

“You just called me a slut, Benjamin. That’s not very nice.” She whacked his chest, and Ben caught her hand. Held it there. 

“It’s more you because it’s fucking loud. Because it’s fucking captivating and hot. So fucking beautiful and good.”

Because it’s fucking perfect, the Thing rumbled. Because you’re fucking perfect. 

She was watching Ben with wide eyes. Opening and closing her mouth like she was going to say something. 

Instead, she fucking tackled him. Rammed Her body forward, crashed her mouth against his, and let Ben pick her up and carry to the couch. Training could fucking wait. Everything could fucking wait. She was making that same perfect sound from before, and her hands in his hair were making him groan, and when his hand started to kneed at her skin she made such a happy fucking sigh and Ben knew everything could wait. This was just Her. Making the Thing content and goddamn purr in his chest. Making Ben grin against Her neck when he sucked that one spot and she moaned his name. 

The whole world could go fuck itself. This was Her.

End Note: Let's all say thank you to @lordofthunderthr for some easy fluff in these dark times (Chapter 16 to Chapter 19).

I'm going to start a separate tag list for one-shots, so lemme know if you want to be added!

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

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Guilty as Sin? — Chapter Nine

pairing: professor!javier peña x f!reader

rating: series is 18+ only, minors DNI, professor/student dynamic, the gurls (Steve and Javi) are catty in this one but Steve deserves it, Javi has a filthy mouth, we get him to beg, unprotected piv, oral (m!rec), secret relationship/age difference mention, angst at the end but it's resolved

word count: 5.6k

series masterlist

Something was burning. 

The smell hit you in your sleep, causing you to stir awake with a sour face. You looked over at Javi’s side of the bed, but it was empty. You rushed to your feet, grabbing Javi’s robe and hastily wrapping yourself in it as you rushed to the bedroom door. You expected the apartment to be engulfed in flames from the foul, bitter smell, but were greeted with a far more amusing sight when you whipped the door open. 

Running around the kitchen with the urgency of a contestant on a cooking show, Javi and Steve tried their best to air out the smoke coming from the stove. 

“What the hell happened?” you asked, pinching your nose. Javi’s wide eyes met yours, a frown already etched onto his face. 

“We were trying to surprise you,” he said, almost bashfully. “But Steve took his eyes off the bacon—“

“I wasn’t in charge of the goddamn bacon,” Steve interjected. “I was in charge of the pancakes and look—“ He gestured to the stack of golden brown pancakes on the kitchen island. “Perfect.”

“I told you to watch it while I—“

“The hell you did—“

“I know I did,” Javi replied, rubbing his eyes as he walked over to where you stood in the doorway of the bedroom. He dropped his hands to your face, cradling your jaw as he leaned in for a gentle peck. “Sorry for the rude awakening, cariño.”

You smiled, tugging him closer by the belt loops of his jeans just to kiss him again. “S’okay.”

“We could go out to eat,” he mumbled against your lips. 

“We can’t,” you sighed, tilting your head back to look into his eyes. “Or did you forget about the whole secret relationship thing?”

“No, smartass.” He gave your ass a small tap. “I was thinking we could get something on the road.”

You raised a brow. “The road?” 

“Yeah, Steve wants to go visit my dad,” he said, suddenly looking shy. “Thought you could come along and…meet him, I guess.”

“You…want me to meet your dad?” you asked, stifling your shock. 

“Yeah, I mean…if you want,” he said, shrugging. “I want you to meet him, but not if it’s too much or too soon for you.”

“No,” you said, lifting a hand to rest against his chest, his heartbeat wild beneath your palm. “I want to, as long as your dad doesn’t mind?”

“He’s kind of been asking to meet you for a while now,” Javi said, biting his lip. 

“You told him about me?” 

“Yeah,” he smiled. “After our weekend together.”

“Javier Peña,” you crooned, running your hand over his heart. “A softie underneath it all.”

“For you,” he said, lifting your hand to his lips. “So is that a yes?”

“Mmhm,” you hummed. “Just need to go home and shower first.” 

“I’ll drive you,” he said. “Just let me help Steve destroy the evidence of his failure first.”

 After battling Steve for the passenger seat, the three of you headed out for Laredo. Javier stopped at his favorite burrito place and got the three of you breakfast for the road with the condition that Steve doesn’t, in Javi’s words, eat like a fucking animal in the backseat.

The two of them carried on like siblings, bickering and teasing one another with a playful undertone that showed the deep-rooted fondness underneath all that masculinity. You stayed relatively silent, enjoying their chatter while you finished a paper for Dr. Brown’s class that was due at the end of the week. Javi’s hand made itself at home on your knee, his thumb brushing soothing strokes against the ribbed fabric that sent a throbbing ache between your legs. He seemed clueless to the fact that all it took for you to want him was a single glance, that all it took for you to need him was one simple, innocuous touch. The fucking menace had no clue just how badly your body craved his, and if he did, he certainly refused to show you any mercy. 

When you stopped at a gas station in a small town off the highway you were offered a moment of alone time with Javier as Steve went inside to “handle business” in the restroom—you didn’t ask him to elaborate. 

“How’s the paper coming?” Javi’s head was tilted back against the headrest, the hand that was on your knee now resting against the back of your seat. 

You shut your laptop and set it on the dashboard before tugging Javier over the center console for a kiss. You held onto the curve of his jaw, your thumbs stroking over stubble as he parted his lips to move with yours, a dark rumble slipping straight from his mouth into yours. You let out a soft whine at the sound that only spurred Javi on, one hand coming to rest on your hip with a needy squeeze. 

“Need you so bad,” you confessed, nibbling on his bottom lip. Javier’s hand slid from your hip to the apex of your thighs, a soft sigh slipping from his lips as he let his palm cover your heated core. “Take me into the bathroom and fuck me, Jav.” 

“Jesus,” he groaned, letting you get your fill of him as you trailed your kisses down the line of his neck to his thumping pulse. “Not enough time to make you come, hermosa.” 

“I don’t care,” you said. “I just want to feel you.”

Javier let his head fall back against the headrest as your hand wandered up his thigh to cup him through his jeans. “Baby, shit—“

The backseat door opened, abruptly ending the heated moment. You both straightened yourselves in your seats as Steve climbed in with a bag of snacks in hand. 

“Got y’all some water,” he said, handing the cold bottles to both of you. “Since you’re so goddamn thirsty for each other.” 

“You saw that?” you laughed, covering your face with your hands. Javi pried them away with a smirk, bringing them up to his lips to kiss your knuckles. 

“This could be you if you, I don’t know, talked to your wife?” he said, shooting a glance back at Steve. “Jealous ass.”

“Just wait,” Steve said. “Eventually it’ll all wear off and then you’ll be flyin’ out to Florida to sleep on my couch.”

“I prefer my bed and the woman keeping it warm,” Javi said, lacing your fingers together as he pulled out of the parking lot. “And unlike you, I don’t let pride get in the way of that.”

“Javi,” you said, giving him a lighthearted scolding. “Don’t need to kick him while he’s down.”

“He’s kicking me while I’m up,” he argued with a smile. “Besides, Steve could use some tough love.”

“I’m right here, jackass,” Steve said. “And this argument ain’t my issue. Connie needs to understand that I’m allowed to make my own decisions about my career.”

“And she’s allowed to divorce your ass for not taking her and Olivia into consideration.”

“Who’s Olivia?” you asked, turning in your seat to look at Steve. You watched as his look of pride shifted to one of guilt. 

“It’s his three year old,” Javi said. “Who he left at home all because he doesn’t want to own up to his shit.”

“Jav, you’re treadin’ on thin ice,” Steve warned. “Keep my daughter outta this.”

“She’s affected by this, you fucking idiot,” Javi said, refusing to back down. “I don’t give a shit if you’re pissed at me. Whatever it takes to get you back to your family so you can keep them, I’ll do it.” 

“And what the fuck do you know about family, Javi?” Steve asked, his tone so calm it was unnerving. “Hm? All those years fuckin’ prostitutes teach you a lot about the family dynamic?”

Javier shook his head, his jaw clenching as he watched the road. You wanted to turn around and tell Steve to shut the fuck up, even if only for your own comfort. It wasn’t as though Javi had kept his past a secret—he’d told you all about the activities he got up to during the DEA and you didn’t judge him for it or the women he slept with—but the thought of Javier fucking someone else always soured your stomach to the point of genuine nausea. 

“I’ll drop the subject, Steve,” Javi said, his tone flat and sharp at the same time. “But you’re the one that’s going to have to deal with the consequences of your actions, not me. Try to put the blame on me, try to discredit me to my girlfriend, do whatever you think you have to do to feel better about putting yourself above your family. But when Connie and Olivia decide they’re done with you, don’t come to me asking why I wasn’t there. I’m here now, telling you to own up to your shit. Do it or don't.”

The rest of the ride was silent and tense. You busied yourself with your paper, Javi busied himself with focusing on the road, his hands tight on the steering wheel, and Steve busied himself with sulking in the back seat. 

It wasn’t until the three of you arrived at Javi’s dad’s ranch that the air between them lightened. 

Javi kept close to your side, his hand wrapped around yours as he walked you up the gravel path to the front porch of his father’s two-story farmhouse. 

“You nervous?” he asked in a whisper as he led you up the steps of the front porch. 

“A little,” you admitted, glancing back at Steve who was smoking a cigarette by the car. “You alright? Things seemed a little tense back there.”

“That’s just us,” he said, raising his hand to the front door and knocking. “Steve needs to hear the truth from someone. I don’t really give a shit if he hates me, just as long as he makes shit right with his family.”

“I don’t know what I’d do if we got into a fight and you just left,” you said, shaking your head. “I probably wouldn’t let you come back. Especially if we had a kid to worry about.”

“That’s not my style,” he said, lifting a hand up to lovingly pinch your chin. “I meant what I said. I like my bed and I love having you in it. I’m not going to fuck that up for anything.”

“Because you love me,” you mused, stepping closer. 

“Mmhm,” he smiled, wrapping an arm around the small of your back to pull you into his side. “First woman I ever loved.” 

“Shut up,” you laughed, giving his chest a playful swat. 

“I’m dead serious,” he said, leaning down to brush his nose against yours. “You’re the only woman who’s had me this way. Try and remember that the next time Steve brings up my past.”

“The next time he brings up your past, I’ll just remind him that I don’t view those women as competition,” you said, pecking his lips. “They all taught you different shit. In fact, remind me to send a thank you card to the woman who taught you how to eat—“

“Mijo,” an older, rougher, voice with a slightly heavier accent than Javier interrupted the filth you were about to say, causing you to turn towards the man with a wide eyed look of embarrassment. 

“Pops,” Javi greeted, chuckling at your expression as he let you go to pull his father in for a hug. 

“Chucho!” Steve called as he stomped his cigarette out into the dirt. “How the hell are ya, old man?” 

“I’ll deal with you in a minute,” he said, fixing his attention on you. “You must be the woman my son won’t shut up about.”

You gave Javi a smile, squeezing his hand. “I hope so, Mr. Peña, otherwise he’ll be in trouble.”

His father laughed, extending his hand. “Call me Chucho, mija.”

You nodded, letting him go off down the stairs to Steve with a finger wagging. “That wife of yours should kick your ass.” 

Javi let out a deep breath, relief washing over his face. “I haven’t brought anyone home since I was a teenager. Thought I was gonna pass out for a second.”

You laughed, hugging his arm. “Your dad’s cool.”

“Until you piss him off,” he added. “But I can’t imagine you’ll ever see that side of him. Now, Steve on the other hand…”

“He doesn’t like Steve?” you asked, furrowing your brows. 

“He likes him, but he’s big on family,” Javi explained. “And right now, Steve’s being a dick to his family.”

“Well, since they’re busy, why don’t you take me on a little tour?” you asked, biting your lip as you nudged your head towards the open front door. “Show me your old bedroom and all that.”

“Do you want to see my bedroom, or do you want to see my bed?” Javi asked, lowering his voice in a way that made you throb with need. 

“Like you’d actually fuck me with your dad and Steve here,” you whispered, licking your lips as you stared at his. So tempting, so full, so capable of making you feel good. God, you hoped he wasn’t bluffing. 

“Is that a challenge, cariño?” he rasped, brushing his lips over yours. You slid your hands up to his chest, anchoring yourself with your hands gripping the leather labels of his jacket. “I love a challenge.” 

“Javi,” you sighed, forcing your head to turn towards the men still locked into their passionate conversation. “Don’t play with me right now, I must be ovulating or something. I’m…needy.”

“Me too,” he husked, bringing his lips to the hinge of your jaw. Your breath hitched as he placed an open mouthed kiss there before skimming his teeth along the line of your neck, punctuating it with a lovebite. 

“Your dad’s twenty feet away,” you whispered, swatting at his chest. 

“He can’t see anything this far even if he was paying attention,” he mumbled, lathing his tongue over where he’d nipped at your sensitive skin. 

“Take me somewhere else,” you managed, half up in the clouds from the feeling of Javi’s lips on your skin. “Say we’re going to pick up lunch or something.”

“And then what?” he asked, pulling back to look at you with lust glazed eyes. 

“Then I want you to fuck me in the backseat of your car,” you said, gathering what remained of your wits. “I’m sure you know a backroad or two where we won’t get caught.”

Javier grinned, nodding his head before lacing your fingers together. He walked you down the porch steps, your feet crunching over the gravel as the two of you reached where Steve and Chucho stood talking. “Pops, we’re gonna go grab some lunch to bring back.”

“Mmhm,” Chucho hummed, a smile tugging at his lips as he looked down at your joined hands. “Take your time. I’m going to take Steve out to the field and put him to work with the cows.”

“I didn’t agree t’all that,” Steve said, holding his hands up. 

“Well, your wife didn’t agree to you re-signing, but you had no problem doing that.”

Javier’s hand never left the inside of your thigh as he drove you through a seemingly never ending labyrinth of dirt roads before finding a spot nestled in a line of trees, not a soul around for acres. 

“Get back there,” he ordered as he climbed out of the car. You bit your lip, scrambling to undo your seatbelt so that you could climb over the center console into the backseat. Javier opened the door on his side and slid in beside you, his hands already reaching for your face as you swung your leg over his lap to straddle him. He laid his head back against the head rest, studying you as you sat breathless and needy on top of him. “So fucking beautiful.”

“I need you so bad,” you whined, reaching for his belt to undo it. Javier sat back in his seat to give you more room, both of you watching as you took him out of his jeans and gave him a long, languid stroke. “Look at you…” You licked your lips as a droplet of his arousal spilled down his head and onto your fist. “You need me, Javi? Hm? Want me to sit on it?”

Javier groaned, his hands flexing on your thighs as you continued to stroke him slowly, his cock twitching in your palm with each pass. “Baby, fuck.”

“That’s not a yes,” you purred, cunt throbbing at the sight of him coming undone over your teasing. 

“Yes, baby,” he panted, his eyes lifting to meet yours. “Sit on my dick, cariño.”

“Ask nicely,” you said, leaning forward to ghost your lips over his. 

“Please,” he begged, filling the gap between you with a kiss to your jaw. “Want to watch you ride me out here in the open.”

You let out a sigh, tipping your head back to give him better access to your neck as you tilted your hips forward to grind your clothed center against his bare cock. “Feels so good, Javi.”

“Yeah?” he murmured beneath your ear. “You wanna come like this first? Get that pussy nice and wet for me?”

“Fuck,” you whined, resting your head on his shoulder as your rocked your hips, angling your clit to brush against the ridge of his tip with every thrust forward. 

“Just like that,” he murmured, hands settled on your hips to guide your rhythm. “Use me, baby. Doing so fucking good.” 

The only sounds to be heard beyond the birdsong in the distance were your breathy moans and Javi’s deliciously filthy praise in your ear as you chased your orgasm. Your hands gripped the top of the seat behind Javi’s head for leverage as your movements grew erratic and uncontrolled, your high within arms reach. 

“Come on, hermosa,” he breathed, his lips brushing against your ear. “So close, baby. Just keep going.”

“Javi,” you whined as your climax took hold, turning you into a crumpled mess of ecstasy on his lap. Javier held you tight, kissing your temple as you recovered. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful when you come,” he rasped, his hands sliding down the small of your back to slip underneath the band of your leggings, grabbing the globes of your ass to pull you closer. “Can you feel how hard you make me, cariño? I’m always like this around you. During class, when we pass each other on campus, when you’re in my living room building Legos with me at all hours of the night, when I bring you home to meet my fucking dad—you’re driving me crazy and I don’t want it to stop for a single fucking minute.” 

With furrowed brows and a pounding heart, you pulled him close, crashing your lips against his in response to his filthy confession. Pulling away breathless and dizzy, you lifted your hand to his face, dragging your thumb over his stubble. “I love you, Javier.” 

“I love you,” he murmured, turning his face to kiss the inside of your palm. “But if I’m not inside you in the next thirty seconds, I think I might die.” 

You laughed, sliding off his lap to tug your leggings and underwear down to your knees while he shoved his jeans down to his ankles and took his angry, leaking cock in his fist. You couldn’t help but let out a soft hum at the sight of him stroking himself, bathed in mid-afternoon sunlight that pooled in from over the treeline. “You’re a sight, Dr. Peña.” 

Javier grinned, his dimple emerging as he watched you climb back onto his lap, this time facing away from him. He let out a soft hiss as you wrapped your hand around his cock, dragging it across your wet seam. 

“I want to hear you beg again,” you demanded, your eyes locking with his over your shoulder. “Beg me to sit on your dick, Javi.”

Javier looked to be in agony, his eyes squeezing shut and head rolling back against the seat while his palms squeezed the soft flesh of your hips. “Please, baby.”

“Please what?” 

“Please sit on my dick, baby,” he managed, his voice teetering on a whimper as you slipped the very tip of him in and out of your slippery entrance. 

“You want it, baby?” you purred, thighs shaking from the build-up. Javi groaned, lifting his hips up to press into yours just an inch more than you’d been allowing. 

“I fucking need it,” he rasped, leaning forward to press a kiss against your clothed shoulder. “I need to feel your pussy. So fucking wet. Bet I could just slip right in.”

“Do it,” you urged, leaning forward to hug the back of the driver’s seat, your ass on full display as you turned back to look at him. “Fuck me how you need to, Javi.”

He let out a full whimper that time, taking himself in hand and lining himself up with your cunt before bringing your hips down to meet his lap in a hard slam. You cried out, the sound lost the wind, and held on tight to the leather of the seat as he guided your hips to meet the sharp snap of his thrusts. He let out a low growl at the vulgar squelch of your cunt with each thrust, your arousal only growing with every pass of his head against that deliciously destructive spot inside of you. 

“Listen to that,” he said, silencing your moans with soft shush. You obeyed, biting your lip to quiet yourself as he forced you to listen to the sound of your bodies joining. Your cunt throbbed at the filthy sound, Javi’s soft moans only adding to the jolts of pleasure cascading down your thighs to your toes. 

“Javi, shit,” you whined, reaching down between your thighs to rub some of the tension away. “Fuck, I’m gonna come like this. Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

“Never,” he rasped, doubling his efforts. The sound of his pleasure blended with yours in perfect, sinful harmony, his low groans and growls pairing with your soft cries, the breathy sound of his name slipping free from your lips each time he hit the perfect spot. “Come for me, baby. Come all over my dick. It’s yours, you know that? You can get it as messy as you want. Come all over it, every single day, whenever you want.”

You let out a strangled moan, your eyes clamped shut as you took over the pace, riding him with the sole goal of making him come with you. “Javi, you feel so fucking good, I can’t—“

“Yeah you can,” he urged, leaning forward to press his chest to your back, his hand snaking over your hip to replace yours between your thighs. You shuddered, something between a sob and a moan slipping free as he swirled his fingers over your swollen clit in time with deep, calculated strokes against your favorite spot. “Your thighs are shaking, cariño. Do I make you feel good?”

He knew the answer—he could feel it in the way your cunt squeezed him every time he moved inside of you—but it didn’t stop him from wanting to hear you say it. Just like you couldn’t help but want to hear him beg for you. 

“You make me feel so fucking good,” you moaned, teetering on the edge now. “I—fuck—I’m coming, Javi. Fuck. Please. Come—come inside me.”

“Ah, shit,” he dragged the words out, slowing my hips into a languid bounce as my walls threatened to choke him. “I’m gonna come, baby. Gonna come inside you and fuck it deep.”

Your only response was another cry of his name, your mind lost to bliss as he bounced you over his cock once, twice, before pulling you down to the hilt and filling you with a long string of curses and praise. 

“You fucking own my soul,” he said after a beat, the two of you still locked into place. He smoothed his hands over your hips before gripping them, guiding you into a deep, pleasure-wet grind. “We just stopped and I want to go again.”

You laughed, leaning back against his chest, his arms wrapping around you. “I think you’ll give me a stroke if we go again.” 

“We’ll save it for back home then,” he said, kissing your cheek. “Until then, I think we should probably hurry up and grab food before my dad works Steve to death.”

“He deserves a little punishment for talking to you like that,” you said, climbing off Javi’s lap before pulling your leggings over your hips, careful to keep the mess between your thighs from spilling onto the seat. Javi climbed out of the backseat with a stretch to his lower back, his dick hanging free and proud in the sunlight. You laughed at the sight of him rubbing his lower back without a single worry in the world for his state. “Put that thing away or the birds might confuse it for a worm.”

Javier snorted out a laugh, giving you a look of amused shock. “How dare you.”

“I dare,” you smirked, climbing out of the car to stand in front of him. You kept your eyes locked on his as you lowered to the ground in front of him, your palm wrapped around his half-hard shaft. “Guess it would have to be a big worm.”

“An anaconda.” 

You snorted. “Someone’s confident.”

“And someone likes to tease,” he said, fitting his hand to your chin as you brushed your lips over the head of his cock. “We don’t have time for you to seduce me again.” 

“No, but I want to,” you said, laying out your tongue to lick a stripe up his cock. Javier groaned, watching himself swell in your fist. “Just to clean up my mess.”

“Fuck me,” he cursed, reaching forward to grip the car for stability as you licked him clean, pursing your lips across his shaft before letting him slip between your swollen lips. Javi let out a soft hiss as you took him in as far as you could, sputtering on his length before slowly dragging him out, your fist stroking him as you wiped a tear free from your waterline. He gently pulled himself out of your grasp, guiding you onto your feet so that he could kiss your messy lips like it was the only thing he ever wanted to do. “You’re the love of my life, cariño.”

You smiled into the kiss, combing your fingers through his hair. “You’re just saying that because I just had your dick down my throat.”

Javier pulled back with a stern look. “I’m saying that because it’s true. You’re the love of my life.”

Your lips quivered into a tender smile, your hand cradling his face. “You’re the love of mine, too.”

Back at the ranch, you found yourself sitting across from Javier’s dad in the dining room, his eyes locked on his plate as he gathered a generous spoonful of refried beans and rice. Javier’s presence was a soothing anchor amidst the nervousness that was your first meal with Javier’s remaining family. Thankfully, between the thrill of Javier’s warm hand on your thigh and Steve’s rambling about his plan for making things right with his wife, you were too distracted to worry about what Chucho might think of you. 

“So I’ll fly out tonight, grab flowers or somethin’ on the way home, and walk in hopin’ for the best,” Steve said, clapping his hands together “Sorted.”

Javier chuckled as he chewed his food, shaking his head while tearing a piece of his tortilla to dip into his beans. “You’re an idiot.” 

“What the hell else am I supposed to do?” 

“You should probably call her and ask if you’re even welcome,” Chucho said, chuckling along with Javier. “She might not want you back.”

“Don’t listen to them,” you interjected with a small laugh. “But yeah, a phone call wouldn’t hurt.”

“I guess I’ll go call her, then,” he said, wiping his face with a napkin before excusing himself from the table. 

Now alone with both Peña’s, it was harder to ignore the fact that his father was sitting in front of you, taking careful glances your way as if he noticed something strange. 

“How old are you, Mija?” he asked, raising a brow at his son. “Javi told me he met you at work. I assume that means you’re a professor, but you look awfully young.”

You turned to Javier, finding him looking everywhere but at you. “I, uh, yeah. I work at the university.”

“Teaching?”

You shook your head, your tongue going dry under interrogation. “No, just an assistant.”

“Ah,” Chucho nodded, clasping his hands together. “That explains the age thing, then.”

“Yeah,” you chuckled, or rather, you attempted to. Javier’s hand gave your thigh a squeeze, a silent apology for going along with the white lie he’d given his father to cover up the scandalous nature of your relationship, no doubt. Though you knew the lie was likely just because he wanted to avoid the potential judgment and interrogation, the more childish, untrusting, scarred part of you couldn’t help but feel it like a knife to your gut. You selfishly yearned for him to claim you and every part of your relationship, rather than force you to lie to his father’s face about who you were.

Subtly reaching down, you shoved his hand away from your thigh, earning a puppy-eyed glance from him. 

“Excuse me for a minute,” Chucho said, clearing his throat as he stood up from his chair and left the room without further explanation. 

“Cariño,” Javier whispered, turning in his chair to face you as you pushed the remnants of your lunch around your plate, sulking. “Baby, can you look at me?”

You turned your eyes to meet his in an icy glare. 

“I’m aware that there’s a certain amount of lying involved in our relationship, but I didn’t realize that extended to your fucking dad,” you whispered back, the sound as passionate as if you’d shouted. “And you just sat there, letting me figure it the fuck out on my own.”

“I know,” he sighed, letting his eyes shut for a moment. “I panicked, and left you to fend for yourself like a dick. I’m sorry. I just…I told him that lie at the beginning because I wasn’t sure where this was going. God knows I never expected to introduce you to the fucking guy. But I’m sorry. For making you lie to him, for leaving you hanging, for all of it.”

“Does Steve know, at least?” you asked, still not quite won over. 

“No,” Javi said, frowning. “I told him the same thing.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “It’s hard to not think you’re ashamed of me, or my position in life, or our age gap, or what people might think of you if they knew the real story, you know? Am I just going to have to lie to your dad and best friend forever? What happens when I graduate, or when I pass the bar? Do I just have to hide that from the people closest to you?”

“Cariño, I didn’t think that far ahead,” he admitted, his brows furrowed with guilt. “But you’re right. A part of me will always be a little ashamed that I crossed that line with a student, and that I fell in love with that student in the process. It’s not something a good man would do, and my dad and Steve know that as well as I do. I just…I don’t know. I didn’t want to give them anything else to judge me for. Steve holds my past with women over me every chance he gets, and all my dad sees me as is the man who ran from home, from the fiancé I didn’t love, to find myself.”

You let out a sigh, scooting closer to him to drape your arm over his neck while your hand coaxed his chin up, forcing his eyes to meet yours. “Your job is to tell me about this shit before it blows up like this, alright? Because if you’d just told me that, I would’ve gladly lied to your dad. And sold it better.”

Javier chuckled, turning to muzzle his face into your palm. “Understood.”

“Now tell me you love me,” you ordered, a smile tugging at your lips as he glanced up at you with those irresistibly beautiful brown eyes. 

“I love you,” he said, kissing your palm. “I love you, and I love all of you.”

You rested both hands on his cheeks, guiding his lips to meet yours in a deep, mending kiss. “Promise me we’ll tell them the truth one day.”

“I’ll tell them on our wedding day,” he murmured, kissing you deeper. “How’s that sound?”

You grinned, pulling away from him to look down at your left hand. You held it up, wiggling your bare ring finger at him. “I don’t see a ring, nor do I happen to remember you getting down on one knee.”

“Not yet,” he chuckled, taking that hand in his and bringing it up to his lips so that he could place a lingering kiss on your ring finger. “But one day.”

[shares-a-vest]

@steddielovemonth Day 10: Love is... Missing each other (Prompt by @lihhelsing)

wc: 723 | Rated: T for suggestive language & flirtacious banter | cw: None

Tags: Phone Calls, Rockstar!Eddie, Homesick, Eddie Misses Steve

Stevie, what are you wearing?

Eddie flips onto his stomach once he finally hears a dial tone. He didn’t think it would take this long, calling the concierge to transfer him to an international call, confirming his credit card and then waiting eons for a connection.

But fuck it, he misses his not-legally-binding husband.

It’s only been a week and the band has been killing it so far but…

Call him selfish, but Eddie misses the hell out of Steve, he is desperately resiting the urge to flee back to the airport and fly home. And he feels like a pathetic sap about it.

Maybe next time he should force the boys, their management and basically everyone around Corroded Coffin to set their touring to fit in with Steve’s school schedule. Yes, that could work – certainly much better than admitting how much he wants to be snuggled up in his comfy bed with Steve, drifting off to sleep together, hopefully without their cats bothering them too much.

The ringing continues and he worries that it is going to run out entirely. He bites at his thumb nail in anticipation – it’s not like he pre-organised this phone call and god knows what time it is in Hawkins.

“Hello?” Steve grumbles on the other end.

He sounds groggy with sleep, his voice a little far away as he likely fumbles for his glasses. Eddie grins and crosses his ankles, giddy like a goddamn schoolgirl calling her crush.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he beams, earning a whine at his equitable lack of volume control.

“S’early,” Steve mumbles, “Miss you.”

“I miss you more,” Eddie coos down the line. 

Steve huffs a laugh and echoes, “Miss you so much…”

There’s a rustling sound that follows and Steve hums.

“What are you doing?” Eddie wonders aloud.

“Getting comfy again,” Steve replies, “Closin’ my eyes and pretending you are next to me.”

“That so?”

Steve hums in the affirmative.

“Stevie…” Eddie purrs as he flips onto his back, “What are you wearing?”

“Sweatpants,” Steve replies, a smile evident in his voice.

“Nothing else...” he wonders.

“Nope!” Steve sounds a little more awake now.

“The barest chest,” Eddie continues, squirming around, feeling a teasing tingle at the thought – 

– Until the phone cord almost cuts off his air supply.

He palms around (though if anyone were to see him, it would probably be better described as a full-bodied flail) and tugs at the cord enough that something topples off the nightstand.

Whatever. As long as he can still hear Steve’s quiet and even breathing on the other end.

“What about you, Elvis?” Steve soon teases.

Eddie grimaces but responds nonetheless.

“I’m in my jeans,” he supplies, trying to remain at least a little coy, “And a t-shirt.”

“So, you aren’t ready for bed?” Steve teases, giggling out a little tee-hee that makes Eddie’s heart flutter – god he loves this silly man.

“Not until after I speak to you, precious,” he deadpans.

There’s another sound – like Steve is moving around amongst the bedsheets again. Eddie wiggles his brows and hastily hooks a finger under his waistband. But he soon scrunches his nose. He probably should have removed his belt and unzipped his fly during the never-ending dial tone.

“Shit,” Steve curses before groaning in a very unfun manner, “Oh no, buddy, c’mon!”

“What is it?” Eddie asks, propping himself up on his elbow.

“Go on, scram!” Steve commands, ignoring the question before whining again – one that sounds like whatever he is doing is an exercise in futility, “The cat won’t get off the bed.”

Eddie sinks back down.

Goddamn it.

“Which menace is bothering you, my darling?” he sighs, scrubbing his free hand over his face.

“Freddy.”

Eddie stifles a whimper as his heart swells. Of course, it’s the most adorable, scruffiest, wide-eyed and mischievous cat that’s annoying the heck out of Steve. A cat Steve himself only barely tolerates. Eddie can only imagine what Freddy must get up to when he touring.

“Fredrick?” he can’t help but beam, “Put him on the phone!”

“Eddie!”

“Please?” he begs, “I want to talk to him.”

“But what about…” Steve says, “Well, y’know?”

Eddie waves Steve’s worry away (even if he can’t see him).

“Keep it in your pants, Big Boy. We’ll get to that. Now put my son on the phone this instant!”

[raineandsky]

#127

The lock on the door is an easy pick, and with one final touch the door clicks open and allows the villain inside.

Now, the villain is usually well above petty crime. He’s done his fair share of thieving. He’s pick-pocketed, he’s robbed, and yeah, sure, he’s broken into places here and there. But his life is actually fun now, thanks to a villainous promotion and some less of the dirty work, and so stealing ended up rather low on his list of fun weekend activities.

It’s not a weekend, though, and it sure as hell isn’t fun either. This is business, and goddamn if the villain isn’t a professional.

He glances at the screen of the phone in his hand, checking and rechecking the picture he took of the supervillain’s instructions. If only the supervillain wasn’t trained to be a doctor, his handwriting might be somewhat legible. He is though, unfortunately, and the villain is wishing he’d just typed up the words when he had the time before.

I’ve had a ‘tip’ on [Hero]’s address. The villain can just about make the words out. It’s like a word puzzle, which he is notoriously bad at already. I have reason to believe she’s got some important documents in there. Infiltrate, find her stash of secrets, and bring it in.

Easy enough. The fun part of stealing was usually finding the most expensive object, though, and the villain has an inkling that some paperwork won’t exactly make him a millionaire. He tucks the phone into his pocket, taking a moment to adjust his eyes to the darkness before shutting the door behind him and exploring.

He finds a living room, a bathroom, a kitchen, the fridge, ooh she has good taste. The villain plucks a punnet of grapes from the fridge and tosses one into his mouth. The supervillain has him on late nights—he doesn’t have time for dinner at the moment. The hero will have to survive without her grapes.

The office feels like stumbling across a mine of incredibly boring, inexpensive gold. The villain takes to rooting through the piles of papers mounting on the desk. All plain, civilian problems—bills, taxes, a newsletter from the mayor. Nothing exactly incriminating.

“What are you doing in my house?”

Who the hell is awake at three in the morning? The villain wasn’t that loud coming in. He turns dramatically, expecting to make his first introduction to the hero, but he isn’t faced with the hero. He isn’t faced with a hero at all.

An old lady is standing in the doorway, her glasses perched wonkily on her nose and a baseball bat in her hands. The bat is kind of menacing, at first, but then she has to awkwardly adjust her glasses and the illusion is gone.

The villain’s mind is short-circuiting. That’s not a goddamn hero. What the hell has the superhero gotten him into? What the hell is he meant to do with a bat-wielding civilian?

“You’re deaf as well as unlawful,” she adds drily.

“No, no.” The villain's cool demeanour is slipping too fast. “No, I can hear just fine, thank you.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“What question?”

The bat taps pointedly against the woman’s palm. She’d probably injure herself trying to swing it at him. That thought alone is vaguely comforting. Only vaguely, though—she’s still wielding a baseball bat.

“What are you doing in my house?”

“I am here,” the villain starts slowly, “to rob you blind.”

He doesn’t know what else to say. He didn’t expect to run into anyone, much less a civilian, much much less a little old lady. He’s running on a bank of prewritten sentences he used in his thieving days, and for some reason the least helpful one is the one that wants to be said.

The woman’s face scrunches up in an emotion the villain can’t read. At first he thinks it might be distress, or perhaps fear, but then she raises the bat and he realises that, oh, no, that’s actually unbridled rage.

She brings it down in an arc and the villain just about dodges to the side. She doesn’t seem to mind the fact the bat absolutely annihilates her desk in his stead. Jesus Christ, is that thing made of steel?

He may be a villain, and villainy may require a certain amount of balls, but this is where he draws the line. The old lady swings again, crashing into the glass cabinet a hair’s width away from the villain’s face, and he decides that no, he’s not dealing with this shit tonight.

He scrambles for the window, throwing himself out onto the fire escape stairs with his new nemesis in tow. She makes one last swipe at him as he takes the stairs down two at a time.

“I’ll bash your head in next time!” she shrieks after him.

It’s only when the villain is safely on the other side of the building that he slows down. He pulls his phone out, sucking in a deep breath, and unlocks it to look at the superhero’s note again. Really scrutinises it. Then it clicks. He sees the problem.

That’s not a 6. It’s an 8. He was on the wrong goddamn floor.

He stares blankly at the screen for a moment. He’s too old to be putting up with this shit.

He shoves his phone back in his pocket, heaves a age-old sigh, and lets himself back into the building for round two.

[to-thelakes]

escape artist

pairing; frank castle x fem!reader

summary; your orange cat was a menace but at least your gorgeous neighbour - Frank - got to help you out.

warnings; fluff, reader has an orange cat, slight au

notes; okay so this is day 5 of my fluffbruary fics! I'm currently working on day 6 so that should be out later tonight! this fic was so sweet and it makes me wanna write a friends to lovers frank castle suburbia au fic. like especially with this reader?? i feel like it'd be so cute so please let me know if any of you would like more of these two! but enjoy <3

ao3

The neighbourhood was quiet when you woke up. The sun was filtering through your sheer curtains as you blinked awake. The familiar warmth of your cat sitting at your feet on the bed was gone and there were none of the usual yowls for food that woke you. You turned over, rubbing your face with your hand but when you looked across the dimly lit room, there was no evidence of your menace of an orange kitty.

It was just you. No cat. Your eyebrows furrowed and you shoved your sheets back, checking under the bed. There was nothing and then you realised. Your window. You had left it open. The screen had been loose and when you pulled the curtains back, you saw it. Sugarpuff had pulled the screen back and escaped.

“That goddamn escape artist,” You cursed under your breath as you stepped back from the window. It wasn’t the first time she had done this. You were told that orange cats were trouble but Sugarpuff was worse than any you had come across. You loved her despite it all but she was an absolute menace. You grabbed your crocs on the way to the front door, snatching the treats up from the side table. This was a routine now.

That was the one good thing about living in suburbia, early mornings didn’t mean hellish traffic. When you had lived in the city, there would be cars rushing by and Sugarpuff would - to put it bluntly - be dead by now. But in suburbia, she usually came running to the sound of you shaking the bag of treats.

“Sugarpuff!” You called from your front porch. The early morning sun had you wincing, your eyes hadn’t expected the sudden change in light but making sure Sugarpuff got back to you safe was worth any pain. You shook the bag of treats and waited. But there was no sound of familiar pawsteps. No Sugarpuff. You frowned, “Sugarpuff! Where are you?” You called again, stepping down off the porch and looking around. You shook the bag of treats again, “I have treats for you, baby. Just come here.” If it was any other time of day, you would have rather died than call out like that but it was early. Everyone was likely still asleep, having a lazy Sunday in.

Then you heard it. A whiny meow and you recognised it instantly.

“Where are you, baby? Sugarpuff, come on. I’ll give you a treat,” You called as you walked across the pathway of your front lawn. Then you spotted her. Your insane orange cat was perched on top of one of the trees. Her paws were pressed forward and it seemed like she kept trying to climb down but she was too scared. You stared at Sugarpuff, completely baffled by her.

“What are you doing up there, huh?” You said as you walked up to the bottom of the tree. Sugarpuff meowed out pitifully towards you again and you sighed. You ran your fingers through your hair before glancing around, “Stay right there, baby. I’ll get you down.” Sugarpuff meowed again and you pocketed the bag of treats before heading back towards the house. You had stepladders under the stairs which would hopefully reach you to her and she could come safely into your arms.

“You okay, ma’am?” The gruff voice of Frank Castle made you jump. He had moved in a few houses down and although you’d welcomed him with some cookies, that was the extent of your interactions. He seemed sweet enough and he had been helping Mrs Klein, an elderly woman in the neighbourhood, with tasks around the house. She had lost her husband last year and he seemed more than happy to give her support. It was sweet but you didn’t know much about him other than the small snippets from Mrs Klein. 

You certainly hadn’t expected him to be up at this time on a Sunday morning and you whirled back around, he was dressed in running gear. His hair was sticking to his forehead, sweating dripping down the side of his face. He looked exhausted yet there was a soft look on his face.

“Yeah, yeah, just my cat. The orange menace got stuck in the tree,” You gestured vaguely towards the oak tree. Frank chuckled and glanced over, spotting the orange furball.

“Do ya need help?” He asked. You shook your head.

“I’m just gonna grab the stepladders and then I should be able to reach her. She’s a fucking idiot,” You explained as you stepped backwards, an amused smile spreading across your face. He nodded and you headed into the house. 

When you came back with stepladders in hand, you hadn’t expected Frank to still be outside but that’s where he was. Instead, you found him standing at the bottom of the tree and he was talking to Sugarpuff in a soft, sweet tone; you honestly hadn’t even thought he was capable of it.

“Ya pretty lady is gonna get you down but ya gotta stop running out on her,” He said. Sugarpuff meowed back in response, clearly unimpressed by Frank’s assertion. You cleared your throat and Frank’s head snapped back, “Thought I’d keep her company while ya got the ladder,” He explained. You smiled and gently placed the stepladder down.

“She’ll appreciate it more than me,” You said as you adjusted the ladder so that it was firmly pressed into the dirt. The last thing you needed was to fall over in your pyjamas and crocs. You stepped up onto it and stood up on your tiptoes, just about able to reach Sugarpuff. But she didn’t seem like she wanted to be picked up and shied away, stepping backwards away from the edge, “Are you shitting me, Sugarpuff? Come here.” Frank chuckled below you, one hand resting on the ladder and keeping it steady as you stood on your tiptoes, desperately trying to reach out for her.

“Want me to try?” He asked curiously when he noticed that your attempts were futile. You sighed and tried to lure Sugarpuff forward but she didn’t seem to respond to any of it. You let out a huff of annoyance before getting down from the stepladder.

“Be my guest. She’s a fucking menace,” You said, exasperated. Frank chuckled and you switched places. Within seconds, Sugarpuff had let him pick her up and he stepped down from the stepladder. She settled against his chest and you watched in utter disbelief, “Fucking traitor,” You whispered towards the orange menace. Frank was grinning as he stroked Sugarpuff.

“D’you want her?” He asked, meeting your gaze. You sighed and rubbed your face.

“Could you take her inside while I bring the stepladder in? Don’t want her trying another fucking escape act,” You requested. Frank nodded and he gestured for you to go first. You carried the stepladders in and put them under the stairs again while Frank continued to stroke Sugarpuff, “Can you keep a hold of her a sec?” You asked. Frank let out a noise of agreement while you headed to your bedroom and closed the window. That menace was not going to escape again.

When you returned to the hallway, your screen door had been pushed to and Frank was sitting on the floor, stroking Sugarpuff as she rolled over. It was clear that she was loving the new attention and you were honestly in disbelief. Sugarpuff usually hated anyone that wasn’t you and she hated men the most. She constantly hissed at the mailman and any delivery drivers who dared to get too close to the windows. But it was different with Frank, it seemed

“Thank you for rescuing her. She’s a menace,” You said as you leant against the side table by the front door. You put the treats back on the side and he shrugged.

“S’all good.” The tension that had been in your shoulders since you woke up seemed to release as you took in the sight of Frank. He was so calm, stroking Sugarpuff like she hadn’t just nearly given you a heart attack at half 5 in the morning.

“Can I offer you breakfast?” You asked curiously. Sugarpuff seemed to recognise that word and she rolled away from Frank and got up on her paws again, “She definitely wants it. So, you wanna join us?” Frank looked at Sugarpuff and then at you, his face stoic. From that look alone, you had a guess what his answer would be.

“I would love to but I gotta finish my run and get back to Amy,” Frank explained as he clambered back up to his feet. You nodded your head, trying to brush off the sting of rejection. You knew that it wasn’t serious, it didn’t mean anything.

“Of course, thank you again. If she ever runs away again, I know who to call,” You said, forcing a smile onto your face, “I’m gonna go and give her some food so you can escape. Thank you, really. It means a lot.” Frank didn’t know what to say so he simply nodded and sent you a warm smile. That smile soothed the rejection a little as you headed into the kitchen. 

Sugarpuff followed you in and when you put the wet food in a bowl, she happily began to munch down on it; while you washed your hands. It was a couple more moments of sorting out her supply of dry food and refilling her water fountain before you heard the front door close.

You found yourself frowning as you returned back to the fridge to pick up your breakfast supplies. You knew it was ridiculous to be upset at something so simple but Frank was endearing and Sugarpuff was usually avoidant of men. If even Sugarpuff liked him then she knew that he was a good one which made you want to know him. 

It wasn’t until after breakfast that you wandered back into the hallway and on the side table there was a note. You had abandoned some scraps of paper that you used to make a quick shopping list. But among the blank scraps, one of the pieces of paper had a note scribbled across it. The handwriting was scraggly but you were pretty sure it said ‘Can’t call me if you don’t have my number’ followed by a string of numbers. Your jaw dropped slightly before you glanced at Sugarpuff.

“Thanks, buddy,” You mumbled before picking up the note and heading back into your room to put it into your phone.

<3

[sixeyescurseuser]

Thinking about Geto who wakes up in the middle of the night to Gojo murmuring, “Suguruuuu.”

Geto is about to be pissed because what could Gojo possibly want at two in the goddamn morning?

Geto: “Satoru, what the fuck?“

Gojo: [snores] “-hmm hungy”

Geto realizing this fool isn’t even awake, yet woke Geto up from his peaceful slumber by sleep-talking. 

The menace currently hogs half of Geto’s pillow, so Geto rolls him over with a not-so-delicate push. 

Gojo, sleep-talking: “Gah! I’m fallingg!?”

Gojo looks so dumb asleep, Geto actually lets out a quiet laugh.  

Unfortunately, Geto seems to have picked up on Gojo’s sleep-talking habit. It’s more like eepy rambling for him.

Based on the evidence provided from a locked folder on Gojo’s phone, a sleeping Geto can hold a full conversation with an awake Gojo- conversations that make zero sense. 

Geto, asleep: “Satoruuu, the oven…”

Gojo: “Don’t worry, love, I am keeping an eye on those burning children.”

Geto: “The kids…what about the salt?”

Gojo: “No salt here, but I can give you some sugar!”

Gojo leans down to pepper Geto’s cheeks with kisses. He can’t help it!

Rip to Shoko deals with her friend's sleeptalk every time they sleepover together. She supposes gaining deeper eye bags comes with the territory of being their friends. 

Geto is apparently studying for their exam tomorrow in his dreams. He occasionally recites passages Yaga-sensei had written on the board. 

Meanwhile, Gojo fights curses in his dreams, narrating all his strategies and kills. He ends up trying to horizontal run in the bed, consequently kicking Shoko and Geto in their stomachs. 

After Geto kicks Gojo back, effectively waking him up, Shoko tells Gojo what happened - but he refuses believe her!

[multiplefandomwritings]

How to be a mum

pairing: reader x the grid (platonically), hinted Pierre Gasly x reader                              

warnings: swearing, assault (someone is punched in the face), description of injuries/bruises, throwing up, passing out, unconsciousness, mentioning of hospital, mentioning of crash

summary: Being the only female driver on the grid basically makes you everyone’s mum - and that with just in your mid-twenties.

notes: feel free to leave comments and/or feedback. likes and reblogs are always appreciated! also, feel free to send in requests! Another part will follow, so let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

disclaimer: English is not my first language, so please excuse any mistakes 😊

word count: 4.1k

Your parents had raised you to be a good, kind, caring and helpful person. Where you could, you helped other people out. On top of that, you were basically illiterate to the word no, it was almost impossible for you to tell other people no. No matter the time or the troubles it cost you, you were always there for others. Essentially, that meant little time to yourself, which you didn’t mind most of the time. You loved helping people, and it made you happy.

So, when you were promoted to Formula One, you almost immediately become the mom of the grid. All the drivers, despite some considerably older than you, needed help or supervision. It was like a crazy playhouse and sometimes you felt like you were the only sane and responsible person. It was a menace, someone always needed something. But then again, you loved to help, and you collectively adopted all of them. Metaphorical, of course. But the last weeks were a lot, maybe too much, and you were exhausted. The different time zones had taken their toll on you.

However, when your friends ask you to join for a night out, you agree. It is the Thursday before the race weekend, and Charles, Pierre, Carlos, and you went out to grab some dinner. Mexico is warm and full of life and buzzing, and you had spent an hour looking on the internet for the perfect place to go.

When you arrive there, you are happy to have Carlos with you, as he speaks Spanish. You sit down, you talk, life is good, and you enjoy spending time with your friends. Until suddenly, Charles whinges – he had cut himself God knows how. “Let me see!”, you demand and he shows you the cut on his finger. It isn’t very deep, but it is bleeding a lot. You get your purse, rummage in it for a minute, and pull out a band aid. “You are full of wonders!”, Carlos chuckles while you wrap up Charles finger. “All done!”, you say and plant a gentle kiss on the band aid. Charles blushes and you laugh. “I am sorry, my mum always used to do it to me, so it is a force of habit!”

After dinner, you all enter the car. Charles makes you sit in the passenger seat, even though you would have preferred to sit in the backseat and close your eyes for a bit. But Charles insists, arguing that you give directions the best. So, of course you stay awake and make sure that all of you will arrive safely in the hotel. Before Charles pulls out of the parking lot, you turn around. “Any music wishes you gu-“, you are about to ask, when you realize something. “Put you goddamn seatbelt on, Pierre!”, you scold the guy in the back seat. “Yes mum!”, Pierre jokes, but puts his seatbelt on. Carlos and Pierre request some songs, and the way back is actually quite fun as well.

When you arrive, you say your goodnights and then you are finally on your way to up to your room. You want nothing more than sleep and are already laying in bed in an oversized shirt and short pants when someone knocks on your door. You get up and look through the peephole. In front of your door is Mick and he looks miserable. So, you open the door - of course you do. “I don’t have a seat for next season, they screwed me over!”, Mick says, his voice is breaking. You let him in and end up spending of your night consoling the younger driver. You hold him, let cry, gently play with his hair until he falls asleep. You fall asleep not long after him, holding the blond boy in your arms.

Micks alarm rings painfully early. He blushes and apologizes when he realizes that he fell asleep in your arms, but you wave it off. Once he left, you shower and get ready for your breakfast date with Pierre. Pierre and you had become closer in the last months, and sometimes spending time with Pierre was the only time where you could properly relax. “Good morning!”, you greet the Frenchman, and he engulfs you in a hug. “Are you okay, you look tired.” “Yeah, sure, I am okay!”, you assure him. You enjoy the breakfast; Pierre makes you laugh a lot. Afterwards, the two of you get ready and drive to the track together for Friday testing. You carry a huge bag out of the room and Pierre just laughs before he takes it for you.

The testing goes well, all in all. The car is good this season, you might even land on the podium this weekend. But then again, you are happy when everyone crosses the line safely. And you are always happy when your friends are on the podium, maybe even happier than if you stand there yourself. Sometimes you wonder how you made it this far – while you were competitive and scored good results, you were not as fierce in your ways as most of the other drivers. Still, you managed just fine, and many people saw great potential in you.

After the testing, you hug your teammate, Lando. “You seem to really have gotten the hang on the car, I am proud of you!” He smiles at you. “Thank you, y/n!” You glance down at your phone. „By the way, I think you should get going. You have an interview in 15 minutes!“ He nods. „Oh yeah, thank you for reminding me!” You wave it off. “No problem, and now go! I will see you later!” You rush the boy out of the garage, then you are on your merry way to look for Checo. The man had invited you to stay with his family for dinner and for the night and since you adored his children, you had happily agreed. You carry the bag, that is full of presents for his kids, and a thank you present for Checo and Carola.

“Checo!”, you call out to the older driver. He lights up when he sees you. “Hola, corazon!” Most of the drivers call you nicknames because you are that close with them. Checo for example is like an older brother to you. He pulls you into a hug. “Ready to go?”, he asks you. “Give me one minute, I need to say hi to Max, otherwise he is offended again!”, you laugh and walk deeper into the Red Bull Garage. “Verstappen!”, you yell and like a demon summoned he appears immediately. “Y/n!”, he exclaims, smiling widely. You hated that everyone always painted Max to be an asshole while he really was a ray of sunshine if you were able to gain his trust and friendship. You greet him with a kiss on the cheek and talk to him briefly before you leave together with Checo.

Carola already stands in the door when you arrive, and you practically sprint out of the car to engulf her in a tight hug. “Hola!”, she says laughing and motions for you to come inside. You excitedly bubble to her before you spot the three little kids and you heart becomes even fuller. They almost attack you with love, you speak to them in the few Spanish sentences you know, giving out presents. When they run off to play with the new toys, you turn to Checo and Carola and hand them their presents. “You are too kind, y/n”, says Carola and the three of you hug again.

After dinner, you help bringing the kids to bed, tucking them in, trying your best to read the Spanish children’s books, which results in giggles from all sides. When the kids are asleep, Checo, Carola and you sit up with a glass of wine. You get to bed not too late, and the next morning you and Checo drive to the circuit together.

It’s a beautiful day, the sun is warm on your face and life is buzzing around the paddock. The moment you exit the car, you are swarmed by fans. You sign their stuff, take some pictures, answer questions. You can hear the cameras click. Even though you had been in Formula One for two years now, you were somehow still more often than not the star of the show. Often it was praise, sometimes it was stupid comments, sometimes gossip. By now, the media had attached an alleged affair to you paired with any driver. It was quite fun actually, sometimes you and your friends teased the media. Going out for dinner with Charles on Monday, Lunch with Daniel on Tuesday, going for a walk on Wednesday with Lewis, partying on Thursday with Max, having a late breakfast in the sun on Friday with Lando. Acting like you just got caught. It was the funniest shit in the world to you.

Qualifying went good for you, for Lando as well. You had gotten everything out of the car, and that makes you content. When you drive into the paddock, you are happy and bubbly, spreading good mood. That is, until you look at the little screen in the garage and spot Esteban crashing into the wall. “Oh god, is he okay?”, you breath out before you rush to the medical quarters. The medics tell you that he has to go to the hospital to be checked out thoroughly.

„I will go with him!”, you say without hesitation. Since none of his family was there, you offer to go to the hospital with him, no questions asked. On the ride there, you hold his hand and whisper words of encouragement to him. When you arrive, he is taken by the doctors, and you have to wait. As soon as the doctors tell you that he is and will be okay, you call his family to tell them the good news. When you can go in the room with him, Esteban looks a lot better. You pull him in a gentle hug and make sure that he arrives by his hotel room safe and sound.

By now it’s the middle of the night and you sigh. In a few hours Yuki and you will meet in the gym because he has asked you to show him some meditation and yoga tricks that would help with his mindset. You promised to show him before the race so that he could use it right on track. You decide to sleep the three hours you would get and go to your room.

You wake up feeling completely exhausted. On top of that you had overslept, so you decide to skip breakfast and just head straight down to meet Yuki. It is quite fun, and you feel a bit refreshed. However, by the time you arrive at the track, you find yourself in a low. You are very well aware that you possibly shouldn’t participate in the car, your lack of sleep endangering you and the others. You go to your driver’s room, splash water in your face and then you meet up with your personal trainer. Somehow, you find whatever concentration is left in you, and channel all of it. When going over one last reflex training and everything goes well, you are feeling a bit better about participating. And you are right. You even score in the points, which makes you happy.

After the race, you are scheduled for an interview. Arriving a bit early, it is not your turn yet. Charles is still being interviewed. You watch Charles doing his interview, and for once it seems like you are graced with one minute of peace. Until you suddenly hear someone yelling. “Charles!” “What is that?”, Charles asks and looks just as confused as you. You find the source of the scream before he does. Daniel stands on the balustrade of a roof close by, shouting and waving. You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Be careful, for fucks sake!”, you scream up to him, before you are on your merry way to drag him down there with your bare hands, if you have to.

You manage to get him to step down after a few more shenanigans. You rush down again, arriving just on time for your interview. It is actually a respectful interview for once, the interviewer showing genuine interests for your driving and not for anything else. Somehow, despite your tiredness, you are the best version of you, joking with the interviewer.

After the interview, the debrief happens, and then you head straight to the hotel. Your flight was going tonight because you want nothing more than a few quite days and nights in your own apartment. Pierre had offered to drive you to airport, which you gladly accepted. When you get out of the car, Pierre exists as well and pulls you in a hug. “Get some rest, Cherie, you look tired!”, he tells you and you grin crookedly. “You don’t even know, Gasly!” The two of you hug, and then you are on your way back home.

When you step into your apartment, you almost start to cry. You are so relieved, and you look so much forward to just sleep. You will only spend three days before you have to leave for the next race again, but you full on intent to spend most of that time in bed sleeping and relaxing. You order some take-out food and head to bed right after. Everything is good, until your phone wakes you up in the middle of the nights. It is around four in the morning, and you groan. Max´s name shows up on the screen. You wonder how the fuck he managed to get back to Monaco as quickly as you. You pick up, of course you do.

“Heyyy!”, slurs Max and you know what he wants before he can say something. “Where are you?”, you ask, already half out of bed, “I will come and get you!” You arrive at the club half an hour later, a bottle of water and a bucket with you. You get out of your car, and look for Max. You find him in an alley next to the club, surrounded by two guys. Speeding up, you step in front of Max the moment before one of the guys throw a punch at him. Instead of Max, the fist hits your face, and you almost fall over. You shake your head, and stare down the guy who profoundly starts to apologize to you. You scoff. “I suggest that if you don’t want me to call the cops on you, you get the fuck out of here!”, you threaten, and they leave immediately.

You sling Max arm over your shoulder and manoeuvre the drunk man to your car. He is slumped over, his body weight seems to have doubled, and your face is throbbing. He doesn’t seem to realize what just happens, and instead throws up on your shoes. You have to take them off and drive home with just your socks. Somehow, you manage to get him all the way to his apartment, where you make sure that he drinks some water. He falls asleep as soon as he hits the pillow and starts to snore. You prepare him breakfast, place water and painkillers on his nightstand, and make your way back home – still in socks. When you arrive home, you text him about the breakfast. Your face still aches, and when you look into the mirror, a big purple bruise is already forming, and the skin around your eye is turning darker by the minute. You groan – it would be a pain to cover that up.

You get back to bed, but you cannot really sleep. Your head is killing you, so you get dressed, put a hoodie on and big sunglasses. Luckily, no one sees you in the streets, and you arrive at the doctor’s office without any incidents. The doctor knows you - ever since you lived in Monaco, you came here. He examines your face and tells you that most likely you have a mild concussion, which explains the headaches. He tells you to rest a bit, and if you do that, racing wouldn’t be problem next weekend. You thank him, pick up some of the recommended painkillers, some make-up to hide the bruise and then you go back to your apartment.

You have two more hours of sleep, before your phone rings again. Daniel asks if you want to go and have breakfast with him because him and his girlfriend are having troubles and he needs someone to talk to. You assure him that you can be at his place in latest an hour. You get up, jump under the shower and afterwards you manage to cover up the mark. On the way to his place to pick up some groceries for the breakfast. Half an hour later, Daniel lets you in his apartment and you talk for what feels like five hours. You barely eat for breakfast, the headache and a nauseous feeling overwhelming you. Daniel doesn’t realize, he is just happy you are here, and you are more than happy to help.

This evening, you don’t get to bed as early as you had wished, because you talked with your family and your best friend. You firmly tell yourself, that you would sleep most of the day tomorrow before you would head to the next race. However, your plans are crossed, when Charles calls and asks if you can help him buy a present for his girlfriend. Of course, you accept and spend most of the day out with Charles, visiting different shops and boutiques. When you get home, you pack your bags and go to bed, because you have to get up early to leave for Brazil. You were already not looking forward to the time difference, not knowing if your body could take it.

Lando, Charles, Pierre, Daniel, Max, and you had decided to take the plane together. It was usually more fun than flying alone, but this time you wouldn’t have minded. A bit of peace and quietness would have been nice. However, when you see the boys on the airport, you are happy. They are your friends after all, and you loved them dearly.

“I am hungry!”, Lando whines almost as soon as you board the plane. He sits on the opposite side of you. You knew that this was going to happen. You open your bag pack and whip out 6 neatly packed lunch packages. “I gotcha!”, you tell him and throw him one of the packages. It contains two sandwiches, some cut vegetables and some small snacks. You know all their diet plans, so every package was a bit different. You had gotten up extra early that morning to make sure all of them had something, knowing that they would possibly forget to prepare something.

Lando thanks you profoundly, and you just smile at him. You loved the boys, even though it wasn’t always easy with them. You are still wearing your sunglasses, because the bruise around your eye had become even darker, and your unprofessional attend at make-up didn’t cover it properly anymore. You are not ready to show the boys, because you don’t want them to worry, and you don’t want Max to feel guilty. He had texted you that he remembered parts of the night, and that he remembered how you stepped in front of him. You had assured him that you were fine. Lost in your thoughts, you drift to sleep, your sunglasses still on.

You are awoken barely 30 minutes later by loud music. You almost jump out of the seats, the boys laughing. “Very funny”, you murmur, but have to smile a bit. It could’ve, maybe should’ve annoyed you, but you were not one to hold grudges. “Why are you still wearing your sunglasses, mon ange?”, Pierre teases you and you shrug your shoulders. “Because it looks cool!”, you argue half-heartedly. Before you can react, Pierre pulls them off your head and gasps in the same motion. You try to cover your face with your hands, but it is too late. Pierre´s reaction has drawn all attention on you. “Jesus, what happened to you, y/n?”, Pierre asks, all teasing has left his tone. “Nothing”, you are quick to lie. “Didn’t look like nothing!”, he sounds a bit angry, and you sigh. You remove your hand from your face and show him and the others.

“Oh my God!”, breathes Max out, “So something happened after all?” You sigh again. “Nothing bad, it is just a bruise and a blackeye!” Daniel shakes his head. “You should have told us!” “I know!”, you defend yourself, letting your shoulders hang, “I just didn’t want you guys to worry!” In this moment the guys realize that maybe sometimes they need to take better care of you as well. However, the scope of your state is not yet fully obvious to them.

After you told them the story, Max apologises again, and again, but you wave it off. “Max, I would do that again any day, you are like a brother to me”, you give him a warm smile and hug him. He looks like he feels a bit better, your head on the other hand is killing you. You excuse yourself to the bathroom, where you throw up once. You brush your teeth, put some water in your face and tell yourself to get your shit together. When you return, you sit down again. Pierre sits down next to you, opens up his arms and you gladly accept. Daniel puts a blanket on you, and you sleep the rest of the flight in Pierre’s arms.

You wake up feeling a tiny, tiny bit better. The weekend goes by. You again sleep too little - one of the boys always needing something that you were happy to help with. The devil works hard, but you really worked harder. Qualifying went better than ever and you wondered if you maybe should always need to drive sleep deprived. On Sunday, you almost fall asleep in the meeting before the race, and you know you should probably just cancel the game. But you sit down in the car anyway and start to race.

“P1, I repeat, P1! Y/n, you did it! Your first win!”, screams one of your team members over the radio. You whoop and pump your fist in the air. “Can I do donuts, please?”, you beg, and everyone laughs. You do a couple, and then you drive to your garage, where everyone jumps in your arms, and you cry tears of joy. “Yes, yes, yes!!”, you yell over and over again. On your way to the podium everyone congratulates you, as there is not a single soul on the grid that dislikes you. You had even managed to woo Christian Horner with your kind nature.

When you step on the podium, Max and Charles are there, and you spray each other with champagne. At the end, they lift you on their shoulders, and the fans are going ballistic. You take another sip of the champagne and realise that this might have been a mistake. You feel terrible dizzy all of a sudden when you step down from the podium. Downstairs, Lewis and Seb wait for you. They are about the only guys on the grid that don’t need your help, and act like your parents, rather than the other way around. “Good job kid!”, says Seb and pulls you in a tight hug. Lewis ruffles your hair and grins. “You deserve that win, now go celebrate!” You nod and start your walk to the McLaren paddock. The cameras follow you; you smile and wave for them and for the fans.

At the paddock, all of your friends wait for you. While you are excited and want to get to them as soon as possible, your legs feel incredible heavy and wobbly at the same time. You reach Pierre, who lifts you up and spins you around, which is really not good for you. When he sets you on the ground again, you grab his arms and have to hold onto him. You feel like the ground below you is an ocean, and among the waves you cannot plant your feet there properly. You look up at Pierre. “Pierre”, you whisper, “I think I am about to pass out.” With that, you slump down in his arms. He tries his best to hold you up, slinging his arms around you, keeping you safe and warm. As soon as the others realize, something is wrong, a wall of people is built around you and miraculously, the media misses the fact that you are unconscious in Pierre Gasly´s arms. At least for now.

[oliversrarebooks]

fuck you, I'm a goddamn menace part 2: you can't be fucking serious

Masterlist > Next

TW: abuse, injuries, concussion, sedation, medical whump

Morgan awoke slowly, the sting of antiseptic in his nose. The only thing he could hear past the painful ringing in his ears was the soft beep of medical equipment. His body ached, especially his knee and upper back, and his head was pounding. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly. He knew exactly where he must be -- in the medbay at his boss's lair -- and the longer they thought he was unconscious, the longer he could relax and heal before the punishments began.

His memories were vague. Lights overhead. Voices. The beeping of medical equipment. A rubber mask on his face.

He lay there, drifting in and out. The pain felt so fuzzy and indistinct. Painkillers? That was new. Salcedo never gave him painkillers. He loved to watch Morgan suffer way too much for that. You wouldn't make it far among the crime lords of the city if you didn't enjoy your work, after all. 

Maybe there was some trick to the fact that he was being allowed this pleasant buzz. Let him relax and let his guard down so it'd hurt more later. He could figure that out when his head felt better.

"...awake..."

Fuck. It was starting. Morgan tried not to react.

"Morgan, are you awake? We just need you to respond to make sure you've woken up from the anesthetics, and then you can go back to sleep, promise."

Morgan couldn't help his face twitching as he recognized that absolutely infuriating voice. Arthur. His blasted nemesis.

Oh, that's right, he had been captured. Lucky fucking him. He got to be completely at the mercy of the hero he'd been tormenting for years. And at the end of it, he might get the wonderful experience of his boss busting him out of captivity only to punish him for his failures.

"Morgan, please, wake up."

Begrudgingly, Morgan opened his eyes, and immediately wished he hadn't. Even the dim light of the room was like an icepick to the brain. He looked over to see the smug fucking face of Arthur, and that was even worse.

"I'm awake. What do you want?" he said, his voice weak and slurred. He was definitely drugged, he could tell, because he could barely even muster up the strength to be scared of what was going to happen to him.

"Good. That's very good," said Arthur. He sounded kind. No, he sounded like he pitied Morgan. Oh, fuck that. "You gave us all quite a scare. It was a little touch-and-go for a bit there, but the surgery went well, and you should make a full recovery, as long as you get lots of rest."

Morgan swallowed hard, trying to comprehend this. He'd been given surgery? What the fuck had they done to him? He was in pain all over, but he certainly didn't feel like he'd been turned into a mantis-man hybrid or anything like that. Or been lobotomized.

...Had they seriously just patched him up? After everything he'd done? If there was anyone naive and soft-hearted enough to do that, it was his fucking nemesis.

"How are you feeling?" said Arthur, his voice too gentle.

"Like your whole team shoved me into a woodchipper and danced on the mulch."

"Yes... Julie went a little too hard with the energy blasts. She's still learning how to control it," said Arthur. "But you know, you were..."

"None of this would've happened if I weren't trying to install a zombification device inside city hall? Yeah, got it, lesson learned, next time I install it in your stupid fucking hero lair."

Arthur scowled. "Was the plan your idea or your boss's?"

"As though my boss could build something like that. Did you even notice the craftsmanship, or were you too busy punching it apart?"

Arthur sat back in his chair, looking as if something was on his mind.

The room was filled with medical equipment, the kind Morgan could control with his technomancy. He reached out slowly, feeling like he was fighting through a wall of cotton, and got no response. The familiar, tell-tale feel of power suppressors. They were probably in the restraints. 

"You know, Morgan," Arthur said after a long moment, "when we had you under for surgery, our medic, Laurel, performed an examination."

Morgan turned away. He could tell where this was going.

"There were a lot of injuries there. Injuries that didn't seem like ones you got while fighting us."

"Training."

"It looked like you'd been kicked in the ribs repeatedly without proper healing," Arthur said. "And there were marks that looked like they'd been left by a taser, and a lot of electrical burns."

"Heavy training."

"That's not training, Morgan!" Arthur actually sounded angry, now, and it took all of Morgan's willpower not to flinch away. "I'm not even discussing the massive amount of nasty bruises or that infected cut on your shoulder. Those could've been sustained while fighting heroes. But not all of that. And even if they were, everything looked like it had healed wrong or been left to scar. There's no way that's normal. I know your usual activities. I see the reports of all of your fights. No hero did those things to you. Certainly not my team."

Ugh. What was the point of all this? To humiliate him? Now his nemesis probably knew all about his poor condition, his chronic pain and his trick elbow and the scars littering his back. And it wasn't like it was going to get any better when his boss got him back. Fucking wonderful.

But Arthur didn't sound humiliating or mocking. He sounded concerned, which was almost even worse. "Morgan, did your boss do those things to you?"

Morgan rolled his eyes and turned away. Or he would've turned away if he weren't so heavily restrained he couldn't roll over.

"Morgan, I'm serious. Did your boss --"

"No, of course not," said Morgan, packing his voice with as much sarcasm as he could muster. "You know how Salcedo is. Every time you defeat me, he gives me a nice pat on the head and a participation trophy, and he tells me that it's okay I failed, because I tried and had fun."

Arthur sighed. "He's abusing you."

"He's giving me my quarterly performance reviews. You're abusing my patience."

"While you were sedated, you kept fighting us off, saying you weren't allowed to sleep. Does he prevent you from sleeping?"

Fucking drugs. Morgan barely remembered what had happened, much less what he'd said. He remembered hitting the wall, pain, pain, pain, and then the most beautiful and relaxing feeling in the world, and finally oblivion. 

"...It's been obvious to me for a long time that your health is deteriorating."

"Shut the fuck up," said Morgan, his sarcasm dissolving with his frustration. "You don't understand a goddamn thing about my life, so don't pretend like you do."

"I understand that you're being abused!"

"I'm being trained to fight your team," said Morgan through gritted teeth. "Rich of you to go on about being abused when it was Julie who gave me a sixty mile per hour impact with a concrete fucking wall."

"That was an accident and you know it. And there's a huge difference between thwarting your plans and casually abusing you."

Morgan looked down at his hands. Like he hadn't noticed how the hero team always pulled their punches to avoid injuring him too much, even when he was scheming something really nasty. Like he wasn't so much more afraid of his boss than his nemesis. Like he really needed his nemesis's smug pity.

Why couldn't Arthur just fucking take revenge or whatever? It wouldn't even be that bad while he was hopped up on drugs. Hell, Arthur was probably too soft a heart to pull half the shit Salcedo liked to, even though he had far more reason. Just get it the fuck over with.

"Could you spare me your fucking after school special bullshit and just tell me what you're going to do with me?" With any luck, they would throw him in ordinary jail and not that awful psychiatric hospital. Either way, it wouldn't stop his boss from finding him and pulling him out again whenever he decided Morgan was needed. Or needed to be punished.

"Well, we can't let you go free, obviously," said Arthur. "But if we put you in jail, you're just going to get captured by Salcedo again."

Oh, Morgan hated the way he phrased that. Captured. Like he was a civilian being taken hostage and not Salcedo's right hand man and a terrifying villain in his own right.

Arthur was leaning in closer. "You don't have to work for Salcedo, you know."

Morgan's eyes went wide with shock as he realized the turn this conversation was taking. He laughed sharply, a little maniacally. "Are you serious? Are you fucking serious, Arthur?" he said. "Did you also hit your head on a wall? Did you forget who you're talking to?"

"I think I know you quite well by now, yes."

"And you're seriously trying to get me to go straight? Join your merry little band of idiot heroes?"

"...it would take a lot of work, and a lot of trust, but yes, eventually. It's something I've thought about on more than one occasion," said Nemesis, who, against all odds, seemed to be completely serious. "Look, let's cut the bullshit. Salcedo is abusing you. Don't even try to deny it, because I've seen more than enough evidence. He's beating you, burning you, god knows what else. He's working you to the bone on ridiculous plans that will never work, and makes you the fall guy for them while he escapes unscathed."

Every word of that was true, and hearing it from Arthur made him want to punch him in the face.

"You're a smart guy. Ridiculously smart. And despite what you claim, you have ethical standards. Remember the time the two of us teamed up to get those kids out of the burning school?"

"They were kindergartners, c'mon --"

"You have ethical standards, no matter how shaky they can be. And you have courage and talent," said Arthur. 

"You think I can be won over with cheap flattery, seriously, Arthur?"

"How about cheap flattery and a cool costume?" he said. "But seriously consider what I'm telling you. You're a smart guy. We pay well, maybe not as well as Salcedo, but enough, and you'd get overtime when you have to work late. We have health insurance. Most importantly, nobody is going to beat you to within an inch of your life if you screw up."

"Oh, yeah, sure thing, I'll just do that," said Morgan. "And I'm sure that, after everything I've done to you, you're all just going to protect me when Salcedo shows up to get me back."

"Yes. I will. I absolutely will," he said. "...Because he's going to kill you. We both know that. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but someday. And you don't deserve that."

Fuck. He sounded so serious. He was using his superhero voice. The one he used to tell terrified hostages that he was going to save them and that nobody was getting hurt. The one that was usually directed at the civilians Morgan was menacing.

 "I don't expect you to make this decision overnight," said Arthur, standing up. "You've got a lot of healing to do. A lot of time to think over where your life is headed."

"And you're just gonna let me heal?" said Morgan skeptically. "You've got me totally at your mercy in what I assume is your underground secret lair, and you're just going to let me lay here and heal up my injuries?"

"Yes. I mean it. I know you don't believe me, but it's true. As long as you don't try to cause harm to any of us, no harm will come to you while you're here. I swear it." Arthur turned as he was about to walk out the door. "All I'm asking is that you think about what I said to you. We'll talk again. The nurse is here to see you."

And he was gone, and Morgan felt utterly exhausted.

An older woman wearing scrubs with pride-flag-colored fish on them entered the room. She looked tired and a little scared. "Well, uh, Arthur tells me you're awake and lucid, Mr.... uh... Mr. Morgan," she said. "That's good. You were in pretty bad shape."

"Hmph."

"Can I look in your eyes with this penlight, please? You had a really nasty concussion, so you're probably going to be very tired and disoriented for a while as you recover."

Great. It was super great to be concussed and useless in the hero's lair. Still, he submitted to Laurel's eye exam without a fuss. It was one thing to sass his nemesis -- putting up a fuss for the medic was pointless when she was just trying to do her job.

"The only thing you can really do right now is get some rest," she said. "I can give you some painkillers, and some sedation if you think you'll have trouble sleeping. Would that be okay?"

Morgan let out a sharp laugh. "Oh, sure, yeah, I really want to be drugged up and helpless in the hero's lair."

"Well, you're not going anywhere," she pointed out. "You'll heal a lot faster if you get some rest."

Morgan scowled. He couldn't afford to be lounging on a bed in a drugged haze. He had to work on finding a way to escape, preferably with some valuable information or a hostage, in the hopes he could catch Salcedo in a good mood. 

But no matter how he looked at it, he was already exhausted, concussed, power-repressed, and in restraints. He wasn't successfully escaping a team of heroes in this condition, sedated or not. And if they wanted him at their mercy, they could come knock him out whenever they felt like it. 

So what difference would it make if he were drugged again? God knows his life was going to fucking suck enough once Salcedo came to drag him back. Might as well feel artificially good for a few hours.

"Yeah, I'll take it. Give me the good shit," said Morgan. 

"Right away," she said with a laugh. She pulled a few bottles of clear liquid from her pocket, and, consulting a chart attached to his bed, began to measure out doses. "You know, it's really interesting to finally get to meet you, Mr. Morgan."

"Scared?" he said, attempting his most menacing grin.

"...well, I haven't forgotten the things you've done," she said, which really wasn't what you wanted to hear when someone was preparing a syringe for you. "But the team thinks you deserve a chance, and it's a medical professional's responsibility to provide care for anyone, no matter their past. So I'll treat you like I would any innocent person. You have my word." The look in her eyes was distant. "You're not so frightening now, anyway."

Morgan tried to push down his unease. "Fuck you, I'm a goddamn menace."

"Of course you are," she said, injecting the drugs into Morgan's IV line. "This should kick in in a few minutes. It's going to make you very drowsy. I suggest actually getting some sleep and not fighting it. We'll be monitoring you, but if you have any complications, hit this button."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," said Morgan, smarting from the fact that he couldn't even intimidate the medic. He was at her mercy. He didn't like being at anyone else's mercy. He knew how he treated people he had at his mercy. How his boss treated people.

He hated being on the receiving end, when he was normally such a fearsome and threatening...

Fearsome and threatening...

Ohhh.

Whatever Laurel had injected hit him like a truck, because suddenly he was feeling real fucking good. It was like all of his anxiety melted away, his tight muscles loosening, the pounding in his head finally lightening up. He felt like he were being wrapped up into a wool blanket and carried off on a soft cloud to slumberland. 

Any thoughts of trying to scheme his way out of the hero's stronghold evaporated from his mind. He didn't even bother fighting as his eyelids grew heavy and threatened to close. He was so tired and felt so good. Sleep would feel amazing.

You're a smart guy. Just think about it. Arthur's words echoed in his mind as he began to drift.

Fuck you, Arthur. Like it was all so fucking simple.

Arthur probably knew him better than just about anyone. He must know that it would never work. Why even bother?

Morgan couldn't help but picture himself laughing and joking with Toshiro and Satomi and Julie, dressed in one of their ridiculous bright uniforms, working on gadgetry to help people instead of constantly getting his beautiful machines smashed to bits. 

Ridiculous. The fact that he was even thinking about it was the drugs talking. And now, the drugs were whispering to him that he should really just get some sleep. When would he ever get to sleep this well? Certainly not when his boss came to pick him up.

Part 1 >> Masterlist > Next

@cardboardarsonist @zeiniszein @crystallizedme @mistythedritten @pigeonwhumps @whumpshaped @sparrowsage

[eoieopda]

liar, liar (jhs)

Hoseok suspects that you’re “phoning it in” while sexting and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t call your bluff.

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x AFAB!Reader Type: Smut (18+ — EXPLICIT — MINORS DNI!) Word Count: 5K CW: Hoseok POV; cocky, fuckbuddy!Hoseok; soooo much teasing; masturbation with an audience (f); oh, the dirty talk; unprotected sex (p in v); Hoseok hits it from the back; overstimulation; squirting; multiple orgasms, etc. A/N: Inspired by some of the responses to @here2bbtstrash’s horny headcanon ask game 😈 Specifically, this and this.

Hoseok is a lot of things: a connoisseur with a dutifully refined palate; an archivist, collecting your artful nudes in a museum only his face can unlock; an absolute demon in his sexual prime. What Hoseok isn’t is a much shorter list: a goddamn idiot, though you seem to be taking him for one.

He’s not sure how he knows it — maybe he has a sixth sense for this sort of thing — but when he reads your text, telling him how wet you are for him, that’s not the way he pictures you.

Little liar that you are, Hoseok suspects that you’re half-awake in bed, going through the motions while some mindless drama plays in the background. In fact, if he knows you the way he thinks he does, you’re probably elbow-deep in a bag of kkobuk chips.

To your credit, you don’t make it obvious — not in your words, that is. You describe in poetically pornographic detail what you claim to want to do to him; and he’d be lying if he said his joggers weren’t growing increasingly tight with every little obscenity you send his way. You made one mistake, though, and Hoseok can’t let it go.

He could pick your disastrously thick, downright bite-worthy ass out of a lineup — and he knows that the picture you just sent him is one you’ve sent before.

It takes a minute for him to force his eyes off your supple skin and throw himself out of his bed, but Hoseok eventually manages. He tugs on a shirt, then a jacket for good measure, and then he stalks off towards the door to his apartment. Shoes on and keys in hand, he’s on his way to you before he can think once, let alone twice.

When he hits the sidewalk, it’s the fury of a fuck buddy scorned that propels him up four blocks to your place. Then, desperation and aching balls force him to skip the usual, friendly conversation with your doorman as he breaches your apartment building. Finally, with a bit of menace — for zest — his knuckles rap against your door. His jaw is clenched and twitching slightly when you finally answer, looking good enough to eat in your baggy sweatpants and shocked expression.

“Jay?” You squeak out your little nickname for him. Cute. Your frenzied hands then fly up to scrape fly-aways back into the bun sitting crooked on the top of your head. “What are you doing here? My place is a mess right now. I’m a mess right now — I wasn’t expecting company.”

Hoseok smirks, revels in the fact that he’s caught you red-handed, and slips past you into your apartment. Before your brain can catch up to this turn events, he gazes at you through narrowed eyes while his head cocks to one side. At first, he says nothing. He simply lets you simmer; make-up free cheeks burning maroon while your dumbstruck mouth hangs slightly open.

“So,” he snips. Your knees wobble a bit under the heat of his gaze; he knows exactly what it does to you when he plays up the assertive attitude. "It would seem that we’ve got a credibility problem, petal.”

Your mouth closes, but your eyes grow wider with the practiced, twinkling innocence only a guilty person can sell. Hoseok can hear the gears turning in your brain as you try to think up an excuse for sexting him on autopilot. Lucky for you, he’s got all the time in the world to wait while you spin your wheels over the issue.

Lucky for him, granting you leave to answer and toying with you aren’t mutually exclusive.

When he steps closer to you, you inch away until your back bumps against the wall behind you. A tiny gasp escapes; your warm breath fans out over his neck as he leans down to you. You’re not entirely chest-to-chest — not yet anyway — but the consequences your actions had on him earlier are still palpable. He knows you can feel it, too, nudging the space just above your hip bone.

Hoseok, ever the tease, takes the hem of your t-shirt between his thumb and middle finger. Running the tips along the seam there, he tugs so lightly that the movement barely registers. Even still, it’s enough pressure to make your nipples peak through the fabric — just like he’d hoped. Meanwhile, your eyes shake as you stare, unblinking, up at him.

You are so fucking pretty when you shiver.

Pulling just a little bit harder on the end of your shirt, Hoseok leans in even closer. You push up, ever so slightly, onto your toes like you’re waiting to be kissed. He wants to indulge you — he knows you know that — but he’s determined to hold the line. You whine when he turns away at the eleventh hour so that his lips instead hover below your ear.

“You had so much to say over text,” he hums as he fidgets absently with your top. “Can’t help but feel a little neglected, honestly. Where’s all that big talk now?”

With his voice dropped low like that, Hoseok wonders if you feel it vibrate against your neck. You whimper, wordlessly confirming that you do. When he eliminates whatever remains of the distance between you, the tip of his nose bumps your jaw at the same time his swollen dick presses more firmly against your abdomen. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches sight of you swallowing down a moan.

He smirks as you shift. You’re subtle with it, but he knows what you’re trying to do — sidle up closer, get his lips to finally touch your skin. On any other day, you’d win him over in a heartbeat. You’d get him now if you used those honeyed words of yours in person.

“Ah, ah,” he tuts with a disapproving click of his tongue. Doubling down, he holds his hands up and out to the side where you can see them but not touch them, “Not laying a finger on you until you speak up.”

You pinch your bottom lip between your teeth as the tip of his nose once again prods your jaw. Now, that won’t do. “Not gonna give you my lips, or teeth, or tongue, either, if you can’t say that same filthy shit with your whole chest.”

What he does give you is a microscopic roll of his hips. There’s hardly friction at all — no relief. Maddeningly, it just compounds that dull ache you cursed him with. The only benefit Hoseok reaps from that tiny movement is the pout that blossoms on your face when you realize:

Playing stupid games wins you stupid prizes.

“Aren’t you curious?” His gaze drops to your lips for half a moment — long enough for you notice — then his eyes raise again to bore into yours. “About how good you could have it if you weren’t just going through the motions?”

You finally open your mouth. All he gets is his last initial, drawn out and quiet, but still so needy.

“Jay.”

“Nah,” he laughs darkly. The corner of his mouth pulls up into that smug, lopsided smile he knows will fuck you right up. “I’m Hoseok to you tonight, petal — and I don’t give a shit about the state of your apartment, or whether or not you shaved your legs.”

Your frown deepens when he backs away, but goddamn, does your face light up when he starts walking in the direction of your bedroom.

With how expressive you are, you’re unbelievably easy to tease. Any reaction Hoseok could ever want from you is broadcasted in an instant all over your sweet face. He has to bite back an endeared grin before he glances back at you over his shoulder — only to find that you’re still holding the wall up.

“Cat got your tongue and your legs? Damn!”

He’s already crossing the threshold into your bedroom when you finally take your cue to follow him. That adorable, confused crease reappears between your eyebrows when he goes for your vanity instead of the bed set up on the opposite side of your room. Grabbing the stool, he pulls it out and sits down. He then gestures languidly with his palm extended, silently inviting you to sit across from him on the edge of your mattress.

Abundantly cautious, you quietly study his face as you sink down onto your unmade bed. Your voice drips with suspicion when you ask, “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Hoseok chuckles with a shake of his head and an admittedly devilish grin. He runs his palms over the thighs of his joggers, praying he’ll be able to shed them soon — just not too soon. “That’s precisely the point, petal.”

His words clearly haven’t sunk in yet, so you cross your arms over your chest and one leg over the other. Then, you wait — albeit not patiently — for an explanation he’s not going to offer.

Hoseok tilts his head to the side as he stares back at you. On the nights when you actually expect to see him, you tend to be more dolled up than you are now. He understands that, but he can’t figure out what you meant when you called yourself a mess. You may not be wearing the fatal lingerie from that recycled photo, but that fact doesn’t make him want to unwrap the gift in front of him any less.

Doesn’t make him want to tease you any less, either.

“Well, then,” he starts simply with a shrug, “Show me.”

You might be genuinely puzzled by this, but then again, you might be fucking with him now, too. You swallow, blink back at him all slow and cute. “Show you what, exactly?”

Hoseok leans back against your vanity and rests his elbows on the tabletop. His tongue darts out to wet his lips before he answers, and the way your hungry eyes follow its path isn’t lost on him. Though he won’t show his cards just yet, he’s dying to give you every sick little thing you want — so long as you open that pretty mouth of yours and speak it into existence.

Until then, he’s prepared to coax it out of you.

“Show me how you want me to touch you.”

Your eyebrows raise. That cotton candy blush sweeps over your cheeks again and it takes a conscious effort not to palm his own dick through his pants. He wonders if you taste like cotton candy, too.

A few moments stagger past while the two of you sit at an impasse, simply staring at one another in tension-riddled silence. He’s determined not to buckle, though that little pout of yours would normally have him on his knees by now. He’ll gladly be your toy any other night of the week, but this time, he’s not backing down.

With a tiny huff, you stand up on wobbly knees. Your arms cross over your stomach as you reach for the hem of your shirt, then you pull them back up slowly, taking your shirt with them. It’s not a sight he’ll ever get tired of — not one he ever takes for granted, either — watching the way your tits bounce when their only covering slips up and away.

When it really comes down to it, though, it’s what comes next that really turns him feral.

Your nimble fingers work out the knotted drawstring at the waistband of your sweatpants; Hoseok is all but drooling with anticipation. No late night photo of your ass could ever replicate the effect that the real thing has on him. There’s no comparison, no substitute. He groans without meaning to when that thick fabric slides down your silky thighs and lands with a muffled sound at your feet.

As he suspected, there’s no black lace to be found underneath. Hoseok feels validated, but more importantly, he feels his dick twitch against the confines of his pants when he sees the faint gloss of arousal on the upper-most part of your inner thighs. He tears his eyes away and follows your legs all the way down when you bend to pull your discarded sweats off your ankles.

He’s not sure if he’s capable of speech, so he doesn’t instruct you further. Instead, he opts to observe with a clenched jaw as you sit down on the edge of your bed. Once your bare ass meets the duvet, you push yourself back until there’s enough room for your legs. Your heels come to rest in front of you, but you keep your knees together — still hiding.

Really, he’s on the brink of begging. Hoseok can’t let it show, though. He fixes his dark-eyed stare on you and smirks, hoping one look is enough to prompt those perfect legs to spread. When they actually do, he swallows down a growl.

Fuck.

Your face and your pussy are tied for first, both the most angelic thing Hoseok’s ever fucking seen. Inside his mouth, he captures his tongue between the tips of his teeth to keep it to himself. There isn’t a part of you he doesn’t want to savor. Nowhere on your body he doesn’t want to nip at, suckle and mark.

Leaning your weight onto one hand, you slide the other down your navel. Then, his eyes follow it as it trails over the soft hair he’s told you a thousand times he doesn’t mind; but which is likely the reason you look so self-conscious now. Your hand stops to rest just above your clit and Hoseok doesn’t know if it’s nerves or showmanship that justifies the pause.

“Go on,” he sounds casual when he says it as if this isn’t killing him any less than it is you. “Prove that you meant what you say.”

Finally. Movement.

The tip of your middle finger dips down between your folds, and Hoseok can hear how thoroughly you’ve drenched yourself. He can hear your little mewls, too, as your fingertip wades through your wet heat, then travels back up to your clit. Slow spirals follow, underscored by breathy moans.

“Shit,” you sigh as your eyes flutter and your head falls back. Is that really all you’ve got to say? You push up slightly onto your heels, swirl your hips in microscopic circles opposite to your finger’s ministrations.

Hoseok knows it’s not enough for you. Your greedy pussy is screaming for more; he hears it loud and clear from his spot several meters away. It begs to be filled, knuckle-deep, and craves teasing pressure at an angle that’s difficult for you to meet on your own. He doesn’t move to help you, though. He just lets you try to mimic the way his longer digits make you feel.

It’s frustrating, sitting there with his hands kept to himself. If he’s not going to wield them against you, his only other instinct is to tend to the painfully hard dick leaking pre-cum inside his boxers. Unfortunately, it’s your touch he wants, not his own. Maybe if he gets you talking, you’ll unravel faster and earn a reward.

“I wanna see you finger-fuck yourself,” Hoseok’s gruff voice surprises you and causes your doe eyes to snap open. They lock in on his face, clearly flustered by his assertiveness. “Stretch that pretty pussy for me, petal. Need to know you can take it when I finally let you have my cock.”

You sound like an angel when you sigh like that. Hoseok grits his teeth and swallows hard. It dawns on him then that he may be torturing himself more than he’s torturing you. Every muscle in his body is threatening to mutiny, but he refuses to indulge their cries to move. Thankfully, you do.

As your finger penetrates your hole for the first time, Hoseok’s can’t decide which sound is his favorite: the moan that starts in the depths of your chest and only builds as it exits your mouth, or the squelch of your cunt as you tease yourself. Maybe it’s the slight squeak of the bed frame when you begin to grind down against your hand, pushing your finger in deeper towards your detonator and increasing the pressure of the heel of your hand against your clit.

You whimper his name and that settles it — that little plea is the best noise he’s ever heard. “H-Hoseok!”

At this point, he’d be quick to soothe you, rush over to gift you that orgasm you’re so desperately chasing. Instead, he stays planted in his seat, tilts his head to the side, and hums fondly, “Yes, petal? You wanna cum?”

He gets an eager, desperate nod in response which is nowhere near good enough. Please just learn your lesson so he can fuck you the way you need to be fucked. Just — “Tell me, then. I’ve read your bark; show me your bite.”

You add a second finger, and your head drops forward. The pace increases and — fuck — you’re gushing. Your arousal catches the light as it drips down the length of your fingers and pools in the palm of your hand.

Please, please, please just say what you need.

“Agh!” Your frustration peaks and you wail, panting. A sheen of sweat breaks out on your forehead, matching the slick on your collarbones. “Want to cum. Fuck, I — ah! — I need to cum so fucking bad, Hoseok, p-please. I want to feel you in my stomach. I — mmnh — need you to fill me.”

Hoseok has options. He could continue to sit there, watching you fall apart, and try not to cream his fucking pants. He could break his cardinal rule and impale you on his dick before making you cum twice first. Or, he could tag you out; take care of you and guide you right off the edge.

He gets to his feet before he even settles on a plan. The distance between you closes quickly, and then he wraps his hand around your straining wrist. You crash back against the mattress with relief washing over your face — and you have no idea what that aid is going to look like. He settles on his knees, one between yours and the other on the outside of your right leg.

“Got you, petal,” Hoseok murmurs.

His left hand cradles the back of your neck and pulls you in for a sloppy kiss. As he does, his right hand slips between your thighs. You moan into his open mouth, and he swallows it. He accepts your tongue without resistance, too; the same way your pussy takes his middle and ring fingers. Thoroughly soaked, he bottoms out quickly at the knuckles.

Immediately, he angles his fingers upright, presses the tips against your g-spot, and sets a punishing pace. The babbling that pulls from you is barely louder than current below, but Hoseok gives credit where it’s due: You cry out, clear as a bell, “G-gonna make me cum all over your fingers. Feel so f-fucking good!”

And you do, hard. Your release spills over his hand and soaks the sheet underneath you as you writhe underneath him.

Hoseok kisses you, deep and desperate, but he can’t stop there. He presses his forehead against yours, looks you dead in the eye, and then he begs, “One more, petal. Gimme one more and then I’ll fuck you stupid, I promise.”

You clench your jaw tightly and nod. Thankfully, you don’t make him wait long. He watches your eyes screw shut, then your mouth fall open. When your second orgasm rips through you, you’re too far gone to make a sound. On otherwise dead air, it’s just the flurry of expletives tumbling out of Hoseok’s mouth and the river he’s fucked out of you.

When the aftershocks eventually peter out, you slump back on top of your doused duvet. You throw an arm over your face as you attempt to catch your breath. While you do, Hoseok’s hand finds a new occupation in caressing the curve of your hip. You can’t see the pride in his smile, but it’s there.

“Don’t think I’ve ever heard you say cum out loud before,” He grins. Your move your arm just slightly, but it’s enough for him to see the one eye you’ve cracked open to glare at him. He gently and repeatedly taps your hip bone with the pad of his thumb until your face dissolves into a hard-fought smile. “Hot as fuck, in case you were wondering.”

You give up your hiding place and let your arm drop down beside you. Better still, you raise an eyebrow and hum, “I wasn’t, but d’you wanna know what I am wondering?”

Hoseok captures your lips in another kiss, though he doesn’t linger the way he wants to. “Sure fuckin’ do,” he says on a weighty exhale. He means it; he’s dying to hear whatever it is you’re about to say.

It’s difficult with the way you’ve melted into your bed, but you still manage to tilt your head to the side. Though he can’t know for sure, Hoseok suspects that the way your tongue glides over your kiss-bitten lips is payback for the way he’d looked at you earlier. He’s certain that this little tease looks far better on you than on anyone else — himself included.

As you speak, you pinch the hem of his shirt between your thumb and middle finger. You trace the seam, tug it with a force that barely makes the fabric flutter but still threatens to knock him out. Shit, the toll you take on him when you use his own actions against him…

“Tell me why you’re not naked yet, Hoseok,” you drawl, letting the last syllable click in your mouth. The wicked glint in your eyes makes his dick twitch; he knows you felt it jump on the top of your thigh. “You gonna fuck me stupid, or are you a liar, too?”

In a frenzy, he grabs both sides of your face and kisses you hard. You open your mouth against his, keening as he licks into your mouth. It’s now that he realizes he was right about something else, too: there’s a faint taste of kkobuk chips that barely registers when his tongue savors yours.

With a melodramatic gasp, he pulls away in order to point an accusatory finger at you, “I fucking knew it!”

It’s clear by the slight furrow of your brows that you have no idea what he’s talking about. In short order, you ignore the self-satisfied grin he’s wearing. Then, you tangle your fingers in his hair and tug. You pull a growl out of him in the process, “Goddamn it. I love it when you do that.”

“Hoseok!” You whine as your restless hands paw at his still-clothed chest. The pout he loves so much takes up residency on your face, shuts him right up. “Clothes off! Please, please, please — I’m dying here.”

He, a bastard, blinks down at you with the most convincing bemusement he can muster at a time like this. He asks, “Dying? For what?”

You don’t bother to respond with words this time. Lips pursed with effort, you wrap your arms around him tight and pull him all the way down on top of you. Undeterred by the weight of his body on yours, your unchecked arousal empowers you to roll until you’ve got him pinned on his back beneath you.

That look in your eyes — that feral one, where your pupils swallow up your irises — tells him everything he needs to know. He lets your rabid hands rip his shirt over his head; his hands drop down until his thumbs hook under the waistbands of his joggers and boxers in tandem. Before he can begin to tug them down, you swat his hands away and take over.

“Shit,” he hums, impressed, “Did I awaken something in you, petal?”

You shoot him a smirk and the way his unrestrained dick leaps at the sight of you makes Hoseok consider the possibility that you’re telekinetic. Amusement clear on your face, you lift a hand to run the top of your index finger along the vein trailing down his length. You shrug, suddenly nonchalant, “You wanna sit here and discuss it, or do you wanna feel that cock twitch inside of me?”

Oh, fuck.

Now unspeakably eager, Hoseok sits up until he’s face to face with you. “Turn around,” he instructs, and you listen.

Once you’re on your knees with your back to him, you lean forward and stretch your arms out on the mattress in front of you. As you wait, head down and perfect ass up, Hoseok is momentarily hypnotized by the subtle way you swivel your hips. The way your cheeks jiggle, even with the slightest shift.

“Liar and a tease,” he sucks his teeth. “You really wanna be my downfall, don’t you, petal?”

You bend your neck to look over your shoulder at him, knowing full well that he dies a thousand times whenever you stare up at him from under your lashes like that. Jesus Christ, you’re a dream. He’d pinch himself, but he doesn’t have the time; you reach back between your spread legs and take his dick in your hand.

Rolling your wrist, you work his tip at a goddamn snail’s pace like you want him to drop dead behind you. He’s unable to keep from groaning, and he can’t stop his hips from rutting forward into your fist, either. You do him the favor of squeezing the crown tighter when you finally do let him go, hand sticky with pre-cum.

“Well then,” you echo his earlier statement with that familiar twinkling innocence in your eyes, “Show me how good I can have it.”

Part of Hoseok is stalling because he knows that he won’t last long. He’s been so impossibly hard for so long now, the way you grip him will have him blacked out and drooling in a matter of minutes. However, the rules he’s made for himself dictate that you have to finish three times before he gets to. And so, with that perverted sense of duty in mind, his hand picks up where yours left off.

You both groan when his tip slides through your folds — goddamn, he wants to drown in you later — but he goes mute the second he finally enters you.

“Oh, fuck. How are you thicker than last time?” you croak because you know his ego hasn’t hit the ceiling yet. Your heads slumps down towards your elbows like you’re dead already, halfway to buried in a mess of sheets. “Swear to God, I’ll get used to this someday.”

Hoseok grins even though you can’t see him do it. The pads of his thumbs find the Venus dimples sitting pretty above your ass. It’s arrogant — he knows this — but he likes to think they were made for him, placed intentionally where his hands can find them when he gets ahold of you.

Rubbing spirals at the base of your spine, he calls, “All good, petal?”

“Fuck me,” you answer.

And he does.

The first thrust tests the waters to make sure you’re actually able to comfortably take him and it’s not simply wishful thinking on your part. You’re impatient, though, and you push your hips back when his second thrust snaps forward. For a moment, Hoseok fears he’s gone blind. Thankfully, it’s temporary; just the haze that overtakes his fucked-out brain whenever he feels your velvet walls squeezing the life out of him.

You match his movements every time he grinds himself into you. Either you’re as desperate as he is to cum, or you know his unspoken rule and intend to kamikaze dive off the edge with him in tow.

Whatever your motivation is, he can’t keep his train of thought on track — not with the way your slick has coated his balls, which slap sickly against your clit when he drives himself into you; not with the sight of your ass bouncing so deliciously against his pelvis, more so the harder he fucks you.

“Thrust are getting a little sloppy there, Hoseok,” you lilt through gritted teeth. Your teasing is interrupted by a breathless moan, but you still persist, “You about to cum, baby?”

He’s holding on for dear life — to your hips, to the last shred of his resolve. He is going to cum, but not before you do.

“N-no. Could do this all night.”

You shriek when his fingers dig deeper into your doughy flesh and slam you down onto his cock; the force of your thighs colliding with his leaves him tingling.

Two things happen in such quick succession that Hoseok doesn’t have time to process them. There’s you, creaming on his cock with a wail. Then there’s you calling him a liar as your cunt flutters around him, forcing him to empty himself completely with a toe-curling groan.

Hoseok collapses in a heap behind you when he finally finds the strength to pull his still-twitching dick out of your pussy. A potent mix of your joint release spills out of you in his absence; he’s only graced with the sight of it in the split-second before you turn around and crawl back over to him. Unceremoniously, you drop yourself into the space next to him and rest your head on his heaving chest.

“So,” he sighs, thoroughly blissed. He glances down his nose at you as he gently unsticks strands of your hair from the layer of sweat on his chest. “What did we learn about mouths writing checks?”

You try to hide your smile when you roll your eyes up at him. You sound exhausted but thoroughly amused when you respond, “Ass better be able to cash them.”

Hoseok pats your ass cheek affectionately, gives it a light squeeze for good measure. “Damn straight, petal.”

[higuchisora]

The idea of characters from other stories winding up in SVSSS has been stuck in my head for a while but I'm not gonna write abt it lmao so here's what's been rattling around in the ole noggin:

Toph:

Toph would be a genuine menace

Specifically on poor Liu Qingge, who hasn't the slightest clue how he wound up with yet another student

Earthbending should not be possible here. Earthbending is NOT possible here.

Toph invents earthbending here.

In fact, she only gets stronger. Because the cultivation aspects of the world means she's got even more qi and knows more about how to use it beyond earthbending.

She can now use qi itself to "see" (sensing others' qi, using it to sense movement, etc.) Not just earthbending

Lqg wants nothing to do with any more disciples. Especially not ones as annoying as yang yixuan

He gets a gremlin even more annoying than yang yixuan

He lies awake at night, regretting saving her life that one time on a hunt and kickstarting her path of being a Problem

Specifically, he saves her life one night while she's out trying to remaster earthbending, inspiring her to become a cultivator

She runs away from her noble family and their arranged marriage and stifling life that they've planned out for her and heads straight to Cang Qiong's Bai Zhan peak the first chance she gets

Refuses to take no for an answer, thus growing to become lqg's #1 menace

He both blesses and curses the day she was born

Lqg would sooner die than admit she's basically his other baby sister/daughter figure

Will outright refuse to fly on her sword When asked how she'll get around, the earth goddamn MOVES UNDER HER FEET and she causes several earthquake/mole monster sightings with these shenanigans

Is banned from this move

Begins to tunnel underground instead

She could arguably fly on her sword just fine, sensing the qi around her to navigate and shit, but it's harder and definitely uncomfortable and brings back bad memories of that one time in the volcano with Aang and Sokka

Luo Binghe wants her dead

She probably never gets strong enough to 1v1 him and win but she's definitely strong enough to become a genuine challenge

Especially when she reinvents metalbending

Rides for her shizun ong

Would probably fight lbh for lqg's honor after the SQQ corpse situation (he did not ask her to do this)

Aang:

The angel of Qing Jing peak fr

Or that monastery but we don't hear enough about them tbh

Has legitimately no idea how he got here, maybe too scared to question it actually

Like, did he really fuck up and end up getting ripped out of the avatar cycle orrrr????

Decides some things are better left unknown

The only struggle he really has is not being bald anymore

Honestly???? Might still shave his head and just stick to a wig

Would inevitably get caught or ALMOST caught and eventually gets used to growing it out (would probably become the inventor of extensions or wig glue though lmao)

Would make the spoiled qing jing disciples better just by being around them tbh

Star student probably, would be a menace in a cute way

One of the few men allowed on Xian Shu (for visits/messages)

Would probably befriend demons ngl

Loves flying on his sword

Prefers his staff though, and eventually figures out how to make/get someone to make one for him

No one knows how he does the air scooter. They are scared.

No one asks about the tattoos either.

Or how he's controlling all these fucking elements.

He doesn't have an avatar state anymore, but that doesn't seem to stop him from being wildly more dangerous than anyone expected

Possibly unlocks permanent cultivation-blocking? Like sealing off your core

Demons don't take note

Until he learns how to do the same for demonic cores

Exorcist Aang

Possibly becomes a rogue/wandering cultivator

Wandering rogue exorcist Aang????

He's either a god descended upon the earth or a heavenly demon in disguise, according to critics

He thinks it's all silly

Until he meditates too hard and communes with a god or something who tells him they may or may not have bargained to snatch his corner of the avatars soul for a reason

Uh oh

Sokka:

Does not know how he managed to get spiritual energy or cultivate

Actively chooses not to think too much about it

The head disciple of An Ding 😭

Absolutely salty about it

Shang Qinghua is endlessly grateful though

Does not know what to make of the long hair thing; probably tries to keep his hair in a half-pony still, as an ode to the water tribe

I've seen some fics where Qiong Ding is headcannoned as the bureaucratic peak; in this case, he might be able to sweet talk his way in if fate and Yue Qingyuan is kind enough

Either way he's grateful he gets to do sword stuff again

Especially now that he can FLY on them?!

He hasn't completely forgotten his skills, so he's got a whole different style no one's seen before and it's Weirdly Good Actually

He finally works his cultivation up enough to get his personal sword

Then he finally gets to summon his and he cries

It's space sword

No one knows what the fuck to make of this weird ass sword but he doesn't care, it's his and he loves it

Known as the best ever manager of An Ding peak

Katara:

Would have one (1) argument with her brother and march up to Xian Shu

Frequent visitor of Qing Jing and Qian Cao

Mu Qingfang mourns every day that she didn't choose the medicine peak

Katara maintains that she's too ready to beat some ass to ever be a full doctor and vow to do no harm

Never quite learns to be comfy with a sword but can still handle her own

During the demon invasion on Cang Qiong (assuming she's there at the time), she bloodbends Hualing right off the mountain

The demons do NOT stick around

The cultivators are too scared to ask her what the fuck that was but they're nicer to her than before

The xian shu peak gains a fearsome reputation of possibly teaching blood magic

No One gets how she does the waterbending stuff. Outsiders assume it's some Xian Shu ancient secret technique. Or she's related to Mobei Jun. Real members know Kataras just Like This.

Keeps the hair loopies. No matter what people say.

Wears a blue necklace similar to her mother's heirloom; a gift from her shizun probably

Genuinely enjoys the sisterhood on Xian Shu. It reminds her of the better days of her home, before the southern raiders came back

Zuko:

Could've chosen from several peaks, but chooses Bai Zhan

Something about the bamboo on Qing Jing reminds him of his uncle though, so he likes to visit. But not for too long. It hurts.

Isn't really bothered by the long hair thing; while cutting hair isn't forbidden in the fire nation, long hair is common practice, especially for nobles

Keeps the standard topknot until Toph calls it ugly

And then he remembers toph cannot see his topknot

Starts doing ponytails anyway

Also a star student of Bai Zhan, especially after he busts out the firebending forms

Yet another nuisance for poor lqg

He and Toph are the only two that can keep up with each other

Known as the Twin Stars of Bai Zhan

Aka the Twin Headaches of Liu Qingge

Has a small red birthmark near his eye, on the side that used to be burned

The fact that there isn't a massive burn is mildly uncomfortable to him at first. Doesn't feel like himself

Again, No One knows how all these kids with weird qi abilities are coming from

They're beginning to suspect they're all part demon

Neither he nor Toph ever defeat the demon heritage allegations

Especially not with the way they fight. And allegedly have a Past that no one else knows about

Would also fight Binghe for his Shizuns honor

Weirdly chill for Bai Zhan actually

Has probably made leaps and bounds from his avatar hunting days already

Most expect him to have gone to a quieter peak, it's baffling

Until he beats the shit outta somebody

And then goes back to being gentle and chill and forgiving

He wonders if uncle Iroh is watching over him here too

He can only hope his uncle is still proud of him, wherever he might be

Lqg isn't his uncle, but he's still a kind presence that Zuko looks up to a little, even if the guy is a little too punchy

Thus takes it upon himself to ride or die for him

One of the few dual wielders around

His curved blades are also a source of curiosity for the others

But he's good with them so no one complains

In a bingliushen situation, Zuko, Toph, and YYX are feral protective gremlins that somehow make things better AND worse for the development of the bingliushen courtship process lmao

I'll probably make more at some point but that's all for now. If someone wants to make a fic of these PLEASE let me know, link me I'm desperate

[yurislotusgarden]

Menaces in Love

ʚїɞ Nakahara Chuuya x Reader

ʚїɞ Keep in mind English is not my first language, so there may be mistakes!

ʚїɞ word count: 825

ʚїɞ Tw's: None! Just pure fluff, probably ooc Chuuya, you and Chuuya are married in this one loves, pet names used: doll, reader's gender is not specified in any way (hopefully), you both are goddamn menaces but in this one, it's mostly reader

It’s 3:07 am, a normal hour for the both of you to be awake. Chuuya was trying to fall asleep as he had to go out early in the morning, but goddammit are you not letting him do that. You’ve been asking dumb questions for the past half an hour, and surprisingly been quiet for the past 5 minutes. The ginger’s savoring it, to say the least.

Such a sad fact is that his dumbass of a spouse can’t stay quiet.

“Chuu?” A murmur came from behind, Your arms around his waist, a nice position, only if he could sleep.

“What is it this time?” The tone used by Chuuya is with no questions, showing being done.

“...I’m just thinking… what if aliens think that we are the aliens?” The [h/c]ette said with a for some reason serious tone, which caused questions in the gingers head, looking at the question asked.

Chuuya turned around, confused to hell and back “The fuck you talking about?”

Let’s just say there was a debate on that for over an hour and Chuuya indeed didn’t get his beauty sleep.

/////////////////////

It isn’t you.

The only thing on Chuuya’s mind were those simple 3 words.

Your dear husband has gotten sent on a longer mission, one that can take up to a week, and mind you, but our beloved short stack would want his routine cuddles right now. If there’s one thing he hates to miss, it’s those goddamn cuddles.

At the moment it was 4 am, and the short figure of his could be seen laying widely awake on the hotel bed, hugging a pillow, wishing and trying to imagine it was his beloved spouse.

“Goddammit, maybe they’re right, maybe I’m the clingy one”

///////////////////

5 am, that’s how late, or perhaps early, Chuuya came back to the apartment. He tried to be quiet, in case that you were asleep.

Wishful thinking.

The moment the ginger came relatively close to the bed, he was pulled down into a pair of arms.

“Missed you” A murmur from under him.

“I know, I missed you too” A quiet answer. A hand on your head, running though your hair.

The short figure chuckled, completely expecting something like this but still amused. A similar situation happens every time he’s on a mission longer than 3 days. 

“Have you slept lately?” Came the question from him, brown eyes looking at your face as much as he can in this position.

“Of course”

Chuuya knew it’s a lie, after all, you always had problems with sleeping if you were unsure of whether the ginger’s safe or not. The distance didn’t help for sure, but there’s no sense in pointing it out.

“I have free today if that helps, we can sleep in” Chuuya indeed does, Mori gave him a day off. For what reasons? The male doesn't know, and he thinks he’d rather stay in the dark on this one.

“Perfect, because there’s no way in hell we're getting out of this bed until 12”

//////////////////

“Alright alright alright but what about this?”

The ginger groans, he just wants to sleep. “Go to sleep”

“Do you think that we would still be together in an alternate universe?” A teasing whisper, where the ginger can practically hear your smile.

“Go to sleep” “What if Chuuya’s a girl there?” “Go to sleep” An excited gasp could be heard. “What if we have kids there by now-”

“you’re about to sleep on the couch-”

//////////////////

“I have a serious question” 

Chuuya looked over to the doorway from where he was sitting. “An actual serious question or is it serious in your eyes only?”

A  frown could be seen on your face. “An actual serious question Chuu Chuu” 

The ginger head only scowled at the nickname and stopped himself from making a comeback. He really doesnt know where you got the nickname from. “Then shoot”

“... Why me?” You answered in a quiet soft voice, making Chuuya confused. If there’s one thing he knows from all these years of knowing you, it’s that you don’t act like this unless you’re actually serious or truthful, just generally this kind of moments.

“Dumbass, it’s obvious” He couldn't stop himself from a small teasing while turning back around, just how dumb can his spouse get?

You groan. “Chuu! C’mon just answer my question!” Chuuya softly chuckles.

“Are you gonna answer or am I gonna stay in the dark?”

“...When I saw you, everyone else seemed to disappear”

////////////

“Listen Chuu. I can get your cereal-soup argument, but there’s absolutely nothing you can say or do in this universe  to convince me that a hot dog is a fucking sandwich”

“Wha- What do you mean?” The ginger was confused, why do you not get it? “Doll, it’s simple! Imagine the bread around as normal bread and the inside-”

“No!”

Both of you sometimes wonder why you’re married to each other of all people.

Notes, comments, reblogs and anything else is greatly appreciated <3

[tropes-and-tales]

If you're still taking requests from the smut list and if you're willing to write it, can I submit ❛ shh. there’s people in the other room. ❜ with Joel Miller? Please and spanks.

AN: 18+ only. Smut (PiV, unprotected).

AN2: This is specifically for the girlies who played the game and spent countless hours scavenging for sugar, rags, and half of a goddamned pair of scissors to craft a shitty weapon.

You know you are in trouble the moment Joel fixes you with that look.  You know the one.  The patented Joel Miller I’m so fucking furious right now that I can barely breathe look.  Joel’s famous vehement stare, unblinking, that sets his face stony and downright scary.

All the way back to the outpost outside of Casper, he’s deadly quiet.  His eyes, when they find you, are flat like a shark’s.  Each moment that passes, his silence grows until it feels menacing.  The back of your neck prickles in fear, as if there’s infected nearby.

The outpost is a small collective of people from Jackson, set up to serve as a catch-all.  A waystation to vet people bound for Jackson.  A sentry post for the collective there, always with a rider ready to fly in a moment’s notice.  You and Joel set out for your shifts there, and you’d been out scavenging nearby.

Your relationship with Joel is complicated, but it’s largely egalitarian.  He rarely gives orders, but today?

He told you to stay close.  You didn’t.

Nothing had happened.  No clickers, no feral human survivors.  Not a single scratch on your head, but when you finally emerged from a building—an old drug store that had been thoroughly picked over save for the broken pair of scissors tucked away in your bag—you had found Joel in a state of panic.  Grey in the face, panting through his fear.  At the sight of you, he had loosed a low animal moan you’d never heard him make before as he grabbed you, crushed you against his chest.

Then he fixed you with that look.  Then he bludgeoned you with silence the entire ride back.

-----

The house is mostly quiet, but there’s the sounds of the other inhabitants—shuffling in the other room, whispers, snores.  You and Joel are bunked up in your own room, tucked into your respective sleeping bags. 

Neither of you are asleep.  You can tell he’s still awake by the way he’s breathing.  You can’t imagine sleeping either:  your stomach twists and cramps at the cold front he’s throwing.  All evening, you’ve apologized.  

He ignores you each time.

You give it one last try.  You turn your head and study his profile in the near darkness of the room.  You swear you can see his clenched jaw even with the scant light.

“Joel…I’m sorry,” you whisper.  Your voice cracks and you hate yourself for sounding weak, like you might cry.  But you feel the creep of tears in your voice, the tightness in your throat.  “I didn’t mean to….”  You trail off, unsure what to say.  

You didn’t mean to scare him, but you didn’t think he could be scared over you.  Ellie?  Sure.  Tommy?  Okay.  But you?

You think of your relationship as complicated, but that’s just a pre-outbreak word to soften what you know it really is.  It’s convenient, not complicated.  The two of you fuck.  Joel finds relief in the warm confines of your body.  That’s it.

It’s only complicated because you love him.  It’s only complicated because the two of you fuck, and you wish it could be more.  It’s only complicated because the moment you each finish, he’s already far away again—even if he’s still inside you, or lying next to you—he’s already in his own impenetrable universe, leaving you alone.

It’s only complicated because Joel goddamned Miller is like flint striking in your craggy heart, coaxing a flickering ember into life despite living in a world gone to hell.

You let out a shaky sigh and roll away from him, and your heart is thundering so loud in your ears that you miss his rustling.  The unzipping of his sleeping bag, the snicking fabric as he pushes away and crawls the few feet separating you.

His hands on you.  His hands rolling you onto your back.  One hand pressed against your throat, holding you steady as the other hand undoes your sleeping bag.

One hand pressed to your throat as the other hand fumbles at your clothes.  The thin and worn sweatpants go first, shoved down your hips that you lift to help him.  They tangle on one foot, but Joel doesn’t care.

He keeps one hand on your throat as the other hand slides up your thigh and in.  He manhandles you, spreads you open.  He grasps the hot flesh of your inner thigh and pushes it away to make room for him, and he’s between your legs in an instant.

“Stubborn,” he pants in your ear, low.  He moves the hand from your throat and sets his forearm beside your head.  Braces himself.  His other hand moves down, fumbles at his own clothes.  He shoves his pants down just enough for his cock to spring free—already hard, hot and throbbing against your bare belly.

“Stubborn, stupid woman,” he hisses.  He rears back his head, stares down at you and you expect those same flat eyes, or maybe the blown-pupil dark eyes you usually see when you fuck, but Joel surprises you—he gazes at you with his big, brown eyes, and they are swimming with unshed tears.

He doesn’t break his gaze as he shifts his hips, then presses forward.  The broad tip of him nudges against your folds but goes no further.  He tilts his head, parts his lips to ask the usual terse question—the same question he always asks.

This okay?

And you always give the same response.  Yes.  Please. 

Nothing comes out of his mouth this time.  He parts his lips, tilts his head, but he says nothing.  He blinks against the tears and a single one breaks free, courses down the side of his nose.

“Joel—” you start to say, but he cuts you off.

“Shh.  There’s people in the other room.”  He’s gruffer than usual.  Meaner-sounding.  It’s incongruous to the lingering fear, the sorrow in his eyes.  You nod at him and he understands.

He pushes into you, breaches the confines of your body in one smooth motion.  It’s just a bit too fast, too soon, and you hiss against the sting of him.  He’s just a shade too big.  Fucking him walks a razor’s edge of pleasure and pain, the two feelings chasing and pushing each other until they blur into one indescribable sensation.

He’s not cruel about it.  He never is.  He stills once he’s seated inside you, the blunt crown of him nestled against the entrance to your womb.  Fuck, but he’s thick.  Even when he goes still like this, it takes concentration.  You breathe through it, you relax into him.  You will your clenching cunt to calm, to ease into the feeling of being claimed like this.  As you do, as you relax, your sensitivity heightens.  You can feel every ridge and curve of him, every vein.  The heavy heat of him spearing you open.

Then Joel starts to move.

It’s just the press of his hips forward at first.  It’s just the firmer press of him against the mouth of your womb, the thick pressure.  He works you up to it, draws back further with each thrust, sinks into you faster.  Harder.  His tempo quickens until he’s hammering you, and you’re obscenely wet now.  There’s people in the next room and they can surely hear the lurid squelching of your pussy, the sound of skin on skin, the creaking of the old wooden floor as he fucks you.

You don’t care.  You can’t care.  It’s all heat and pressure, cloying and choking.  You can feel him in your throat, cutting off your air.  You can feel him in your ribcage, a barb snagging at the chambers of your heart.  You can feel him in every bit of you, and it’s different from any other time.  It’s like he’s sinking into your DNA, sinking so deep into your body that the line between where he ends and you begin disintegrates.

It's also the way he’s staring at you.  Any other time, he closes his eyes or fixes them to some point past you.  He’s never looked you in the eye before while he fucked you, and you feel flayed and exposed.

“Gotta…fuck,” he chokes out.  He shakes his head and his hips stutter before he finds and resumes his tempo.  Joel reaches up with his non-bracing hand and cups your cheek, then slides it around to the back of your head to cradle it from where it rests on the wooden floor.  It’s tender and a little possessive.

It’s completely new.

“Darlin’, you gotta…fuck, you gotta stay alive.”  His breath fans across your face, and he grinds his pelvis into you.  The coarse curls at the base of him prickle wetly against your clit, and you swallow a moan at the sensation.  It distracts you from his words until he drops his head near your ear and repeats them in a low, harsh whisper.  Babbles them.

“Gotta stay alive for me, yeah?  Can’t lose you.  W-won’t.  But you gotta…oh, darlin’.  You gotta be more careful.  You can’t leave me.  Gotta s-stay alive.”

“Shhh.”  You shush him gently, and you lift your hand to brush the hair back from his face.  You smooth your palm over his curls.  You can’t promise him anything he’s asking:  life is too unpredictable.  Life can take too much in an instant.  You and Joel both had lives before the outbreak.  You both know what it means to lose.

You both know what it means to be lost.

“Promise me.”  He growls it, and he spears you with a particularly hard thrust when he says it, jerking a whimper from your lips.  “Promise me you’ll stay alive.”

You can’t.  You can’t promise to stay alive.  You could be bitten by a clicker.  You could break a leg and have it turn to gangrene.  You could catch a simple cold and succumb to fever.  

You wind your fingers through his silky curls and pull his head away from you until you can peer into his eyes.

“I promise to try,” you whisper, and it’s the best you can do.

He must understand.  He stares at you for a long beat, then nods.

Then he bends his head to kiss you.

He’s never kissed you before.  

He tastes like smoke.  He tastes cool, like the wind before a snowfall.  He tastes like the loamy soil where you grow your garden in Jackson.  He tastes like sorrow and rage and an exhaustion that’s marrow deep.  He tastes like love and sacrifice.  He tastes wholly and utterly Joel.

The kiss never ends:  he tastes you too, maps the inside of your mouth with his tongue.  He runs the tip of his tongue over each tooth, over the ridge of your palate, slides it against your own tongue.  He kisses you like he’s desperate to know you, and he breathes with you, swallows with you.  Echoes your quiet moans with his own, gruffer groans.  He fucks you as he kisses you and you feel lightheaded and dizzy to be so thoroughly possessed by this man.

“Joel,” you breathe against him.  It’s a warning and a plea.  You’re so close.  You can feel your orgasm like a steep cliff in front of you, and you’re so close to falling off.  You ache with the drag and plunge of his heavy cock, the way your cunt strains around him, grips him, draws him deeper.

“I got you, darlin’,” he drawls, and he does.  He reaches down and draws his thumb through the messy slick of your cum that’s leaked out of you.  He swipes his slicked-up thumb over the swollen bud of your clit.  He times his thrumming to the same tempo as his punishing thrusts, and he kisses at the same tempo, and it’s too much, far too much and it shoves you off that steep cliff until you’re falling, tumbling through the darkness as sparks prickle in your periphery.

Joel?  Joel falls too.  He pushes himself as far as he can, as deep as he can, like he wants to slip inside you completely and then he comes too.  You feel it—the molten heat of his cum, searing you.  Branding you inside.  Marking you as his.

Any other time, he’d part from you quick.  He’d pull out, offer you a single chivalrous bit of aid to clean you up, help you reassemble yourself.  

This time, he doesn’t.  He eases the bulk of his body onto you.  He traps you firmer between the floor and his broad body, but he keeps enough weight on his arms to not crush you completely.

Then you feel it:  wetness on your face.  Tears.

“Darlin’,” he starts to choke out, but his voice is thick with grief, watery with tears.  

“It’s okay,” you assure him.  You guide his head to rest against you, and you hold him firm.  “It’s okay.  I’m here.  I’ve got you.”

[befuddledcinnamonroll]

15 Day BL Challenge

Day 7: Favorite Villain

I do like me a good villain. But good villains can also be hard to find. There's a lot of one-dimensional villains out there, or they're so horribly abusive & homophobic that you just want them to die.

I much prefer villains with some dimension and complexity, though I can be won over by a villain who's just clearly having a ton of fun.

So who to pick...

I do like Vegas a lot, but I kinda don't see him as a villain? He's an antagonist for sure, and does some dark stuff, but he's clearly a victim in a lot of ways, and gets the secondary romance in the story. Not that that's mutually exclusive from villainy, but it's just not how my brain categorizes him.

I looooved Heng's portrayal of Chalothon; he did so much to add dimension to a fairly thinly-written character, but we didn't get to see Chalothon's change of heart, or the incredible acting Heng would have brought to it, so that makes him slip down overall for me. (Can you just imagine the scene of Chalothon giving his Naga soul to Tharn? We get so few good villain turns in BL. I'm so pained at the deprivation).

I do have a soft spot for Aoey in Lovely Writer, largely due to Bruce's acting. He's a very interesting character in terms of a person who had a chance for his own beautiful real love story, and just made all the wrong choices, time after time. (I mean who in their right mind would say no to Chap?)

Oh who are we kidding, y'all know I am a fanatic for Not Me. I'm going to have to go with my boy Todd.

Sing is such a versatile actor, I don't think he gets nearly enough credit for what a chameleon he is. He's really good at fluffy roles for sure, but when he had to turn on the menace as Todd, he absolutely delivered.

He plays Todd's turn from "helpful friend" to "rich bastard" perfectly and in such a believable way. He's chillingly realistic in his belief that the only way to change the world is to buy it, and make it his.

And of course we can't talk about Todd without talking about his relationship with Black, how fucking thrilled Todd is when he realizes Black is awake from his coma (that Todd is responsible for), and how these two consistently try to kill one another, but can't, because of their deep fucked up love (they bone in between fights, you can never convince me otherwise).

Also, the scenes between Gun & Sing are goddamn acting masterclasses.

If we ever get our Joong Archen serial killer show, Sing needs to be his accomplice.

@negrowhat's full challenge here

[shares-a-vest]

@steddie-week Day 4: Trade | Body Swap | Wouldn't It Be Good by Nik Kershaw

wc: 1.4k | Rated: M for Steve and Eddie being naked this entire ficlet, Suggestive Language, Eddie simply relishing in waking up in Steve’s body hehe | cw: None

Tags: Body Swap, Humour, Idiot4Idiot, Crack, Eddie Munson is a Menace, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington (and everything about him, wink wonk), Masturbation

Some Freaky Friday Shit | Read on ao3

Steve blinks awake to a feeling of warmth pressed flush against the front of his bare body. He snuggles close, despite that warmth bordering on being a little too hot.

But his sleepy brain figures it’s just the Munson’s trailer, stuffy now that summer has peaked, even if every window in the place is opened. It might even be a lingering reminder of the heated night before, Steve thinks, humming as he recalls Eddie’s body moving in sync with his own, their skin growing tacky with sweat as they careened towards bliss.

Steve kisses Eddie’s shoulder and smiles against warmed skin, breathing in the scent of his own shampoo. He skims his hand up his boyfriend’s front to place his hand over Eddie’s heart when the tips of his fingers hit coarse hair.

… Wait.

Steve’s eyes snap open and he recoils, moving back far enough that he hits his head against the wall the bed backs onto. He yelps, reaching for the back of his noggin, this time feeling thin, frizzed, long hair brush against his fingers.

He thinks his eyes might bulge out of his – or Eddie’s, it seems – eye sockets as he stares down at the sleeping figure in Eddie’s bed and finds himself face-to-face with his own bare shoulder.

“Eddie!” Steve screams, launching himself over the figure to jump clean out of the single bed.

He coughs away and Eddie crumbles, distracted now as whispy, curling bangs blink into his eyes.

Steve shakes his head, the hair bouncing out of his field of vision enough to reveal the (now less sleepy) figure and yep – that’s himself he’s looking at.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” he – the other person – screams with Eddie’s shrill tone.

Eddie-as-himself scrambles out of bed too –

And that’s when Steve realises they are both naked, their clothes from last night scattered about beneath their feet.

He pinches his nose – but not before one of Eddie’s cumbersome rings scratches him on the cheek.

“Shit,” he mutters, wincing at the sting of it.

Steve balls up his – Eddie’s – fists, clenching too hard as he overestimates the size of his hands. He looks over at himself, panicked by the sound of Eddie’s mischievous giggling and sure enough, his kinda-double is swaying from side to side, looking down at his, well…

Goddamnit! Why did they decide to take full advantage of Wayne being on night shift last night?

Eddie tsks between giggles.

“This thing is heavy, ain’t it?”

At least with some clothes on, Eddie might not have gotten to this scene so goddamn fast!

He continues waving from side to side, thoroughly inspecting himself-Steve’s-self. Eddie then cups his balls one at a time, before smoothing his hands over his inner thighs, humming as he visibly shudders, relishing in Steve’s own hairy upper thighs. Steve grimaces at the moment he knows Eddie’s pea-brain clicks and remembers the thick thatch of hair on his chest. His double-slash-boyfriend reaches up and runs his fingers through it.

Eddie closes his eyes, all blissed out as he fondles his not-self.

Steve screws his eyes shut, both offended and queasy over the very-real-and-completely-weird situation before him. A conundrum Eddie doesn’t seem to care about all that much beyond groping himself.

“Eddie,” Steve whines, “What are we gonna do?”

“Idunnoknow,” Eddie oh-so-helpfully offers, “Some Freaky Friday shit?”

His eyes snap open.

“Some Freaking Friday shit?” Steve exclaims, “Eddie, we need to figure this out!”

“No, we don’t,” Eddie argues. He makes a face, as if like such a suggestion is the dumbest thing Steve could possibly say, “I mean, at least… Not… right now…”

He drifts off absentmindedly, looking over at the bedroom door. Steve recoils at the wicked flash that soon crosses his own face, an unsettling mix of his own features somehow capturing the very essence of Eddie.

Eddie, who now takes a suspicious step towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Steve shrieks, both sceptical of what has now turned into a cheeky bottom lip bite and also terrified of being left alone like this.

He reaches for Eddie, but a large hand waves him away.

“I’m just going to the bathroom,” Eddie says, avoiding Steve’s (his own) eye and pouts, “Have I ever told you that you have horrendous morning breath?”

He shudders and opens the door, continuing on to the bathroom, where Steve gets an eyeful of his own bare ass jiggling with each step as Eddie-as-himself walks in and closes the door without another word. Steve can’t help but smirk at the sight – confirmation that he does indeed, have a fantastic ass.

But his (slightly bizarre, given the context) self-absorption dissipates when Steve hears the lock on the bathroom door click with all the clarity in the world.

Oh, no!

Steve stumbles forward, off-kilter like he’s a baby deer finding its footing. He stops and stands upright, steadying his hand on the corner of Eddie’s desk as he gathers himself.

He attempts to tread lightly in this new (hopefully temporary) body. His torso feels solid and Steve knows that Eddie possesses a deceptive level of core strength. But his legs feel far too light and are in fact, as gangly as they look.

Worst of all, however, is how cold Steve feels now that his initial panic and the warmth of Eddie’s – no, his own – body has subsided. Even with a head of long hair that Steve remembers made them both all hot and sweaty last night, inhabiting Eddie’s typical body temperature makes him shiver.

By the time he shuffles to the bathroom (a distance that is usually a mere three paces), Steve is distracted by the jangling of Eddie’s necklace – a new guitar pic alongside a series of charms the kids made with Robin back when he was in the hospital. Steve reaches to clasp his hand over it, but a ring snags a rogue strand of hair this time and he tugs before he can stop himself.

He yelps and shakes his head – only to send wild tendrils of long, dark hair every which way.

Steve spits like a cat on the attack, blinded with hair in his eyes and in his mouth and catching on his lashes –

Seriously, how does Eddie live like this?

“F-fuck,” he coughs, swatting at his face, “Eddie?”

“Eh – umphf. Oh, uh...” Eddie hums in reply before spluttering, “Jesus C-Christ, sweetheart! I know I always say it, but your hands are so b-big.”

There’s a choked-off garbled noise – a sound that sends Steve’s heart racing. He yanks at the doorknob and violently shakes it.

“Eddie!” he shrieks, “Get your hands off-a me!”

“Can’t – eh – ohhh…” Eddie moans before stage-whisper-whining, “That v-vein! … Sure is sensitive.”

“Shut the fuck up and open the door.”

Eddie clears his throat.

“Just a second!” he chimes, his voice echoing behind the door.

There’s a series of fumbling noises and little eh-sounds, all of which seem ridiculous to Steve considering Eddie is already undressed. He grumbles at a brief sound of the faucet and it all sounds like Eddie is feigning brushing his teeth. Steve isn’t sure if he should start worrying about how things like toothbrushes and underwear will work in their current predicament –

And he doesn’t have time to gripe about it either as Eddie opens the door.

Steve yelps at the sight of himself and Eddie-as-himself pouts, his lips downturning at the corners as his brows knit together and he sighs.

“And here I was thinking I was such a phenomenal lover. That it was my expertise working you up so quick,” Eddie laments, shoulders sagging, “Turns out you can get a hard-on with any touch below the belt – oh, and did I mention your balls are kind of itchy? It must be the weather...”

He tilts his head to the side, lost in his own thoughts.

But Steve looks down and gasps.

Eddie has worked himself (himself?) up to a decent semi already and Steve feels his stomach lurch at the warmth and definitely-primal-and-totally-uncontrollable little quickening of his heart. A sensation that heads south at a rapid pace.

He gulps and looks back up to find Eddie biting his bottom lip, reaching up to twirl the longest length of Steve’s own bed hair between his fingers.

Steve frowns, “Stop talking about my balls.”

Eddie wiggles his brows now in a way Steve knows he could never recreate himself – and it’s spooky, really.

“But they’re mine now,” Eddie grins, his – Steve’s – previously non-existent dimples dotting his cheeks with devilsh glee. It makes Steve want to scream as Eddie reaches for his (own) hand, “Come on, precious. Let’s have fun. I wanna take this baby for a spin.”

“My body isn’t a car!”

“But Stevie!”

“Eddie!”

[beebobeebo]

Title: Don't Feed Your Cat Mac and Cheese

Fandom: Justified

Pairing: Raylan x Tim (Givenson)

Characters: Raylan Givens & Tim Gutterson

Summary:

The kitten is now a cat.

The light gets in your eye.

Two ideas get stuck together.

Inspired by @boyd-clowder (who I should make some actual Boyd content for) and a tweet about girls and pasta. Images at end.

Raylan stares at the cat who matches him blink for blink. The creature has taken to lurking and offering a yowl at breaks in conversation.

"He's not a kitten anymore."

"You figured out the passage of time? I'll alert the Sorbonne." Tim pats idly at the roughly twenty pounds of cat curled up on his chest. He's effectively penned to the couch and not in the least bit troubled.

Raylan snorts. "Yeah, yeah. It's just it seems like a week ago he was nothin' more than a popcorn fart."

Tim raises up just enough to look over Ox, the feline formerly known as Oxy-kitten. "Popcorn…I would ask, but I don't want to know." His head lolls back. "I'm going to nap while I've got you to watch the door and Ox to watch you."

"You don't nap," Raylan says, but the only responses are a yowl and a rude gesture.

Hours later, Raylan starts awake in the chair in which he'd posted himself. Tim has disappeared from the couch leaving only the menacing scowl (?) of Ox in the dark. "Where's your-"

Tim is standing in the kitchen, his head tilted ever so slightly as he stirs a pot on the stove. The crummy, yellow bulb over the range is for damned sure working some kind of magic beyond its measly forty watts. There's a warm glow behind the man's face. It filters through his hair in a halo that brings out the last tinge of gold in his darkening curls. The cut of his jaw, the slope of his throat, and the line of his brow are sharpened in the dim backlight. You can see his goddamn eyelashes.

"Hey," Raylan says as he stands. "You… you look…" You look like a goddamn angel when a couple of hours ago you looked like a little shit.

"While you're workin' on that remark, do you want some blue box?"

"Some what?" Raylan feels the moment slipping away. Tim fades back into his normal self.

"Macaroni and cheese?" Tim tilts the pot so that Raylan can see the nuclear yellow contents. "You okay over there?" he asks as he goes to spoon a helping into Ox's bowl.

"Yeah, yeah." Raylan wipes a hand down his face. "I'm good. I'll take whatever you're offerin'."

Jesus Christ.