#it actually is slightly less worse than before

[hyperfocusthusly]

Lifelines

——-

Tommy had been staring at his phone, typing out a message, an apology, anything. He always ends up deleting it. Over and over, so when it actually rings in his hand he almost drops it. The news hits him like a train, pushes everything else to the background.

His sister is dead. Her and her husband, car accident, didn’t stand a chance.

The flight is bad, the funeral worse and then someone from social services shows up with a baby he met once when she was newborn and only really recognises from pictures. The woman hands him a 6 month old child and explains that this is what they wanted. The will stipulated that he would be their guardian in such a circumstance.

He stares at her tiny face. She stares back.

He shuts the door and wonders how anyone could think this was the right choice.

——-

He has to tell his Captain. He chooses to tell Lucy. He distinctly chooses not to tell anyone else.

——-

Babies are hard, as it turns out. There’s no room for grief with an insistent baby taking up every waking second. No rest from being relentlessly needed. No telling her she’d be better off without him.

He thinks about calling.

While he watches her crawl down his hallway after a woodlouse, pointing insistently, letting out an excited little “ah!” as the bug in question scuttles under the shoe rack. She follows it carefully, watching with an intense curiosity that makes something churn deep inside Tommy’s chest.

He thinks about calling.

The first time she gets a fever and won’t settle unless she’s upright on his chest. It’s not the first time Tommy has gone 24 hours without sleep but it feels worse. His nerves scraped raw from her distress. His hand on her back counting her breaths over and over. He thinks about calling.

But what could he possibly say?

——-

The secrecy works until it doesn’t. Until the morning that Chimney is stood in the local doctor’s car park watching Tommy, darker eyed and more scruffy, strap an 8 month old into a seat in the back of his truck. Tommy doesn’t see him, or hear Jee whisper “is that Uncle Tommy daddy? Is that his baby?”

——-

It’s how Chimney ends up stood outside of Tommy’s door one lunchtime. He isn’t home but Chimney knows he needs to wait. He knows what trying to handle a baby that age by yourself is like.

When Tommy gets home and sees who is waiting for him Chimney has to give him credit for actually pulling into the driveway rather than continuing in the opposite direction.

Tommy gets out of the car, Chimney doesn’t miss the moment he takes to collect himself before looking up to him.

“What are you doing here Howie?” He sounds ragged.

“Just checking in, two months is too long, I’m sure someone owes someone a beer.”

He goes for light hearted, trying to ease out some of the tension that has appeared in Tommy’s stance. He is hovering by the back door of his truck, fingers tucked into the door handle, endlessly thankful that she closed her eyes and fell asleep on the drive home. Something hovers in the air between them until Chimney takes a step forward.

“I saw you at the doctor’s last week.” Tommy’s brows crease slightly, then pull back as he realises what Chimney is actually telling him.

“Are you going to hide her from me forever?” Tommy looks relieved somehow, less trapped. He shakes his head and carefully takes her out of the car. Settling her into the crook of his arm and pulling her diaper bag over his shoulder.

“I don’t really drink beer too much anymore.”

“A coffee then?”

“Yeah.” He swallows nervously, tries not to let the implications of this meeting, and the conversation he knows is coming, get to him. “I could do with a coffee.”

—-

[read on A03]

Tagging some people who interacted with my abstract post about this (hope you enjoy!🫶🏻);

@leashybebes @beanarie @accefan-blog @big-urchin-energy @loucifersbitch @fyrehose @evansbuck-ley @sad-girl-hours23 @certifiedbisexualdisaster @theweewooshow @beckym2001 @kinardevans

And also some beloved pals;

@bidisasterevankinard @rubydaiquiri @sweaters-and-silly @apassingbird @sunnywithachanceofbi @theotherbuckley @desert--moonchild @comfortingevanbuckley @livelaughlou @epiphainie @actuallyitsellie @typicalopposite @wikiangela @bi-bi-buckleys @littlepaws9 @ohithankyou

[fereldanwench]

so wellbutrin has done a lot to counter my stress eating but i don't think anything is powerful enough to combat my PMS cravings

still a fucking bottomless pit like 5 days before my period lmao

[drdemonprince]

The data does not support the assumption that all burned out people can “recover.” And when we fully appreciate what burnout signals in the body, and where it comes from on a social, economic, and psychological level, it should become clear to us that there’s nothing beneficial in returning to an unsustainable status quo. 

The term “burned out” is sometimes used to simply mean “stressed” or “tired,” and many organizations benefit from framing the condition in such light terms. Short-term, casual burnout (like you might get after one particularly stressful work deadline, or following final exams) has a positive prognosis: within three months of enjoying a reduced workload and increased time for rest and leisure, 80% of mildly burned-out workers are able to make a full return to their jobs. 

But there’s a lot of unanswered questions lurking behind this happy statistic. For instance, how many workers in this economy actually have the ability to take three months off work to focus on burnout recovery? What happens if a mildly burnt-out person does not get that rest, and has to keep toiling away as more deadlines pile up? And what is the point of returning to work if the job is going to remain as grueling and uncontrollable as it was when it first burned the worker out? 

Burnout that is not treated swiftly can become far more severe. Clinical psychologist and burnout expert Arno van Dam writes that when left unattended (or forcibly pushed through), mild burnout can metastasize into clinical burnout, which the International Classification of Diseases defines as feelings of energy depletion, increased mental distance, and a reduced sense of personal agency. Clinically burned-out people are not only tired, they also feel detached from other people and no longer in control of their lives, in other words.

Unfortunately, clinical burnout has quite a dismal trajectory. Multiple studies by van Dam and others have found that clinical burnout sufferers may require a year or more of rest following treatment before they can feel better, and that some of burnout’s lingering effects don’t go away easily, if at all. 

In one study conducted by Anita Eskildsen, for example, burnout sufferers continued to show memory and processing speed declines one year after burnout. Their cognitive processing skills improved slightly since seeking treatment, but the experience of having been burnt out had still left them operating significantly below their non-burned-out peers or their prior self, with no signs of bouncing back. 

It took two years for subjects in one of van Dam’s studies to return to “normal” levels of involvement and competence at work. following an incident of clinical burnout. However, even after a multi-year recovery period they still performed worse than the non-burned-out control group on a cognitive task designed to test their planning and preparation abilities. Though they no longer qualified as clinically burned out, former burnout sufferers still reported greater exhaustion, fatigue, depression, and distress than controls.

In his review of the scientific literature, van Dam reports that anywhere from 25% to 50% of clinical burnout sufferers do not make a full recovery even four years after their illness. Studies generally find that burnout sufferers make most of their mental and physical health gains in the first year after treatment, but continue to underperform on neuropsychological tests for many years afterward, compared to control subjects who were never burned out. 

People who have experienced burnout report worse memories, slower reaction times, less attentiveness, lower motivation, greater exhaustion, reduced work capability, and more negative health symptoms, long after their period of overwork has stopped. It’s as if burnout sufferers have fallen off their previous life trajectory, and cannot ever climb fully back up. 

And that’s just among the people who receive some kind of treatment for their burnout and have the opportunity to rest. I found one study that followed burned-out teachers for seven years and reported over 14% of them remained highly burnt-out the entire time. These teachers continued feeling depersonalized, emotionally drained, ineffective, dizzy, sick to their stomachs, and desperate to leave their jobs for the better part of a decade. But they kept working in spite of it (or more likely, from a lack of other options), lowering their odds of ever healing all the while. 

Van Dam observes that clinical burnout patients tend to suffer from an excess of perseverance, rather than the opposite: “Patients with clinical burnout…report that they ignored stress symptoms for several years,” he writes. “Living a stressful life was a normal condition for them. Some were not even aware of the stressfulness of their lives, until they collapsed.”

Instead of seeking help for workplace problems or reducing their workload, as most people do, clinical burnout sufferers typically push themselves through unpleasant circumstances and avoid asking for help. They’re also less likely to give up when placed under frustrating circumstances, instead throttling the gas in hopes that their problems can be fixed with extra effort. They become hyperactive, unable to rest or enjoy holidays, their bodies wired to treat work as the solution to every problem. It is only after living at this unrelenting pace for years that they tumble into severe burnout. 

Among both masked Autistics and overworked employees, the people most likely to reach catastrophic, body-breaking levels of burnout are the people most primed to ignore their own physical boundaries for as long as possible. Clinical burnout sufferers work far past the point that virtually anyone else would ask for help, take a break, or stop caring about their work.

And when viewed from this perspective, we can see burnout as the saving grace of the compulsive workaholic — and the path to liberation for the masked disabled person who has nearly killed themselves trying to pass as a diligent worker bee. 

I wrote about the latest data on burnout "recovery," and the similarities and differences between Autistic burnout and conventional clinical burnout. The full piece is free to read or have narrated to you in the Substack app at drdevonprice.substack.com

[autism-corner]

hm

[elek-tavor]

btw i do wanna say, i'm enjoying datv. i am absolutely being critical of it, of course, but like... this is a dragon age game. honestly, scratch that, it's a popular fantasy game. there's a ton of shit to criticise always. but beyond that, i don't agree with the complaints personally. or maybe "don't agree" is not the most correct term, as we are speaking on matters of taste here (and i promise "i want companions to hate each other more" is fully a personal taste thing). but what i'm trying to say is i myself am overall enjoying the experience. far more than i enjoyed inquisition that i just replayed for sure. i like the group, i like the friendships and the romances and how a lot of things relationship-wise are set up (mostly). i think the combat is fun and it's honestly the best option i've seen for a game where you travel with a whole party outside of turn-based combat, which dragon age would never do. i think the way quests work in a fairly linear but still rather loose way is good for this kind of a game too. so i'll be stuck on this one for a while and will definitely be making a couple of ocs at least :)

[yjhzies]

“Favourite.” — Choi Seungcheol

⸝⸝୭ ˚. fluff . one-shot . cute

⋆ pairings : dad!seungcheol x f!reader ⋆ warning : none! (let me know if there is ^^) ⋆ wc : 0.5k [✉️] · What could be worse than not being his own little babygirl's favourite? According to Seungcheol.

⋆ - note : yes I'm back after like one month<3.... BUT THIS IS THE FIRST DAD FIC IVE WRITTEN ^^ hope you enjoy it!

"Why? don't you like daddy?"

"No, no!"

You heard your shared bedroom filled with the sounds of your husband and daughter having a lighthearted argument. You slightly open the door and peek inside.

"What's going on?" As you ask, Seungcheol turns to face you with a pouty and sulky expression on his face.

He sat on the floor, holding your daughter in his lap while she played with her father's hair.

"Baby..." Seungcheol, your husband and the father of the little girl in his arms, pouted. You couldn't really make out who was the little kid here. The man, or the actual child?

You chuckle as you approach them and take a seat on the floor next to them. "What's wrong?"

The little girl, who was too busy messing with his hair, could not care less about what was going on around her. He sighed and looked at the her. "Sweetheart, who do you think is better? me or mommy?"

"Mommy!" The little girl chirped, finally turning to face you. With a giggle, she pushed herself free from Cheol's grasp and climbed onto your lap.

"Awh, you think I'm better?" You coo, and your daughter nods as she hugs you. Meanwhile, the man next to you was frowning.

"Not fair..." he mumbled, and turned to face both of you.

"But I let you to play with my hair, sweetheart," Seungcheol said, taking his daughter's tiny hand in his. His grip was so gentle, as if he was holding a light feather. And it melted your heart slowly.

"But I like the cookies mommy makes!" With a frown on her face, the little girl spoke. Seungcheol scooted closer to you, and looked at her with pleading eyes. But he couldn't help the way his pout faded into a faint smile at the sight of his daughter adorable frown. "I can also learn to bake cookies for you, better ones!"

You scoff playfully, "Dad can't bake better cookies than me, alright?"

Seungcheol huffed, wrapping his arm around your waist and snuggling on your side, his cheek squished against your shoulders.

"Now I got both of my girls against me," he sighed, shaking his head as he pouted.

"Too bad~" Your daughter cooed playfully, and Cheol gasped.

"Look, our daughter has learned to bully me now..."

You were enjoying the playful banter. You were enjoying Seungcheol's willingness to give up anything if it meant his daughter would choose him. You loved how soft he was for you and especially his daughter.

"Awh, look sweetheart, you made dad upset." You say, and the little girl, confused, glances between you and Cheol. She took her time processing what was going on in her tiny brain before reaching out to Seungcheol, who was burying his face in your shoulder.

"Sorry, I'm sorry..." She pouted and crawled into her father's lap, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck and hugging him.

Seungcheol didn't know whether to scream from the cuteness aggression, or just cry. But he hugged her back. His grip firm but gentle. The little girl patted his back, and he smiled at you.

"I see, I'm no longer favourite. Neither you or your dad." You joke, smiling at the sight of your husband and daughter. Seungcheol moves closer to you, wrapping his other arm around your waist.

"No, I have my two favourite girls. You and this little girl." He smiled, kissing the top of your head.

[reidmania]

close to you | spencer reid

summary; you and Spencer aren’t technically anything — but you are so much more then nothing. He is wrapped around your finger, just as much as you are around his.

warnings; situationship!! more than friends, less than a couple! bau!worker reader, they both drink alcohol, mentions clubbing, its fluff more than anything, they are in love! fem reader. idk its pretty fluffy!! spencer a cocky teasing idiot umm reader is lowkey shy idk . slightest tiniest bit of angst if u drink a bottle of tequila and spin 26 times then squint.

an; fluff!! a rare occurrence for reidmania!! not proof read bc idc enough tbh!! thank u!!

Clubs were never your scene, its not that you had a problem necessarily with people who enjoyed it, you didn’t judge people who got drunk and hooked up with strangers or made an overwhelming mess of themselves.

It just wasn’t your scene.

The blaring music, way too loud. Sweaty dancing bodies tangled together in the crowd, the combination of different perfumes and colognes that filled their air overwhelming and leaving you feeling light headed in the worse way.

Why had you agreed to this? It was Penelope’s idea to go clubbing as a stress reliever after a particularly difficult case. You were going to say no at first, you really really were. You were gonna complain about it being a waste of time and energy to spend a few hours dancing and being hit on by way too old, way too creepy men.

But then Spencer agreed. Shocking. You were shocked and very stunned.

How could you say no now?

You stayed back as the girls of the team danced around other sweaty strangers, Derek was there too actually — spinning Garcia around with one hand, a drink in the other. You leant against the bar, admiring the sight before you.

You didn’t need to be involved or cascaded in by other random people. You were okay right here, just watching and appreciating the sight of your friends and the closest people in your life laughing and having a good time. You didn’t need anything more.

Until your eyes flickered towards the corner, where Spencer was standing, holding a drink in his hand — also just admiring the sight of your teammates on the floor. The pink glow of the lights that filled the bar leaving his face in a warm hue and highlighting every little feature. His sleeves rolled up over his elbows. Your eyes flickered down to his hands that wrapped around the glass he was holding. Gaze trailing along every vein that was exaggerated by the way his hand was placed.

Then your eyes trailed back up to his face, and your breath caught in your throat when you saw his eyes flicker towards you. There was something new — a look you hadn’t really seen before amongst his features. He offered you a gentle smile, as he tilted his head slightly encouraging you to come over towards him so you weren’t sitting alone.

Your legs moved faster than your head could think. You noticed this was a common thing. You were completely and utterly enthralled by Spencer Reid. Completely wrapped around his finger and he didn’t even know it. — Or maybe he did, you weren’t sure but you also weren’t sure you cared.

Anything he said, you believed. Anything he encouraged, you followed. Any small demand or suggestion and you were obligating without a second thought or an ounce of common sense.

“Hi” you mumbled out gently when you got close enough to talk to him. He smiled gently, tilting his head a little as he leant further against the wall. There was something cocky about the look in his eye and the way he raised his eyebrow at you.

“You doing alright?” He asked, carrying a hint of teasing in his tone and you were pretty sure you were about to pass out.

Maybe it was the few drinks you had, too many too fast as a form of coping with the scene around you.

You nodded. He grinned as his free hand reached out gently to brush a few stray hairs away from your face, then moving hair behind your shoulder, fingertips brushing against the skin of your neck. Your breath hitched at the feeling, his cold hands burning against the sensitive skin, leaving a hot trail in their path before his hand returned to his side.

God you could marry the man on the spot. Like genuinely, if someone gave you the papers you would be signing every single dotted line the document had to offer.

“Sorry.” He huffed out an apology and you wanted to kiss him to show him just how fine it was. How you felt your stomach burning — you knew that wasn’t just from the alcohol.

You shook your head, quickly. Craving his touch all over again as your eyes trailed down his forearms again. Did he roll up his sleeves just to drive you insane?

“Its.. Fine” You nodded slightly distracted — very distracted.

He snorted. Spencer Reid was oblivious 99% of the time — the smartest man maybe ever, a genius, a walking encyclopaedia, he was oblivious 99% of the time to social cues — what he wasn’t oblivious to, was you.

“Its fine?” He repeated back, his teeth coming to sink into his bottom lip as he looked down at you, eyes on your face as yours flickered from his hand to his eyes.

Eyes that were already on you.

You furrowed your eyebrows as you nodded, because it was fine. You assumed maybe the misplaced piece of hair was contrasting with his need for perfection too much of the time and bothered him to the point he just — needed, to do something about it. You missed the way his head tilted and his eyebrow raised. Until you didn’t.

He was teasing you.

“You’re an asshole” You mumbled out, rolling your eyes as you turned to walk away — noticing he was having a great time. but there was nothing malicious about your tone nor your words. There was nothing malicious you could say about Spencer even if you really really tried. Even if you said the meanest cruelest thing in the world your fond tone would give you away.

You heard his loud laugh, before he was reaching out to grab your wrist, pulling you gently back towards him, bringing you flush towards his chest as his hand moved from your wrist to your head as it rested against his dress shirt — his suit jacket hanging from the back of a chair somewhere.

His hand cupped the back of your head as his fingers carded gently through your hair. “No- Im sorry- Im sorry. Stay here” He said gently as his fingertips scratched against the back of your scalp gently. Whatever it was that was going on between you and Spencer — you just didn’t want it to end.

You hummed, hands pulling upwards to wrap around his mid-section, running gently up and down his back off the white dress shirt as you stayed in place against him. This was a lot better than sitting and watching your friends. Being close to him, in his arms, surrounded by his scent.

“Are you coming home with me tonight?” He asked gently, a soft whisper in your ear as if anyone else would hear over the loud music surrounding you. It made your heart flutter anyways — because it was meant just for you.

You nodded, you weren’t going to originally. Actually your body was aching for a good nights rest in your own bed, after being away for a week on an all too draining case.

Seemingly enough, your body ached more for the closeness with Spencer he was happy to provide.

“Yeah? Thats my girl” He said, voice gentle and quiet, just loud enough for you to hear as his lips pressed down against the top of your head, his fingers continuing to run gently through your hair and over your scalp, holding you close to him.

You let out another hum. Even though technically you weren’t ‘his’ girl — you were. Despite the lack of labels on the situation between you two, you were his girl. This was why you agreed to come out after Spencer did. This, being close to him surrounded by a scene neither of you particularly enjoyed — but with each other so it didn’t matter.

“Can we go?” You asked, tilting your head back in his hand to look up at him, he paused his gentle caressing against your hair as he met your eyes, he brought his hand away and instead to your jawline, fingers gently running across the soft skin of your cheek as he one handedly cupped your face.

He wet his lips with his tongue before getting out a soft nod, “Mhm, We can do anything you want sweet girl” He said gently, seemingly just as captivated by the look on your face as you were with the look on his. You knew his words were true. He would do anything you asked of him. He proved that time after time again.

Maybe on late nights alone in bed you would wonder a little too hard about the unspeakable chemistry that overpowered the air between you two, and remained unspoken but for right now, just being close to him was enough.

He was close enough.

[pynkfairyheart]

Hii I was wondering if you could do an collage au armin arlert oneshot, imagine or Drabble (totally up to you) where armin is a very popular soccer player at the college and since he’s so popular that causes him not have as much time for his gf so she catches an attitude and ignores him and he fixes it ifykyk. I was thinking more of like a dominant or switch armin for this yk?

pairings: soccer!player Armin x black reader

warnings: smut 18+, a lil angsty, orgasm denial, car sex

a/n: i love this request, armin is just so ૮꒰ྀི˶˃ ⌓ ˂˶꒱ྀིა

Ms. Attitude

“I’m sorry, baby. I promise I’ll make it up later. I love you, bye” The monotone beep of the phone soon followed his hurried voice informing you he ended the call before you could even breathe.

“Yep, I love you too” You mumbled. Glossy eyes scanning the hair and makeup you spent hours on.

This was the second time Armin failed to show up for your date.

Soccer season was picking up and with Armin being the captain you understood you'd no longer be able to spend as much time due to practice, but the frequent outings with his team members were becoming infuriating.

Was it that hard for him to plan around your date nights?

With a deep breath, you soaked a cotton pad in makeup remover. Too exhausted to even take pictures before the excess liquid on the pad mixed with your stray tears. It was rare for you to cry over a guy, even rarer to cry over Armin, but the disappointment was turning into frustration that was too overbearing to contain.

What made things worse is that you felt it wasn't fair to Armin you were having these feelings.

You knew what you were entering into when you said yes to being his girlfriend. He told you his goals from the start; become captain, graduate with a 4.0, play professionally, and ultimately make it to the World Cup.

Of course, you knew achieving all he wanted would take time, and you wholeheartedly supported him.

To maintain a healthy relationship you two had a system. Once a week, you would set aside time for a date. It didn't need to be elaborate or fancy; the simple goal was for you to spend time alone. Everything was perfect. Until it wasn’t.

Something Armin didn’t take into account with the new season was the influx of freshmen on the team. This meant lots of bonding time with the team and less time with you.

°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

It was a week before you saw Armin. Granted it wasn't on purpose and you just happened to catch a glimpse of him from across the crowded room, but you saw him nonetheless.

The events on how you approached him are a little cloudy, your actions encouraged by the shots you took and your anger. The only true remembrance was Sasha’s attempt to make you stay and the snickers from certain teammates who could predict what was about to happen.

“What the actual fuck, Armin.” You huffed

“Baby? What’s wrong?” His smile disappearing at the pout settled onto your face

You were baffled, was he actually serious?

“What’s wrong is that I haven't seen you in three weeks all because of your little bonding outings. Which this does not seem like bonding” A mixture of frustration and hurt fueling your emotions as you motioned to the party

“I know how this looks, baby but I swear we just got caught up after practice, sit with us I promise to make it up to you- Did you just roll your eyes at me?” Nothing pissed Armin off more than when you rolled your eyes at him.

“Yes! You've said the same thing every week Armin, you're like a fucking broken record and it's actually pissing me off”

“I'm pissing you off?” The indifferent tone of his voice and minuscule smirk on his face should have told you to stop and think but you were just too upset to think.

“Isn't that what I just said” Your iris slightly disappearing as you rolled your eyes once again.

He’d been waiting for it.

Many people knew Armin to be the passionate sweetheart he was. It was rare to see him upset. That emotion reserved for whenever his team got a foul and occasionally whenever you gave him attitude.

Before you could even register what he was doing he grabbed your arm and dragged you out of the party

That little eye roll ended up with you in the backseat of his car, legs on his shoulder as he drilled into you.

“Minniee, pleaseee” You whined, tears threatening to spill from your eyes at the pleasure building in your lower stomach

“You wanted my attention right? So stop fucking complaining and hold it like I said” His hips snapping forward as he buried himself deep inside you with every thrust.

You were certain stars were blurring your vision. He was just stretching you out so well, the girth and the angle he was at leaving no spot along your walls untouched with how deep he was.

Just looking and hearing the whines that slipped passed your lips made him want to fuck orgasm after orgasm out of you.

Just looking at you had him on the brink of a second orgasm.

You just looked so pretty to him. Bouncing breasts no longer confined by the tight shirt you wore, hardened nipples glossy from his previous sucking. Don't even get him started with your teary eyes and glossy lips.

What really got him though was the way your puffy cunt surrounded him. Folds so warm and wet with your slick and his cum that your walls failed to contain.

Armin however didn’t reward bad behavior, especially yours. Maybe he’d let you cum if you whined enough, but who knows. For now, he’d continue to use you for his own pleasure as he pounded into you.

“What's wrong princess? Isn't this what you wanted? Caught an attitude just to get fucked like a slut” He hissed, blonde strands sticking to his forehead as he increased his pace.

“I’m sorry, Minnie, please. I just missed you” You spoke through your broken moans and cries

Leaning down he encaptured your lips, his pace slowing as the guilt seeped into him, oh how he wanted nothing but to go back and spend that time with you.

“I know, I’m sorry. I’ll make time for us, I mean it this time” His voice coming out in a whisper as he kissed along your neck

“Y-yeah? “ Speech broken by the newfound pleasure as he applied pressure to your clit

“Mhm, as long as you stop with that fucking attitude” Within that second the soft and caring Armin was gone and now replaced with the Armin whose only goal was to make you feel pleasure

You were so close, every rock of his hips hitting your spot so perfectly you were seeing stars and begging to cum but he kept denying you over and over. His responses consisting of “Be my good girl and hold it” or “You want it so badly don’t you?” a condescending pout resting on his pink lips every time

It was only when he grabbed your ankles and pushed your legs up against your chest that he allowed you to cum, pace becoming sloppy as he watched you cream around him, basking in the way every contraction of your cunt added to the milky ring around his base.

The feeling of you clenching around him, the sight of your closed eyes and slightly agape mouth as you came, it was too much for him to handle as spurts of his milky cum forced its way into your stuffed cunt.

“That's my girl” He mumbled. Smirking at the cum spilling from your hole the moment he pulled out

It was only when you felt his hands spreading your legs apart and his tongue plunging into you that you opened your eyes.

“Armin” You shrieked

“Mmm, relax, baby. I've got three weeks' worth of orgasms to get from you.”

[ahgasegotarmy116]

It's Hard to Believe | Jungkook One Shot

Summary: Getting pregnant with your best friend's baby definetly wasn't a part of the plan... Pairing: f!Reader x Jungkook (fwb, f2l) Word Count: 2.7k Warnings: A tiny bit of explicit and suggestive language but nothing crazy a/n: This is something I started writing at like midnight and it's kinda shit but I thought I might as well post it since I haven't posted in a while (Like five days short of a month wtf?!?!? How has it been that long?!?!) (I just barely checked rn lmao my bad 🥲) p.s. I kinda wanna do a full on series on a concept like this but it'll be different and less fluffy but that won't be happening for a long ass time but yeah lol Requested by a lovely anon 💜

"How am I supposed to tell him?" I ask my friend Sam for the millionth time since I found out. "Y/n just tell him. You guys have been friends for how long?" she asks and it's like I'm having deja vu from both of our responses. "Like ten years" I mumble and pull my sweatshirt sleeves down over my hands in an effort to stop my nervous fiddling but it only makes it worse. 

"Right and you guys have been messing around with each other for over a year now, maybe even more...I don't wanna know" she says while holding her hand up in a way to assure me that she doesn't need the details. "Just tell him. If he's as great of a guy as you keep on telling me he is then I promise everything will be okay" she says and places a hand on my shoulder before she gets up off my couch. 

"Where are you going?" I ask while she shrugs on her jacket. "Didn't you say he's supposed to be here around five?" she asks and I nod my head, checking the clock and seeing that it's already 4:30. 

"Yeah...are you sure you don't wanna stay and say hi?" I ask and she glares at me. "Let me know what his response is to that bun in the oven and then we'll talk. I wanna figure out if he's an asshole or not before I decide to waste anytime on him" she says while lacing up her shoes. 

"Promise me you'll tell him tonight?" she asks and lifts up her hood, getting ready to shield herself from the pouring rain outside. I nod my head reluctantly, that being way more progress than I've made for the past few weeks since I found out. "I promise" I utter under my breath and she smiles, pulling me in for a bone crushing hug. 

"Text me if you need me" she says, worried for what might happen but hoping for the best. "I will...thanks" I whisper and she nods her head before walking out of my door and turning slightly and waving to offer me one last farewell.

I close the door after I see her get into her car and lean my back up against it, steadying myself for a second and taking deep breaths, trying to stop my racing heartbeat before pushing off of it and tidying up before Jungkook gets here to distract myself. 

Sam has been the only one I've been able to count on and honestly the only person I can trust since I haven't told anyone else. She was the one I called when I missed my period and she's the one who brought me a pregnancy test...and then when out and bought me ten more because I couldn't actually grasp the concept that I was pregnant...am pregnant.

Jungkook and I have always been careful and taken all the necessary steps to keep this from happening but I guess we got careless this time. 

Through out this whole arrangement we've made it very clear to each other that we're not sleeping with anyone else but neither of us are looking for any sort of commitment either so that's why this has gone on for so long. 

Like it or not though we're going to be committed to each other in one way or another no matter what because I'm keeping this baby. No matter what he says I'm keeping them. 

Jungkook is my best friend, the one person who has been there for me through everything. He's seen me at all of my highest highs and especially at my lowest lows and no matter what he's never made me feel shitty about it. I know he's not the kind of guy that'll turn on you because of something like this but I can't help but still feel terrified. 

This wasn't supposed to happen but even if this child wasn't made with love from his side...it was made with love from mine. 

I don't know how long it's been since I fell in love with him but I know I shouldn't have said yes to this whole fuck buddy ordeal. I just couldn't stand the thought of him being with someone else so when he offered up the idea I said yes.

I figured that if this was a way to prevent him from getting his heart broken by all those sorry excuses of girlfriends he's had in the past then I guess I'll be okay with breaking mine.

He's been acting different lately though. He's been a lot touchier, asking to come over more often, going out of his way to help me with things, offering to feed me all the time and all of it is making me feel like he already knows. 

Does he know? Have I started showing already? I haven't really noticed a difference in my body yet but he looks at me naked a lot more often than I pay attention to myself naked so I mean I guess he could've noticed right? 

Only one way to find out though...

A half an hour later I hear him take out his keys and unlock my door and soon I'm greeted with a smile that tugs at my heartstrings. 

"Hi baby" he says, using that pet name he's become very fond of since this whole ordeal started. The sound of it after finding out I'm pregnant with his baby has made me a little uncomfortable though since I haven't told him yet. 

Don't get me wrong I love it when he calls me that but I can't help but think that if this goes south that he won't ever call me that again. 

Maybe the hormones have started to scramble my brain already because those uncomfortable feelings are quickly thrown away when I take in the sight of him after he shrugs off his rain coat. A simple black baggy hoodie and jeans engulf his form and the comfy sight just makes me want to curl up in bed with him and forget about everything and everyone.

Just him and I, it's always been him and I. I just don't know if this little one is going to change things. 

I place a hand on my stomach for a second as a way to gain some strength from my itty bitty baby before finally working up the courage to greet him.

"Hi" I greet him softly, walking over to where he's stopped to take off his shoes and when he looks back up at me he smiles again and kisses me. I sigh into it, savoring it for just a little bit longer and when it finally breaks he looks down at me with concern now written all over his face. 

"Are you okay?" he asks, sensing that something's off right away from the just the small change in the way I kissed him. I hesitate for a second then simply hold out my hand for him to take and he does, following behind me as I lead him over to my couch. 

Getting this over with sooner rather than later is my best option right now so there's no reason to delay. 

He needs to know, he deserves to know.

We sit there in silence, longer than he would like us to since I can tell how tense his body has gotten in a matter of minutes. "Y/n you're scaring me" he whispers, not wanting to pressure me but relaying his feelings. 

I take a couple more deep breaths before finally starting. "I need you to listen to me and I need you to please not speak until I'm finished" I say while looking down at my lap, not being able to meet his eyes. 

He murmurs a soft 'okay' and waits for me to continue, taking one of my hands and placing it in his lap. He needs some form of physical contact to keep him grounded since he's not too sure what to expect and I let him, knowing I need some reassurance too. 

Even if I don't know what his reaction is gonna be, in this moment I need it more than ever.

"I guess there's really no right way to go about saying this because this wasn't supposed to happen so I'm just gonna come out and say it..." I start off and he squeezes my hand, encouraging me to keep going. 

"I missed my period...over a month ago...and I haven't had it since then" I say and finally look up at him where he has an unsure expression. It's not one that's mad or disappointed with what I've said thus far which is a good thing but more like he's trying hard to hold himself back so he can keep that promise. 

His hold on my hand hasn't loosened, in fact it's gotten even tighter and that gives me hope that we'll work this out so I take another deep breath before continuing. 

"I tried to kid myself into thinking that it was late but when another week passed by I got nervous. I asked Sam to get me a test and it came out positive. I didn't believe it and thought it was a false positive and so to ease my mind she went a bought ten more from a bunch of different brands and...all of them came out positive" I say and he still looks at me with that same expression, waiting for me to give him the okay to speak and so I do. 

"How long have you known?" are the first words out of his mouth and although they're not negative they aren't necessarily positive either. "About a month now" I say and he nods his head, taking another second or two to formulate what he's gonna say next. 

"I'll support you no matter what you decide" he says and I let out a breath I didn't even know I had been holding in. "I wanna keep it" I say and he nods his head and smiles softly at first and then as the seconds go by it gets wider and wider making my heart beat faster. 

"Am I allowed to get excited now?" he whispers and I can't help but chuckle as tears start to prickle my eyes and give him a nod. "You're excited?" I say, my whole being slowly overcome with emotion. 

"How could I not be?" he scoffs playfully but that answer has me confused. "But Jungkook we're not together. I mean we're not in a relationship, we're just friends" I explain and there's a playful glint in his eyes after I say that that's making me even more nervous.

"You wanna know what I thought you were gonna tell me?" he offers up, slightly changing topics but I look at him in a way to urge him to continue. "I thought you were gonna break up with me" he says and I smile, "Jungkook we're not together. How could I break up with you?" I chuckle in disbelief. 

"Correction, I thought you were gonna break up with me before I even got the chance to ask you to be my girlfriend" he says with a grin and my jaw drops, the dots all connecting as to why he's been acting so different lately. "You were gonna ask me to be your girlfriend?" I utter quietly as if we were in a crowed room and I had a secret for just the two of us.

"I had actually planned on asking you tonight" he explains, walking over to where he had placed his backpack on the floor, taking out a bouquet of slightly squished flowers. "Sorry they're all beat up. I forgot and rode my bike over here so I didn't really have any other option but to put them in there" he says almost as if he was nervous, rubbing the back of his neck and it's then that I notice how pink his ears have gotten. 

He is nervous

I take them from him and smile, waiting for him to say it but he simply stands there and admires me and I can't help but laugh. "What so funny? I told you what happened to them" he utters through pouty lips which only makes me laugh more. "No, no it's not the flowers it's just that...don't you have something to say?" I ask, calming down my chuckles and when he looks at me with the same confused expression I have to try my hardest to keep the laughter at bay. 

"Do you have something you would like to ask me Jungkook" I rephrase it and after a second his lips go from a pout to the shape of an 'O' as he's figured it out. "Oh um, yeah, right. Well I um" he starts off, rubbing the back of his neck again while stuttering and trying to find the words and after struggling for a second I decide to poke fun at him again. 

"Jungkook I am literally carrying your child and you're too afraid to ask me to be your girlfriend?" I laugh, giving him a slight reality check which he scoffs at before responding. 

"I was trying to remember what I had rehearsed to say to you but now that you're being a little brat I guess you'll never get to know all the nice things I was gonna say" he retorts, his voice suddenly taking on a darker tone that sends a shiver through my body and he smirks when he sees my reaction to it. 

He cups my face and rubs his thumb along my bottom lip, making them part and he leans in as if he was going to kiss me but stops just shy of my lips. "Will you be my girlfriend?" he whispers, nudging his nose against mine and making me smile. 

"I'll have to think about that" I play coy with him which he chuckles at. "You know if you weren't pregnant right now I would have thrown you over my lap for that smart mouth" he warns and I smile before leaning in and kissing him for just a second before pulling back. 

"Yes I'll be your girlfriend" I say and nudge my nose against his as well and before I can register it my back is on the couch and his lips are pressed against mine, the kiss not rushed but full of so many words that have yet to be said and he gives in, not being able to hold it in anymore.

"I love you" he says, pulling back and looking down at me to see my expression which is completely dumbfounded to say the least. "You what?" I ask and he chuckles, "Is it really that hard to believe?" he points out and I guess now that I think about it it really isn't.

"I guess we've both been in love with each other for a while now huh?" I smile and his eyes light up at my round about confession. "Say it" he says, and I can feel my cheeks heating up. I hadn't planned on actually saying those three words to him even though I've felt them for so long but I don't want to hold them back anymore. 

"I love you" I whisper and he smiles, "Say it again" he repeats, clearly not believing it just yet. "I love you Jungkook" I say and the little switch up with attaching his name to the end darkens his gaze. "I guess there's no chance in me getting you pregnant a second time right now huh?" he asks, sliding his hand up my thigh and I giggle. 

"No I think that's pretty much impossible but the odds are never zero" I say and he rolls his eyes. "I'm trying to tell you that I wanna hit it raw" he states the obvious while rolling his eyes. "I know I know...and the answer is yes Daddy" I tease, testing to see how that word affects him now that he knows.

He tongues his cheek at that making me bite my lip, knowing that's gonna be even more of a trigger word for him from now on. "Daddy huh? Well I guess that title is a little more fitting now isn't it?" 

Taglist: @jkslipppiercing @trina864 @kaitieskidmore97 @goddesofimortality @coolbluedude @coralmusicblaze @whoa-jo @00frenchfries00 @pastelpinkjoon @joonwater (Rest of the tags will be done in the reblogs 💜)

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[lightseoul]

cw. gn!reader, worker!reader, prohero!katsuki, aged-up (25), pining (again, if you look extra closely), a lot of cussing (are we still surprised)

masterlist | part 1 (although ig this makes sense on its own), part 3 (i didn't plan this), part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9

“What.”

It’s less of a question and more of a statement—a statement sputtered in the typically demanding way characteristic of the one and only Bakugou Katsuki.

The Bakugou Katsuki who happens to be your boss for a good (debatable) three and a half years now, who you also have to spend overtime with until who knows what time to discuss what’s become rocky employee relations in the Ground Riot agency.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion or irrational annoyance—both, really—before you quickly school your expression into a neutral one. You riffle through the documents rather absentmindedly, avoiding his gaze before shooting back with: “What do you mean what?”

“I meant,” he leans back on his office chair that you know he singlehandedly picked out for its superior ergonomic design because he’s meticulous like that, “what the fuck is wrong with your face.”

“Excuse me?”

Your retort is laced with more indignant anger than intended, but at this point in the night, you cannot for the life of you bring yourself to care about your tone. It’s been a long day, and you weren’t about to let your stupid boss make fun of your appearance, of all things.

Bakugou probably senses the significant change in your demeanor, because his eyes widen in surprise ever so slightly before he sits up and opens his mouth to explain himself.

“You’ve been looking like you accidentally drank spoiled milk for the past hour and the shit aftertaste isn’t going away.” He haughtily shakes his head, and it takes everything in you not to jump him and choke your boss.

To your disdain, however, he continues.

“It’s either you spit it out or I’m going to have to force you to tell me what’s wrong.”

You gape at him. Whatever you expected him to say, it wasn’t that.

As quickly as you can, however, you attempt to regain your bearings and at least try to seem nonchalant, clearing your throat as unbothered as possible to top it all off. “Well, working overtime to iron out office squabbles isn’t exactly my idea of a relaxing Friday night, thank you very much.”

He scoffs. “Bullshit.”

You almost get whiplash from how quickly you look at him. His brazen rudeness—which, right now, is worse than usual which is saying something, mind you—renders you incapable of saying anything aside from another winded: “Excuse me?”

He rolls his eyes. “Miss me with that bullshit, dumbass.”

You feel yourself heat up in irritation. “I thought I told you to stop calling me dumbass.”

“You’d rather I call you princess?”

At that, you break eye contact despite yourself, choosing to stare at his forehead instead. It’s still unnerving—looking at any part of his body, really—but it’s better than looking at him squarely and witnessing the smirk you know has taken over his unfairly handsome features.

Your voice is small, to your chagrin, when you reply. “That’s actually a lot worse.”

The man dares to bark out a laugh.

You continue to metaphorically choke him in your head.

“Okay then, dumbass,” he emphasizes the nickname and you are about 99% sure a pained expression is dancing across your face because Bakugou is observing you with even more amusement before his features settle into a look of seriousness.

“As I was saying before you missed the point entirely—I highly doubt you’re this bothered because of fucking overtime,” he eyes you cautiously before pressing on. “Something’s wrong.”

You don’t know if it’s the exhaustion of the week filled with workplace conflict, or the crushing news you received this morning in the mail, or the very fact that Bakugou, despite his roughness and the annoyingly persistent way he’s been poking at your mood like it’s an itchy scab, is looking at you with genuine concern—but you end up doing it.

You give in.

You feel the tears welling up in your eyes before you even get the chance to deny them permission to, and at the sight of them Bakugou sits up even straighter in alarm—and you don’t know what comes over you because you start laughing so hard, your hand shoots up to your stomach in an attempt to keep it from cramping.

“Oi.”

The expression on his face is so unbelievably baffled that you only end up cackling to yourself more.

It takes a few more minutes before the sillies are fully flushed out of your system and really, it only took you a glance at Bakugou to realize you probably looked demented just now.

Feeling self-conscious all of a sudden, you quickly wipe away the tears in your eyes and muster enough courage to flash him a genuine smile.

To your delight, he flashes you one right back, albeit tentatively—one that is boyish and charming under the rather dim lights of his corner office.

Although he seemingly reboots to his default state because it’s immediately replaced by a frown and followed by: “You’re so weird, you know that?”

You snort and, before you can stop yourself: “Not as weird as my ex.”

At that, Bakugou’s entire countenance changes—he visibly stiffens in his seat and his eyebrows furrow in what you believe is confusion at the sudden mention of your past lover.

Bakugou says nothing, however, and so you take that as a sign to continue.

“Remember that meeting we had last March with Chef Asahi about our collaboration with his restaurant where I was late and you gave me shit for it? And when you asked I told you it was because I just got dumped over the phone?”

He gives you a curt nod, lips tight.

“Well,” you chuckle nervously, feeling embarrassed at your upcoming revelation, “I just found out that that ex is getting married in two months, and I’m invited.”

Neither of you says anything for the next—what feels like—hour.

Until Bakugou takes a sharp inhale, leans forward on his desk, and stares you down straight in the eyes: “I’ll do it.”

“What?”

He scowls at you like you’ve got a pea for a brain. “Don’t make me say it twice, dumbass.”

You frown at his hostility, your own bewilderment chipping away at your already thinning patience. “You’re not saying anything.”

Bakugou sighs, and he looks like what he is about to say next physically pains him.

“I’ll be your fucking date to the wedding.”

tagging. @kitthepurplepotato @chelbyisbord @lovra974 @katsukis1wife @brunnetteiwik

special shoutout to @he3v4n for reading the prequel to this and following thereafter--inadvertently making me check out past writing and get inspired to write this <3

[supernovalcholism]

Academic rivals Viktor and reader who do not like each other at all but have a strong sexual tension that neither of them wants to admit. Plzzz🙏😭

Absolutely babei love this idea sm heres a small portion cus I'm drunk and if yall hype it up I'll make a part 2

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

Unspoken Rivalry

ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ x ɢɴ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴄᴡ: ɴᴜɴ ᴇxᴛʀᴇᴍᴇ, ʜᴏꜱᴛɪʟɪᴛʏ????. ɪᴅᴋ

The library buzzed with the low hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional rustle of paper. Viktor sat at his usual table, hunched over a stack of notes and textbooks. He was the definition of composed—sharp cheekbones, immaculate posture, and an air of self-assured arrogance that grated on your nerves.

And, unfortunately, he was the only other person in your advanced theory seminar who matched your academic prowess.

You strode into the library, your eyes narrowing the moment you spotted him. He glanced up briefly, his icy blue eyes meeting yours with a flicker of annoyance before he returned to his work.

"Didn’t know the library allowed distractions," he said smoothly, his voice laced with faux politeness.

"Funny. I was just about to say the same thing," you shot back, taking the seat directly across from him with more force than necessary.

This was your dynamic—constant barbs, veiled insults, and an unspoken competition for every academic accolade. You couldn’t stand him, with his perfect grades and that maddening smirk he wore whenever he outperformed you.

But what was worse? The way your stomach flipped every time he leaned closer to point out a flaw in your argument or the electric heat that sparked whenever his hand accidentally brushed yours during group discussions.

The tension crackled between you now, thick and undeniable. You opened your laptop, pointedly ignoring him. Except you couldn’t. Not when the subtle scent of his cologne drifted across the table or when he leaned back in his chair, stretching slightly, exposing just a sliver of toned skin beneath his sweater.

"You know," Viktor said after a moment, his voice quieter, "if you spent less time glaring at me, you might actually win the next debate."

"Bold words coming from someone who barely edged me out last time," you snapped.

His smirk widened. "Barely? I seem to recall the professor using the word resounding."

You clenched your jaw, hating how much you wanted to wipe that smug expression off his face—and hating even more how your mind wandered to other ways to shut him up.

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t comfortable. It was charged. Your eyes met his again, and for a brief second, something flickered in his gaze—something raw, intense, and far too dangerous to acknowledge.1all

You broke the eye contact first, heat rising to your cheeks. Viktor didn’t look away, though.

"Careful," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "You’re starting to look at me like you don’t hate me."

"Don’t flatter yourself," you snapped, hastily gathering your things.

You stormed out of the library, your heart pounding. Behind you, Viktor chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

You didn’t go back to the library for the rest of the week. Not because you were avoiding him—of course not—but because the thought of seeing Viktor again made your chest feel too tight, your thoughts spiraling into places they shouldn’t.

Unfortunately, fate wasn’t on your side.

The next seminar session started with the professor announcing a new assignment. “A research paper, due in two weeks. To make things more interesting, I’ll be assigning partners.”

You stiffened in your seat.

“Viktor and—”

No. Please, no.

"–you—"

Your stomach plummeted. Across the room, Viktor glanced over at you, an infuriating smirk playing on his lips. He gave a little wave, clearly reveling in your discomfort.

After class, you cornered him in the hallway.

“We need to set boundaries,” you said sharply.

“Boundaries?” Viktor tilted his head, pretending to consider it. “Is that what we’re calling the tension between us now?”

You bristled. “There is no tension.”

“Hmm. If you say so.” He leaned against the wall, entirely too close. “But I hope you don’t mind working late. I find I’m most productive at night.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but no words came. His gaze was locked on yours, his expression a mix of challenge and something else—something darker, something that made heat rise to your face.

“Fine,” you snapped, stepping back before you could betray yourself further. “Tonight. My place. Seven."

⋆♱✮♱⋆

Hype it up soon and I'll drop a pt2 for yall XPP

- enya

edit [12/12/24] heres the 2nd part!!

[joeloverture]

morning cardio | dbf!j.m. x f!reader

masterlist | updates blog pairing: dbf!neighbor!joel miller x f!reader summary: [no outbreak] your neighbor and dad's longtime buddy catches you sneaking back home after an underwhelming hook-up. you want more — he provides. warnings: (18+ mdni) dbf!neighbor!joel, age gap (23/50), reader has a bad relationship with her father, reader's father is overly strict, reader hooks up with an oc, dirty talk, soft!dom joel, degradation, praise, thigh riding, 1 spank, titty slapping, daddy kink, exhibitionism but nobody sees, almost caught, heavy petting, misogyny for sexiness that joel doesn't actually believe in since he's a sweetheart [no use of y/n] word count: 3.7k a/n: watch me almost exclusively post dbf joel. watch me. also, mind the tags, they've changed slightly since i posted the teaser. this was supposed to be a series. this is no longer the case bc i'm indecisive. sorry.

Mistake number one: your eyes are crusted shut with the mascara you’d forgotten to wipe off.

Mistake number two: the bed you wake up in is not your own.

Mistake number three: sleeping with your neighbor.

Rubbing your mascara-sealed eyes, you blink yourself into consciousness and instantly regret it. There’s a moment of stillness, time stretching as you take in the room underneath the swelling orange sunlight. The window is cracked just enough to give you a glimpse at the world outside — birds chirping, sprinklers spritzing, cars crunching gravel as they pull out of the driveway. Surrounding the narrow, rumpled bed is a graveyard of orphaned socks. A box fan whirrs in the corner. The room had felt much cleaner past midnight when it was only the yellowed street lamp outside shining through the window. Then you spot the digital clock on the cluttered bedside table reads 6:10, ten minutes later than you’d wanted to be awake for, and time returns to its regular pace.

Your heart kicks awake in your chest, veins going cold. You kick the sheets off of your sweaty body, roll out of bed, and stumble two steps before planting your feet on the carpet below. Even that isn’t enough to stir your hookup. Dylan Andrews.

It’d seemed like a good enough idea at the time. Both of you were home for spring break. Both of you had flirted at the block party with each other. He was only decent-looking and mediocre with his hands, but you needed a break from spending another night in your childhood bedroom. What better way to do it than with a dick appointment?

Again. It’d seemed like a good enough idea at the time. Sneaking out underneath the nose of your strict, tough-as-nails dad was the easy part. Sneaking back in? Less easy. And to make matters worse, you were already ten minutes behind.

Shit.

You tiptoe across the room, naked as the day you were born, and stuff your underappreciated lingerie into your backpack. Without even putting your panties or bra on, you hop into your shorts and wrestle with your hoodie. By the time you’re out of Dylan’s room, it’s 6:12.

The difference between your dad and Dylan’s mom? She doesn’t give a shit what side of town Dylan wakes up on or how much alcohol is sloshing around in his system as long as he’s safe. You’re not the first girl to do the walk of shame out of Ms. Andrews' generic McMansion house, and you’re far from the last.

She’s downstairs in front of the coffee maker, still wearing her pajamas and doing a Dollar General crossword when you slip past her kitchen unnoticed. The door clangs shut behind you, and you figure she must see you walking down the cul-de-sac.

Your dad always leaves for work at 6:45 after a freezing cold shower and a steaming cup of black coffee for balance. You can only hope his shower ran a little late and that he isn’t at the dining room table already. Cramming two steps into one, you continue with your beeline down the awakening street.

You’re followed home by the mailboxes and flower beds, the pebbles you kick with every step. You’re almost to the property line, prepared to make a mad dash to your front door when you hear the faint call of your name. You skid to a stop, and turn to face the source: the craftsman-style house next door.

And there he is – Joel Miller, sitting on one of the cushioned chairs of his front porch in nothing but his sleep shorts and a t-shirt, legs spread as wide as the chair can accommodate. There’s a smug, knowing look on his face, one that says I’ve caught you. See how you can get out of this.

It’s been a long time since you’ve been face to face with Joel — Mr. Miller. You’d think you’d see him more often, with him being your dad’s buddy and your neighbor, but it’s been since summer. You’re sure he must be having the time of his life by joining your just got laid parade.

“You’re up awful early,” he calls, beckoning you up the driveway with a come-hither movement of his fingers. Leaving your dignity at the curb, you pad up the yard to his porch, climbing one of the stairs to lean against the gutter that feeds into his shrubbery. Pollen and moss is scattered across the wooden deck, surrounding a package that he hasn’t bothered to pick up yet. His guitar is off to the side, propped up against the doorway of the house. You wonder if he’d been playing when he’d seen you walking by.

Joel’s covered for you before, briefly and sparingly. Taken the fall for the half-empty bottle of fireball in your dresser even though he’d never go within ten feet of that shit, blamed it on himself for accidentally leaving it behind after fixing a wheel that had jumped off track for you. Even though your dad had chewed him out for drinking on the job, he’d still managed to sneak it back to you with the wise words of hiding it in a sock next time. You’d been two months past your twenty-first when that had happened, and maybe Joel had pitied you after realizing how authoritarian his friend was.

You aren’t as sure if he’ll pity you now.

“Needed some fresh air,” you defend lamely, hands hanging limp by your sides.

“Needed some cock?” he corrects, and his bluntness makes you choke. He seems relaxed for the words that just came out of his mouth, fingers drumming on his impossibly large thighs, a playful smirk resting on his lips.

You sputter, “No! Jesus, what the hell–”

“I got eyes, hun. Saw you leave that Andrews kid’s place. Clearly he didn’t stick it to ya that good if you’re still walkin’ steady,” he comments. His head tilts.

“Joel,” you hiss, eyes flitting to your dad’s house next door. He seems to read your mind, his smirk widening.

“Wonder what your pops would think. Bet I have a pretty good idea. His little angel, sneakin’ around and whorin’ herself out.” He clicks his tongue at you. “A damn shame.”

Heat spools low in your stomach and down to your unsatisfied center. You wish you’d worn darker colored shorts instead of the flimsy gray things you have on. There’s no barrier of your panties to stop yourself from leaking all over them, and with the way Joel’s looking at you, eyes dark and sly, you’re wishing there was.

“Can’t even imagine what you’re gettin’ up to at that college ‘a yours. Bet you had five guys inside of ya all at once, and I sure ain’t talkin’ about burgers, hun.” He lounges back in his chair, watching you.

You feel yourself gush. Heat burns in your thighs, and they rub together on instinct, seeking to extinguish that brimming ache between your legs. You bunch your hands in the fabric of your sweatshirt and can’t stop yourself from squirming underneath his gaze. It’s not like you’ve never thought about this, this with him of all people when you’re underneath your covers and your hand finds the warm junction between your thighs. Always unattainable. Always just out of reach.

You whisper again, “Joel,” but this time, it comes out as more of a moan. Humiliation warms your cheeks and chest, forming a different kind of pit in your stomach.

“Hmmmm?” Joel hums at you with a raised brow. He’s casual, indifferent, almost. But then his eyes flicker up and down, stopping at the wet patch smeared across the front of your shorts, the way your thighs press tight, tensing before letting go. “Ah. A little slut shamin’ gets you all riled up, hun?” That tears a whimper from you. He does that stupid come hither motion again, and like a lost dog, you listen. Standing in front of him, you feel completely, utterly exposed.

He adjusts himself in his chair, and you swallow the building lump in your throat when you see his bulge hardening. It sends another zap of heat to your core, and then another, more surprised one when his hand goes up to grab at your tit. Your breath catches as he thumbs one of your hardened nipples. A triumphant noise echoes out of him. “Braless, too?” His other hand goes down to your shorts, playing with the waistband. “Prancin’ around in these short, skimpy things, too. Practically giving the whole neighborhood a free peep show.”

His hand slides lower. Lower. Pans over to the crease of your thigh and then his thumb is planting over your clit, rubbing only once before he pulls away. “Messy pussy. Bet you stained the guys sheets.”

You’re quiet, staring at him, his wicked fucking expression, those hands that look like sin itself. You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Ah. Poor baby. All this effort and you didn’t even get to come.” He just looks at you. Unmoving. Not doing a single damn thing to get you there.

“Please, Joel,” you whisper, embarrassed by the gritty need already embedded into your voice when he’s hardly even touched you.

And he’s still wearing that wolfish look, that tainted-with-intention gleam in his eyes that tells you he knows exactly what you do want when he asks, “What? What do you want?” He licks his lips, a fleeting moment.

You look over your shoulder, at the rising street. Anyone could have their windows cracked. Anyone could hear you confess on this porch. Still, you murmur, “I… I want you to make me come, Joel.” Your voice shivers a little bit along with the stroke of wind that wisps against the backs of your thighs.

His brows raise together, now. His head tips forward. “What was that? A little louder. You know, my ears really ain’t the sharpest these days…”

Fucking bastard.

“I want,” you say again, fighting to stop your voice from wavering, to keep it not too loud but not too quiet. “you to make me come.”

Joel sucks on his teeth for a second. “Ohhh. Now I don’t think that’s really fair, hun.” He gives you a mockingly sad look.

“Why?” you ask, and you know you sound as whiny as a petulant child. But he’d been correct earlier. You put in all of this effort, sneaking out for a thrilling night that had turned into something more like two sweaty bodies moving together and only one of them feeling good from it. You want to feel good. You’re tired of looking at the right and the wrong. Joel’s sitting in front of you, his thumb still smelling like your arousal; that’s what’s right.

“You’re out here breakin’ all the rules. Shouldn’t be rewarding you for that, sweetheart. Besides, it’s a little fucked up, dontcha think? Makin’ you come all over me while your pops, my buddy, is none the wiser gettin’ ready for work next door?” His vulgarity only weakens you even more, pussy clenching and begging to be filled. You’re about to protest again when he cuts in, “But that doesn’t mean I can’t help ya out.”

Your heart pedals in your chest, eager and wanting. But Joel, instead of getting up and elbowing you inside like you expect, stays right where he is. He pats one of his splayed thighs, the grin on his face only widening. Your face contorts. Joel hears your question before you ask.

“What? Never humped someone’s leg before? With how much of a bitch in heat you’re actin’ right now, I’m surprised.” You can feel the shock on your face plain as day. Joel jerks his head down to his thigh, egging you on. “Better hurry up if you want my help, sweetheart. Pretty sure your dad’s about to get goin’, and I sure don’t have all day, either.”

The rapidly shrinking part of yourself that isn’t consumed with desire tells you to take a step back. That anyone, God forbid, even the Adlers across the street could witness this. Talk about a free peep show.

You think of the alternative: sneaking back into your house with a hope and a prayer that your dad won’t find you, backpack over your shoulder and shoes on, as you climb the stairs back to your bedroom. Open up your Joel-advised dresser drawer of things your dad says you shouldn’t have and pull out your vibrator. Do the same old hassle of a routine, desperately trying to make yourself come. Reach an unfulfilling peak.

Or… take what Joel’s offering you. Risks and all.

You take a tentative step forward, glaring at Joel when he chuckles because of your hesitance, and plop yourself down on his thigh. The pressure against your clit immediately pulls a whimper from you. His big hands fix themselves on your hips, holding tight, but not too tight as to hold you captive against him. There’s still the faint existence of the Joel you’ve always known, considerate and sweet and all southern gentleman, that exists behind the guise of his dominance. 

You nestle your head into the crook of his neck, breathing heavy against him as you get a slow start to grinding your hips on his thigh. Although your movements are tentative, uncertain in nature, your head is already going fuzzy.

“Bet you’re only this wet cause that boy already put a new load in your dishwasher.” You scoff at him in disbelief — both at how much more wet it gets you, and how foul his words are. He chooses then to jerk you forward by the hips. You cry out as your pussy drags along the thick expanse of his thigh, clit catching on the bunched up fabric of your rumpled shorts.

“Zip it, you fuckin’ hussy. Ain’t a damn soul in this neighborhood that wants to wake up to you sobbin’ while gettin’ off on this thigh.” One of his hands drifts back to squeeze at the flesh of your ass. You hear the spank before you feel it, a sting that echoes and sticks right between your legs. He’s effortlessly strung a barbed wire of humiliation around your body. The lack of power makes your thighs clamp down around his, and you can’t tell if you crave more of it or despise it.

Unable to decide which, you loudly, exaggeratedly moan into his ear, still rocking down on his lap. It resounds through the neighborhood, the springboard roofs ricocheting you coquettish noises down the street and through the flowerbeds. A spooked crow lifts off of the power lines behind you, and you hear it squawk as its wings beat and carry it away.

Joel cocks his head at you, brow raised. “So it’s not just your legs that have a problem stayin’ shut. It’s your nasty mouth, too.” His hands migrate up your sides to your tits, which jostle with every flighty movement across his thigh. Before you know what he’s doing, he tweezes at your nipples in a way that makes you melt into him, forehead falling flat against his neck. And then he lands a hard smack across your chest, pleasure with a bite. Your hips jolt. “Behave for daddy before I make you walk next door draggin’ a snail trail behind ya.”

You know he doesn’t mean your real dad. A new rush of heat settles in your stomach, tightening your cunt from an ache to an insatiable thrumming that only Joel can solve. “Fuck,” you almost shout, but end up muffling into his skin with an open-mouthed kiss. He sighs, adjusting under you. The change in angle on your clit makes you whimper, especially when you feel his hardened length smushed against the outside of your thigh.

Your hand goes down to grip it, to participate in the push and pull, the cat and mouse, but he shakes his head, pulling it out of the way. He holds you by the small of your back, urging you to keep rubbing on him. “You’re lucky I’m even givin’ you my thigh,” he spits. “Ain’t gonna let you play chutes and ladders tryna make me come when I know damn well where that hand was last night.”

“Daddy,” you pout at him, lower lip jutting out.

He only shakes his head. “Don’t start.”

Whining in agitation, you manage to school yourself into behaving like he’d told you to. Every grind of your hips welcomes pleasure, beckons it, activates the porch light inside of you that invites it inside. You go limp against Joel as he guides you back and forth, and even limper when he tightens the muscle underneath your soaking core. Your hands anchor themselves on his broad shoulders, nails carving into his skin through the flimsy material of his shirt. He hisses underneath you, a break in his seemingly titanium resolve. You feel yourself getting closer, heat wreathing around your stomach, cunt clenching.

In your house, the foyer light flickers on.

Your hips stall over Joel’s as you see your dad’s backlit silhouette moving around in the foyer. Likely sliding on his shoes, patting his pockets for his wallet and his work phone…. You have two minutes at best.

Joel’s eyes follow your distracted line of vision. His amused chuckle warms the back of your neck. “Oughta hurry up if you don’t wanna get caught. Your old man would be in for a rude awakening, headin’ to work and finding his precious little girl fuckin’ my leg like a whore,” he murmurs.

He bounces his leg underneath you, and you bite back the needy cry that threatens to slip out. It feels so good, too good for you to think about anything other than the haze of arousal and pleasure that hovers over your head like a perpetual fog. You return to grinding down on him, hips pumping with a greater, renewed speed. “Attagirl,” Joel croons at you, and the hand at the small of your back presses harder, pushing you up and down his thigh.

Short, strained breaths of yours meet the morning air, eyes pinned on the rectangular window. It’s a golden-washed reminder of how wrong this is. Your dad would blow a gasket, see red, breathe fire at you if he knew exactly what was happening just a few feet away from his front yard.

But you forget all about that when Joel’s calloused fingers cup your chin, nudging you to look at him. His eyes are all pupil, darkened with something like starvation, something like want. “Don’t look at him. Look at me,” he coaxes, and he bounces his thigh again.

You’re close, you can feel it. He can feel it, too, in the way that your thighs fasten around his, your cunt rocking on him as your fervor makes the whole front porch shake and shudder. Tossing your hips back and forth, you wanted it, but now? Now you need it. Your stomach tightens, your legs shivering below you as your cunt gushes all over both of your shorts. “That’s it, baby, come on me like you were beggin’ to. ‘S alright, nice and easy for daddy, mhm?” He tenses his thigh one final time, and you lurch over that edge. “Gooood girl,” he hums as your cunt flutters against his leg. “You’re a daredevil, aren’t you?” he asks, jerking his head toward your house.

You figure you must be, after what you just did.

You’d planned on staying there, riding it out and trembling against his warm chest. But the garage cranks open. You jolt off of Joel’s lap, damn near teleporting across the porch with how fast you move. Joel smirks at you, crossing his unfucked leg over his freshly fucked one, where you’d rubbed your cum all over his skin until it’d glistened. The sight warms your stomach all over again, but it doesn’t last – nerves spasm in your ribcage as your dad ducks out into the driveway.

You fumble with your shorts, pulling them down and crossing your hands in front of the obvious stain on the gray fabric. Your dad squints across the yard, cupping a hand over his eyes. “Miller?” He calls your name shortly after, and you straighten. “You’re up early, kiddo.”

You open your mouth, on the precipice of a lie that you know won’t be good. It’ll come out unsteady, dishonest, and uneven. 

Joel points at the package at the foot of his doorstep. “My toolbox got sent to yours,” he explains. “Damn postal. ‘Bout as good as the Boston Post Road these days. But your kid’s got me covered. Raised her right.”

For the second time, Joel Miller covers for you. You have no idea where this leaves you, standing under your dad’s scrutinizing gaze. With your cum cooling and sticking to your folds the same way it’s cooling and sticking to his leg, Joel knows your secret. And he’s keeping it.

Your dad only gives a shallow nod, looking between the two of you. “Well,” he hooks a hand back at his truck. “I gotta head off to work.” He shifts on his feet, this time pointing to you. “And you head back inside, kiddo. Too early for you to be up and movin’.” Of course it is.

You stare at the ground, the pollen and stray leaves below your feet. Finally, you settle on a nod. Shallow and halfhearted, much like his. Your dad, satisfied, retreats back into the garage. You hear the truck engine come to life.

“You heard the man,” Joel says. You tighten your fists, moving to step away, but the way Joel’s eyes glimmer has you loitering. He lowers his voice. “See you soon, daredevil.”

That damned nickname. “How do you know I’ll be back?” you retort under your breath.

He shrugs. “I’m sure there’ll be more… ‘packages’.”

You blame the heat in your body on the rising sun, sweat clinging to the back of your neck as you plod off through the front yard. There’s only one thought in your head as your dad pulls out and you close the garage. Mr. Miller can’t happen again.

Mistake number four: thinking you’re telling the truth.

[obsesssedblerd]

Either he is utterly clueless, or he’s toying with you because he knows you think he’s attractive. You don’t know which is worse.

Choso, your roommate, walks around the kitchen of your shared apartment, preparing breakfast like he does every other weekend—when he works less hours due to his little brother staying over for a few nights. In the living room, you can hear Yuuji and best friend, Megumi, playing video games together and enjoying the slow Saturday morning. 

You should focus on that and maybe offer to play games with them- No, you should focus on the smell of the food. Bacon, eggs, hash browns, something sweet that’s baking in the oven. However, you don’t focus on any of that, and your feet remain glued to their spot at the kitchen doorway, and your eyes stay locked on your roommate. 

Choso was only wearing sweatpants. You can tell that he was fresh out of a shower. His hair is left down this morning, and you can’t help but think that it looks even better that way, especially with the dark strands of his bangs still falling in front of his face. Then his upper body. Holy shit, his upper body. You knew Choso worked out often, sometimes with Satoru Gojo, but not once have you seen the results of his efforts in the gym this clearly. The muscles in his arms flex as he mixes something in a bowl, and your breath hitches slightly. Your gaze slowly drifts lower, taking in his toned chest, his abs, then settling on where his sweatpants hung loosely on his waist. Fuck.

You finally shake yourself out of it, then tear your eyes away from his body, deciding to look at the table instead. You clear your throat, and the sound of it gets his attention. “Morning,” he greets casually, facing you with his usual small smile. “Sorry if Yuuji and his friend woke you up. Megumi decided to stay the night at the last minute.” 

You smile in return, then shake your head. “Oh, that’s fine.” You walk close to the stove where he’s standing. “I don’t mind Megumi. He’s actually way quieter than the rest of Yuuji’s friends. What are you making in that bowl?” 

“Hm? Oh, this is some icing to go on top of the cinnamon rolls.” He grabs a clean spoon from a drawer, then dips it into the bowl. “I think it needs a bit more vanilla, but I’m not too sure. Could you also try it?” 

You nod, then reach to grab the spoon from him, but because your grip on it wasn’t secure, it nearly slips from your hand, resulting in some of the icing getting on Choso’s finger. You both laugh it off, then you sample the icing. 

As you’re tasting it, you see Choso checking on the bacon sizzling in a skillet. Then, he lifts his hand to his mouth that you’ve definitely stared at many times before. A split second before his lips close around his finger with the icing on it, you catch his tongue dart out to lick the icing. Then, he sucks it clean, releasing it with a light smacking sound. You nearly stop breathing. It’s so simple, so innocent, but it’s so damn–

“What do you think?” He asks as he heads over to the sink to wash his hands. 

“...Huh?” 

He looks at you, then points to the spoon in your hand. “The icing. What do you think?” 

Oh. That. 

Heat rises to your face, and you mask your sudden nervousness quickly. “You’re right. Just a touch more vanilla. I think a teaspoon will be perfect.” 

“Okay, thanks. I remember making it before, and…” Choso continues talking about the icing, but your brain tunes it out when you stare at him again. He was so attractive that it wasn’t fair. You’re certain that you’ve never wanted anyone this bad before. You promised yourself on the day you moved in that you wouldn’t fall for him. He worked a lot, and when he wasn’t working, he was a caring older brother to Yuuji. You assumed that he barely had time for anything else.

“Hey.” 

His low voice snaps you back to reality, and embarrassment creeps into your gut. “What was that? I’m sorry for being spaced out. I barely got any sleep last night,” you lie. 

You think he sees right through it, because he’s stepping closer to where you’re leaning against the counter. He places his hands on either side of the countertop, trapping you in between his arms—directly in front of him and nowhere to go. Your heart begins to race as he leans closer to you, the faint, fresh scent of his body wash filling your nose. The corner of his mouth slightly lifts, and the look in his dark eyes gives it away. 

He’s amused. 

“I asked if you could grab a bowl from the cabinet behind you so I could put the eggs in it,” he says quietly. 

“Yeah,” you reply with a soft exhale. “No problem.” You turn around carefully, then lift your arm to open the cabinet, trying to pretend that you don’t literally feel him behind you. You grab a medium-sized bowl. “This one okay?” 

There’s silence, then you feel Choso’s gentle touch. His large hand holds your waist, and his other arm reaches up towards the shelf you took the bowl from, grabbing another one that was a bit larger. 

“I was thinking that this one would be better,” he whispers into your ear. 

You put the other bowl back before your slippery palm lets it fall, and Choso takes a step back and flashes a smile at you. “Nearly done with the food. Could you let Yuuji and Megumi know?” 

You do your best to hide how flustered you are, and nod. “Yeah, sure. I’ll go grab them. I’ll be back.” 

As you turn to leave the kitchen, you hear his quiet, amused chuckle, eventually drowned out by the sound of him putting some used dishes into the sink. 

Oh, he was definitely toying with you. 

-------

a/n: so do y'all know that one choso fanart of him wearing only sweatpants and making breakfast? yeahhhhhhhhhh

also ik we mostly hc him as being shy (and i love it) but there's something about him being the one doing the teasing.

[hannieehaee]

OUTTA MY MIND (teaser)

18+ / mdi

summary: getting a brand new job as a senior idol's manager was scary enough on its own, but it became even worse when said idol was jeon jungkook, idol of all idols. what made it even worse? when jungkook began taking a special liking to you, damning any conflict of interest his crush on you may have had.

content: idol!au, staff!reader x idol!jungkook, jungkook is shameless about his crush on reader, but it's fine bc reader likes him back!!, reader acts hard to get bc her job is too important though boo, afab reader, banter, jk is a flirt, reader is a little bit shy, a lot of rlly wrong info about working in the industry, smut, oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, etc.

(^ no actual content warnings in the teaser)

wc: 924 (teaser); 7.7k (full fic)

release date: may 31st

or you can check it out on my ko-fi or patreon today by subscribing to either one!

a/n: ive had this in the drafts for a while but kept forgetting to finish it lol anyways i hope u guys enjoy it once it comes out<3 (also not 100% proofread oops..)

masterlist | kofi/patreon

support me through a one time tip<3

Whenever you'd tell someone you worked within the entertainment industry, – the music industry, to be precise – people always showed a little extra interest in your words, probably assuming you to be involved in the flashier aspects of it. The statement on it's own sounded exciting, enigmatic even. This would only then be followed by disappointed upon finding out your specific profession of choice, deeming it less exciting than most.

You were a manager. No, you were not an active member of the entertainment industry itself, but you were one of the many pillars necessary for the talent to create the entertainment people would always seek.

Being as young as you were, it had been hard to get to where you were so quickly. Networking had been your best friend all throughout your career, eventually landing you in your current role – one that would only open even more doors for you.

It had only been a week since you had received a call from your friend – an old friend from an internship who just so happened to be a former Hybe video producer – letting you know of a recent opening as one of the many managers at the company. Having been between gigs at the time, you jumped at the chance without a second thought. Hybe? The biggest entertainment company in Korea? You didn't need any details before agreeing.

It was a few days later in which you found out the details. The opportunity had been even more life-altering than you'd thought.

Originally, you had believed you'd end up becoming manager to one of the many brand new rookie groups in the growing company. With so many surging youth in the industry, it made sense to you that you'd be assigned such a role, not having had any prior experience within Hybe itself.

Except that wasn't the case. Having previously worked and interned at a few other South Korean entertainment companies through the years, it seemed like Hybe deemed you experienced enough to assign you the role of becoming a senior artist's manager.

Jeon Jungkook.

Senior artist had been an understatement. Those had been the words written in your contract, explaining your role in excruciating detail, yet failing to mention that your client would be Korea's most popular singer.

You couldn't lie, you were insanely intimidated by your new role. Despite being proudly skilled at your job, becoming the manager of an idol who had been in the game for longer than you'd even been out of college was a bit scary. Jungkook had gone from the absolute bottom to the top, he had most likely lived through it all by now – what kind of expertise could you offer someone who had already seen it all?

Being manager of an idol differed slightly from managing any other person. Idol companies usually handled the schedulings, bookings, and the legalities of their artists. As a manager, you somewhat took the role of a bodyguard. You were meant to show up everywhere Jungkook went and become his spokesperson – vying for him as if your life depended on it.

And now it was too late to back out – not that you actually wanted to. All paperwork had been signed, you had your own personal Hybe badge and all the benefits that came along with working at the company. Any feelings of intimidation or fear for the role would have to be put aside as you walked into the Hybe building to meet with your new client; the boy you'd have to stick by 24/7 from now on.

You weren't sure what you were expecting upon meeting him. It wasn't like there would be any special introduction, or even as if you were his sole manager; no, he actually had a few others who would occasionally aid him in the absence of his main manager, which was now you. Today was a workday for him, meaning that he likely already had a few people in supportive roles as he did whatever it was that Jeon Jungkook did while working.

Walking into the huge building, after getting lost a few times, you made your way to the seventh floor, which, as you'd been informed, had various rooms designated for photoshoots. That's where you'd find Jungkook for the first time, presumably having one of the many shoots scheduled for this week.

Having possession of his schedule made you realize how busy idol life was. Despite having no public schedules all this week, he had a packed itinerary, filled with either shoots or signings or producing sessions. You hadn't even met him yet, but you were already assured that he was overly hardworking – and you had maybe also stalked him online this past week.

It was very unlikely you'd even speak to him, seeing how busy he was. Your duty, after all, was just to be one of the many members of his team, taking care of any logistics as you went around with him, but not taking away from his time by socializing with him.

Upon entering the room, he was the first thing you noticed. Ignoring every other person working the room, your eyes focused specifically on him. It was hard not to, since he was quite literally standing under the spotlight, modeling for a camera. But it was more than that. He had an aura that filled up the room. Putting aside every stylist and photographer in the room, every staff member and intern, he was truly the epitome of main character.

Fuck. Was this going to cause trouble?

....

you can check it out today on my ko-fi or patreon by subscribing to either one!

[thevoidstaredback]

Okay, so, crisis averted. Both of them, really. Red Robin had not asked or attempted to get any more of Danny's drink and the World Ending Crisis was less World Ending and more World Threatening. Either way, no one is hyped up in lethal amounts of caffeine and the world is in no more pieces than it had been before.

That brings attention to a new problem, though. It's uniquely Danny's problem and Constantine and Zatanna and Deadman won't stop laughing at him. He's also pretty sure that Raven is laughing at him in the privacy of her mind, so that's making him feel worse.

The problem is that every single hero that had been at the meeting a week ago that was not a part of the JLD has been overly concerned about him.

So what if he half died when he was fourteen and therefore will never look over either fourteen or eighteen? So what if he consumes enough caffeine to kill an elephant within a few minutes? What is he gonna do, die? That's not a real threat as long as he only fights as Phantom.

Ignoring the fact that he can, in fact, get hurt to the point of near death as Phantom. It's not like anyone knows that, though! Besides, ghosts run on god rules. They can't die, only fade when forgotten. People aren't likely to forget about most ghosts, though, even if they can't remember their names.

He's not gonna share that, though. Let Batman keep his contingency that won't work because the only contingency that will work for Phantom is the one he made himself. Tried and tested! He's marked it off of his Bingo Card.

Anyway. Heros and their kids/proteges have been trying to track him down for the entire week. He can't risk even leaving the House of Mysteries because the Supers are all probably listening out for him and they can't hear him through magic. It sucks. He just wants to go get a cup of coffee as Danny. The second he leaves, though, the Supers will be on him like bloodhounds. He'd leave as Danny, but the rest of the JLD don't know what he looks like as Danny and he'd like to keep it that way, thank you very much. Being stuck as Phantom was going to start causing issues to his human half if he doesn't get to leave soon.

Should he risk it? Is coffee that won't kill him really worth risking the Supers finding out his civilian identity? Sure, they wouldn't tell anyone, but he didn't like the idea of someone being able to pick him out of a crowd when all he wanted to do was blend in. It's why he avoided Gotham and Bludhaven, actually, but that's both self explanatory and another story for another time.

"You're still here?" Zatanna sat on the couch beside him. "You're normally gone by now. You can't not be tired of us yet."

He sighed and sunk down into the couch slightly. "Believe me, I'm tired of being stuck here, but I can't leave. I can't leave as a human because you guys don't know what I look like and, no offense, but I'd like to keep it that way. I can't leave as I am now because Superman will be on my ass quicker than I can blink!" He whined this time, "I just want a cup of coffee."

"What about your special brew?" Raven asked, coming into the room.

"I want to drink coffee as a human. That stuff will kill me if I drink it as a human."

"At least you know your limits."

"That sounded like a dig at someone, Z."

"It was."

"Why don't you just go out under a protection spell?" Raven offered, "We could cast one over you and you could leave. Superman can't hear through magic, so he won't be able to tell. Neither will Superboy."

Danny thought for a second. "You're a genius, Raven! Has anyone ever told you that?"

"A few times," she blushed.

"Well, it needs to be said more!"

Zatanna laughed. "Alright, kid, let's get you outside before you drive yourself crazy."

Practically vibrating in place, Danny waited for the protection spell to settle over him. The second it did, he was out the door and wandering the streets of whatever city the House of Mysteries decided to drop him as Danny instead of Phantom.

"Who are you," was not the question or voice he wanted to hear the second he stepped into the open as himself.

"Danny," he squeaked out through his absolute panic. He didn't dare turn around.

The sound of fabric moving minutely clues him in to the second person behind him. What the hell were these two doing out? It's the middle of the day and there's no attacks going on anywhere in Gotham!

"Where did you come from?" Robin asked.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit! This was really bad! Why did the House drop him *here* of all places? Does it *want* him to die again? It was very painful the first time, thank you very much! "Illinois?"

"Was that a question or an answer?" Why is Red Robin here now?!

"An-an answer?"

"Ah, you guys are scaring the little guy!" That was Nightwing. They're surrounding him! Why is Nightwing here? This is Gotham, not Bludhaven. "Give him some room to breathe."

They did not, in fact, give him room to breathe. Maybe coming outside was a bad idea. If he gets out of this no more dead than he already was, he was going to move to the middle of nowhere and become a hermit. Smallville is a town in the middle of nowhere, right? He'll retire as Phantom and move to Smallville until the people get suspicious and burn him as a witch-!

Maybe moving to a big city would be a better idea. Or locking himself in the basement of the House of Mysteries. Yeah, yeah that's a good idea.

"-even listening?"

Oh shit. They were still talking to him! Now is not the time to panic! "Gottagobye!" And then he was running.

Good job not panicking, Danny.

Part 1 Part 3

[hello-sweetheart]

You know that trope where Person A thinks Person B is just being nice but they’re actually flirting. What about the opposite? Person A misreading their behavior and being the only one falling impossibly in love.

Clumsy in Love part 1

Eddie really is just that nice and friendly, but Steve is convinced that Eddie is flirting with him. He’s flirting back, less confident and more subtle than he usually would, but he’s never liked a guy that way.

Not in a way that made him really want to spend every waking moment just hearing them ramble. Not in way that made Steve want to keep him the way he wants to keep Eddie. Everything is so new. It feels, delicate. Precious.

His heartbeat quickens each time Eddie leans into his space and it’s been happening all the time now that Steve worries he’ll develop a heart condition if he doesn’t deal with it soon. When Eddie laughs and leans his face closer to his own, looks into Steve’s eyes through those lashes in a way that Steve can’t help but take a quick glance at those lips curled is mischief.

He’s always so happy to see Steve, wasting no time in bouncing his way to greet him and pull him into the conversation with an arm slung around his shoulder. Then there’s the moments of shared glances when someone says something particularly astounding. And how Eddie will make his way into Steve’s space when they sit together, throwing his feet in his lap or leaning into his side.

Sure, Eddie is friendly but not to this extent. Not with everyone else. Steve feels it. Knows it. That electricity between them that makes this thing between them different. Special.

But one day (another that Steve spends trying to work up the courage to do something), they’re in the city shopping for music in an alternative store that’s tucked away. Steve is talking to Eddie, giddy and happy because it just them today, and Eddie is nodding along while he browses through the tapes and then,

Eddie looks up and stills, eyes widening just a bit. And Steve is still rambling along, but he can tell his words are just going through one ear and out the other. He trails of caught in the middle of his story because he’s never seen this look on Eddie face.

Eddie’s mouth is slightly agape, eyes alight caught in wonder and soft as he looks at something across the room and when Steve turns to see what caught his eye—

A guy stands a couple tables away looking at some vinyl and shyly smiling at Eddie in small glances. He’s a bit taller than them, dressed in black with a couple of piercings decorating his face, the sides of his head shaved short. Attractive, dementor coy and kind.

His heart skips a beat again, but it feels different this time.

Steve looks back at Eddie whose cheeks are slightly dusted in pink.

“Eddie-“

Eddie takes his lower lip between his teeth before smiling back at the guy and continuing without casting a second glance at Steve, “yeah, uh, give me a second, okay?” And he’s crossing the room without waiting for a response.

His chest. It feels…

Like those few seconds before plummeting down a rollercoaster… when your way up high, at the very top, the moment still with the anticipation of the fall, and there’s nowhere else to look but down.

You finally plummet and caught in the whiplash thinking you must have left your heart back at the top.

There’s static there on the bottoms of his feet and at the palm of his hands. The world goes a bit distant as he watches them.

Eddie’s leaning against the wall with a sultry smile adorning whatever sweet words he’s speaking.

Steve’s drowning in the honey, it’s palpable. doesn’t know if it’s better or worse that he can’t hear the words.

Eddie’s fiddling with a curl that’s draped over his shoulder, pulling it slightly over his face like a young school girl.

Steve doesn’t think he’s ever seen Eddie appear anything but confident and loud; the image of the person in front of him is foreign, strange.

Eddie’s speaking to him but his eyes are locked on the guy’s lips that are wet from the tongue that peaks to briefly lick them as he listens.

Eddie’s shoe is nudging the guys own, as he talks, playful.

Oh.

Oh.

Mouth dry, Steve’s throat clicks.

It’s hard to swallow.

Part 2