#keep an eye out for the first one which will be posted later today!

[ekingston]

SO HERE IS THE WHOLE STORY (SO FAR).

I am on my knees begging you to reblog this post and to stop reblogging the original ones I sent out yesterday. This is the complete account with all the most recent info; the other one is just sending people down senselessly panicked avenues that no longer lead anywhere.

IN SHORT

Cliff Weitzman, CEO of Speechify and (aspiring?) voice actor, used AI to scrape thousands of popular, finished works off AO3 to list them on his own for-profit website and in his attached app. He did this without getting any kind of permission from the authors of said work or informing AO3. Obviously.

When fandom at large was made aware of his theft and started pushing back, Weitzman issued a non-apology on the original social media posts—using 

his dyslexia; 

his intent to implement a tip-system for the plagiarized authors; and 

a sudden willingness to take down the work of every author who saw my original social media posts and emailed him individually with a ‘valid’ claim,

as reasons we should allow him to continue monetizing fanwork for his own financial gain.

When we less-than-kindly refused, he took down his ‘apologies’ as well as his website (allegedly—it’s possible that our complaints to his web host, the deluge of emails he received or the unanticipated traffic brought it down, since there wasn’t any sort of official statement made about it), and when it came back up several hours later, all of the work formerly listed in the fan fiction category was no longer there. 

THE TAKEAWAYS

1. Cliff Weitzman (aka Ofek Weitzman) is a scumbag with no qualms about taking fanwork without permission, feeding it to AI and monetizing it for his own financial gain; 

2. Fandom can really get things done when it wants to, and 

3. Our fanworks appear to be hidden, but they’re NOT DELETED from Weitzman’s servers, and independently published, original works are still listed without the authors' permission. We need to hold this man responsible for his theft, keep an eye on both his current and future endeavors, and take action immediately when he crosses the line again. 

THE TIMELINE, THE DETAILS, THE SCREENSHOTS (behind the cut)

Sunday night, December 22nd 2024, I noticed an influx in visitors to my fic You & Me & Holiday Wine. When I searched the title online, hoping to find out where they came from, a new listing popped up (third one down, no less):

This listing is still up today, by the way, though now when you follow the link to word-stream, it just brings you to the main site. (Also, to be clear, this was not the cause for the influx of traffic to my fic; word-stream did not link back to the original work anywhere.)

I followed the link to word-stream, where to my horror Y&M&HW was listed in its entirety—though, beyond the first half of the first chapter, behind a paywall—along with a link promising to take me—through an app downloadable on the Apple Store—to an AI-narrated audiobook version. When I searched word-stream itself for my ao3 handle I found both of my multi-chapter fics were listed this way:

Because the tags on my fics (which included genres* and characters, but never the original IPs**) weren’t working, I put ‘Kara Danvers’ into the search bar and discovered that many more supercorp fics (Supergirl TV fandom, Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor pairing) were listed.

I went looking online for any mention of word-stream and AI plagiarism (the covers—as well as the ridiculously inflated number of reviews and ratings—made it immediately obvious that AI fuckery was involved), but found almost nothing: only one single Reddit post had been made, and it received (at that time) only a handful of upvotes and no advice. 

I decided to make a tumblr post to bring the supercorp fandom up to speed about the theft. I draw as well as write for fandom and I’ve only ever had to deal with art theft—which has a clear set of steps to take depending on where said art was reposted—and I was at a loss regarding where to start in this situation.

After my post went up I remembered Project Copy Knight, which is worth commending for the work they’ve done to get fic stolen from AO3 taken down from monetized AI 'audiobook’ YouTube accounts. I reached out to @echoekhi, asking if they’d heard of this site and whether they could advise me on how to get our works taken down.

While waiting for a reply I looked into Copy Knight’s methods and decided to contact OTW’s legal department:

And then I went to bed.

By morning, tumblr friends @makicarn and @fazedlight as well as a very helpful tumblr anon had seen my post and done some very productive sleuthing:

@echoekhi had also gotten back to me, advising me, as expected, to contact the OTW. So I decided to sit tight until I got a response from them.

That response came only an hour or so later: 

Which was 100% understandable, but still disappointing—I doubted a handful of individual takedown requests would accomplish much, and I wasn’t eager to share my given name and personal information with Cliff Weitzman himself, which is unavoidable if you want to file a DMCA.

I decided to take it to Reddit, hoping it would gain traction in the wider fanfic community, considering so many fandoms were affected. My Reddit posts (with the updates at the bottom as they were emerging) can be found here and here.

A helpful Reddit user posted a guide on how users could go about filing a DMCA against word-stream here (to wobbly-at-best results)

A different helpful Reddit user signed up to access insight into word-streams pricing. Comment is here.

Smells unbelievably scammy, right? In addition to those audacious prices—though in all fairness any amount of money would be audacious considering every work listed is accessible elsewhere for free—my dyscalculia is screaming silently at the sight of that completely unnecessary amount of intentionally obscured numbers.

Speaking of which! As soon as the post on r/AO3—and, as a result, my original tumblr post—began taking off properly, sometime around 1 pm, jumpscare! A notification that a tumblr account named @cliffweitzman had commented on my post, and I got a bit mad about the gist of his message :

Fortunately he caught plenty of flack in the comments from other users (truly you should check out the comment section, it is extremely gratifying and people are making tremendously good points), in response to which, of course, he first tried to both reiterate and renegotiate his point in a second, longer comment (which I didn’t screenshot in time so I’m sorry for the crappy notification email formatting):

which he then proceeded to also post to Reddit (this is another Reddit user’s screenshot, I didn’t see it at all, the notifications were moving too fast for me to follow by then)

... where he got a roughly equal amount of righteously furious replies. (Check downthread, they're still there, all the way at the bottom.)

After which Cliff went ahead & deleted his messages altogether. 

It’s not entirely clear whether his account was suspended by Reddit soon after or whether he deleted it himself, but considering his tumblr account is still intact, I assume it’s the former. He made a handful of sock puppet accounts to play around with for a while, both on Reddit and Tumblr, only one of which I have a screenshot of, but since they all say roughly the same thing, you’re not missing much:

And then word-stream started throwing a DNS error.

That lasted for a good number of hours, which was unfortunately right around the time that a lot of authors first heard about the situation and started asking me individually how to find out whether their work was stolen too. I do not have that information and I am unclear on the perimeters Weitzman set for his AI scraper, so this is all conjecture: it LOOKS like the fics that were lifted had three things in common:

They were completed works;

They had over several thousand kudos on AO3; and

They were written by authors who had actively posted or updated work over the past year.

If anyone knows more about these perimeters or has info that counters my observation, please let me know!

I finally thought to check/alert evil Twitter during this time, and found out that the news was doing the rounds there already. I made a quick thread summarizing everything that had happened just in case. You can find it here.

I went to Bluesky too, where fandom was doing all the heavy lifting for me already, so I just reskeeted, as you do, and carried on.

Sometime in the very early evening, word-stream went back up—but the fan fiction category was nowhere to be seen. Tentative joy and celebration!***

That’s when several users—the ones who had signed up for accounts to gain intel and had accessed their own fics that way—reported that their work could still be accessed through their history. Relevant Reddit post here.

Sooo—

We’re obviously not done. The fanwork that was stolen by Weitzman may be inaccessible through his website right now, but they aren’t actually gone. And the fact that Weitzman wasn’t willing to get rid of them altogether means he still has plans for them. 

This was my final edit on my Reddit post before turning off notifications, and it's pretty much where my head will be at for at least the foreseeable future:

Please feel free to add info in the comments, make your own posts, take whatever action you want to take to protect your work. I only beg you—seriously, I’m on my knees here—to not give up like I saw a handful of people express the urge to do. Keep sharing your creative work and remain vigilant and stay active to make sure we can continue to do so freely. Visit your favorite fics, and the ones you’ve kept in your ‘marked for later’ lists but never made time to read, and leave kudos, leave comments, support your fandom creatives, celebrate podficcers and support AO3. We created this place and it’s our responsibility to keep it alive and thriving for as long as we possibly can.

Also FUCK generative AI. It has NO place in fandom spaces.

THE 'SMALL' PRINT (some of it in all caps):

*Weitzman knew what he was doing and can NOT claim ignorance. One, it’s pretty basic kindergarten stuff that you don’t steal some other kid’s art project and present it as your own only to act surprised when they protest and then tell the victim that they should have told you sooner that they didn’t want their project stolen. And two, he was very careful never to list the IPs these fanworks were based on, so it’s clear he was at least familiar enough with the legalities to not get himself in hot water with corporate lawyers. Fucking over fans, though, he figured he could get away with that. 

**A note about the AI that Weitzman used to steal our work: it’s even greasier than it looks at first glance. It’s not just the method he used to lift works off AO3 and then regurgitate onto his own website and app. Looking beyond the untold horrors of his AI-generated cover ‘art’, in many cases these covers attempt to depict something from the fics in question that can’t be gleaned from their summaries alone. In addition, my fics (and I assume the others, as well) were listed with generated genres; tags that did not appear anywhere in or on my fic on AO3 and were sometimes scarily accurate and sometimes way off the mark. I remember You & Me & Holiday Wine had ‘found family’ (100% correct, but not tagged by me as such) and I believe The Shape of Soup was listed as, among others, ‘enemies to friends to lovers’ and ‘love triangle’ (both wildly inaccurate). Even worse, not all the fic listed (as authors on Reddit pointed out) came with their original summaries at all. Often the entire summary was AI-generated. All of these things make it very clear that it was an all-encompassing scrape—not only were our fics stolen, they were also fed word-for-word into the AI Weitzman used and then analyzed to suit Weitzman’s needs. This means our work was literally fed to this AI to basically do with whatever its other users want, including (one assumes) text generation. 

***Fan fiction appears to have been made (largely) inaccessible on word-stream at this time, but I’m hearing from several authors that their original, independently published work, which is listed at places like Kindle Unlimited, DOES still appear in word-stream’s search engine. This obviously hurts writers, especially independent ones, who depend on these works for income and, as a rule, don’t have a huge budget or a legal team with oceans of time to fight these battles for them. If you consider yourself an author in the broader sense, beyond merely existing online as a fandom author, beyond concerns that your own work is immediately at risk, DO NOT STOP MAKING NOISE ABOUT THIS.

PLEASE check my later versions of this post via my main page to make sure you have the latest version of this post before you reblog. All the information I’ve been able to gather is in my reblogs below, and it's frustrating to see the old version getting passed around, sending people on wild goose chases.

Thank you all so much!

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Recount Your Kids, Batman

[A loose continuation to this post]

Talia doesn't visit the Wayne manor. At least not regularly nor officially. All the batkids and Batman know she comes sometimes, just to check up on Damian and maybe bother Bruce from time to time, but this is the first time she has ever shown up to a dinner.

And, as they all take their seats, she gives Damian a long curios glance. Then, she looks to Bruce.

"Is that everyone?" She asks, easy and lighthearted. One might think she is simply not acquainted with the number of Wayne children or that she is teasing Bruce on the sheer amount of them. But Damian is looking down to his plate, and Tim knows for sure Talia keeps up with Wayne's head count, and Dick is fairly certain Talia would never tease Bruce, at least not so subtly.

It could have been some sort of a hint at Jason. If he was not here, that is. But he is, for once, so this is really all the family at one table.

"Yes?" Dick tries, looking around the table just to make sure. Steph and Babs are not here today, but that's definitely not what Talia could have meant. Bruce also looks just a little confused, which is a nice change of pace since he looked guarded and on edge from the very moment Talia showed up.

The woman hums, her eyes studying Damian. The youngest bat keeps his gaze down on his empty plate. No one really understands what's going on, but they all feel like there's something important and heavy hanging in the air.

Then, Talia stands up and turns to Alfred, "We will be dining later. It has come to my attention that kids are a lot more secretive than I thought," she explains cryptically and smiles at Bruce, "Beloved, will you come with me to the training grounds? I have something to show you."

Bruce doesn't move for a long moment, and Talia's smile becomes almost gentle, "It's about your son."

At least that makes the man move.

When they get down to the Cave - since Talia insisted this was not a matter that could be resolved in the manor's training room - it's not only her, Bruce, and the little bat there, of course. The whole family was way too intrigued, and some were even alarmed.

The most alarming part, though, was the fact that Damian had been uncharacteristically quiet on their way down. Yet, when Dick looked to Cass, she just shook her head slightly. The boy was not worried. To Cass, he looked almost resigned, if a bit displeased.

"Your sword, Damian," Talia commands, and the boy presses his lips into a thin line.

"This is not necessary, Mother."

"It is," the woman looks amused, but there's an underlying layer of concern to her tone.

"...Yes, Mother," Damian nods his head on what feels like surrender and takes his katana. Not the training one, the real blade. Bruce makes a soft, alarmed grunt, but Talia waves him off.

"Not to worry, Beloved. I will not harm our brethren."

She doesn't take a stance, nor does she pick out a weapon, simply lunges for Damian as soon as they are both on the mats. Two daggers seem to appear in her hands out of nothing, and, contrary to her words, her aim is towards Damian's neck. The boy blocks, jumps away, and blocks another attack.

Tim steps closer, "You can't just-"

"Step away, Drake," It's the first time Damian has spoken to them since they've sat down for dinner. His voice is tense, but not derisive. If anything, it sounds a bit tired.

Talia lunges for him again, faster, meaner. Metal clings against metal.

"You understand this can not keep going, my child," she tells the boy, startlingly gentle on the contrary to her definitely dangerous strikes.

Damian doesn't answer.

The rest of Batfam are forced to simply watch the encounter: Damian is mostly on defense as Talia goes for him, harder and harder with every hit. Until, without any warning, the woman strikes for Damian's arm, making him drop his katana, and-

A few things happen at once.

Talia lunges for Damian's throat. Bruce jumps onto the mats so fast that he almost trips. Tim yelps.

But Talia's blade doesn't strike.

A figure of another child, eerily similar to Damian and wearing the League of Assassins uniform, is standing in front of the littlest bat, two crystal clear blades in his hands, blocking the dagger.

Bruce halts midstep. The rest of the family holds their breath.

But Talia simply smiles and drops her daggers, backing away and looking at the boy between her and Damian with a fond gaze.

"Danyal," she greets, and the boy huffs, lowering his weapons. He doesn't drop them - they simply dissipate in the air, turning into tiny snowflakes.

"Mother," he greets back begrudgingly, and his voice is the exact replica of Damian's. A clone? No, because Damian reacts to him nothing like he had to the clones, simply clicking his tongue and rolling his eyes.

"You could have simply asked, Mother," he comments, taking a step forward and stading near the other boy. Danyal. When standing side by side, they look nearly identical - same facial features, same posture, same hair, even if Damian's is a little more tame.

But Danyal's eyes are just a few hues off. Still green but lighter than Damian's.

"I assumed if you have spent years living here and never bothered to mention your brother, I would need a little more than asking, my love," Talia doesn't laugh, but it sounds like she wants to. Both boys roll their eyes, perfectly in sync.

Hold the fuck up, brother?

"Huh. I thought you died," Jason mentions offhandedly, and the whole family whips their heads to him. Yet, before any of them speak, it's Danyal who answers.

"I mean, I did? Kinda?" He waves his hand in the air and shrugs, and he acts so unlike Damian while also simultaneously having his face, that it makes Tim shiver a little.

"You-" Bruce starts, seeming to finally find his voice, but the boy cuts him off.

"I'm not actually yours," he snorts at Bruce's facial expression, "Yeah, I know I look like I am. Blame the ghost sewers, Chronos, and my stupid ass for making decisions while not being fully awake."

There is so much to unpack in that sentence that no one has the barest of ideas on where to start.

Damian curves his lips down in a sneer.

"The longer you stay there staring, the colder the dinner will be when we return," he reminds them, and Danyal suddenly perks up.

"Dinner? Can I join? It's been ages since I've had anything home cooked," he smiles, like there's some kind of an inside joke in that sentence. Damian rolls his eyes.

"The food doesn't come alive in this household, Danyal."

"Bummer," the boy looks a bit disappointed, but not too much. "And it's Danny, for the thousandth time."

Talia picks up her daggers, hiding them somewhere in her clothes in an unnoticeable motion. Then, she gives Bruce a small, if a bit sly, smile.

"You can not call it 'family dinner' if not all your family is there."

[whoisraii]

Even if my heart stops beating...You're the only thing I need with me

F1 MASTERLIST

☆ : Featuring : All of the drivers present in the 2025 grid ☆ : Synopsis : Them around you while they have a crush on you but you are too oblivious...

☆ : word count : 2.1k

🎧Song for this fic : Pretty Boy ( Chip Chorme and the Monotones)...The Neighbourhood

Note : this is actually my first time writing for all 20 of them so if I don't do justic to one of them I'm so sorry 😭😭

☽・Redbull

max verstappen

You never catch Max being openly affectionate.

But the camera crew does—he’s always glancing around until he spots you.

If you’re laughing with another driver? Suddenly he’s there, acting like it’s just coincidence.

Once he said something almost nice about your outfit, then looked away like he didn’t say anything at all.

“That color doesn’t look bad on you.” “Wait, was that a compliment?” “No. Just an observation. Don’t get weird about it.”

Yuki Tsunoda

Loud, dramatic, hilarious.

Yuki will yank you into comming to the races.

“Please you are good luck to me. I need you to be down there watching me”

He brings you your favorite snacks before every race and insists it’s because he “bought too many.” (He didn’t.)

Whole paddock knows he’s crushing. but you? Blissfully unaware...

You will find your favorite candy waiting for you the second you have a bad day..

“They were on sale. Don’t overthink it.”

☽・Mercedes

George Russell

George treats you like his personal planner—even if you’re just a media coordinator or on a logistics team.

Walks you through every weekend plan, sends you the brief before you ask, and gives pre-interview pep talks like you're going on camera instead of him.

When it rains, he will offer you his umbrella...Even if that means he ends up soaked.

“George, you’re getting drenched.”...“Yes, but you’re not. That’s what matters.”

Andrea Kimi Antonelli

He doesn't flirt he just teases the living hell out of you..

You mispronounce an Italian word once—once—and Kimi never lets it go.

The thing is, he’s always around. Not in an obvious way, but in that quiet, lingering in your peripheral vision way.

He stands close—too close—when he’s talking to you. Shoulder brushing yours. Arms almost touching. But if you lean away or give him a look, he just raises an eyebrow like what? am I in your space? could never be me.

He might tease you...but he will remember your everything...and he will take pictures of you candid stuff which you later find out when he sends you one by mistake..A candid. You, mid-laugh, half-blurry from movement. The corner of his jacket sleeve is visible in the frame.

will smile while you talk to him and maybe get lost in your eyes..too lost maybe..

“What?”..“You were looking at me.”..“No, I was—don’t be weird.”..(Pause)..“You had something on your face.”

☽・Ferrari

Charles Leclerc

Holds you hand to subconciously sometimes...

Gets a bit pouty when the fanbase favours you more but he secretly loves it...

knows your coffee order by heart and gets you coffee every morning...

Doesn't accept it and saty quiet if anyone tries to disrespect you or mistreat you...yeah not on his watch...

"Did you drink enough water today? and did you have breakfast? you skip that meal a lot...like a lot..."

Lewis Hamilton

Keeps it professional on camera but insists producers highlight your work and advocacy...

Makes sure to include you in glitzy events but won’t directly talk about his feelings for you.

Wraps an arm around you in press chaos but immediately acts casual if questioned.

Posts a soft photo of you with a vague caption — as if to say

"I’m here, but I won’t say more.”

☽・Mclaren

Lando Norris

Doesn't flirt with you like he does with others...he just becomes a 12 year old with a crush around you...

Will unplug your mic and act shocked when you notice and always standing behind you during group shots, pulling faces.

Starts every day with “don't tell me what to do” and ends it with “text me when you’re home. I get worried if you don't”

Is in more of your posts than in regular ones which makes the PR go mad..

(Later, during media day) “Lando, can you stop photobombing her instagram?”...“Sorry, I’m her emotional support driver.”

Oscar Piastri

He pays attention...will remember anything and everything you tell him about yourself...your coffee order, favorite books, favorite artist...everything.

He wants to listen to music? He wants to listen it with you...will share earbuds without a second thought...

Will sit beside you the second he has the oppurtunity...

If someone raises their voice at you he will polietly but firmly to keep their tone in check...and most of the times not infront of you...

“Oscar went full lawyer on that journo for you.” you would probably find out form someone on the team...

“You never said.” “Didn’t need to. He was wrong. You deserved better.”

Since he remembers almost everything...you will find coffee or something to cheer you up the second you have a bad day...

“You didn’t have to bring me tea…”..“You sounded tired. Figured you wouldn’t stop for yourself.”

☽・Aston Martin

Fernando Alonso

Will subtly shake his head all the time while maintaining eye contact with you while you speak

Also asks you to be there in the garages while he srives because he sees you as his lucky charm...

He would never admit it but things you give him are always kept safely and a keychain you gave him is always on his backpack because it reminds him of you...

If anyone tries to get dissmisive about you job title or say anything bad abt you...He wont think twice before speaking up and sometimes maybe not so politely...

“If you don’t know her role, you shouldn’t be asking questions.”

Lance Stroll

He might be the most nonchalant guy to others but he laughs the hardest the second you make a joke...even if its dumb or stupid...

The one to buy you your favorite snacks in bulk and just keep then with him in case you are ever hungry..

And he will stick to you because to him you are his comfort person...

You might see him scribbling your name in his notes and stuff...its subconcious but its just him...

“You wrote my name?” “It’s not weird! I mean—it’s just for luck. Like… positive manifestation. Or whatever.”

☽・Williams

Alex Albon

He's tall so he walks fast but when you're walking with him...he will slow down his pace to just match with yours so you can walk more comfortably...

If its your first time at a grand prix...he will try his hardest to make sure absolutely nothing goes wrong for you...

Picking at eachother is deffinately the love language between you both...but he would never cross the line...

If he ever notices you skipping breakfast or any meal of the day...he will make sure to carry something with him so that he can hand it to you immediatly when it looks like you're hungry...

If you have anything big comming up for you and you're nervous...he will slide you notes and pretend that they were absolutely not from him...

“‘Knock ‘em dead, superstar’? What happened to ruthless sarcasm?” “Who let you see that? I was trying to be mysterious and emotionally unavailable.” “Too late. Your soft side is showing.” “Damn. I knew I should’ve written ‘Don’t trip on camera.’”

Carlos Sainz

Will run to you the second he feels even a minescule spec of stress...he calls you his 'calming presence' because your voice feels so calm...

Will send you his song recomendations...

Is probably the kind of guy to beg you to get song widgets where you can pick out songs for eachother when it reminds you of eachother...

Would'nt think twice before offering you his jacket with a small smirk and nodd...

“You remembered my favorite artist?” “Of course. I listen when you talk. That’s what friends do...Especially the special ones.”

☽・Haas

Oliver Bearman

He will drop everything and run to you the second he spotts you...unless its very important or work related...

Will repeat the complements you give him under his breath just to relieve the happiness of what you had just said...

He gets visibly happy when you say "see you later" even if its a part of rouine at this point...

He will cling to you like a koala and see you as his comfort person...

Also sees you as his lucky charm so asking you to be his plus one in gps is the most normal thing...

Remembers your orders and your favorite songs by heart...

“Ollie, breathe. It’s just lunch.” “Right. Normal. Casual. Totally regular human food consumption...You know, if it were just us forever, I’d be fine with that.”

Estaban Ocon

Will hold everything for you...the door...the umbrella...your sanity...

Will get you an extra pass so that you can come watch him race..and will panic if he forgets to get you one by any chance

Also knows your coffee order, food orders and schedule like its the back of his hand...

will strict heartedly follow the sidewalk rule...

If you have a bad day and he gets to know about it...expect him to get you your favorite takeout and ask if you want to have a movie night at his with him...

"why do you always make me drink water and get me food?" “Because you forget to eat when you're stressed… and you always leave your water bottle behind.” “So you’re stalking me for hydration purposes?” “Exactly. I'm a very noble stalker.”

☽・Racing bulls

Liam Lawson

Liam will give you nickanames that only he has rights to use...if anyone uses them...he will make sure that he makes it a point that only he can call you that...

He will carry some of your favorite snacks with him always in case you miss a meal or are genuinly hungry...

He will pretend to trip over his feet just so you can check up on him...

Calls you his 'lucky charm' and will cling to you...

Gifts you stuff...and makes sure nothing wrong happens to you...

“Did you seriously bring me gummy bears?” “You said you liked them once. In January. Of last year.” “So this is… thoughtful stalking?” “No! It’s called long-term strategic snacking...…Also I needed an excuse to talk to you today.”

Isack Hadjar

Isack will always be at the corner of your eye...everyone knows if you are somewhere he is nearby...

He wears the friendship bracelet you gave him like its a sacred thread...if anyone tries to touch it...he will yank his hand away...every single picture...its there on his hand...all the time...

Somehow always ends up holding your watter bottle or jacket or lanyard...he will say that you maybe lost it and hes just here to return...but its obvious that he has been holding it for about thirty minutes or so...

Remembers your coffee order and favorite songs...he will share his earbuds with you...

He would never flirt directly...but the second you say that you are cold...his hoodie is in your hands before you can even complete the sentence...

“You okay? You’re twitchier than usual.” “Didn’t sleep much.” “Why not?” “Was trying to figure out how to talk to you without sounding like an idiot.”

☽・Alpine

Peirre Gasly

Is convinced that you are his soulmate...he will flirt with you...and smile at you the entire time you talk with him...

Calls you 'sunshine' because he thinks you bring hope to him...

Will act offended if Simba likes you more but secretly loves you playing with Simba...

He will send you flowers under a fake name but then ask if you liked them...

"Liked the flowers on your doorstep this morning sunshine?" "That was you?"

Jack Doohan

Jack is the defination of 'Act cool. Panic later'

He is all soft smiles and hopeful glances, pretending he’s totally chill around you while in reality...he’s memorized every conversation...rehearsed his jokes, and 100% lies awake replaying the way you laughed at something he said three weeks ago.

Shows up with spare team merch "just lying around" and melts when you wear it

Gets adorably tounge tied if you complement him...say "you look nice today" with that soft smile and watch him trip over a cord or somthing while smiling...

The inside of his notebook has one scribble in the margin that reads: “Ask her out before the season ends. Please.”

You catch him staring sometimes, not in a cocky way, but like he’s just genuinely stunned you exist near him.

“She’s just… I don’t know. She makes everything feel less chaotic.

☽・Kick Sauber

Nico Hulkenberg

Is a little bit grumpy about everything except you....

He will say something like "you again?" but immediately make some space for you so you can sit...

leaves his jacket on your chair by "accident" when ever its cold...

leves you little notes in the jacket pockets...

"media days dont suck if shes there..."

Gabriel Bortoleto

blushes if you talk to him...blushes if you stand close to him...blushes if you smile...blushes if you wave...basically a blushing mss when it comes to you...

Will ask you to be in the garages during the race and reassures himself with a “Breathe. She’s here.”

Will give you his water bottle if you can't find your with two hands like a nervous kid giving yo a flower..

also wears the bracelet you gave him like a sacred thread...

"please come to the race...you help me keep my sanity down there..."

©WHOISRAII 2025 ━ do not copy, steal, post somewhere else or translate my work without my permission.

[drchucktingle]

my masks

hey there buckaroos. due to all of the attention the TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION situation has gotten i am going to take a minute to talk about my personal way as an autistic buckaroo. im going to tell you about my masks.

im doing this for a few reasons, some are good FUN reasons full of love and some are not so great. 

lets start with the GOOD STUFF. first of all, i am talking about this because speaking on my way can help other buckaroo feel more comfortable speaking on there own way, ESPECIALLY if they are good at ‘passing’ for neurotypical like chuck is. 

unfortunately the NOT SO GREAT reasons im talking about all this dang stuff are two fold. reason one: i have been put into a position of having to explain and justify my needs and boundaries by the TXLA. this is not something that i WANT to be taking up all of my time, but when large organizations do not make space for those who they have pledged to support, it puts us smaller buckaroos into position where were have to defend our existence. it is not plesent but it is necessary.

the second NOT SO GREAT reason is that ‘passing’ bisexual and autistic people like myself are ALWAYS just seconds from being gatekept from folks both outside and inside these communities. there will probably be a day on chucks deathbed where i take off my mask and say hello to this timeline (mostly so you can all see how handsome i am under here but I DIGRESS). i KNOW with absolute certainty (the same way other bi and autistic buckaroos are probably nodding along right now) that when that day comes i will STILL be accused of ‘not being real’ and ‘faking’ because i ‘dont look autistic’ and i have a beautiful ladybuck partner in sweet barbara.

ALL THAT IS TO SAY, i am taking a moment today to talk FOR THE RECORD about my neurodigence and my particular needs. hopefully i will not have to keep diving this deep every time an organization takes a discrimantory action against me, but i will also say this: at least it is a good fight on an important battlefield

anyway buds, here is the story of my way on the spectrum

when i was a young buckaroo i knew that my thought process was different. i could socialize easily, which is unique in contrast to many autistic buds (it is a spectrum after all), but my social ease was for an interesting reason. I ALWAYS KNEW WHAT OTHERS WERE ABOUT TO SAY. it was like a strange ‘human game’ where someone would say one thing and i would think ‘well you actually mean something else’ in a sort of logical way (this is why i later related to DATA from star trek so dang much). at first i remember thinking ‘well i am just NOT going to play along with this human game’. i quickly learned neurotypical buckaroos do not like this, that there is a BOB AND WEAVE to social interactions that must be learned. 

later i realized ‘actually if i WANT to make friends and prove love is real then i can do this like an expert because i can SEE the game where most cant’. this got chuck many buds and took me on many adventures. please understand, i am not saying these connections are not important to me, they are just different. they are full of love, but i express this in my own unique way.

HOWEVER, while growing up i felt disconnected from this timeline in other ways, like an alien or a reverse twin trotting along in a world that is not quite my own. i did not feel emotions the same way my buds did. they would get upset over the ‘human game’ interactions and i would not be moved at all, HOWEVER i could see the way sunlight hit a window and start crying my dang eyes out over the beauty. so my emotion was still there and VERY STRONG, i just felt it in more existential ways (like hearing the call of the lonesome train). these days that feeling has progressed to where i am pretty much in a constant blissed out state of cosmic emotional connection (make of that last sentence what you will, but it is the truth). when i make existential posts online i am not just FIRING OFF SOME CONTENT, i really mean every word. this is really my trot.

anyway as a young buckaroo these feelings made me worry sometimes. i thought about various mental health dianosises and marked the parts and pieces that matched with myself. am i this? am i that? sometimes, instead of just being’ different’ i worried i might actually be ‘wrong’. 

when i saw david byrne on letterman in my younger days i immediately recognized something connected to myself. i thought ‘wow this is the mystery being solved before my very eyes.’ i could hear it in the music of talking heads too. i started doing research and realized that i might be on autism spectrum, something that was later confirmed by a therapist (back then the diagnosis was called asperger's). it was a glorious and fulfilling moment. i was SO EXCITED TO BE AUTISTIC LIKE MY HERO. i felt very cool because of it, and i still feel very cool because of it.

one of the big reasons i talk so much about being autistic these days is because i want to make sure OTHER buckaroos can have that same moment that i did. they can see chuck and think ‘wow i really like this autistic artist, maybe being autistic is cool’

so what does an average day WITHOUT wearing the pink bag look like for me?

my thought process is exactly like ROSE from CAMP DAMASCUS, which is part of why i wrote the book. we have the same stim (complex order of finger taps), we prepare for social interactions the same way, we analyze things in the same logical trot that neurotypical people might think feels ‘detached’ but for me feels natural (certain reviews of camp damascus are very funny to me in this way. you can tell when a reader is just very confused by existing in an autistic brain for 250 pages.)

from the outside you would not be able to tell that i am on the spectrum. in fact you would probably find me very socially adept. 

the problem is, all of that masking can take its toll. i spent years trotting in and out the emergency room, talking to confused doctors who could not figure out the chronic phantom tension and pain that radiated through my body. i eventually accepted the fact that i would either live a life constantly on heavy painkillers or just stop living altogether.

eventually, however, i started noticing a correlation between the way that i felt, and the space that i allowed for chuck and the pink mask. i was exercising that tension, allowing my mental mask of neurotypical existence to take a rest. i started practicing physical therapy and this time THE RESULTS STUCK because i was approaching from two sides, MIND AND BODY. after a while, i got my pain down to about 5 percent of what it once was. i still have flare ups in times of stress, but the healing has been very real and life changing.

lets get VERY specific now. if i attended the TXLA confrence without a mask and gave my talk i can tell you this: i would do a dang good job. i can work the heck out of a crowd and (not to reveal too much about my secret way) I HAVE BEEN KNOWN TO DO THIS ON OCCASION VERY WELL. however, going home from this event i would very likely be in pain. i would likely need to do physical therapy. i would likely need to stim for a while. i would NOT be emotionally fullfilled in the same way. in other words, without my pink mask i can charm the heck out of buckaroos, but THE SPACE OF CHUCK TINGLE IS NOT THE SPACE FOR THAT. the pink bag is a place for me to not have to put up with that tension. it is a place for me to unmask mentally by masking physically.

this pink bag space SAVED MY LIFE and i am not going to risk blurring these lines. if and when that ever happens it will be MY decision, not someone elses. that is my boundary. the part of me that neurotypically masks could handle a library conference in a purely technical sense, but the part of me that chuck represents absolutely cannot and should not be asked to do that without the pink bag. unfortunately, the complexity of this point makes it even MORE difficult for me to think about and takes up even more of my time, because it forces me to START QUESTIONING MYSELF and my own needs. to be honest, that is the most insidious part of other people questioning your identify and refusing to accept your accommodation needs without ‘proof’.

the thing is, while all of this discussion of disability and accessibility is important, i have a much larger point to make by writing these words.

a conference should not uninvite someone with an unusual physical presentation or a strange way of speaking REGARDLESS of it being classified as a disability. it does not matter WHY i look the way that i look and wear what i wear. i should not have to spend all day writing this post instead of writing my next book, just because my sensibilities are unique and my presentation is unusual. 

fortunately the solution is very simple: let other people be themselves. its not hurting you to simply accept and nod at the buckaroos you think look strange. let us exist

[andvys]

the edges of your soul (i haven’t seen yet) ⭐︎ chapter nine

⭐︎ Pull the trigger on the gun I gave you when we met

warnings: fluff, post apocalypse au, alcohol consumption, drinking game, mentions of sex, mentions of masturbation, mention of virginity, hurt/no comfort (i guess?), angst, sunshine x grumpy, jealousy jealousy jealousy

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: during a game of never have i ever you find out things you weren’t prepared for

word count: 9k+

authors note: i wrote this part in two days, that’s how excited i was to write it hehe. shoutout to @hellfire--cult as always 🤍 we came up with this chapter months ago and now it’s finally here! roe added the last bit aka THE PAINFUL ONE! I am so excited for the upcoming chapters hehe

series masterlist ⭐︎ previous chapter

☀︎

The air is crisp. The wind is cold and harsher now than it was a few weeks ago. The first snow started falling about a week ago, making the journey a lot harder and slower, which isn’t in your favor at all. You want to go home sooner rather than later. You have already lost so much time, when you were alone and even now too. Your sickness slowed you down, slowed them down. 

You are much better now. The fever had gone down five days into your antibiotic treatment. Your cough is still there, not as strongly as it was before but it’s there. On top of that, you don’t perform as well as you used to before the sickness. You get tired quickly, your muscles get sore and you struggle to breathe. 

Nancy told you that it’s normal, that it might take a longer while for you to recover fully. Her brother Mike suffered for nearly two months after falling sick with pneumonia, carrying an inhaler with him at all times, just like you do too, now. 

It frustrates you a little, because now they all watch you like hawks to make sure that you are not moving around too much. You are not allowed to go on runs or scavenge areas, at least not until you’re healthy again. Steve is scavenging with Eddie now mostly, but today Nancy joined him instead, leaving you and Eddie to stand guard on the snowy parking lot. 

You don’t mind. You like spending time alone with Eddie, but you want to do something. Not being able to help is driving you crazy. 

You play with the hair tie around your wrist, the one that Steve left on you, the one you haven’t taken off yet because he told you to keep it when you tried to give it back. You didn’t question where he got it or whose it was. You have a hunch. 

“Fucking Nebraska.” Eddie murmurs as he leans against the side of the RV, looking up into the grey sky. 

“What’s wrong with Nebraska?” You ask, chuckling. 

Eddie shrugs at you, raising his axe, and he points all around at the snow. “That.” 

“Nebraska isn’t the only state that’s covered in snow right now, Eddie.” You smile in amusement. You rub your glove covered hands together as you turn your body towards him. 

He narrows his eyes at you, sighing loudly. 

“Yeah well, we should have been in uh… Wyoming, Idaho or freaking Utah by now but instead we’re stuck in this godforsaken state. I swear it’s only gonna bring us bad luck.” 

You furrow your eyebrows and giggle at him, shaking your head. 

“This state is really on your most hated list, huh?” 

Eddie scoffs as he turns to face you. His cheeks are red, his nose is too. His bottom lip is trembling from the cold. A few snowflakes adorn his curls. 

“Yup.” 

“Well… if it makes you feel any better… It took me a year to get to Indiana from New York,” you admit, shrugging. “Something always gets in the way. Just like now, if it isn’t the blocked roads then it’s the time we use for scavenging. If it isn’t that, then it’s the time we spend looking for gas… and if it isn’t that then… It's a sickness.” You sigh, looking down at your feet as you kick the snow on the ground. 

Eddie’s eyes soften. Sympathy flashes in them. You felt guilty for falling sick, for slowing them down, for being a ‘burden’ as you had called yourself. He felt a little angry for the way you talked about yourself, for the way you thought you had to apologize for not feeling well.  

A soft huff falls from his lips as he bumps his shoulder into yours. He reaches for your hand and gives it a tight squeeze. 

“Sweetheart, if you mention that one more time… I swear to Ozzy I will eat all your Kitkat’s.” 

Your dimples show when your lips curl into a smile. You shake your head at him, looking back into his eyes with a mean look on your face. You raise your hand up and point your finger at him. 

“Not my Kitkat’s.” You threaten, making him chuckle. 

Eddie grins at you. 

“Stop feeling guilty and I won’t steal your candy, Sweets. It’s simple.” He shrugs. 

You roll your eyes at him and he gasps at that, looking at you offended. He throws his hand to his chest and leans back. 

“Did you just roll your eyes at me, Sunshine?” He asks shocked, using the nickname Steve calls you by. 

You shake your head at his act, giggling at his dramatics. You lean down and sink your hand into the snow, scooping some up into your hand. You move back up, smirking evilly at him before you throw it at his face. 

“You’re such a dork, Eddie Munson.” 

Another louder gasp falls from his lips when the coldness hits his skin and he stares at you bewildered. He brings his hand up to his face and wipes away the snow that is now stuck to his skin. 

You are slowly backing away, eyes glinting with amusement as you giggle loudly. 

“You did not just…” He glares at you, taking a step towards you. “You little witch.”

Your eyes widen when he leans down and scoops some snow onto his palm before he charges at you. A squeal falls from your lips as you turn around quickly, trying to run from him. 

“Oh, now you’re trying to run?” Eddie chuckles loudly behind you. “Don’t you wanna finish this little snowball fight?” 

“Nope!” You giggle loudly, hoping that Steve won’t come out of the store and catch you and Eddie running around like little kids. 

“Come here!” 

“Nuh uh!” 

You make the mistake of looking back at him, not controlling your steps like you should. Your foot catches onto ice under a layer of snow and you suddenly lose your balance, slipping on the ice with both feet. You try to steady yourself but to no avail, you are falling. Though you don’t feel the rough concrete underneath you like you were expecting. Instead you fall on something soft… well, softer than the concrete would have felt. 

“Oof…”

Only when you’re on the ground and you feel the arms around your waist and your head protected against a chest, do you realize that you didn’t fall on the ground because Eddie caught you and you landed on top of him instead while he took the fall for you both. 

“Ow…” He murmurs underneath you, grunting at the pain in his back. 

“Oh my god,” you mumble as the shock wears off and you quickly turn around to face him, not getting up just yet. Your eyes are wide and your face is serious, at least until you look at him and all the snow in his hair. 

You stare at each other in silence, breathing heavily. His lip twitches first and then yours follows suit. His eyes flash with amusement and before you know it, you both burst into laughter.

Tension falls off your shoulders. Tension you didn’t realize you even had. But this feels good, you can’t remember the last time you laughed. Especially like this, to the point of tears. 

“Goddamn, you’re a klutz,” Eddie laughs as he leans his head back into the snow, not caring anymore at this point. 

You shake your head, unable to stop the laughter that keeps falling from your lips. 

Eddie lets go of your waist and brings his hand up to your back, patting it softly. 

“Are you okay?” 

You bring your hand up to your face, wiping away the stray tear that escaped from your eyes. You nod at his question. 

“I had a safe fall,” you giggle before it gets cut off by a cough.

Eddie continues to pat your back. He presses his palm against the snowy ground and pushes himself up into a seating position, grunting a bit. You turn away from him and cough into your elbow, clenching your eyes shut. 

“Shit, Sweets.” He mumbles. “Do you need your inhaler?” 

You shake your head at him. Once you calm down, you press your hand against your chest and turn back to face him. Your eyes are a little glassy from all the coughing. 

Eddie’s eyes soften, he gives you a tight lipped smile as he pats your back one last time. 

“No laughing for you anymore, young lady.” He gives you a pointed look. 

You snort and roll your eyes. 

“Hey guys, we–” Steve halts in his tracks suddenly when he finds you on the ground with Eddie. His face falls and his eyes flash with confusion when he takes in the position you’re in – Eddie is sitting up on the ground while you are on top of him, in his lap. By the look on Eddie’s state, he knows you both must have slipped and fallen but how did you get to that point in the first place? And why is Eddie’s arm around your waist? 

He clenches his jaw without realizing it. The sourness inside of him spreads quickly, burning in his chest and taking over his whole body. He clenches his fists around the basket he is holding, gripping it so tightly that his knuckles turn white. He stares at Eddie’s hand and how he places it on your hip. Eyes burning with anger. 

Steve doesn’t like this and he doesn’t even realize why. 

Your head snaps towards Steve and you frown at the look on his face. Before you even begin to question it, your eyes fall on the basket he is holding and curiosity gets the best of you. You carefully get off Eddie and place your feet back on the ground, accepting his hand that he offers to you. 

Steve’s eyebrows knit together strongly and the fire in him spreads further and up to his face, causing his cheeks to redden. 

You don’t notice but Eddie does, especially when he catches Steve watching how you help him up. How you remove the snow from his jacket and his cheek, making sure that he is clean again before you make your way towards him. 

Eddie raises his eyebrows in surprise, seeing the glare that is directed at him, the murderous gaze. If looks could kill, he would drop dead by now. If he didn’t consider Steve to be one of his best friends, he would have feared him right now. But Eddie only feels smugness and amusement. 

If jealousy had a name, it would be Steve Harrington. 

Eddie’s lip curls into a smirk, and he snickers under his breath. 

“This is too good,” he murmurs under his breath. He is gonna tease him. Oh yeah. He is gonna enjoy this one. 

“What’d you find?” You ask cheerfully as you make your way towards him, smiling brightly already. 

Steve looks away from Eddie and down at you. His eyes instantly soften when they meet yours. The sourness remains in his chest but something else spreads even quicker… warmth. 

You grab the edge of the basket with both hands and peek inside. Your smile falls and your eyes widen. A gasp of excitement falls from your lips when you catch sight of the knitted scarf. 

You look up at him, mustering up your best puppy eyes. 

“Can I have that one?” You plead. 

Steve’s heart skips a beat at the look on your face. Those eyes. He feels his knees falling weak every time you look at him like this. 

He swallows the growing lump in his throat and he nods. 

He almost wants to laugh at your question though. He spent fifteen minutes picking out a scarf for you. He didn’t want just any one. He grabbed the pink one at first before he caught sight of this one. He was unaware of Nancy’s smug face. 

“I picked it out for you.” He mumbles, lip curling upwards when your wide eyes meet his again. 

“You did!?” You nearly squeal as you grab it from the basket, jumping on your feet slightly as you wrap it around yourself. 

Steve’s eyes sparkle as he takes in the pure happiness on your features, all because of a pastel yellow colored scarf. 

“How’d you know this was my favorite color?” You ask, feeling the fluttering of your heart so strongly at this moment, especially when you look into his hazel eyes. 

Steve feels caught and he sinks into himself a little. Heat creeps up to his cheeks and he grows flustered… embarrassed. He clears his throat, shifting from one foot to another. 

He clears his throat, wanting to punch Eddie now more than ever as he catches sight of the smug bastard in the back. 

“I honestly didn’t know… I– I just… remembered you said you had a sunflower field behind your house, so I thought…” he trails off and looks back down into your eyes. They are sparkling for him. Your smile is wider than it was in weeks. You’re happy. “Good to know, though…”

Your heart skips a beat, and your stomach flutters wildly. He remembered your sunflower field? You told him that in the very beginning, when he didn’t even talk back much, when you just rambled his ear off. You didn’t even think he listened to you, let alone remember what you talked about to him. 

“Thank you so much, Stevie!” You smile widely as you take a step closer to him. You rise to your tippy toes and grab onto his shoulder as you press your lips to his cheek, pecking it softly. 

Steve freezes. He tenses up. Not because he didn’t like it but because he did. He liked it. He liked the feeling of your lips on his skin. A little too much. 

You pull away and brush past him when you notice Nancy coming out of the store, carrying two bags. You leave him standing with glowing cheeks. 

The need to escape takes over and despite feeling like his feet are glued to the ground, he forces himself to make his way towards the RV, ignoring the racing in his chest. 

He walks past Eddie but not without sending a glare towards him. He reaches into the basket, and picks out the grey beanie, throwing it at the metalhead without a single word. 

Eddie catches it before it hits him in the face. A loud snicker falls from his mouth when he realizes why Steve is so salty and why his cheeks are like the color of a ripe tomato. He follows him. Of course he does. Eddie sees the perfect opportunity. 

“Thanks for that, man.” Eddie holds up the beanie. 

“Yeah, you’re welcome.” Steve grumbles under his breath. He throws the door open to the RV and steps inside. Dropping the basket on the table, he starts taking out the cans of food he found and starts stacking them up in the cabinets. 

Eddie leans against the wall and crosses his arms over his chest. 

“What were you two doing out there?” Steve asks after two minutes of silence. 

“Had a little snowball fight.” That is an exaggeration, and he knows it, but he wants to see Steve’s reaction. “And then we fell.” 

Eddie can’t see his face. Steve’s back is turned to him as he fills up the cabinets. Though he can see how he tenses up and falters a little. 

“Right…” Steve scoffs. “She fell on your lap?” 

There it is. Eddie is surprised; that was quick. 

He doesn’t bother hiding his snickering. He pushes himself off the wall and moves up beside him, tilting his head at the former jock. He smiles smugly when he sees the clenched jaw. 

“Is that jealousy, Big Boy?” 

Steve narrows his eyes at him. He grips the edges of the counter and slowly turns to face him. 

“I’m just…–”

“You’re just what, Steve? Jealous?” Eddie cackles, enjoying this far more than he should. He raises his hand up and places it on Steve’s chest, patting it roughly. “Don’t worry, man. She is all yours, I promise.” 

Steve huffs and he shakes his head, opening his mouth to speak. 

“Yellow is her favorite color huh? I didn’t know that. You didn’t either, she didn’t even tell you–”

“Stop.” Steve sighs. He brings his hand up to his face and pinches the bridge of his nose. The tension in his shoulders rises when he realizes the weight of Eddie’s words. Deep down he knows he is right, he knows it. He doesn’t want to acknowledge it. He doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t want to admit it. He fears it. He can’t have those feelings. He can’t allow himself to care more than he does right now. He knows where this will end – how it almost ended a few weeks ago. If he allows these feelings, if he lets them out only for something to happen… he will never recover. 

The smug look on Eddie’s face falls when he realizes the seriousness of this situation as he reads the look on his face. 

Steve is holding back. He is holding back out of fear, not realizing that this could potentially make everything so much worse. 

“Steve…” Eddie sighs as his hand moves to grip his shoulder. “I know what you’re trying to do here–”

“Don’t.” Steve warns him. Like he doesn’t want to hear it, like he doesn’t want to even consider his words. “Just don’t, Munson.” 

He couldn’t even finish the sentence. He couldn’t even utter a single word and it frustrated him a little but he also understands it. 

“Fine…” Eddie sighs, and he lets his hand fall back to his side. 

Steve takes a deep breath. He runs his fingers through the mess of his head. His hair got so long in the past few months. The past self of him would be mortified at the sight of him now. 

Steve glances at Eddie. He can’t stand the sympathetic look in his dark eyes. He doesn’t want to be pitied. 

“You know what you need–”

Steve rolls his eyes and he pulls back, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“I said don’t–”

“Hear me out, will you?” Eddie mumbles in annoyance. He rolls his eyes back at him and turns around, opening the cabinet where you have put all the special things. He reaches for the bottle. A grin spreads on his face before he turns around. He holds it up with a wiggle of his brows. 

Steve shakes his head, “nope.”

“Oh yeah.” Eddie nods and by the look of his determined face, Steve knows he will lose this argument. “You gotta let loose a little. Swallow those feelings down with a little help of my former best friend.” Eddie grins at the whiskey bottle. 

Steve sighs. 

“We’ll play a little drinking game… and who knows, maybe we’ll find out some dirty truths from your girl's past.” Eddie cackles. 

“She’s not my–”

The door bursts open and you come rushing in, carrying one of the bags you grabbed off Nancy’s shoulder. You halt in your tracks and look between them. The frustrated gaze in Steve’s eyes and the excited one in Eddie’s tells you everything you need to know. 

Nancy comes stumbling in behind you. 

Eddie turns towards you, smirking at the two of you as he holds up the whiskey bottle. 

“Wanna play a game?” 

-

The fire keeps you brittle warm, allowing your cheeks to burn a little. The cold doesn’t even touch you right now, you’re so close to the heat. The bowl of soup is warm in your hands. You keep glancing towards Steve as you watch him eat. 

Eddie is rambling his ear off about DnD, something Steve couldn’t care less about. He keeps humming and grumbling in response. 

Nancy had already finished her dinner. She is rubbing her hands over the fire, warming herself up. 

You found a little hidden spot, behind trees and ruins, allowing you to let the flames burn higher than usual. Allowing you to feel a little more comfortable. You did a perimeter check with Steve before dinner, and he demanded to do it slowly for you, and this area seemed pretty safe and clean. 

“So… how about some good ‘ol never have I ever?” Eddie smirks as he picks up the bottle of whiskey he carried outside before. 

Your eyes light up. The urge to let loose, even if just for one night, for a few hours is so big. You nod at him, putting your now empty bowl on the ground beside your feet. 

“Yes, please!” 

Nancy chuckles at the enthusiastic smile on your face. Eddie’s eyes lock with hers and she shrugs at him, mumbling “sure.” 

Eddie grins at her, knowing she wouldn’t have given in so easily in the past. She sure has changed. 

He looks at Steve last to find him staring at you. Eddie knows that he is curious, it’s in his eyes. 

“I’m not drinking—“

“Oh come on!” Eddie groans, throwing his head back.

“If I am willing to drink then you gotta do it too, Steve!” Nancy says, shrugging at him. 

“Someone’s gotta stay sober.”

“Not like we’re gonna get blackout drunk, man. Besides the area is safe—“

Steve sighs, shaking his head. “You can never know.”

“Steve…” You sigh, pulling the attention on you. You tilt your head to the side, pouting at him. “Please…”

Steve huffs softly. 

Your features, your skin, your hair look so soft in this light. The golden flames make you look even more beautiful. Something flutters in his chest when you bat your eyelashes at him. 

He breathes in shakily, and by the way Eddie snickered beside him, he knows he heard it. 

Steve clears his throat as he shakes his head. 

“You’re not drinking either, Sunshine. You’re still coming down from your sickness and you’re still on pain meds.” He says sternly. 

Now your frown and your pout deepens. Your stomach sinks a little and the excitement wears off instantly. 

“Oh… right.” You whisper. 

Steve watches the way your face falls and your shoulders slump. A saddening look flashes in your features. He is surprised to see you giving up so easily, he expected you to put up a bit of a fight. 

“Shit,” Eddie murmurs. He didn't think about it either. 

You sigh deeply. You look between all of them and straighten your back again. 

“You can still play!” 

Steve can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt bubbling up inside of him. He saw how excited you were when Eddie suggested the game. 

“Hold on,” Steve mumbles as he pushes himself up from his seat. He disappears into the RV, making you all frown in confusion. You hear some rustling, some cans moving around before he comes out again, holding a can of Dr. Pepper in his hand. He makes his way to you, lips curling into a small smile. He holds it out for you. “I know it’s not the same but… you– we can still play.” 

You stare at the red soda can in his hand. Your soft eyes light up as you look up at him. 

His throat bobs when he swallows nervously. His heart skips yet another beat as he looks down into your eyes. 

Steve couldn’t care less about the game. If it wasn’t for you, he would call it a day and go to sleep. 

“Yeah,” he whispers softly. 

You are both unaware of the eye contact Nancy and Eddie are holding. To the looks on their faces and of the mischief crossing Eddie’s face as he grabs the plastic cups he had already prepared before. He unscrews the lid and pours the whiskey. 

“Thank you,” you whisper as you take the soda from Steve’s hands. Blush rises to your cheeks and your hand warms even more when your fingers brush against his own. 

Steve only smiles at you before he makes his way back to his seat. He curls his fingers into his hand, clenching it tightly as he still feels the mark of your touch. A sigh leaves his mouth when he sinks back into his camping chair. 

Eddie holds the cup out to him, and Steve only accepts it reluctantly. 

“Don’t think too much,” Eddie says to him. “It’s gonna be good for you, trust me.” 

“If you say so.” Steve snorts as he accepts the cup. He can’t remember the last time he even smelled alcohol. 

A pop sounds through the circle as you open the can. You bring your knees up to your chest and tug the blanket tighter around you, getting comfortable as giddiness rushes through your body. This reminds you of high school… only this is even better. You’re around friends. 

Eddie puts the bottle back down after handing Nancy her cup. He leans back and looks around the circle, smirking at Steve – the latter already knowing that this means nothing good. 

“So…” Eddie starts, wiggling his eyebrows. “Who’s starting?”

Steve sinks deeper into his seat, he looks down at his drink, sloshing it around in the cup. 

“Never have I ever played DnD.” Nancy says, making both you and Steve chuckle. 

Eddie raises his eyebrows at her, tilting his head as he brings the cup up to his lips. 

“You’re doing me a favor here, Wheeler.” 

Before he can even down the drink like he had planned to do, Steve leans forward and grabs Eddie’s wrist, “hold on. You ain’t downing that drink. We’re not in high school going home safe after. Doesn’t matter how safe this area seems to you, we’re still in the middle of nowhere… during the goddamn end of the world. We’re taking sips, not shots.” 

Steve’s face is stern as he lectures Eddie, who looks like a kid getting scolded by his father. 

You can’t help but giggle. 

“Okay, dad.” Eddie mumbles with wide eyes. “Sips, not shots, got it.” 

Nancy laughs at their interaction. 

Eddie takes a sip, keeping his eyes on Steve, who watches him closely, warning him with his eyes. 

“See.” Eddie shows him the cup. “I just took a sip.” 

“Good.” Steve grumbles before he leans back into his seat. 

Eddie turns back to Nancy, grinning evilly. “Alright Wheeler. Never have I ever… gotten straight A’s in high school.” 

A groan falls from her lips, she rolls her eyes at his lame attempt at making her drink. She brings the cup up to her lips and takes a sip. 

Steve glances at you, expecting you to take a sip as well but you don’t. Your can remains propped up on your knees. 

“No A’s?” Eddie raises his brows at you. “I’m surprised.” 

You shrug. “The best I got were B’s.” 

“Something I could only ever dream of.”

Nancy rolls her eyes at him again, “you were just lazy, Eddie.” 

“Are you saying I’m smart, Nancy Wheeler?” He smirks at her. 

“I’m saying you could have been better, dumbass.” 

Eddie waves her off and looks between you and Steve, “who’s next?”

Steve shrugs and gestures to you, holding his cup. 

You blush a little when he flashes you a smile. You tug your blanket tighter to you and look back into the fire. 

“Um… never have I ever…” You pause, trying to think of something you have always wanted to do. “Gone on a picnic date…?”

Eddie sits still, not bringing the cup up to his lips. Steve is not drinking either. The three of you glance at each other before you all look towards Nancy, who is the only one to take a sip of the whiskey. She scrunches up her face at the bitter taste. 

A sullen look takes over her face and if you didn’t look close enough, you would have missed the way her eyes flashed with sadness before she took that sip. She breathes in sharply and clears her throat before she plasters a smile onto her face as she looks back to you. 

“You have never gone on a picnic date?” 

Steve glances at you too with curious eyes. 

You shake your head. You always wanted to go but no one ever asked you out. Your ex-boyfriend always told you that he wasn’t a fan of date nights – must have been because he was too busy taking other girls out. 

Steve’s chest pains a little at the saddened look on your face. 

“No, but anyways… It’s your turn, Steve!” 

Steve blinks as he stares at you, your eyes now gazing into his. His cheeks flush under the weight of your eyes. He shifts on his chair. 

“Uh…” He can’t focus when you look at him, especially with that little tilt in your head and the innocent eyes. He looks down, at the crackling wood and the golden flames. His heart skipping a little harder. This is ridiculous. “Never have I ever uh…” 

What stupid thing would Robin say? 

What silly line would escape her mouth? 

“Been arrested…?”

Eddie chuckles loudly beside him. “See for someone who doesn’t want me to get drunk, you sure are doing a bad job, Harrington.” He laughs before he takes a big sip of his whiskey. 

You gasp and lean forward, “how, when, where, why?” You ramble. 

Steve’s shoulders shake when laughter escapes him at the look on your face. The wide eyes and the dropped jaw. 

“Oh, Sweetheart…” Eddie trails off. “I got arrested several times.”

“For what!?” 

“For being an idiot!” Nancy chuckles. She witnessed it herself once, Hopper running after a handcuffed Eddie who somehow managed to escape before he was forced into the cop car. 

“Then Jonathan must’ve been an idiot too!” Eddie scoffs. “Didn’t you get arrested with him!?” 

She shakes her head at him, “nope. I just went to the station with him.” 

You don’t notice the way Steve looks away, awkwardly and tense at the current conversation. 

“Why are you all getting arrested!?” You ask, confused. 

Nancy shrugs at you. 

You glance at Steve and raise your eyebrows at him, “did you get arrested too?” 

He purses his lips and shakes his head, “nope. Always managed to get away before the cops were at the crime scene.” He jokes. 

You roll your eyes at him but chuckle softly. 

“So I’m friends with a bunch of criminals, is that it?” You joke.

“Oh yeah.” Eddie nods his head, making his curls bounce. “Bet you’re the worst of us all though.” He points his finger at you. 

You press your palm against your chest, humming. “Cold blooded killer, you said it before.” You joke, looking at him seriously. 

“Exactly.” 

The game continues and the lines get sillier as Eddie keeps refilling the cups with Whiskey. You notice how the tension in Steve’s shoulders disappears after a few bigger sips of the liquor, how the redness in his cheeks glows stronger beneath the orange hues of the campfire. Your heart flutters every time his eyes flash with amusement, with happiness. Every time his laughter echoes, you feel something in you heating up in a way it never has before. 

For a moment, the world out there is gone. It’s just the four of you, being normal people. You aren’t out here trying to survive. You aren’t out here surrounded by death. You aren’t out here barely pushing through this world. Right now, you can be a group of friends having fun… just that. And you enjoy it so much. You have never felt more welcomed than you do with them. 

Nancy’s eyes shine with tears of laughter as Eddie continues his story of the girl who threw up on his shoes when he tried flirting with her. His goal was to ask her out on a date, not realizing that she was fully drunk until it was too late. 

“God… why do you always have the lamest dating stories, Munson?” Steve laughs, blinking away his own tears. 

“That poor girl! She must have been so embarrassed!” You mumble, trying not to giggle as much. 

“Sweetheart, I threw up right after. We were both embarrassed.” 

You break into laughter again, though your face cringes in disgust at the image of it in your head. 

“Did you ever see her again, after?” Steve asks, his lips twitching as he tries to stop laughing. 

“Yeah, in the school hallway. It was awkward as hell.” Eddie admits with wide eyes. 

“God…” Nancy mumbles, amused. She leans back and tilts her head up, looking up into the sky with a lazy smile on her lips. 

“Yeah…” Eddie chuckles to himself as he looks into the fire. His finger traces the rim of his cup. 

For a moment, silence takes over. Only the crackling of the wood is heard around you. You watch the flames too, contentment filling you. 

You don’t notice his eyes on you or the way they scan your face, the way they look at you. You don’t realize that he is smiling or that his eyes are sparkling. If only you looked up. 

“Never have I ever had sex.” Eddie snorts, knowing he will make everyone drink this time. 

“Of course,” Nancy snorts and straightens up in her seat again, bringing the cup to her lip, she finishes the remains of her whiskey. 

Steve rolls his eyes as he follows suit, finishing the last bit of his drink. He turns to face you and a frown appears on his face. 

Eddie notices the look on his face when he has taken the biggest gulp of the night. 

You avoid their eyes, blushing furiously as you continue to stare into the fire. Your shoulders, your whole body is tense. Embarrassment is written all over your face. You sit still. The soda can frozen in your lap. You haven’t taken a single sip and you don’t plan on taking one as your fingers play with the loose string on your blanket. 

Steve’s eyes widen when the realization hits him. 

Oh. 

Nancy’s lips part in surprise, her eyes soften when she sees just how flustered you are. 

Eddie is the last to realize but when he does, he nearly chokes on the whiskey. He gulps down and coughs a little. Bringing his hand up to his chest as his wide eyes search for yours. 

“You… You’re a virgin, Sweetheart?” He gasps, knowing he should be approaching the topic a little more gently but he is too shocked, too intoxicated to let that rational voice in his head tell him what to do. 

Eddie is flabbergasted. 

And Steve… Steve’s eyes are filled with confusion and disbelief. His heart is pounding in his chest. How?  

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry but… how?”

Eddie asks the question that repeats itself in Steve’s mind. 

You bite your lip and look at him, avoiding Steve’s eyes. You feel too embarrassed. 

“You’re not fucking with us, are you?” Eddie squints his eyes, finding it hard to believe. 

“Nope.” 

“But… You said you had a boyfriend!” Those words come tumbling out of Steve’s mouth. 

Eddie’s and Nancy’s heads snap towards him. This is something they didn’t know about you. 

You roll your eyes and huff, “just because I had a boyfriend doesn’t mean that I slept with him. Besides… that was the exact reason why he told me I was immature… the exact reason why he cheated on me.” You mumble, looking down. 

Steve’s eyes harden at that. His chest burns with rage over that prick that was given the chance to date you only to fuck you over. 

Nancy leans forward, her protectiveness kicking in, shooting off the roof. 

“He cheated on you because you weren’t ready to sleep with him?” She scoffs, slurring her words a bit. Her blue eyes burn with anger for someone she doesn’t even know. “What– Men! Men fucking suck!” 

You smile a little. 

Eddie moves closer and pats Nancy’s back. 

“Hey, not all of us are bad,” Eddie chuckles. 

Steve looks down at his cup. His heart aches at the thought of how you felt back then. He knows your heart was crushed and you were devastated. You don’t have to tell him that for him to know. 

“I hope he died. Gruesomely. Fucked in the ass by an infected–”

You crack up at her words. The tension slips away as amusement takes over and you and Eddie start laughing loudly at her. 

Steve leans forward, he puts the empty cup down and presses his palms together, entwining his fingers. He glances at you, his eyes tracing your features while you are distracted. 

“So uh… nothing?” Eddie asks after your laughter dies down. His curiosity gets the best of him. His eyes keep glancing towards Steve to catch his reactions. 

You shake your head shyly. 

Nancy eyes you, wanting to make sure that you are comfortable talking about this. 

“No… It’s not like I don’t have the need…” You admit, surprising yourself even. But you feel safe talking about this, comfortable. Like you won’t get judged. “I mean– I had my own you know…”

Eddie raises his eyebrows, playing coy, playing dumb. 

Steve straightens up a bit, nerves growing wild inside of him as he stares at you. 

Eddie bows his head a little. “No? I know what?”

You avoid Steve’s eyes still. Heat rises to your cheeks, not from the fire but from the embarrassment inside of you. From talking about this in front of the guy you… you like. 

You blink. Tapping your fingers against your knee. 

“A helper…?”

Eddie almost bursts into laughter. He enjoys seeing you like this. He enjoys the way Steve is cracking his knuckles beside him, shifting on his chair. 

Nancy licks her lips, holding back her smile when she realizes what he is doing, when she realizes how red Steve’s cheeks are. 

Frustration bubbles up inside of you when you notice the mischief flashing in Eddie’s brown eyes. 

“For fucks sake! A vibrator! A fucking vibrator!” 

Nancy giggles loudly beside you. She is definitely gonna bring that up later. 

Steve nearly falls over. His heart almost beats out of his chest. His eyes are glued on you. Heat spreads across his whole body and before he can even stop it, images start cursing through his mind. Images of you… of you on your bed, of your hands on your body, on your bare body that he had seen already. The realization strikes that he was the first to see you like this, to touch your soft skin, to hold you. 

Suddenly his heart does more than just flutter. 

Eddie smirks at you. His shoulders shake. 

“Yeah, just wanted to make sure it was that.” 

You roll your eyes at him. 

“You fucking dick!”

Nancy and he chuckle at you, sharing amused glances. 

“Now…” You start after a moment of silence. “I don’t know if it’ll ever happen, and I regret not giving my virginity to my ex…” You admit a little shamefully. 

The three of them look at you in question. 

“Why do you say it won’t?” Steve asks. 

You chuckle softly and shrug as you look up at Steve, “look around us, Steve. It’s the end of the world… I could die tomorrow and I think it’s obvious to say that the chances of finding someone in the apocalypse are pretty scarce.” 

They all fall silent, looking at you with pity – something that you don’t want, something that you hate. 

But they notice that you are actually afflicted by it. 

Eddie narrows his eyes, shifting in his seat. He looks at Steve, noticing the way he watches you intently. A sliver of yearning in his hazel eyes. 

If he doesn’t take the chance… 

Eddie clears his throat. Licking his lips, he looks back at you. 

“Listen, if I didn’t have my sweetheart, I’d offer to make your first time the best night of your life,” he says cockily. A smirk tugging at his lips when he feels Steve’s angry eyes on him. 

You don’t even pay much attention to his comment. You nearly give yourself a whiplash by how fast you turn towards him. 

“You have a sweetheart!? Wait! Are you talking about your guitar? You showed me pictures of it and–”

“Of course not my guitar!” Eddie interrupts you, grinning. “I have my love waiting for me in California!”

Your eyes lighten up and you sit up straighter, curious to hear about his love story. 

But Steve and Nancy roll their eyes and groan. 

“Don’t listen to him, he never wanted to tell us… so obviously he is bluffing.” Nancy murmurs. “If he had a sweetheart we would have known about her or him!” 

Eddie scoffs, though the smile on his face doesn’t disappear, instead it grows even wider. 

“Honestly Nancy… If I were really single, I would have tried my luck with this young lady I have in front of me the moment I saw her. She’s funny and sweet and she’s hot as hell. Who wouldn’t try to make a move on that piece of ass?” 

Your eyes widen, and you instantly grow flustered, cheeks burning like crazy. 

The bitter taste on Steve’s tongue returns and he can’t even hide his frown this time when he looks at the metalhead beside him, only to realize that he fell right into his trap. Eddie is already looking back at him with a smug smirk on his face. 

Nancy is watching you, how you flush all over while you sip your soda. She holds back her smile, thinking that it’s cute. 

“Don’t worry, Sweetheart. I see you as nothing more than a friend.” He makes the message very clear… to Steve. 

Yet, it does little to calm him down. The same sour feeling as he felt before spreads through his chest. 

Silence fills the space around you for a moment and the air suddenly shifts. You don’t know what it is yet. You don’t notice the look on Nancy’s face and how the amusement slowly fades as the alcohol kicks in differently, affecting other kinds of emotions now. 

“Well.” Eddie looks around, clapping his hands together. “Anyone else got a confession to make?”

Steve shakes his head just like you. 

Nancy hesitates. A sullen look suddenly takes over, crossing over her features out of nowhere. She blinks rapidly as she stares into the fire, chewing on her bottom lip. 

“I love Robin.” 

You slowly look towards her, unlike Eddie who snaps his head into her direction, looking at her in surprise. 

But Steve, he already knew, well– he suspected it. He knew about Robin’s feelings. He knew that she fell in love with Nancy. He remembers how guilty she looked when she confessed to him, fearing that he would hate her for falling in love with his ex-girlfriend. He remembers how scared she was, how she looked at him, like she thought that she was about to lose her best friend. He hugged her then and promised that it was okay. His love for Nancy was in the past and it was never real love to begin with, nothing to mourn over. Puppy love. And the thing that happened back in ‘86 was nothing more than a moment of desperation to feel the only real thing he once thought he had. 

Eddie’s smile slowly fades, lips curling downwards as he stares at Nancy’s glossy eyes. She is his best friend but it’s something he didn’t know. It’s something she wasn’t ready to confess. To speak into the universe. To let out. 

“She… She confessed to me. She told me that she loves me… that she’s in love with me. And then she died…on the same day.” She whispers and bows her head to hide the tears that are about to slip down her cheeks. 

Steve breathes in shakily, he looks away and closes his eyes. 

“I never said it back.”

Your heart breaks for her. She kept it all to herself for such a long time, it must have been eating away at her. Her sniffles pains you even more. You lean forward and place your hand on her knee. 

“Shit…” Eddie whispers, staring at her with sad eyes as the realization slowly sinks in. “I didn’t know, Nance.”

“Yeah…” She whispers, not looking up just yet. “And now… I can never say it back.”

You don’t know what to say. Eddie doesn’t either. You’re both not even sure if words are what she needs or if she just needs to let this all out. 

“I-I honestly never made a move on her before that because I thought she hated me…” She confesses, talking without a filter now. Her emotions take control, guided by the alcohol in her system. 

You frown at her words, gripping her knee tighter as you try to see her face but it’s covered by her long hair. 

“Why would she hate you, Nancy?” 

Eddie looks between you both, his eyebrows furrowed. 

“Because of what I did to Steve.” She whispers, slowly looking up at you. 

Anxiety builds up inside of you and you begin to feel nervous. 

“W-What did you do to Steve?”

Steve snaps his head towards the two of you, shaking his head with a panicked look on his face. “Nancy–”

“I cheated on him. Hurt him. I thought Robin would hardly forgive someone like that. That Robin wouldn’t even like someone that did that to her best friend… Even if that happened a long time ago…”

Steve closes his eyes with a sigh, murmuring a quiet ‘fuck’.

Eddie winces under his breath. 

You draw back instantly, your hand falling off her knee. You take in a sharp breath. The realization rushing through you coldly. You grip the soda can tighter and look down. 

Nancy was the girl he told you about. 

She was the one who hurt him, who broke his heart. 

All this time you have been traveling with them and you didn’t even know. 

You feel like a fool. 

And it’s sadness and insecurity that hits you the hardest. She was the girl. And you are nothing like her, not even in the slightest. 

Steve looks up at you slowly. He tries to catch a glimpse of your face but it’s tilted so far down.

You don’t know what to feel, what to think. 

How can he be around her? You’d never be able to travel with your ex-boyfriend who cheated on you, lied to you, acted like he loved you. You could never be around him, let alone be his friend… unless you still loved him. 

Suddenly it’s nausea that bubbles up. Your heart sinks to your stomach. And now you wonder, would you have known sooner if you just put two and two together? If you would have taken a closer look? 

“I never knew.” Eddie murmurs, patting her back. 

“I didn’t want anyone to know,” Nancy whispers. “A-And that’s all… that’s all I got to confess. What about you…? Do you have anything…?”

You suddenly feel suffocated and you no longer want to sit here in this circle. It’s all become too much and all these questions running through your head begin to drive you crazy. You want to be alone. You need to think. 

You clear your throat as you get up, picking up your discarded bowl from before and your empty soda can. You take a quick look around and force a smile on your face when Nancy looks up at you with her big eyes. 

“I’m gonna go to sleep. I’m tired and my head is starting to hurt again.” You lie. You avoid both Steve’s and Eddie’s eyes. 

“Oh.” Nancy mumbles, her shoulders slumping. 

“Good night.” You whisper before you brush past Steve, ignoring the way he looks up at you in concern. You quickly make your way into the RV and shut the door behind you before any of them can question you. 

You set everything down on the kitchen counter. Gripping the edges of it, you lean against it and close your eyes, sighing loudly. 

You are confused and shocked, not understanding how it all went over your head for months. You could have known sooner. You should have. You wish you did. 

A part of you wants to know more, the other part doesn’t. 

You clean up your bowl and put everything away before you make your way into the tiny bathroom to brush your teeth. You hurry, wanting to be asleep before anyone comes in to check on you. 

Not even the mint flavor of your toothpaste can get rid of the bitter taste on your tongue though. 

“Sunshine?” 

You almost groan in annoyance. Almost. You would have if it wasn’t him. You spit out the paste and rinse your mouth before you walk out. You plaster a smile on your face when you notice him standing by the kitchen counter. 

He offers you a smile, “I uh… are you okay? Do you need anything?” 

Your eyes soften. You press your lips together and shake your head, “no, I just… I wanna get some sleep.” 

He brings his hand up to the back of his neck as he nods, “alright…”

You don’t move and neither does he. 

Steve is so selfless. He’s so kind and sweet when he allows himself to be. He would do anything for his friends, showing you that he would do absolutely everything for the one he loves. There is not a single bad thing about him. So… how could she do this to him? 

“I’m–”

“So Nancy…” 

Steve can’t read the expression on your face nor can he figure out the emotion in your voice but if he didn’t know any better, he would think it is hurt… sadness. But why? 

“Yeah…” Steve whispers. 

He doesn’t know why he feels the urge to show you, to tell you that he doesn’t feel anything for Nancy, that he hasn’t felt anything for her in years, that he could never again. 

You swallow harshly and nod. You take a seat on the bench and he follows you after a second, sitting down beside you. 

“Do you…” You pause, not knowing if you’re actually ready to find out. 

“I don’t love her anymore if that’s what you think.” Steve confesses, wanting – needing you to know. 

He wishes he could ignore the way your shoulders slump in relief or the way your eyes fill with something that looks like hope. 

“No?”

He shakes his head, “no. It was uh… It was puppy love but not real love, if it makes sense?” 

“Oh.”

Steve takes a deep breath. He continues to look into your eyes, wanting to catch each and every one of your reactions. 

“It was the first time someone else… cared for me. That someone seemed to like me for me and not because I was this popular guy… I only knew loneliness thanks to my parents being complete assholes.” 

Your eyebrows furrow as though you’re in pain. The sympathy and the sadness the flashes in your eyes reminds him of Robin. 

Steve runs his fingers through his hair, swallowing the lump that grew in his throat. 

“I’m so sorry, Steve.” You frown, knowing how that ended for him. 

“It’s okay, Sunshine.” He shrugs, his whisper is soft. 

How could she look into his hazel eyes and not fall for him harder every day? How could she look at him and think that he wasn’t good enough? That there could be someone better out there? How could she look at him and not think that he was the best thing that’s ever happened to her? 

There is little distance between you and your hand finds his before you can even think rationally. 

Steve looks down at it. It’s not the first time he feels your touch like this. It’s also not the first time he feels that electric feeling cursing through him. 

“But then… Robin came.”

“Wait then… you for Robin–”

“God, no, no…” Steve shakes his head, interrupting you quickly. “She just… She just filled that loneliness, and it made me realize that I was just chasing Nancy… pretending to be in love… Just to noy feel alone again…” He explains, cringing a little. “And then, Robin kind of started dating this girl, and I felt that bit of bitterness inside of me cause she was spending a little less time with me.” 

You nod in understanding as he keeps talking. 

“I tried dating around as well… But nothing worked out, no one wanted me for anything other than sex.” 

You frown at his words, feeling anger and a sliver of jealousy burning in you. 

“So I kind of… set my eyes back on Nancy again, not because I still loved her but… She was just the closest thing I had to a ‘real’ relationship. It was dumb to chase her again, to go after someone who hurt me. It took me a moment to realize that there are other versions of love that can be fulfilling.” 

“Robin.” 

He gives you a small smile, tapping your hand with his finger. He eyes the lilac hair tie around your wrist. It’s yours now. For safekeeping. 

“Robin.” He nods. 

He stopped seeking her out when he let go of a love he thought was… love. Maybe it should calm you down a little but it doesn’t. 

“And now… that Robin is… gone?”

He knows what you’re asking. 

You want to know if he will do it again, if he will chase after her again. 

Steve shakes his head, humming. “I would never make that mistake again,” he chuckles, cringing at his younger self. “Besides, I don’t feel lonely.”

“Oh… Eddie and Nance?” You ask. 

You secretly hope that you are the reason for that he doesn’t feel lonely anymore. 

“No, I felt lonely with them too. I was… grumpy, remember?” He asks, cocking his eyebrow as his eyes flash with amusement. 

You shake your head, “then what–”

“You came.” He confesses. 

And it makes your heart flutter like crazy. Your eyes fill with so much hope. You straighten up and curl your hand around his as you gaze into his hazel eyes. 

“You are… as stubborn as Robin was.” He whispers. “You remind me of her.” 

Oh… 

And then it hits you. 

It hits you harder than anything else ever has before. 

He never liked you for you. 

He gave you a chance because you reminded him of the one person that meant everything to him. He gave you a chance because he saw her in you, because he could pretend. 

You were never to him what he is to you. 

You are a replacement. A placeholder. 

And here you thought you found someone who likes you for you. 

But of course not. 

How did you never see it? Every time he talked about Robin, every time that he mentioned a memory, and– His eyes, they are looking at your wrist. At the hair tie, and– It was him… he put that on you, and now you knew. This wasn’t just anyone’s hair tie… this was Robin’s.

Your hand slowly slips away from his, looking down at the floor. You caught feelings only to find out that he saw you as a replacement for his soulmate. For someone he thought of as family, as a sister. He sees you that way, he will always see you that way and not as a woman. Not as someone who can try to give the love he wants and needs. 

Because you are like Robin… and you are the opposite of Nancy.

You’ll never be like Nancy. She looks like… a woman, a strong woman that knows what she wants, that is experienced, that is mature, that knows how to handle most of the situations with a clear mind and you– You are reckless, a klutz like Eddie had called you, and you also were–

“You want a kitkat before bed, Sunshine?”

Immature.

☀︎

taglist: @prettyboyeddiemunson @pretentious-blonde @thecreelhouse @tvserie-s-world @thesickestqrmydcll @crispystarfishhottub @sophal22 @definitionwanderlust @talkativecarnation @mysticalwoolenfroglegs @ariesandwolves @mortqlprojections @sattlersquarry @sherrylyn0628 @purpleeyeswithgoldensparkles @micheledawn1975 @keepingitlokiii @littleromanoff2005 @sunshine-mrk @xxladymjxx

[suskz]

Hold me tight, keep me close

pairing: Lee Felix x fem!Reader

t/w: fluff ; hurt/comfort ; smut ; period sex ; wet and messy ; piv sex ; fingering (f!rec) ; menstrual blood ; so much blood ; reader is on her period ; Felix is so sweet and caring ; unprotected sex (don’t do that, kids) ; coming inside.

w/c: 4.5k

a/n: sorry for the late post, guys! It took me longer than I expected 😭. But it’s finally here! I really love this one, because Felix is soo caring and just what I need rn (I’m on my period y’all 🥹). It’s 2am here, I’m gonna go sleep now. Enjoy!!

The first thing you feel when you wake up is a hand gently shaking your shoulder, then a voice calling your name.

“Y/n, love.” It’s your boyfriend’s voice— deep, but soft. You shift in place, intending to stretch, and that’s when you notice a strange sensation between your legs. It’s wet.

Your eyes snap open, and you don’t even have time to think about what it could be before you sit up in bed, forcing Felix to pull his hand back, and look at the… the crime scene.

Maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration���most of the blood is in your pants and only a little made it onto the sheets, but still—you stained them.

Hesitantly, you turn your head toward your boyfriend. He lifts his eyes from the blood-stained sheets to meet yours, offering a small, reassuring smile that seems to hide a hint of uncertainty.

You feel mortified. You feel the urge to cry, but nothing comes out—not a tear, not a sob.

Instead, you suck in a sharp breath, and his eyes immediately fill with concern.

“It’s okay,” he reassures you, then seems to second-guess himself. “Is it okay?”

You lower your gaze and let him move closer, placing a hand on your thigh where the blood hasn’t reached, gently stroking it with his thumb.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think it would come today.” you apologize, shame washing over you.

“You couldn’t have known,” he says kindly. “It’s okay.”

“Felix, it’s disgusting, and these are your clothes— fuck,” your voice comes out cracked. “Look at the mess I made.” You lower your eyes to the red stain on the white sheet, “Doesn’t it gross you out?”

“Hey, don’t say that,” he frowns. “It doesn’t bother me, not even a little.” He cups your face in his hands and turns it so you’ll look at him. “It happens. It’s okay, it’s just laundry—nothing to worry about.”

You look into his eyes for a few seconds, searching for any sign of doubt, and nod at his words when you find none. He smiles softly.

“You go take a shower now,” he runs a gentle hand through your hair. “I’ll go buy you some pads, okay?”

You nod again. “Thank you,” you smile, grateful to have such a caring and understanding boyfriend. “Do you want me to show you a picture?”

“I’ve seen them so many times, I know exactly which ones they are by now.” He chuckles and you do too.

“Let’s clean this mess first—” you stop suddenly when a sharp pain hits your lower stomach and you feel warm liquid soaking through your underwear —and probably reaching the bed— eliciting a muffled groan. “No, never mind, let’s do it later.”

He watches you shift around, trying to ease the pain, feeling bad seeing you in discomfort. “No, I’ll do it. Don’t worry. I can also get the painkillers you use.”

“No, it’s okay. I can handle it until I get home.”

You don’t know why you say it, because honestly, it feels like you can’t even stand another half hour.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry.”

He nods.

But when you step out of the shower, you still find the pills on the sink —right next to some pads and clean clothes— and his thoughtfulness melts your heart.

When you leave the bathroom, he’s just finishing making the bed. He looks up at you and gives you a tender smile, a touch of pride in his eyes at the sight of you wearing his clothes.

You huff a quiet chuckle. “You know I could’ve just put on what I wore yesterday, right?”

His cheeks tint with a soft, almost imperceptible blush. “Yeah, I know. But I wanted to see you in mine. You look cute.” He smiles sweetly.

Then he comes over, wrapping his arms around you in a warm hug and pressing a loving kiss to your forehead. You stay like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, in comforting silence.

“I’m sorry about what happened,” you say for what feels like the hundredth time, but he shakes his head.

“No more of that. I already told you—it’s all okay. The bed’s clean, and I can always get new clothes. See? No big deal.”

You hum and snuggle a little closer to him.

“I love you,” he says suddenly, his ears turning a little red at the words he’s still not quite used to saying.

You look up at him, a little surprised but happy to hear it. “I love you too,” you reply, your face flushed. He gives you a soft peck on the lips, and the two of you just look at each other for a while.

But that quiet moment is cut short by a sudden noise.

Your face burns with embarrassment, your ears flaming as you hide in his chest.

Felix’s laughter only makes it worse.

“Hungry?”

“What do you think? I haven’t had breakfast yet.” You mumble, your voice muffled against his shirt, trying to hide your embarrassment behind a normal tone.

“Pancakes?” he suggests.

Your eyes light up at the suggestion, and you look up at him with the expression of a delighted child.

“Yes, please!”

He laughs at your eagerness and how adorable you are.

—

“Do you feel like going out with the guys? We can go another time if you’d rather.”

You and Felix are cuddled up on the couch watching TV. Your back rests against his chest, one of his hands gently stroking your stomach, while the other holds you close.

How could you say no to him? You made these plans a week ago, and you don’t want to cancel last minute just because your period started and you’re not at your best. You still look presentable, and both of you had really been looking forward to this hangout with the guys.

“No, I’m fine. I still want to go.”

Felix nods at your response. “I’ll be at your place by 3.”

And he is. You’d gone back home after lunch to get ready, and Felix came to pick you up—though not before having to wait an extra 10 minutes for you, as usual.

Now you’re at a bar with Felix, the rest of the members, and Chan’s girlfriend, whom you’ve recently grown close to.

“You should’ve seen Minho’s face when that little girl called him ‘dad.’ It was hilarious,” Seungmin grins, amused by the memory, and everyone bursts out laughing—everyone except Minho.

“I can totally picture it,” Hyunjin laughs.

“Do you really want to end up in the air fryer, Hyunjin?” Minho threatens, and Hyunjin instantly stops laughing, glancing around nervously.

“Is it because you feel old now that a kid mistook you for her dad?” you tease with a smirk. You’re one of the few people who can get away with it—just like Minho has a soft spot for Felix, he has one for you too.

Felix’s arm is wrapped around your waist, his fingers gently stroking your side as he laughs at your comment—and at the tongue Minho sticks out at you in return.

A little while later, you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom. You’ve had the pad on for a few hours now, and you definitely need to change it.

The restroom has three sinks and two stalls—one for men and one for women.

You stop in front of the mirror first, checking your appearance and simply taking a moment to look at yourself. Then, suddenly, a sharp cramp hits you, making you double over with your hands on your lower belly.

You should’ve brought your painkillers with you.

You huff in frustration and rest your hands on the sink, leaning on one leg. That’s when it happens. Warm liquid begins to run down your leg—your position caused your pad to shift.

Caught off guard, you straighten up, trying to keep your baggy pants from touching your thigh.

Damn these white pants. You knew you should’ve worn black jeans.

But as you head into the women’s stall, it’s impossible to keep them from getting stained. That clean white fabric turns into a dreadful shade of red.

When you pull them down and sit on the toilet, you see the full mess you’ve made on your thigh and pants, and tears begin to blur your vision. There hasn’t been a single thing today that your period hasn’t ruined.

You should’ve stayed home.

A sob catches in your throat.

You don’t know how much time has passed, but apparently, you’ve been gone a little too long, because Felix walks into the restroom, looking for you.

You try to stop crying and settle enough to answer him, but when a heavy sob escapes your throat, the tears start flowing down your cheeks again.

“Y/nie?” your boyfriend calls out, approaching the stall you’re in. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

You don’t answer.

“Can you open the door for me?”

Still no response—but your sobs slowly quiet down until they stop, and finally, the door clicks open.

Since it’s just the two of you in the restroom, he opens it just enough to see you but doesn’t step in, wanting to give you space. Still, it’s so hard for him to stand there, seeing your tear-streaked face and the way your bottom lip is quivering.

“Sunshine, what’s going on?” His voice is deep but soft—reassuring.

The words die in your throat, so you lower your eyes to your pants—and he understands. You’ve already tried to clean your thigh the best you could, but there’s still some red left.

“Is that the reason? Baby, it’s okay. It happens. Nothing we can’t fix.” He offers you a gentle smile—but is surprised when fresh tears start falling down your cheeks again.

That’s when he quickly steps inside, shuts the door behind him, and kneels in front of you. His hands cup your face, his thumbs wiping away your tears—and in that moment, you’re so thankful he’s your boyfriend. He presses a soothing kiss to your forehead.

“I-I don’t even know why I’m crying,” you say, your voice cracking. “It’s just…” you sniffle, and he waits patiently, nodding. “It’s the second time today, and it’s ruining everything. And now I’ve got stained pants and all this pain, and I didn’t even bring my pills with me. I ruined the hangout, and I’m afraid I’m bothering you too.”

“You’re not annoying me—you never could. Don’t even think that, okay?” he reassures you. “I’m sorry you’re having such a hard day, love. I get how you feel, and I hate that it’s going like this. I wish I could take some of the pain away so you wouldn’t have to feel this bad.”

He places a hand on your stomach, gently stroking it, a small pout on his lips. “Is it hurting a lot?”

You nod, sniffling. There’s a dull, radiating ache that reaches down into your thighs, making it feel like they’ve been split in half. You just want to go home.

“But I can still help make your day better,” he says with a soft smile. “Let’s go back to my place and cuddle in bed. How does that sound?” he asks sweetly, and you nod, closing your eyes for a moment and leaning into his gentle touch.

“Good. No more tears now, okay? It’s going to be okay. I’m here with you.” He gives your thigh a comforting squeeze to reassure you.

Afterward, he leaves you some privacy to finish cleaning up, waiting just outside your stall. When you come out, he offers you his hoodie to tie around your waist and cover the large red stain on your pants. Then the two of you return to the others, just to say goodbye before leaving together.

At his place, you find yourself in the shower for the second time today, while he prepares a cozy spot for the two of you to spend the rest of the afternoon cuddling.

He also quietly slips into the bathroom to leave you some fresh clothes. When you get out of the shower and see them, you almost start crying again because of how thoughtful and loving he is. Out of all his clothes, he picked your favorites: a pair of soft gray sweatpants you always wear when you’re at his place, and a worn-out white shirt you often wear when you snuggle, especially after sex. There’s also a black hoodie that’s way too big on you —which is exactly why you love it— and a pair of fluffy blue socks.

When you leave the bathroom, he’s already waiting for you on the bed, and you immediately throw yourself into his arms. You stay like that for so long you lose track of the minutes—or the hours. You could stay like this for days without ever getting tired of it.

One of his hands gently rubs circles on your back while you absentmindedly scratch his arm with your nails.

“Feeling better now?”

You hum. “Yeah, much better.”

There’s a cartoon playing softly on the TV in his room, and outside, the occasional sound of cars passes by. Everything is so calm and peaceful, you don’t want to get out of bed for at least a few more days, or months—or maybe ever.

But of course, things can’t stay perfect. You let out a whine when a sharp cramp tears through your lower belly, making you squirm, your face contorting in pain. Felix coos and places a hand over the spot that hurts, tracing soothing little circles.

Damn your body.

Felix leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek, then your lips—once, then again, and again. You’re not even sure how you ended up with your back on the bed and him hovering over you, but it doesn’t really matter.

He starts leaving sensual kisses down the side of your neck, trailing lower until he reaches the hem of the hoodie you’re wearing.

Then his lips brush against your ear.

“You know, I heard orgasms help with period cramps.”

He bites your earlobe gently.

“Wanna give it a try?”

Then he licks and sucks it. He doesn’t give you time to answer before his lips crash onto yours again. Both of his hands slip under your hoodie and T-shirt, finding your hot skin.

“Please, baby? I really need you,” he says softly, needily.

But he quickly notices your hesitation and pulls his hands out from under your clothes.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” you admit, avoiding eye contact. “It’s just… we’ve never done it while I was on my period, and I’m scared the blood might gross you out.”

But he gently takes your chin and lifts your face to look at him.

“Baby, I’m not a kid. A little blood doesn’t scare me,” he says confidently. “And it definitely doesn’t gross me out—especially when it’s from you.”

You smile, then nod. “Okay, then I want to.”

He gives you a kiss on the lips before getting up to grab a towel, which he lays under you to avoid a mess neither of you will want to clean up later.

You undress each other quickly, down to just your underwear. He kisses your stomach, just below your belly button, while his fingers toy with the waistband of the boxers —his boxers— you’re wearing. “Can I?” he asks, checking that you haven’t changed your mind, and you answer with a quiet, “Yes.”

He pulls your underwear off quickly and tosses them to the floor like he always does—only this time, they hit the floor with a weird thud because of the pad, making you cringe.

His fingers move skillfully between your folds, teasing you before slipping two inside, making you gasp—and he lets out a low groan. His fingers might be short, but they hit that sweet spot just right, and he knows exactly how to work it, making your hips buck against his hand in pleasure.

He adds a third finger. “Feels good, baby? You like my fingers inside you?”

You nod quickly. “Yes,” you moan.

You try not to focus on the squelching sound, aware that it’s louder because of the blood. You don’t even dare to look down, afraid of seeing his fingers stained red or the mess probably already soaking into the towel.

“Felix, can you— please touch my clit too?” you ask, voice soft and shaky.

He smiles, clearly happy you’re telling him explicitly what you want. And he’d be lying if he said seeing your innocent face and hearing that shy little request didn’t make his cock twitch.

He lets a string of spit fall from his mouth onto your pussy, collecting it with the thumb of his free hand and bringing it right to your clit. He rubs in slow circles —side to side, up and down— knowing exactly how you like it.

“Good girl… just keep telling me what you want, yeah?”

“Can- can you…” You gesture toward your tits, and he gets it, chuckling.

“Wanna feel my mouth on these pretty nipples?” You nod, and he doesn’t waste a second—licking and sucking just the way that has you writhing under him.

Your eyes roll back and you let out breathy, broken moans, completely overwhelmed by how good it all feels—by all the attention he’s giving your body.

He pulls back for a moment. “Gonna make you cum on my fingers first—then I’m gonna fuck you nice and deep.”

And just like that, he picks up right where he left off.

Felix is so hard in his underwear he thinks he’s going to lose his mind if his cock doesn’t get touched soon. He tries to grind against the bed, but it’s difficult from his current position. So instead, he finds your leg and starts grinding against it, moaning around your nipple.

When you realize what your boyfriend is doing, you feel even closer to the edge. He’s really getting off on hearing and watching you fall apart.

“Lix, I’m close. I’m so close—”

His fingers move faster, both inside you and over your puffy clit, and within seconds you’re coming on his hands, rolling your hips against his fingers as he keeps moving to help you ride out your orgasm.

When the intense wave fades, your hips collapse onto the bed. His touch leaves you for a moment as he wipes his fingers clean, then he’s back—kissing your lips, your nose, your forehead like he can’t stop touching you.

His hips have also stopped rutting against your leg.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, his deep voice soothing.

“Really good. Felt good,” you murmur in response. He intertwines his fingers with yours as you start sharing soft, chaste kisses. You both smile into them, and at one point, you even huff a quiet laugh through your nose.

“It turned me on, seeing you grind against my leg,” you say after a little while, placing your free hand on his cheek, then slowly sliding it down toward his chest.

“Yeah?” he says with a smirk, but the blush on his cheeks betrays him. “Watching you feel that good made me so hard I couldn’t wait anymore. But it still hurts…” He takes your hand and, locking eyes with you, guides it slowly down to where he’s hard beneath the fabric. His breath hitches the second your palm presses against him.

You start stroking him slowly. Eventually, your hand slips inside his boxers to feel him bare, and you pull him out, stroking him gently from base to tip, giving a slight squeeze at the head that draws a strangled moan from him.

“You’re so hard, Felix,” you whisper against his lips. “Don’t you want to fuck me?”

“Yes, please,” he breathes, a hint of desperation in his voice.

“Then why are you holding back? Fuck me like you mean it.” You squeeze his cock a little harder before letting go. Every trace of shyness is gone now, replaced by something bolder, now that it’s not just sweet and loving and all about you.

Felix whimpers involuntarily. He’d used every ounce of self-control not to bury himself inside you the moment you came. He didn’t want to overstimulate you and wanted to give you time to recover, but apparently, that’s not what you want anymore.

“Gonna enter you now, okay?” he warns, lining his cock up with your entrance. One nod from you is all it takes, and he’s sliding in with a single thrust, letting out a guttural moan. “So wet ‘n tight f’ me…”

When he starts moving, he seems more sensitive than usual, judging by the breathy moans and gasps he lets out. His hips don’t settle into a steady rhythm—his thrusts are fast and shallow, showing just how needy he’s been this whole time.

His hands, planted on either side of your head, are clutching the sheets tight in his fists. One of your hands grabs his arm, sliding down until your fingers find his, and when he notices, he intertwines them with yours. He rests his forehead in the crook of your neck and takes a deep breath.

His thrusts grow longer and deeper—pushing all the way in, pulling out just barely, then slamming back inside with force.

When you bring a hand to his hair, he starts kissing and licking your neck, sometimes sucking on your skin hard enough to leave marks that’ll be hard to hide—though deep down, he hopes you’ll keep them.

Your soft, high-pitched moans are something he could listen to for days. Your whimpers make his cock twitch and leak inside you. Your teary eyes are so damn beautiful, he could stare at them forever.

When he pulls back to look at you, his breathing is uneven, and his moans sharper than before. He’s close.

But he’s holding back for you, because he wants to make you come on his cock first.

God, your boyfriend is so sweet.

You clench around him, and he shuts his eyes to focus.

“Don’t do that, or I’m gonna cum,” he begs, desperate.

“You can come, Lix, it’s okay,” you reassure him, but you know that won’t be enough to make him give in. “I want you to fill me up nice and deep. I’m ready to take everything you’ve got, want to be so full of you,” you continue, hitting a weak spot of his.

His orgasm hits him suddenly, his cock spurting ropes of hot cum deep inside you. He gives a few more thrusts to ride it out, then collapses on top of you.

“Not fair,” he pouts when he finally lifts himself up and looks at you.

“You said that on purpose ‘cause you knew it’d make me cum. I wanted to make you cum on my cock.”

How can someone sound and look so innocent while saying such filthy things?

You laugh. “Next time.”

He pulls out of you slowly, carefully.

“My girl’s gonna cum, whether it’s on my cock or on my fingers.”

This time, he spits on your pussy, even though it’s not needed—you’re already soaked from everything you’ve done. Two of his fingers find your clit again, red and puffy, moving in small circles that knock the air right out of your lungs.

Those same fingers suddenly dip down to your entrance, collecting some of the cum that’s leaking out, only to slap it onto your most sensitive spot. You gasp and clutch the sheets in your fists.

He starts rubbing again, only to slap your clit twice more. His other hand grabs your thigh firmly and presses it down against the bed, as if to force your legs open—even though there’s no need, since you’re already holding them wide for him.

“You’ve been a bad girl, making me come like that. That should’ve been my job,” he says, landing a harder slap. “Let this be a lesson so you’ll think twice next time.”

The sudden change in his behavior has your head spinning. His two fingers pinch your clit a couple of times before resuming fast, precise strokes.

“Felix—” you choke out. You want to warn him that you’re about to come, but your climax hits you too suddenly, tearing a very loud moan from your throat.

You black out for a moment, completely lost in sensation—and you’re grateful to come back to Felix kissing your neck sweetly and whispering soft praises.

You appreciate the affection he’s giving you, but you gently press your hands to his shoulders to push him back a little. “Lix, ‘m hot.”

He pulls back and lifts his head. “But I wanna cuddle,” he protests, nuzzling into the top of your chest and trying to kiss your skin there.

You sigh. “We will, but after a shower. I feel too sticky and gross right now.”

Felix nods and finally moves away. “I’ll go get the water ready,” he says, then gets up from the bed and heads to the bathroom—but not before bringing you a glass of water and some chocolate, which you accept with a kiss on the lips.

In the meantime, you finally glance down at the mess beneath you and scrunch your nose, wishing you hadn’t. You clean yourself up as best you can with the cleanest part of the towel, then grab it and make your way to the bathroom, tossing the towel into the laundry basket before joining your boyfriend.

You step into the shower together, and even though you told him you’d cuddle afterward, he spends the entire time touching and kissing you—if not on the lips, then everywhere else. His lips are soft, and his hands are gentle.

He shampoos your hair and massages your scalp delicately, and you do the same for him. His fingers slip inside you again, but this time it’s just to clean you up from his cum, as he murmurs apologies for the mess he made—not that he’s truly sorry, and you both know it.

When you get out of the shower, he lands a loud smack on your ass, making you gasp softly and slap his in return when he bends over to grab a pair of socks from the wardrobe drawer.

Once you’re both dressed and sitting on his bed, his arms wrap tightly around you, locking you in and pulling you close with no way out—not that you’d want to leave anyway.

You turn on the TV and find a comfortable position under the warm blankets.

Your back is pressed against his chest, which rises and falls slowly with his breath. One of his hands rests gently on your lower belly, stroking it softly.

“Feeling better now?”

“Yeah.” You snuggle even closer. “Much better.” You smile, resting your head on his shoulder with your face tucked into his neck. You press a small kiss to his skin before closing your eyes, soothed by his familiar, calming touch and the quiet sound of the TV still playing in the background.

You feel so loved and safe in his arms that there’s nothing to worry about when he’s with you—because you know he’ll always be there, ready to help you without judgment, staying by your side no matter what.

[medeasgirl]

Softly

pair: kate bishop x reader

summary: you come home after a long shift to find kate at your door again, injured. you do all you can to patch her up, but that’s not all that’s wrong.

note: nothing graphic in this one! just some barely there angst, and a fluffy ending. reader’s a bit oblivious in this one. i love kate bishop so much, and this is my first time posting something on this blog, but there’ll be a lot more to come! requests are open <3

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺

It was past midnight when you arrived home, soaked from the rain, and kicked your shoes off with a sigh. It was miserable out, the storm brewing over the city had left the streets slick and especially dangerous, which hadn’t helped your shift at the hospital.

Your cat, Dante, purrs loudly from where he’s curled up on the couch. You mumble a greeting, stripping out of your coat. Your shift was especially tiring today, and you grab a carton of yesterday’s takeaway before joining Dante on the couch, turning on the news. They detail a shootout in the city, not far away from your place, and you furrow your brow as they play the footage. Is that—?

There’s a series of desperate knocks on your door, and you put your takeout down mournfully, leaving the news on. You have a sinking feeling in your chest as you open the door and double take.

“I- sorry,” Kate pants. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” You take her in, hair disheveled, her purple suit stained with deep red at her stomach…

“Jesus, Kate,” you rasp and pull her inside. You know the drill by now. It’s not the first time she’s come to you. Though, this is the first time she’s taken a bullet to her side, and she winces as you tug her out of the doorway. You round on her. “That was you at that shootout, wasn’t it? What do you think—”

“Please,” Kate whines. “Save it for later?” Her vision is swimming, and everything feels a little fuzzy around the edges. She clutches at your kitchen counter with bloody hands, and you rush to her, suddenly afraid she might collapse.

“Shit,” you mumble to yourself, scrambling for the first aid kits you’ve learned to keep since a superhero decided to start crashing at your place after missions. “Don’t know why you keep coming to me,” you huff, grabbing wrap bandages. Kate grins through the pain.

“You’re a nurse,” she reasons, lowering herself down to the floor with a groan. You fight the urge to roll your eyes, instead helping her to the ground. Dante the cat meows interestedly.

“Nurse in training,” you amend, shooing him away. “Can you take that off?”

Kate blinks and looks down at her suit. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, hold on.” She winces as she reaches back for the zipper and you grab her wrist quickly, stopping her before she hurts herself more.

“Alright, I’d better do that,” you say quickly, trying to hide the flush rising on your cheeks. You were able to remain professional in situations like this every day, so why was it that Kate Bishop rendered you useless? Granted she was pretty, really pretty, even when she was bleeding on your kitchen floor.

You unzip her suit carefully, down to the hip, revealing her toned stomach, littered with bruises, and her purple sports bra. You fight off a smile at the color. “Is that fine?” you ask shakily.

“Yeah,” she breathes. “Is it bad?” You look down at her side, and prepare yourself for the worst. You press down lightly on the wound, and she bites back a whimper, her nails coming up to press into the skin of your arm. You murmur a soft apology, but breathe a sigh of relief when you assess the wound, noting that it’s not that deep.

“Just a scratch. Bled a lot, which is scary, but it’s not deep. Should heal just fine,” you press a finger to her chest lightly. “You got lucky.”

Kate smiles weakly. “I did, didn’t I?” she murmurs, looking at you in a way that is entirely too earnest. You feel your heart beating out of your chest and look down, away from her, fighting a blush.

You clean her wound in silence, only interrupted by the faint sounds of Dante’s paws against the tile and soft purrs. It might be domestic, in any other situation. You can feel Kate’s gaze on you, soft and genuine, and you can’t stop the warmth that bubbles in your chest.

“This might hurt,” you say softly, unscrewing the little tube of antibiotic ointment. You spread it with as gentle of a touch as you can manage, but Kate still hisses in pain. She grabs your arm. You shush her gently.

“Shit,” she laughs nervously, not removing her hand from your arm, instead squeezing softly. You finish quickly, making a show of putting the ointment away.

“It’s done,” you promise. “I just have to wrap it now.”

She breathes shakily. “Sorry for bleeding all over your kitchen,” she jokes, but it comes out weak, and tired. You wonder how much sleep she’s gotten.

You unspool the bandages, smiling in spite of yourself. “You’re making a habit of it,” you hum, wrapping the bandage around her torso. Her skin is warm against your fingertips. She shivers lightly at your touch.

“Yeah,” she breathes. “Sorry about that,” she says more genuinely, brow pinched as if she’s worried she might be intruding on you. It makes you want to laugh, almost. If only she knew how much she was on your mind.

“No, don’t be,” you rush out. “I mean, I don’t mind.” It comes out clumsily and you wince. Kate blinks.

“No?” she asks quietly, an edge of something like hope in her voice. Your hands still, looking up at her. There’s warmth in her cheeks again, and heat in her gaze, and you find your eyes drawn to the way her lips are slightly parted…

You squeak slightly. “No, no, I mean, it’s practice. Not everyone is on call to a superhero,” you tease.

Kate deflates slightly at that, sobering quickly. “Right,” she mutters.

Your fingers slacken around the bandage. Shit. Did she mean something else? “No, I meant—“

She clears her throat. “Yeah, um. Thanks for your help. Again,” she smiles weakly, taking the bandage from your loosened grip and fastening it tight around herself. You look on, dumbfounded, unable to shake the feeling that you’ve misunderstood.

You swallow thickly, nodding. “No problem.” She tries to pull herself up and you take her hand, steadying her. Kate’s hand is soft in yours, her finger tips a little calloused but still so gentle when they graze your palm. Then it hits you.

You don’t want her to leave.

You realize you’ve been holding on to her for too long, and drop her hand like a hot coal. Kate’s face falls.

“I’ll, uh. Just be going,” she mutters, moving past you with a hand on her side. Something inside you screams not to let her go and you can’t help but panic a little.

“Wait,” you say, sharper than you intended, and she flinches a bit. Guilt immediately washes over you. “I… did I say something wrong?” It comes out a little brokenly. The last thing you want to do is ruin this, whatever it is, the late nights in your kitchen, patching up a cut on her temple, so close you could just brush your lips against hers, softly. But you won’t, because if you screwed it up, you know you’d miss it too much. Miss her too much.

Kate looks miserable. “No,” she huffs. “No. I just misjudged something.” She zips her suit back up, not looking at you. “I have to go.”

“Kate,” you murmur. She meets your gaze silently, and you bring a hand to her cheek. You brush aside her hair to find a little scar, from a cut you patched up just a week ago. “What’s wrong?”

“I-I don’t know why I keep coming here. I’m sorry,” she whispers. “And I know, I know you don’t mind helping me, but I feel like I’m taking advantage—”

You frown. “Kate, what are you talking about?”

“I come here every week to bleed out in your kitchen. Just to see you, you realize that?”

You blink. Of everything, that had never occurred to you. That she could possibly look at you and feel the same bubbling warmth that you did. All the late night visits, all the times you were close enough to press your lips to her skin, and you didn’t, for fear of rejection… and now Kate thought you were rejecting her?

“But you. You were hurt—” you mumble stupidly.

Kate sighs. “You think I couldn’t fix that myself? I wanted you.” She fiddles with the fabric of her suit, her face hot against your hand, where it seems to be stuck. “And I misjudged it, clearly, I’m sorry.”

“You say sorry too much.”

“I— what?”

“Kate,” you mumble, bringing your other hand to her cheek, flushed a sweet pink. Your eyes dart down to her lips, bitten and a little bloodied, but looking so petal soft it makes you dizzy. “Kate,” you say thickly, tilting forward to press your forehead to hers, noses brushing.

She swallows, bringing a hand to your waist. It’s a delicate kiss, tentative, and you can taste the sharp tang of blood as your lips meet, but Kate’s mouth is sweet and warm. Her hand strokes up the small of your back, pressing you into her as her mouth moves softly against yours.

She pulls away, and presses a kiss to your forehead, leaving you slightly breathless, your body tingling with warmth. Against your skin, she smiles.

“So does this mean I can keep crashing at yours?” She wags an eyebrow.

Dante purrs in approval from where he’s curled around Kate’s feet. And you smile, pulling her in once again.

[totalswag]

At the hospital appointment for the X-ray, without realizing it, Drew discover two infants in Reader's womb, meaning that they're learning that they're going to have twins (boy and girl//(or)//boys or girls) A news that Drew x Reader did not expect as new parents, that their first child is going to be a double child. They're quite nervous (Reader mostly) but they reassure each other that everything will be fine :)

Inspired by Friends <3

seeing double ⎯ DREW STARKEY!

authors note dad!drew with twins sound so adorable; makes my heart melt. feedback is always appreciated <3

taglist ✎ ̼ if you would like to be notified every time i post you will type in your username then be all set to go.

masterlist

summary attending your very first ultrasound and finding out you're carrying twins. both of your younger sisters throw the gender reveal party with a gorgeous theme.

warning(s) pregnancy, cursing, mentions of being feverous, crying, and happy moments.

Today Drew and you will be going to your first doctor’s appointment to see your newest member of the Starkey family. Nerves flowing through your entire body for the past week. The only thing on your mind if there’s gonna be one, two, or three little humans in your growing belly.

Drew on the other hand is holding your hand sitting next to you in the waiting room⎯thumb gently rubbing against your knuckles. Continued to whisper sweet words in your ear till your name was announced. Drew has been feeling the same way as you but wanted to keep his persona intact. 

Ever since you found out you were pregnant, cam recorder was a must for Drew and you because one day your children will be able to look back before they and after they were born. Something about documenting your entire pregnancy is unimaginable.

The door that leads to the rooms opens, “Mrs. Starkey” the nurse announces, looking around, smiling while holding a clipboard.

Drew and you get up from your seats following the nurse down the hall into a room. Gestures you to the bed and gives you information you need to know and the obstetrician will be in shortly.

Five minutes later, the obstetrician enters the room with a bright smile on her face. “Hello, my name is Julia, and I’ll be taking care of you”

“It’s nice to meet you!” You both say.

Drew takes out the cam recorder, zooming in on you, staring at Julia as she explains what will be shown on the screen and how your pregnancy has been going so far. 

She tells you to lift your shirt up and the gel she's about to put on may be a bit cold for a few seconds. Drew puts his hand in yours, lifting your hands up, kissing your knuckles as he keeps his eyes on the sonogram.

"So, is this your first child?" She asks, swirling the remote around to find the baby. 

"Yes it is!"

"How exciting, are you ready to see your twins?" she asks with a grin, pointing to the sonogram.

You felt your throat go dry. There's no way you're carrying twins in your growing belly. Turning your head to Drew, already shocked as you are right now. The room is filled with silence and emotions.

"Holy shit" you mumble underneath your breath.

You're nervous. As fuck.

And so is Drew⎯he looks like he's seen a ghost.

Julia laughs slightly, "a lot of people say that when they see twins. But, how exciting is this?" she makes light of the news. Knowing she's been in this position plenty of times.

"We're gonna have two mini us's running around the house" you say with tears forming in the corners of your eyes. 

"I know right, I can already imagine what they'll be like" Drew smiles with a light chuckle.

After your appointment, you guys safely made it to the car. Once all buckled and left the parking lot, you spoke up, "I'm obviously very excited and very nervous."

Drew puts his hand on your thigh, "I'm in the same boat as you, baby. Everything will be okay, we got this, we always do," his voice is calm and reassuring⎯which makes you relax more.

Two months later.

You have finally reached the second trimester of your pregnancy. Being pregnant for the previous two months and seeing your body evolve into something beautiful melts your heart because you are carrying twins. 

When you announced you were having twins, friends and family went nuts hearing the news. The excitement from your loved ones meant so much to Drew and you. Pretty much everyone said they were betting on twins.

Today is your gender reveal party. Drew and you decided, after much discussion, to choose your sister and Brooke to learn the genders. They felt honored to be the ones who knew about and planned the plan to reveal. Their thoughts are quite similar.

The gender reveal party looks magical. From the entrance to the backyard—unimaginable and unforgettable. A dreamy outdoor garden or a decorated indoor space with pastel balloons, fairy lights, and soft floral touches. A large sign reads: "Two Little Blessings on the Way!" 

Brooke and your sister went around with the camcorder, asking guests what they thought the genders were and what they wanted to tell them.  Drew and you were the last ones before the announcement.

 "We need you two to stand right here," Brooke says, indicating the location where the two shooters will reveal their genders. "Take these and wrap them around your eyes," your sister smiles as she hands you the blindfold. 

 Drew and you ask the crowd what they think each baby is—you don't care as long as they're healthy.  Your sister follows you, while Brooke follows Drew.  The anticipation in your stomach feels like it's rising up your throat—not to the point where you'll vomit. 

“3, 2, 1” voices counting down and then the popping sound relieving the genders.

Drew and you quickly take off your blindfolds—your eyes meet one anothers then the ground.

Pink and blue.

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[captainsophiestark]

Don't Believe Everything You Read

Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2024!

Fandom: Bridgerton

Day Three Prompt: "I know you better."

Summary: A wannabe Whistledown is posting some awful rumors, but luckily for Anthony, his wife knows him well enough that she doesn't believe them.

Word Count: 1,247

Category: Angst, Fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I sighed, tightening my hands on the book I was reading and trying to refocus on the words. I'd been having a nice, peaceful morning in Bridgerton house (a truly rare feat) until Eloise and Benedict had started some commotion near the door to the sitting room.

I'd married Anthony almost a year ago now, but I still hadn't learned how to block out his siblings quite as well as he did.

I managed to finish another paragraph before the commotion at the door distracted me again. I glanced at the pair out of the corner of my eye, and found them having a whispered argument, both glancing in my direction every few moments. I sighed. The rest of my story would have to wait until later.

Slowly and quietly, so as not to draw too much attention from the Bridgertons by the door, I makred my page in my book and set it down on the couch. I stood, drifting over toward Eloise and Benedict. Eloise had something in her hand, and it seemed to be the genesis of hers and Benedict's hushed argument. I got a little closer and recognized the shape and style of a scandal sheet.

Eloise and Benedict had gotten steadily more heated in their argument, and when Eloise flailed the paper in my direction, I snatched it out of her hand.

She and Benedict both whirled in my direction, but I'd made it halfway across the room before either of them got a chance to take the paper back.

"Don't read that!" Benedict shouted, chasing after me.

"You have a right to read it, but you might want a bit of a heads up first-"

I cut Eloise off by darting well out of their reach and reading one of the headlines of the scandal sheet.

Viscount Bridgerton Stepping Out On His New Wife?

I snorted and rolled my eyes. I quickly scanned the rest of the article, which went on to talk sensationally about all these rumors surrounding Anthony and a mysterious new mistress. Not a word of it was believable, of course, and at least one of the reports of Anthony strolling at night with a strange woman was just me, wearing new clothes the rest of the Ton hadn't seen yet. I barely made it to the end of the article before I started laughing.

I looked up to find Eloise and Benedict looking at me warily. I just shook my head.

"This is certainly no Lady Whistledown, is it?" The pair raised their eyebrows at me, still tensed like they were worried the laughter would turn to tears. I rolled my eyes. "Oh please, both of you. I know Anthony, I know this is ridiculous. Clearly whoever's writing this nonsense has too much free time on their hands. Or maybe not enough, since they couldn't come up with anything more realistic than this."

"So... you're not upset?" asked Eloise.

"No, El, I'm not. I know the man I married. This," I waved the paper around in my hand, "is just funny."

She and Benedict let out massive sighs as one.

"Well, that's certainly a relief," said Benedict. "I suppose Eloise and I were getting worked up for nothing."

"And likewise, you interrupted my reading for nothing," I said. "You're welcome to stay if you're quiet, but otherwise, I appreciate the laugh, but would appreciate more the return of my peaceful reading space."

"You have chosen the sitting room as your peaceful space," Benedict said. "That might not offer you the highest chance of remaining undisturbed."

"You make a fair point, but you also seemed to want to keep this scandal sheet from me completely, so I think today I can kick you out."

"Fair enough. Eloise?"

"I was supposed to meet Penelope before I found the scandal sheet with the mail. I'm already a bit late," she said with a wave over her shoulder as she headed out of the room. Benedict gave me a teasing bow, then followed his sister out of the room.

I sighed, then settled back in to my original place on the couch. I made it through another few pages before the door of the sitting room went flying open, the door making a loud bang as it slammed into the wall. I jumped and whirled around to find Anthony, looking like an absolute mess as he crossed the room in just a few strides before sliding to his knees before me. His hair stuck up at all angles and his clothes looked disheveled. He took my hands in his and started speaking before I could get a word out.

"My love, it's not true. Not a word of it. I love you, you must know that. I would absolutely never, ever go behind your back, would never even dream of spending time with anyone else-"

"Anthony, my god! Take a breath, what are you talking about?"

"I saw Eloise. She told me you'd read the scandal sheet sent out this morning. But you must know, it was a lie."

"Did you happen to wait for Eloise to tell you my reaction before you raced in here?"

"No. I worried... I didn't want to waste a moment before speaking with you. I promise, I would never do that to you. There's no one else and there never will be-"

"I know! Anthony, believe me, I know." I slid to the ground along with him, chest to chest as I kept his hands held tight in mine. "You think I'd believe some ridiculous wannabe Whistledown telling me you're a cheater? I know you better. I know you best. I know you would never do that to me, that I can trust you, no matter what. Even if Whistledown herself had reported it, I wouldn't have believed a word."

"...Truly?"

"Absolutely! We're rock solid, Anthony. I honestly wouldn't have married you if I didn't trust you."

He sighed, all the tension easing from his body as he slumped forward, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his head on my shoulder.

"I cannot tell you how relieved I am to hear that."

"I'm glad we got your worry cleared up quickly," I said. "Although, if you had paused to talk to Eloise for another moment, she could've told you I started laughing the minute I read those ridiculous reports."

Anthony picked his head up to look at me, pulling me closer to him as he did.

"I'm much happier to have heard it from you directly. Especially since it means I can do this."

He leaned in, a grin on his face, and kissed me. I ran my hands up his back and into his hair, but pulled away after just a moment. Anthony moved to follow me, but I put a hand on his chest to stop him.

"Anthony, we are in the sitting room! Anyone could walk in on us at any moment."

"Good. Then they'll know the rumors are just that, and that nothing could ever come between the two of us."

"Anthony."

"Fine. This is an easy fix as well."

With that, he stood, picking me up and carrying me out of the room. I laughed, not even bothering to mention my book that now lay forgotten on the sofa. Anthony and I had other plans for the rest of our morning, it seemed, and I couldn't say I minded them. Anthony and I were happier than I ever thought we could be, and nothing was going to interfere with that, especially not some ridiculous gossip rag.

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

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen

Bridgerton Taglist: @cherrybb-ily

[c0wboylikeharry]

BROKEN ELEVATOR (h.s)

(masterlist) || (taglist)

harry styles x fem!reader

summary: after a late night at the office, harry expects to be the only one left. he’s surprised when he finds a single desk lamp still on—yours. leaving at the same time, the tense silence envelopes you during your elevator ride. but when the elevator breaks down, leaving you stranded with no way out, the tension crackles into something new.

word count: 8.3k

cw: smut, dirty talk, penetration, finger play, oral, overstimulation, unprotected sex

a/n: happy reading you freaks ;) this is my first like…full out smut so lmk what you think. i’m now going to go baptize myself in holy water.

𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹

Groaning as I power down my desktop, my eyelids threaten to shut on their own accord. The darkness that I get basked between is one I relish in. A quiet, still office. No longer bombarded by ringing phones or an influx of emails. It’s done.

At least for today.

My eyes burn from the sting of staring at a screen all day, knowing these stupid blue light glasses my mother recommended can do nothing to save me at this point. I feel achy, as if I’d just finished with an intense workout, not just sat at a desk for 10 hours.

Forcing myself up from my chair, I stretch out my limbs, soothing the ache in my lower back. I don’t even bother to throw my suit jacket back on. There’s no point. I’m the only person who’s crazy enough to still be at the office. But work never ends when you own the company, I guess. Lord knows I’m just going home to lock myself in my home office for 3 more hours.

When I first started this company, I knew it’d be hard work and grueling hours. What I didn’t know is all that it would take from me. If you want a social life, don’t own a business. If you want stress free hours, even off the clock, don’t start a business. Hell, there isn’t even enough time—let alone enough energy in me anymore—to get laid

I think that one has me the most on edge.

Stomping around my spacious office, I gather my things and toss my jacket over my shoulder before cracking open the door. It feels like it’s been hours since I closed it, locked it, and told everyone to fuck off for the rest of the day so I could concentrate.

I guess one could say I’m notorious for being quite…cold in the office. I’m not a boss who’s shoulder is open to cry on when the job gets tough. I want the work done, and done well. Anything other than that is unacceptable. If I’m working hard, my employees have to be working 10x harder just to reach my level. I’m not going to apologize for that. And if they can’t handle that? Onwards and out they go.

Stepping out into the main space seems to calm me. All of the cubicles are left empty and lifeless, deserted hours ago right when the clock struck 5 pm.

Well, all except one.

Off in the far distance of the office floor, one lamp is still on. And it doesn’t surprise me. At least, not anymore. It’s become a constant. Almost a competition. Which one of us can stay later? Endure the back and eye pain, send the most emails, and log off the latest? But only one of us still does it with a smile on their face.

And that is not me.

You’ve been working here in the social media department for almost 3 years now. In fact, you sort of invented the department here. Before you, I couldn’t understand why a sex toy brand like mine needed a social media presence. But when you came in for an interview, for any old position here, you suggested the idea and changed the game. Taking charge, our sales grew an exponential amount from some simple online posts. You follow the trends, keep the business name in the headlines and put so much fucking money in my pockets.

I’m grateful for the work you do, but those words have never been shared with you. Like I said, I have an asshole reputation to uphold.

The minute I see the lamp at your desk flick off, my feet resume their trek toward the elevator. The only sound being my shoes thudding against the marble floors and the sounds of rustling as you pack up. And then it’s your heels, tapping to the same rhythm as my feet, heading in the same direction.

I’ve got no clue why, but I slow my pace.

We reach the elevator at the same time, but you’re the only one kind enough to flash me a smile in greeting. All I do is nod and press the call button for us.

The silence threatens to suffocate me, and I wonder if you’re feeling the tension too. That crackling, pin straight spine, choked out feeling in your chest. It’s consuming me. So much so that I nearly jump when the elevator dings and the doors slide open.

I motion for you to go ahead—I might be an asshole but I’m still a gentleman. Okay, maybe not that much of a gentleman because I’m unable to stop my eyes from dropping to the way your hips sway as you step in.

Starting a company as a man who has a weakness for women in pencil skirts wasn’t a good idea.

Snapping my gaze back up, I step into the elevator with you just before the doors close. A good few feet between us and nothing but the sound of the elevator engine accompanying us. I mentally pray this ride goes fast.

“Long day?” you’re the only one with the balls to break the silence.

“Mm,” I hum, “definitely.”

“Same here.” Your hands clasp together in front of you, an awkward stance to match the awkward energy. “I actually wanted to talk to you about—“

Your words get cut off by a loud screeching sound. It jolts the elevator, rattling us around until I have to hold myself still with the wall, and you catch onto my arm. The spike of adrenaline in my body forces me not to think about the contact. Lights flicker above our heads, but the movement stops. Like, all together. We’re no longer headed down to the parking garage. Hell, the button pad isn’t even lit up anymore! We’re just…stuck.

I instantly break into survival mode.

Wrenching myself from the wall and your hold, I slam my hand against the button pad, hoping anything will make this shit run again. But it’s no use. I press the alarm, hearing it ring out through the throngs of the building I know is empty at this hour. God, why can’t I just leave at 5 like a regular person? I try for the call button, listening to the automated message before it begins to ring. And ring. And ring. And—you get the picture. Not a soul picks up. In fact, the line’s static.

“Are we stuck?” your frail voice pulls me from my tunnel vision. You’ve glued yourself to the back wall of the confined space, fear etched onto your face with no will to leave.

“Please don’t tell me you’re claustrophobic,” is the only thing that comes out of my mouth.

“No, but I do have a fear of plummeting to my death!” In any other circumstance, I would’ve laughed.

“We aren’t going to plunge to our deaths,” I sigh, not even believing my own words. But someone has to keep their head on straight here. “It was storming today, lightning probably struck the power out. We just have to wait for the backup generator to kick in.” I walk over to the closed doors, assessing the possibilities.

“How long until that happens?”

“I don’t know!” My own fear makes me snap accidentally. “I make sex toys for a living!”

“We could be here all night…” you mutter, your voice sounding distant, but I’m too preoccupied to offer comfort or a second thought. “What are you doing?”

“I’m gonna pull the doors open, see if maybe we stalled on a floor, or at least enough floor for us to slip out onto.”

“You can’t possibly pull those doors open! They’re made of steel! And without the engines running, you’ll be pushing against the resistance of—“

With a major ego boost, your words die in your throat when I start to force the doors to separate. It makes an awful squeaking sound, but it’s working. It’s actually working! I mask my excitement easily, acting as if I knew I’d be able to do it all along.

But that excitement was too good to be true, a fleeting moment squashed like gum on the bottom of someone's shoe.

A wall. That’s all that’s to be seen. A fucking slab of concrete and no open air in sight. Fuck.

“Oh my god… We’re gonna die in here,” you practically cry.

“We’re not going to die.” Again, I have no idea, but I’m trying to convince myself my words are true. “Emergency services will be here soon.”

“What fucking emergency services?! We didn’t get through to anyone, no one else is in this building this late, and no one is coming to save us!” You sink down onto the floor, your back pressed against the metal wall. I can hear your labored breaths from here.

I might be known as the asshole around the office, but I’m not a completely heartless bastard. I see someone in distress, I offer a hand and support. Well, in some cases. And this is one of them.

I waltz over to you, sinking down in front of you and hesitantly placing my hands on your shaking knees, the ones you’ve pulled up against your chest. Your chin is tucked against your chest, hiding from the situation—hiding from me.

“Hey…” I think that’s the softest I’ve ever spoken. “Listen, we’re going to be just fine. Shit like this happens all the time and the cords hardly ever snap—“

“Hardly?!” Your head whips up, eyes puffy and red from withheld tears.

Shit. “Do you want me to lie to you?” You shake your head. “All I’m saying is that it’s a one in a million chance that we drop. And, hey, you don’t know? We could very well be just 10 feet from the ground floor and the only thing that would happen would be a small stomach drop.”

“I hate drop rides,” you whine, your bottom lip trembling in its pout.

This time, it’s my turn to drop my chin to my chest. “Jesus, you’re impossible.”

I maneuver myself until I’m slumped against the wall beside you, having given up on the whole ‘save the day’ act. Who knows how long we’ll be stuck here, I might as well get comfortable. An idea popping into my head has me mentally cursing myself for my stupidity, reaching into my pocket for my phone.

Of course, my phone! How could I not have thought of it sooner? All we have to do is just call someone to— Oh, and it’s dead. Yep. Dead as can be.

Fuck.

“Do you have your phone?” I grumble, peering over at you as you drag your head back out of its hiding place. “Check if you have service in here.”

“Oh my god, you’re a genius!” you gasp, scrambling to grab your phone from the purse you discarded when you thought we were freefalling. And I wouldn’t say the notion makes me a genius, actually quite the opposite since it took me so long to think of, but I’ll accept the stroke of my ego. When you snatch your phone, the screen illuminates your face in the flickering lighting. “It’s spotty, but it’s something. Oh, shoot, I’m on SOS… Wait! No, it’s ba—it’s gone again.”

Groaning, my head hits the metal wall, staring up at the matching metal ceiling. Damn, this place is cramped. Maybe I’m the one with claustrophobia?

“I can try to call 911 anyway? Isn’t that a thing? Like, your calls go through even without service?” you ask me like I’d have any clue.

“It’s worth a try.”

You sigh a smile as you tap around on your phone and hold it up to your ear. It’s so silent in here without the engines running, I can hear the dial tone.

“Hi! Hi! Yes!” Oh my god, it worked. Your hand juts out to slap against my bicep in your fit of joy. It’s hard to smother the smile growing on my own face. Especially when your hand settles to a stop, still resting on my arm. Now that the initial adrenaline is gone, I do have time to focus on the touch. “We're trapped in an elevator! Yes! No, the engines went down! I don’t know…20 minutes? No, no, none of it…”

I tune out your voice as you drabble on, giving out our location and any other useful information they need to come save us. It’s easy to do it when I’m instead so hyper focused on the contact of your hand on my body.

Like I said, it’s been a while since I’ve gotten laid. Now I’m like a prepubescent teenager who just brushed shoulders with a cute girl in the hall. It’s pathetic.

Somewhere in between my ogling and internal freakout, you had ended the call, and—to my dismay—moved to drop your hand back to your side.

“They said it might be a little, there’s some fire at a restaurant, but they’re coming!”

“Good… That’s really good,” my voice doesn’t even sound like my own, too stalled on the buzzing your touch has leftover on me to care.

This time, when you slump back against the wall, you aren’t on the verge of tears. I guess with just the promise of help on the way your mind has erased all possibilities of this huge metal box unhinging. Because in the time it takes for them to get here, it totally can’t happen, right? Wrong. But I won’t say that out loud. Dealing with you being a nervous wreck would have been worse than dealing with you in relief.

Even if it has you saying, “We should play truth or dare to pass the time.”

“Truth or dare? We aren’t 10.” I grimace at the thought, holding back an intense eyeroll.

“Come on! It’s just something to pass the time!”

“No, I’m not playing that ridiculous game.” I know I’m sounding like a complete ass—to which I’ve accepted I am—but I’ve gotta draw the line somewhere.

“Truth or dare, Harry?” you push.

“I told you, I’m not playing.”

“Truth or dare?” you repeat, pressing further. But if you press anymore, I might just cave in.

“No.”

“Fine, you can ask me first.”

I’m about to snap the elevator cords myself, but then I decide I can have some fun with this. “Truth or dare?”

Your eyes light up when the words leave my mouth, thinking you’ve finally won. “Hmm… Dare.”

“I dare you to not play this game.”

“Hey! That’s not fair!” you whine like a child.

“Life’s not fair. Deal with it,” I retort.

“You can be a real asshole, you know that?” your words surprise me. Not the adjective you’ve used to describe me, but the way you so freely verbalized it.

Still, I find myself replying, “Yeah, I know.”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” you’re quick to apologize, the previous words probably slipping without your consent, “I didn’t mean to say that! That was so uncalled for and— Wait, did you say you know?”

I nod. “Yeah, I know. I know what you all say when you think I don’t hear. I’ve accepted this fact.”

“Harry, I’m—“

“Don’t apologize again. Really, it’s fine,” I cut you off, taking your words and rolling them off my shoulders.

“It’s not fine, it’s not,” you continue, and I can feel the guilt oozing off of you. “No one should be talked about like that, no matter the situation. And while I haven’t personally added to the email chain, I do apologize on everyone’s behalf.”

“Wait, wait—there’s an email chain?”

Even if the flickering lights gave out and basked us in darkness, I’d still be able to see how red your cheeks turn. “Shit,” you mutter.

A small laugh escapes my lips at your embarrassing slip up. The uncommon sound leaving my lips has a tentative smile growing on your lips, and the tension of your early admission slowly leaves your shoulders. Then the silence comes. A question of ‘where do we go from here?’ hangs in the air. It's slightly uncomfortable. After me being an asshole, you calling me out for being an asshole, and an oddly tender moment; there’s not much else to say. But not saying anything is worse.

Just when I’m about to succumb to my worst nightmares and reignite the game of Truth or Dare, your phone buzzes against the carpeted surface beneath us. At least it gives you an out from the suffocating silence, I think. Picking up your phone, I can’t help but study you closely—I’ve got nothing better to do. The screen casts a glow over you, and I watch as your eyebrows furrow. The tiniest of eye rolls and then you’re turning your phone upside down on the floor again. But you can’t escape whatever you were looking at—it buzzes again. The steps repeat five times over until you can’t fight the groan that leaves your lips.

“Everything good?” I can’t help myself from asking. My curiosity is piqued, sue me!

“It’s fine,” you mumble, clearly not fine. That sentiment is only set in stone when your phone buzzes again and you nearly toss it against the wall. It’s my interception that stops you from making the mistake.

My hand grips your wrist midair and yanks your phone from your hand before you can check it again. I don’t need you getting overly agitated and accidentally manifesting our plummet.

“Give me my phone back.” You reach out for it, but I pull it away, out of your reach. And, damn, the thing buzzes about 3 times in just this short time. “Harry, give me my phone.”

“Who’s blowing up your phone?” It’s really none of my business, but I’m a nosy bastard.

Wow, these confines are really making me realize all of my flaws.

“It’s no one,” you grumble, reaching out again. I hold your phone further up and out.

“Oh? So no one has you about to smash your phone against the elevator wall?”

“Harry, I’m serious,” you whine, once again reaching and failing. The repetition of your movements has you suddenly so much closer.

“So am I!” I laugh. “I don’t need your phone cracking against the wall just right and sending this metal box freefalling!”

“You said we weren’t going to die!” you gasp.

“We won’t,” I reply, “if you don’t go all crazy with rage and do something stupid.” You sigh and sit back on your knees, seemingly giving up on your fight. I don’t trust it. Proven right when you toss yourself forward and try to snatch it again—to no avail. “Is it a boyfriend? A girlfriend? A scammer trying to get you to become a princess of some made up country?” Your lack of laughter bruises me. I thought that was funny. “Or maybe it’s a crazy ex?”

Your lack of response is response enough. Shit. The realization that I’ve cracked the code has you flinging yourself again, but you take it a step further this time. Your whole body practically folds over me in your attempt, leaving your legs landing with one on either side of my hips. Instinctively, my hands fly out to stable you. Double shit.

You still. No longer in a rush to grab your phone back, no longer eager to see whatever’s on your screen, and probably no longer even breathing. I know I’m not. I’m too focused on the feel of your hips beneath my hands. I have to physically stop myself from squeezing your flesh.

I guess there’s no point in lying anymore—I find you ridiculously attractive. Always have. The second you walked into my office for an interview, I knew if I hired you, I’d be fucked. So I wasn’t going to. I entertained the interviewer for the sake of staring at a pretty face a little longer. But then you brought up the PR stuff and it all made so much sense and I realized… I was really fucked. So I went against my urges and hired you, forcing myself to delete any previous notions I had.

But now? Now those lines I drew for myself are blurring. Fading right before my eyes.

“I should…” you start, words trailing from the intense burning gaze I’m most likely sending your way.

“No… No, you shouldn’t.” I can only assume you were going to say you should get up, but I can’t let that happen. Not now. Not when I’ve finally got you in my arms.

“Harry…” The way you breathe my name sends a shiver down my spine.

“Don’t,” I warn, my grip on your hips growing tighter, keeping you in place. “You’re not going anywhere now.” Wide eyes stare back down at me, hesitant and confused. But my eyes can’t help but shamelessly roam your body, perched on top of mine like it was made to be. Your chest rises and falls quickly with your nervous breaths, right in front of my face. I feel like I’m hypnotized. “You look good like this,” the words fall from my tongue without a second thought.

“Harry—“ you try again, but I cut you off.

“Don’t… Don’t talk.” I grip you tighter, pulling you down slowly until you’re fully resting your weight against me. I push down the groan that threatens to spill. “Just let me look at you…”

“What are you doing?”

I ignore your question, letting my hands travel from your hips to the tops of your thighs, smoothing over the material of your skirt. This damn pencil skirt. The barely audible sound of your breath hitching in your throat sends a thrill through my bloodstream. “Is this okay?” I peer up at you through my eyelashes, my hands not stopping their actions of smoothing up and down your addictive thighs.

Your eyes connect with mine. Hesitancy, shock and…lust. I’ve got you right where I want you.

And when you nod, slowly and easily unnoticeable, I nearly snap right then and then.

The groan that’s been fighting its way up my throat is finally let free and I pull you flush against me. Your chest hits mine in a rushed movement, and your hands land on my shoulders to stabilize yourself. You’re so close. So close to me. I can smell the notes of your perfume, the scent of your shampoo, and I’m hooked. Releasing one hand from your hip, I grab your chin and angle your head down toward mine. Our noses nearly brush, that’s how close we are.

“This is a mistake,” I whisper, but you can hear each syllable perfectly, nodding in agreement. “You could be fired.” You nod again but don’t make any move to leave. “I could lose my business…”

“But?” you clue in, breath hitting my skin.

“But at least it’ll be worth it.”

And just like that, my lips are on yours. Groaning into the kiss like a man starved, my grip on you tightens to a bruising degree, pulling you impossibly closer. My tongue doesn’t waste any time in demanding entrance, tracing the seam of your lips and forcing its way in when you gasp. Hands. So many hands. Yours planted on my shoulders, slowly smoothing up to hold the sides of my neck. One of mine on your hips, dancing over your frame to press into your lower back and bring you closer, the other tangling in your hair to angle you just right. I can’t get enough. I’m not sure if it’ll ever be enough. Hissing out when your legs spread further, bunching your skirt to the top of your thighs, as your center presses against mine.

I pull back from the kiss, just barely, letting my lips brush over yours as I speak. “You know,” I strain the words, my voice heavy with lust, “I could think of a few better things we could do to pass the time, other than Truth or Dare.”

I feel your thighs tighten around my hips from my words, and it only serves to heighten my need for you. I drop my hands to your thighs away, feeling the bare skin under my fingertips as one of my hands travels higher and higher, disappearing under the tight material. “Do you want to pass the time with me?”

When my eyes and brain register your small nod, a smirk spreads on my face, giving me the green light to continue. Two hands. One gripping the top of your thigh and the other grabbing the back of your neck to pull you into a searing kiss.

“Good girl,” I mumble against your mouth.

I hold you just where I want you as my lips leave yours and travel down your jaw instead, licking and nipping the skin in my descent to your neck. It’s all so addictive, so sweet. It’s still not enough. But when I find that sweet spot—a patch of skin just below the lobe of your ear—you moan breathlessly, and I think this might be just right. Shivering beneath my touch, my hand that’s under your skirt finds the waistband of your panties, feeling the delicate lace between the pads of my fingers.

“These are coming home with me.” I give the band a small tug, letting it snap back against your skin before pulling my hand away all together. Sliding my hands up your body, I pull your dress shirt from the hem of your skirt and tug on it. “Arms up for me, baby.”

Baby. Don’t know where that came from. But with the way it has you complying without another word, I know I won’t stop saying it. I toss your shirt to the side, my eyes roaming over your newly exposed skin. So much of it. But your chest has me in a daze, hidden behind scrap material you call a bra. I can’t help the low moan that escapes me.

“You’re so beautiful,” I breathe the words, reaching to grip and knead at the skin of your waist. I can’t stop touching you. My hands are everywhere, feeling out your smooth, soft skin like it’s a drug. They eventually slip onto your back, tugging on the clasp that keeps you hidden from me. In one quick snap, the whole thing comes undone. The straps slide down your skin, revealing more and more of that perfect fucking skin. Absolutely perfect. This moment isn’t even one I could dream up. You, sitting bare chested on my lap with that needy yet hesitant look in your eyes. No, not even my dreams could be this good.

Leaving your waist, my hands cup your breasts, feeling their weight and fullness in my hands. My mouth is watering. My thumb runs over one of your nipples, watching it pebble harden under my gaze and touch. I’ve never seen anything so hypnotic. Eyes flicking up to latch onto yours, I watch for your reaction as I pinch the sensitive bud, teasing a shaky breath from you.

“You like that, don’t you?” My voice is low and husky as I continue to roll your nipple between my fingertips, forcing your back to arch. It puts your tits right in my face. I’m physically unable to stop myself from leaning forward and taking your other nipple between my lips. I moan at the taste of you, the sweetest fucking thing I’ve ever had gracing my tongue. Or maybe the sweetest thing is the whines that leave your lips when I swirl my tongue around you, hollowing my cheeks with a harsh suck.

I can’t stop. I literally can’t stop. Switching back and forth, showing each of your breasts the same attention until you’re relentlessly squirming on top of me. You are intoxicating. That’s the only way to describe it. I’m a lost man when it comes to you.

“So fucking good,” my words reverberate against your skin as I don’t let up on my attacks. Feeling your hands wind into the hair at the nape of my neck, you hold me close as I explore your body with my tongue.

A hand slides down your hips and thighs again, just to push right back up under your skirt. I yank the material up, forcing it to bunch at your waist, and leaving me with the perfect view of your lace panties. Sitting like this, with the crease of your hips over your thighs, dressed in barely anything; this is heaven. I’m sure of it. My thumb traces the seam, dipping into the crevice between your legs. Growing bolder, my thumb ghosts over your clit through your panties.

“Harry…” you whine, and it’s music to my ears.

“Tell me what you need, baby, and I’ll give it to you. Whatever you need,” the words tumble out of my mouth with no thought behind them, too focused on watching my finger disappear between your legs.

“You…” you breathe the word, shakily, “I need you.”

Well, fuck me.

My thumb presses down on your clit, still over the thin layer separating us, and your hips buck involuntarily. “Yeah? Is this what you need, baby? Need me to touch you?” You nod, helplessly, forcing friction from my unmoving thumb and your twitchy hips. “Words, baby. I need your words.”

“Y-yes! Yes…please.”

They were right when they said that was the magic word.

Finally giving you what you want, my thumb starts a lazy circular rhythm over your sensitive bud. The most delicious cries leave your lips every time I purposely add a bit more pressure. I can feel the heat radiating off your core, like a magic spell dragging my thumb down the seam of you to press against the mess you’ve made. The growing dampness I can feel through the fabric has my hips bucking up toward you. Your wetness seeps through your panties, making a mess on your inner thighs, and—damn—is it a sight to see. I cup you through the material, giving you something to find friction on while pressing against your clothed entrance with the tips of my fingers.

“You’re so wet,” I whisper, amazed, “so wet for me.”

You nod in response, unable to do much else than moan as you find your own pleasure against the skin of my hand. Well, that just won’t do.

I tug your panties to the side, exposing your soaking wet pussy to me. A shuddering moan escapes me as a gasp gets ripped from you. My gaze is burning into the perfect, glistening pink skin, and I think you can feel it too, grinding against the air. Staring up at you, your eyes are half-shut and glazed over, holding yourself stable with a firm grip on my shoulders. But everything in you trembles when I run a single finger through your folds, feeling how deliciously wet you are against my rough skin. Your eyes pinch shut, your hands gripping me like a vice, as a whimper tumbles out of you.

I trace your slit, dragging your mess up and down your core and lightly brushing against your clit. I push at your shoulders lightly, forcing you to lean back and give me a clearer view. Watching my fingers pull your lips apart and your entrance clench around nothing. Holy fuck.

The next time my fingers trace down you, I slip my middle finger inside. Your walls clamp down around the intruder, gripping my finger snugly.

“God, you’re tight,” I rasp, slowly pulling my finger out just to press it right back in. You’re a moaning mess above me, but I’m too focused on watching my finger disappear into you to even pay attention.

I drag my single finger out just to press back in with two. Your hips writhe against the feeling, but I don’t speed up. Keeping my tantalizingly slow pace of pushing in and pulling out.

“Harry, please…” you gasp out the words, forcing my attention to your face. That fucking face. Lips red and bruised, eyebrows scrunched together and jaw slack. You’re a sight for sore eyes.

“Please, what, baby?” I have to force the words to come out without a groan when your pussy clamps down on my fingers again.

You whine at my insistence. “Please… Harder. Faster.”

“Yeah? That’s what you want?” You nod, but this time I don’t beg for you to say it out loud. I’m on the verge of snapping. “Then that’s what you’ll get.”

I wrap an arm around your waist to hold you in place as I finally let my instincts take over. My fingers gain speed, thrusting in and out of you just how you wanted. The sounds of my fingers slamming against your wetness draws a dark moan from the back of my throat. I can’t pull my eyes away from your face. Watching as it screws up with pleasure, your moans filling the confined space.

“You feel so good,” I moan, curling my fingers inside of you. “Can’t wait to have you wrapped around my cock.” I press against the spongy skin inside of you, stimulating it and watching you fall apart in my arms. It makes you grip onto my hair instead of my shoulders, dragging my face closer to your body. I take that as an invitation to wrap my lips around your nipple again, lapping and sucking until I can feel you teetering on the edge. “That’s it, baby. Let me make you come.”

I press my thumb against your clit and you cry out, arching your perfect tits into my face. I have half the mind to motorboat you. Instead, I change the angle. Slowly, I push off against the wall and guide you down to lay flat on your back. My fingers still slamming and twisting and fucking into you without remorse. With one hand to hold myself up by the side of your head, I continue to attack your breasts with my mouth, until you're covered in my marks. My lips travel down your sternum, licking a strip from the underside of your breasts to your belly button. I dip my tongue into the valley and you gasp, eyes snapping open to watch me. The cocky smirk that breaks out on my lips has your eyes threatening to roll back, but you fight it, I can tell. You want to see what I’m going to do next.

Planting hot, wet kisses down your pelvis, I make way between your legs. Meeting my fingers and their brutal pace, I replace my thumb on your clit with my tongue. Rising onto your forearms, you get a front row seat.

My eyes nearly cross at the taste of you, lapping up the sweetness that covers your core. My fingers repeatedly hit your g-spot as my lips suck your clit into my mouth. My unrestrained moan only brings you more pleasure.

“Harry! I’m gonna—ah!” you scream out as I feel your walls clench and tightly.

“Yeah?” I rasp between flicks of my tongue. “You’re gonna come on my fingers? Gonna come for me?”

You don’t have a second to respond between your gasps, moans, and whines. Hips bucking up against my face, I roll my fingers into you and swirl my tongue around your clit. I can pinpoint the exact millisecond your orgasm rips through you.

Screaming out my name, your hands land in my hair and tug, body trembling against the floor. I flatten my tongue against you and let you ride out the waves against it, my fingers slowing their assault before pulling out all together. Tossing your thighs over my shoulders, I finally dive in for a real taste.

You cry from the overstimulation, feeling my tongue lapping up every last drop of your release. I eat you like you’re the last drops of water and I’m stranded in the desert, moaning every time your taste hits my tongue. I can’t stop. Not even to take a breath or give you a second to come down. My tongue plunges into you and I’m certain I could die a happy man right here right now. With you squirming and begging for a second to catch up, and my hands squeezing your flesh anywhere I can get my hands on.

I don’t even notice that I’ve been grinding my hips against the floor until a strained moan hits your core. I need to make you come again. I need it like I need oxygen. And that rubber band holding of restraint that was once holding me back has obliterated into dust.

I nuzzle my face feverishly against your core, rubbing my nose against your clit as my tongue loses sanity against your perfect pussy. My own hardness is so painful, straining against the material of my slacks. I can’t help myself from reaching down to unzip my pants and palming myself over my boxers.

I lift your hips in the air to dive deeper, taking every piece of your resolve with me.

Your orgasm hits you out of nowhere, tensing your frame as your hips grind against my awaiting face. I lap up your juices, my mind failing me at the intensity of it all.

I need more.

Finally getting a breath, I pull my face from between your legs, my lips and chin glistening from you. I don’t plan on ever wiping it off. Your legs flop back onto the floor, like a ragdoll.

“God, you’re perfect,” I speak mindlessly as I sit back on my knees, reaching for the buttons of my shirt. I’m burning up. You lay on your back panting, eyes dazedly watching me. “You okay?” I check.

You nod, a slow, lazy smile growing on your face. You’re completely spent and I’ve barely even begun.

“Good…” I toss my shirt to the side, leaving me bare chested in front of you. I don’t miss the way your eyes trail down my skin, burning a map on your journey. I lean over you, my face hovering over yours just inches away. Close enough for you to feel my breath hit your face when I say, “Because I’m about to bury my cock so deep in your perfect, little pussy.”

One of my fingers sliding through your folds emphasizes my words, making you gasp. I grab your hips and lift them off the ground, making our centers connect. Rubbing my boxer-clad bulge against you, you mewl. “You have no idea how badly I need to be inside of you right now,” I grunt, snapping my hips against yours. “Do you want that, baby? You want me deep inside of you?” You nod, but this time I demand words. I need to hear you say it. “Say it.”

“I want it,” you gasp. “I want it! Please!”

My hips snap again. “What do you want, baby? Tell me.”

“I want you… Deep inside of me,” the words finally break free from your lips, just as a groan leaves mine.

I’m immediately fumbling with my pants, yanking them down my legs and kicking them off not so sexily. You don’t seem to notice though, if anything you’re the opposite of shuddered by my fumbling. You just squirm and writhe, begging for my attention again. Fuck. My boxers are the next to go, joining the heap of clothes we’ve created in the corner of this small space. But when you go to sit up and peel your skirt off your body, I reach out and stop you. Your eyes look up at me, confused.

“That’s staying on,” I murmur, eyes trained on the bunched material covering the tops of your hips and your waist.

Those fucking pencil skirts.

You comply, laying back down and finally letting your eyes trail over me. From the top of my hair, to the swell of my thighs straining to keep me upright. Though your attention does seem to focus more on my throbbing cock that stands at attention for you.

I grab your legs and wrap them around my waist, forcing your hips to raise and meet mine. Our moans harmonize when my length nestles between your folds. I’m unable to stop my rocking hips. Your own hips meet my lazy strides, causing a ripple of pleasure to shockwave through me.

I pull back slightly and grab the base of my cock, stroking myself a few times as I bring my tip against your folds. I’m leaking precum against you, my jaw slack as I run myself through your drenched core.

“Harry, please,” you beg, your voice needy and desperate.

I don’t tear my eyes away from your center. “Please what, baby?” I slap the head of my cock against your clit, watching you jump and squirm in surprise.

“Please… Fuck me.”

“Yeah?” I drag myself to your entrance, just barely pressing in but already feeling your warmth envelop me. It takes all my strength to hold back. “You want me to fuck this tight, little cunt?”

I push just my tip inside, gnawing down on my bottom lip to keep my composure, but you’re not so slick. “Y-yes! Yes! Please!”

Your walls are so tight around me, I could finish right now. Squeezing me and begging for more. I don’t have the self control to tease you anymore. Not when your body so clearly needs this—needs me.

I don’t waste anymore time, thrusting inside of you and filling you completely in one swift motion. One strangled gasp from you and a guttural moan from me. Nails biting into my shoulders as I stretch you open, unwarranted sounds spilling from me as your pussy flutters around me.

My head falls back in pleasure. “Fuck,” I sigh. “You feel so good.”

I adjust my grip, holding your thighs wrapped around me as I slowly pull back out. You whimper, but it’s cut off with a moan when I slam my hips back against yours. I don’t start slow, there’s no point. Not when my body is screaming at me to just take you. Claim you. With a vice grip on you, I continue my relentless pace, ramming my length into you. Your moans are unrestrained now, bouncing off the steel walls and mixing with the sounds of our skin slapping together.

“So tight,” I grunt, my teeth clenched. “So good.”

My hands are frenzied. Smoothing over your skin and gripping anywhere I can get a handle on. I steady my hips as I latch onto yours, using the leverage to move your hips for you. I drag you on and off my cock, watching it disappear into your wet hold. Using you like a toy for my pleasure, I pick up the pace and force your hips to slam against mine. The small rolls you do on your own have me feeling mental. Nothing has ever felt like this. Nothing will ever feel like this again.

And it’s taken to the next level when you use your abdomen to pull yourself up, sending me back onto my calves. Your hands grip my shoulders as you settle into a perch on my lap, grinding your hips against mine. Taking control. Dammit, you’re sexy.

“Yeah?” I pant. “Taking what’s yours, huh? Using me to get off?”

You don’t respond with words, but you do let your lips do the talking. Bending down, your lips attach to mine in a sloppy kiss. It’s hard when pants and moans are constantly spilling, but I swallow every sound you make. Your hands slip to my chest and push me backwards, landing me flat on my back and mirroring your previous position. My length falls out of you from the change of angle, but you’re quick to fix your mistake.

Wrapping your hand around my cock, it twitches from the contact. As you move to hover over my lap again, you stroke me lazily, and my hands grab your hips. When I feel you dragging me through your dripping folds, my head falls back and my eyes roll. Not giving me a chance to breathe before you sink down onto me again.

You stable yourself with both hands on my chest, burning my skin with your dangerous touch. Hips sliding and grinding against mine, you’re much softer with your movements. But, dammit, if it doesn’t have me losing my mind just the same. I reach behind you, grabbing a handful of that perfect ass I’ve shamelessly stared at far too many times. It feels so much better to have it in my hands. So much so, my other hand has to join it. Groping both of your cheeks, I guide your movements over me, setting a pace that fulfills both of our needs.

When your hips rise and fall over me, I hiss and squeeze your plump skin tighter. So you do it again. And again. And again, until I’m not controlling the pathetic sounds that leave my mouth. You bounce and grind with a practiced ease, taking the pleasure you need from me.

“You like bouncing on my cock, baby?” A sly smile grows on your lips and you speed up. “Damn right you do.” I smack your ass.

To my—very pleasant—surprise, it rips a harsh moan from your lips. Noted. Sitting up straighter, you bounce on me without caring about the burn I’m sure you’re feeling in your thighs. So I slap your ass again. It has your movements faltering.

“Does my baby like to be spanked, huh?” You nod breathlessly as I continue to smack and palm your ass. It fits so nicely in my hands, I can’t resist. But the pleasure you’re finding from it is slowing you down, losing your rhythm.

So I take control again.

Planting my feet on the floor, I push up until my knees are pointed in the air. Grabbing onto your hips, I still your movements and hold you right where I need you. Then I go to town.

I thrust up into you with a brutal force, wrenching a scream from deep in your soul. Your top half falls forward, nearly collapsing on top of me. Grunts and moans leave my lips without permission as you barely hold yourself together. This new angle is deep and rough, hitting all the right places inside of you and making you clamp down onto me with a vice grip.

“Yeah, baby, just like that,” I groan. “You’re taking my cock so well. Fucking perfect… So fucking tight,” I grit the words out. And when your hips start to grind against my thrusts, I stare down at the edge of my pleasure. “Shit! You’re so hot…”

Faces mere inches apart, we swap oxygen between our labored pants and needy moans. I grab the back of your neck and pull your lips to meet mine. A heated kiss, moving hungrily against one another, tasting and devouring each other as we move together. I grip your hip tighter with my hand, snapping my hips up to meet yours. Your movements grow frantic, more wild, as you chase your pleasure down. I can feel your body tensing in my hold, feel you fluttering and squeezing around me, knowing you’re getting closer.

“That’s it…” I encourage, nuzzling my face in your neck and letting my hand fall back to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze. “Come for me, baby. Come all over my cock.”

I grind my hips up into yours, repeatedly hitting that spot that has you crying out my name over and over again. Your body starts to shake, breathing turning erratic.

“Oh God, oh God—don’t stop!” you whine and pant and make me nearly lose my mind.

I grunt with a particular deep thrust. “I’m not gonna stop, baby.”

Whines and whimpers are your only form of communication at this point, a silent plea. Your body tenses, coils up so tight it might just send me over the edge too. And when a long, low moan falls from your lips, your body stills as you peak. I hold you tight, feeling your body tremble in my arms. Your pussy clenches so hard around me, threatening to push me out all together. I don’t let up on my thrusts, seeing the bright white light of pleasure coming for me. Your whines or sensitivity only spur me on.

“Fuck, yes, baby… So good. Come all over me. You’re perfect. So fucking good and tight. Gonna make me come so hard in that perfect cunt of yours,” the thoughtless mumbles pour out of my mouth.

“Harry, please…” I know that you’re begging for my release, feeling me slide in and out of your core.

“Almost there, baby, just—fuck!” I gasp when your walls clench around me again. “God, do that again.”

So you do. You do it over and over until my hips grow sloppy and my uneven breaths threaten to make me pass out. I’m gritting my teeth, gripping your hips, and desperately reaching for the climax that I know will ruin anyone else for me.

“Fuck! I’m gonna come! I’m gonna fill you up, baby!” I scream out the words, hips snapping uncoordinatedly up into yours. “Shit! Fuck! Yes!”

With one sensitive roll of your hips, it’s game over for me.

I gasp and choke out a moan as my hips come to an abrupt halt. My jaw hangs like it’s detached from my body all together, panting into the open air. Feeling myself spilling into you, you whimper in encouragement. And then we both go limp.

My hands fall from your hips and down to my sides and you essentially collapse onto my chest. Rising with every heavy inhale I take, I welcome your weight on me, bringing me back down to earth.

Back down to this broken elevator.

Shit, I almost forgot the situation we were in.

I reach up and run a hand through your sweat lined hair, basking in the stillness of this moment. You hum against me, the sound rattling the blood in my veins, and pushing me to continue.

This right here is peace.

“Fire Department! We’re gonna work on getting you guys out of there!”

Scratch that. This is hell.

𖦹

𖦹

𖦹

𖦹

𖦹

taglist: @tpwkmr @alex-voiddome @hsviorry @butdaddyiloveh1m

[baigepueckers]

Nika Mühl X Reader

In Good Hands

You’re five minutes into your notes when you hear the door swing open with too much energy to belong to anyone but her.

“Miss me?” Nika grins, wiping sweat off her brow with the sleeve of her oversized Storm tee.

You don’t look up right away. It’s part of your defense mechanism. Five weeks of this and still, she walks in like she’s entering a spotlight… all swagger and sharp cheekbones and that unrelenting grin that makes it very hard to remember your degrees and your boundaries.

“I missed the part where you were on time for once,” you reply coolly, finishing a sentence in your rehab notes. You glance up, arch a brow. “But congratulations. This is the closest you’ve come.”

Nika shrugs as she walks over. “Recovery’s a process. So is punctuality.”

You hide your smile by turning toward the bench. She hops up onto it like she owns the place. You’re already pulling out her file when she kicks off her sneakers and stretches her arms above her head like she’s doing a GQ shoot instead of physical therapy.

“You always stretch like that for me, or am I special?”

You deadpan, “You’re still on a minutes restriction, Mühl. Keep it up and I’ll add talking to the list.”

Her smirk softens a little. “Bet you’d still let me talk if I called you boss lady again.”

Your fingers pause briefly at the strap of her knee brace. “Do you flirt like this with all your trainers?”

“Only the ones who make me feel something,” she says.

You glance up…not expecting her to say it so directly, or to be looking at you like that. Like she’s trying to memorize your face.

You swallow. “Let’s check that flexion first.”

You don’t remember exactly when it started feeling like this.

Maybe the first time she cursed under her breath when her quad gave out. Or the day she stayed after her session to help you re stack the resistance bands just because. Or the way she says your name when no one else is around…not Doc, not trainer, just soft, curious, sometimes reverent.

You see it in flashes. How she lingers after practice. How she watches you tape ankles with an intensity that has nothing to do with athletic training.

You should say something. Draw a line.

But the truth is: you look forward to her appointments more than you want to admit.

“You’re quiet today” she says, wiping sweat from her hairline as you finish another set of exercises.

“I’m focused.”

“No, you’re in your head,” Nika says, peering at you. “You get this crease right here when you’re overthinking.”

She taps between your brows, gentle. You freeze…more from the contact than the accuracy.

“Must be imagining things,” you say. But your voice betrays you…softer than intended.

She doesn’t push. Just gives you that lopsided smile and leans back on her hands, knee flexed in front of her like she’s trying to prove it doesn’t hurt anymore.

You check her progress. “You’re still tracking well. Stronger each session.”

“Thanks to you.” She looks down. Then, quieter “Seriously.”

You pause.

“Nika.”

She meets your eyes, like she’s bracing herself.

“This isn’t easy. Coming back from injury. You’ve worked your ass off. That’s all you.”

She nods. But the way she looks at you makes it feel like that’s not what she’s thanking you for at all.

Later that week, after practice, she finds you icing your wrist…you tweaked it earlier helping a post player stretch out her hip.

“You okay?” she asks, crouching beside you.

“Fine” you say. “Just sore.”

She gently takes the ice from your hand. “Let me.”

You let her….which surprises you more than anything. Her fingers are warm. She holds your wrist like it’s breakable. The moment stretches out, unspoken.

“You don’t have to look at me like that” you whisper.

“Like what?”

“Like you mean it.”

She doesn’t answer for a second. Then, very quietly. “What if I do?”

The room feels too small suddenly.

You pull your hand back gently, but not fast. Not like you’re running. Just…trying to keep steady.

“I’m your trainer, Nika.”

“Only technically” she says. “But okay. I’ll behave.”

She stands and heads to the door. Right before she leaves, she turns.

“You should still let me bring you coffee sometime. Doesn’t have to be a date if you don’t want it to be.”

You don’t answer.

You just watch her walk out with your pulse in your throat.

Three days later, you find a cupcake on your desk.

The icing’s a mess. White with green sprinkles, a half squashed swirl of Storm colors. The lid of the container is scrawled in black Sharpie:

“Thank you. For everything. — N”

You stare at it for a long time.

You don’t touch it until after everyone else has gone home.

The next time she comes in, she’s quieter.

Less teasing. No Doc, no boss lady. Just “Hey.”

You run through the session as usual…quad activation, glute bridges, single leg balance. She does them perfectly. No grimace, no hesitation.

But she doesn’t meet your eyes.

You try not to care. Try not to notice the ache in your chest when she doesn’t linger after.

Until she’s halfway out the door and stops.

“I don’t know how to hide it” she says, without turning around.

You freeze.

“I like you” she says, voice low and fast, like it might break. “I tried joking through it, but it’s not funny anymore. I think about you all the time. And if you don’t feel the same, it’s okay. Just…don’t pretend you don’t know.”

The door closes behind her before you can even stand.

You find her in the shooting gym. Alone. Hoodie pulled over her head, knee brace half unfastened, ball at her feet. She doesn’t look up until you’re standing beside her.

“You’re not supposed to be practicing alone” you say gently.

She shrugs. “Old habits.”

You sit beside her.

Neither of you talks for a while. It’s late. Quiet. The kind of quiet that waits for something to change.

“You meant it” you say eventually.

She nods. Doesn’t look at you. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t.” You pause. “You just caught me off guard.”

“Still friends?”

You take her hand. Slowly. Let her feel it…the weight of it, the warmth.

“I like you too,” you say softly. “I just didn’t know what to do with it.”

She finally looks at you. Eyes wide. Vulnerable in a way you’ve never seen.

“I thought maybe I was imagining it.”

“You weren’t.”

A pause.

“So what now?” she asks.

You smile. “Now we see what happens when you’re finally cleared to play…and I can’t hide behind the excuse of professionalism.”

She grins full on, bright, real. “Guess I better heal fast then.”

You squeeze her hand. “Guess you better.”

She leans her head against your shoulder. And for the first time since you met her, she doesn’t have anything to prove. Just something to feel.

[tojisun]

hockey player simon pt 0.5 // pt 01 & 02

(pre-pt 1 & 2)

there is something that riley (41) does that kind of—or really, if you're being honest, which you aren't—makes you breathless. you wonder if it's a deliberate habit, or if it's something he does unconsciously. whatever it may be, it drives you fucking nuts.

when he's on ice, mid-game, riley chooses to chew on his mouth guard instead of wearing it.

thing is, he's not the only one who actually does this—countless lead players are photographed as they chew on their mouthpieces, their eyes faraway because they are in the zone—and you've always noticed them, of course you have, but there is something fundamentally different when riley does it.

it's pleasing when it's him who does it. attractive.

the others barely make you blink, but riley? god, you can't even show your camera roll to your friends anymore because of that one day when you mass-saved every single photo of him biting on his mouth guard that you could scour.

you probably downloaded about forty-one (ha!) images of those types.

it's embarrassing to admit out loud, but dear god he is so charming like that—in full hockey gear, his damp hair framing his flushed face, and his grin made cheekier by the fact that he's biting down on his mouth guard.

one was even your homescreen for a while.

fuck him for being gorgeous.

---

(post-pt 02)

simon skates towards you at the sound of the buzzer—the first period is over, and now it was time for the intermission. the rink is being cleared out for the re-icing, but here he is being a bastard, loitering and everything. even his coach seemed to have given up at shouting his name already, and after a quick glance at him, you know simon’s going to be reprimanded for this.

but the thought and the fond exasperation is squashed into hot smithereens, with your heart lodging itself in your throat again. you feel faint, your eyes going wide as you map the way simon moves towards you, gliding across ice with a rugged grace.

simon’s eyes are dark, lined with exhaustion and adrenaline, and his teeth, pearly, are chewing on his mouthpiece.

fuck—

he stops just in front of you and taps the glass protector. cameras flash by your sides and you know damn well you’d see your face later posted in different socials, but right now, in front of simon, you can’t even begin to care how ridiculous you might look.

(you looked breathless. cowed. in awe. everyone can’t fault you, really, after all that’s riley.)

you don’t even know what you did—did you wave your hand too? did you tap back? did you do something else, something that you typically wouldn’t have done?—but whatever it was, it has simon smiling, his lips tugging up to show more of his pearly teeth gnashing on his mouth guard.

you whimper.

-

"why the hell do you keep chewing on ye' gumshield?" mactavish asks in the weight room while he spots simon's reps. garrick is in the corner by himself while price is out with the coaches, discussing about other plays they can start with come the second period.

simon has to tamp down his smile at mactavish’s words, his arms almost buckling as the rush of inexplicable giddiness that fills him up, before he murmurs, "s'none of y'r business."

"oi!"

well what does mactavish want simon to say? that he accidentally peeked into one of the albums in your old phone only to be met by series of pictures of him biting on his mouthpiece and decided to tease you during today’s game?

that’d make him look like he isn’t serious about the game, wouldn’t it?

this is, truly, inspired by draisaitl 😔 and for @spngingerbread21 <33

[thisonehere]

Hey! Idk if you still take request, but I have one for you. I love your posts sm. Anyway, may I request some headcanons with the Lin kuei trio and Liu kang and how they would react to you kissing them on a mission to not get caught (like that scene in captain America: the winter soldier) while they actually have a crush on them? Thank you!

A/n: Okay, I'm back, and I'd love to! It's nice to do another Lin Kuei bros head canon. I swear to God these men are gonna put me in a mental asylum with how obsessed I am with them.

Tags: Request, Mortal Kombat, Mk1, Lin Kuai bros x readerp, GN reader, fluff

C/w: Allusions to murder, sloppy kissing, tsundere, PDA

Bi-Han

You've never been far from the Grandmaster's thoughts. He has always viewed in a favorable light, though he hardly ever showed it.

As far as you were concerned, you thought he hated you.

So it is a surprise when he chose you to come with him on this mission.

To pursue your target meant you had dawn normal clothes and go undercover.

Which causes you to end up at a mall while following them. It wasn't a problem for you, frankly you were excited at the chance to shop and enjoy the food court.

You follow your target the mall, dipping in and out of clothing departments and hiding in the electronics department.

You had to get them into a private place to get them.

It's tedious and annoying with how long it takes...for Bi-Han. You on the other hand take great joy looking around, admiring how clothes look on mannequins, staring at the endless rows of books, staring in awe of the endless option of the food court.

Much to Bi-Han's annoyance.

Bi-Han takes this mission much more seriously than you do, his stay on the target like a hawk, against your advice not to or else he'd risk looking suspicious.

But finally Bi-Han's constant staring pays off when he notices the target leaving to somewhere more private, a perfect place to get them.

Bi-Han grabs your arm and snatches you away from the food court, pulling you away from an unfinished cinnamon roll and drags to follow the target, on the escaladder.

You are just a few feet away from them, far enough to not look suspicious, but close enough to get a clear view of them.

And they you, something both quickly learn when they begin to turn their head to look back in your direction.

Knowing Bi-Han, you knew your Grandmaster would look the target dead in the eyes, basically telling the target that they were being followed. This would compromise the mission, so you act quickly.

Just as the target turned around and saw you, you turned to Bi-Han, grabbed him, and snatch him forward and kiss him.

Bi-Han doesn't respond at first as your lips crash against each other. But a moment later his arms snake their way around your waist and pulls you closer. He hungrily kissed you, making himself acquainted with your lips as well as your tongue.

Bi-Han's mind went silent as you kissed him and he you. Elder Gods knew he would fantasize about this, not exactly while on a mission, but he would be a fool if he didn't advantage of this.

You are so distracted with each other that you lose sight of your target.

"Keep moving, we can't lose them." He coldly grumbles as he jumps off the escaladder and angrily marches away, but saying another thing to you.

When things were all said and done, when the mission was finished, you felt an uneasy tension between you and the grandmaster.

"Grandmaster, about the...about the thing, I-" but Bi-Han interrupts you, yelling at you to be silent, making you feel even worse.

Later, you are in your room, replaying all the events that passed today. Bi-Han hasn't said a single thing to you since you returned from your, mission.

You felt your face flush as you think of the fact that you keep kissing your Grandmaster, you can't stop thinking about it.

Did he like it? Are you in trouble? Is he going to punish you?

Suddenly, you hear a knock on the door. You hastily open the door and find no one there. But at your feet you find a cinnamon roll just like the one you were eating at the mall, and a beg next to it filled with clothes and books you were looking at in the mall.

Surprised, you stare at it for a few moments before bringing it into your room.

You stare at it in surprise as you drop the things onto your desk.

Perhaps the Grandmaster was much more fond of you than you thought.

Kuai Liang

From the moment he saw you, Kuai Liang knew he was in love with you.

It's subtle, but you can tell with the way he would fall silent when you were in the room, or would

So it was quite the surprise when he insisted that you join him in this mission.

Kuai Liang notices your eyes light up when you say that the mission requires you to go to a mall. He thinks it's so cute, he feels his smile trying to find its way onto his face.

He forces a stern look on his face as he reminds you that you both need to stay focused, that the target was your main concern.

He is similar to Bi-Han in the way he stays in a constant state of vigilance. Following the target around, being sure to always have them in his sight.

But unlike his brother he lets loose a little.

He tries on hats and glasses, admiring himself in the mirror, admiring you as you flip through the clothes on the racks.

He grabs a book from the shelf of the bookstore and curiously flips through it.

He even buys both of you lunch at the food court as you wait for the target to be in a vulnerable position to strike.

While you enjoy your meal, Kuai notices that the target is getting away, down the escaladder.

Of course, the Ninja immediately springs to action, quietly excusing himself with an excuse that he had to use the bathroom. He saw you were having a good time and his didn't want ruin it.

He is light on his feet and as he pursues the target, purposefully waiting for a few more more to get on the escaladder before getting on to avoid suspicion.

The escaladder carries them closer and closer to the lower floor and Kuai's eyes never leave the target for a second.

He doesn't realize just how intense his gaze is, if the target turned around and saw him, it would be.

It's unfortunate then that the target almost immediately turned around. By the time they would turn around they would see Luai looking at them with intensity and they would quickly realize that they were being followed, ruining the mission.

Thankfully, you happened. You immediately knew what Kuai was doing and followed after him. He didn't notice that you were right behind him.

Acting quickly, you shift past Kuai onto the extra step of the escaladder in front of him, and you kiss him.

Kuai took a surprise at first. He froze. Just standing there as you kissed him. He felt your soft lips press up against him and he felt his brain melt.

Body responded for him, pressing himself closer to you as he hands grab you and pull you close.

You quickly get to the end of the escaladder and jump off, Kuai still looks at you in a state of shock.

"Come on, they're getting away!" You say as you quickly pursue the inspecting target.

Kyai Liang touched his lips as he processed what just happened. "I'm right behind you." A smirk spreads onto his face as he races after you.

Afterwards, when the deed is done. You and Kuai Liang have no choice but to go back to the Artika now that your mission is finished.

Your sadness about having to leave isn't lost on Kuai. He himself enjoyed his time with you.

After a brief moment of silence on the way back, you awkwardly apologize for kissing him to abruptly.

Kuai only smiles. "Don't be...ever." he says placing a warm hand on your shoulder.

"We should do it again some time." Your eyes widen at this. "The mall, I mean." It was obvious that Luai didn't mean just the mall.

With an innocent smile on his face, Kuai walks ahead of you. Leaving you behind with a stunned look on your face.

Tomas

Tomas has tried to get your attention for the longest, trying his best to impress you. Unfortunately, everything either came off as him just being nice to you are him.

Other than that though, you two were close.

So it was no surprise that he asked you to come with him.

You thought it was just another mission. A mission where you'd go to the mall your target was located at and 'get 'em'. Meanwhile Tonas saw this as a chance to have a good time with you like this was a date, maybe even confess how he feels.

He was so happy to see how excited you were at going to the mall, he himself was excited. He was as serious about this mission as Kuai, or Bi-Han, or any member of the Lin Kuei would. But even he liked a moment to relax and enjoy an experience.

Tomas especially loved the bookstore. He was practically glued to the comic book and manga sections. You two were so distracted that the target slipped out of your sight once in a while.

But Tomas wasn't worried, he was always good at hunting something or someone down. He found the target again and again, then you'd carry on with your shenanigans.

You were surprised with how lenient Tomas was with you. He let you try on clothes, look at the computer, he even bought things for you. You told him he didn't have to but he insisted.

Things were going quite well for you two. Until I finally felt the courage to express himself to you.

"So, Um, Y/n." You were at the food court, your target sat themselves down here to eat lunch, so you both say a few tables away. His eyes stayed glued to the table, too embarrassed. "There's a reason why I wanted you to come with me." You eagerly leaned in close to hear. He waits a few moments, unsure what to say next.

"Well, you see..." Suddenly, Tomas's eyes widen in horror as he looks at the target. The problem? This isn't your target, you've been following the wrong person. "We need to go. Now!" He races out of the food court. His eyes immediately spotting the target getting on the escaladder.

He races to the escaladder, you not being far behind. You both try to act casual as you step onto the moving stairs, but Tomas's sure you both accidentally got the target attention.

His fear is confirmed when the target turns their head to look behind them.

In seconds they'd see you two behind them and panic.

So you act quickly, grabbing Tomas and kissing him.

Tomas's mind goes numb as fireworks go off in his thoughts. His hands, unsure at first, travel across your body until one finds their way to the small of your back and other cradling the back of your head.

Once again, you both got distracted and the target got away.

You break away from the kiss and jump off the escaladder. "Come on, they're getting away." You say, trying not to scream.

Tomas merely dumbly nodded as he followed after you. "U-um, okay." He hopes there isn't too much blushing on his face.

Eventually, you get back on track and aquire your target and "deal with them".

"Listen, about the kiss...." You awkwardly start to say. You both had completed the mission and were back at the food court, resting before the long journey back to the Artika.

Tomas also avoided eye contact with, rather than paying attention to his tea than you. "Yeah...about that."

You apologize, hoping he wasn't too upset about kissing him without his consent. "No, no, it was fine, I enjoyed it." He quickly blurts out, finally looking at you.

You both now sit in silence afterwards. "W-We should go."

Both of you left the mall in an air of uncomfortable silence.

"I...liked it too." You awkwardly say, shortly interrupting the silence. Tomas gives you a surprised look as you quickly race ahead in embarrassment.

[padmesweetheart]

She Takes Care of Everyone

Pairing: Hayden Christensen x Non-Famous Nurse!Young Wife!Reader

Genre: Domestic Fluff, Soft!Hayden, Hurt/Comfort, Real-Life Feels

Word Count: ~2,700

Harold the donkey mention

You didn’t even remember how you made it to the front door.

The last 12 hours had blurred into one long, aching stretch of beeping monitors, hushed conversations, the click of your clogs against cold hospital floors, and too many coffee cups to count. It wasn’t even your first 12-hour shift that week. It was your fourth. And your body felt like it had been wrung out, soul and all.

The sky was already dark when you stepped up to the porch, still in your scrubs, badge clipped to your collar, hair messy in the ponytail you’d tied up at 5 a.m. Your car keys clinked softly in your hand as you opened the door and stepped inside, dropping your bag with a dull thud by the entryway.

You barely managed a quiet, exhausted “Hi…” before you slipped off your shoes and leaned your weight against the wall, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“Baby?”

Hayden’s voice came from the living room—soft, a little raspy, like he hadn’t spoken in a while. A second later, he was there, walking quickly toward you, barefoot and warm-eyed and already reaching for you like instinct.

You melted into his arms the second they wrapped around you.

“Hi,” you whispered into his chest. “I’m dead.”

He kissed the top of your head, arms tightening around your tired frame. “I can see that. You smell like work and sadness.”

You huffed a laugh against his shirt, too tired to even be embarrassed. “I didn’t sit down once today.”

“Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s get you out of these clothes.”

“Wow,” you teased weakly as he guided you down the hallway. “Didn’t realize I married a man who preys on the weak.”

“I meant into your pajamas, you menace.”

Ten minutes later, you were wrapped in the softest oversized tee (one of his, obviously), your legs bare and clean, hair out of its ponytail and finally able to breathe. You stood in the kitchen half-asleep, watching Hayden fuss around like you were the most fragile thing on earth.

He moved with quiet determination: setting up a glass of water next to a mug of herbal tea, grabbing your favorite blanket off the back of the couch, and pulling a heating pad from the drawer just in case your back was aching—which it was, thank you very much.

“You don’t have to—”

He shot you a soft look. “I want to.”

Your heart fluttered, tired or not.

Once he had everything just right, he settled you onto the couch with the heating pad on low and the blanket tucked all around you like you were a burrito. Then he turned on that comfort show you always watched when your brain was too fried to function—no questions asked.

He sat beside you, one arm behind your shoulders, the other resting over your blanket-wrapped thighs, rubbing soft circles into your leg.

For a few minutes, neither of you spoke. You just leaned into his side, letting your body decompress for the first time all day. The tea was warm in your hands, and Hayden’s presence—solid, quiet, grounding—was the only thing keeping you from falling apart at the seams.

“You’ve been working all week,” he said eventually, voice low. “Twelve-hour shifts every day?”

You nodded into his shoulder. “Short-staffed. A couple nurses out sick. We didn’t want to turn away post-op cases, so… yeah. It’s been a lot.”

He kissed your temple. “You’re unbelievable. You know that?”

You shrugged gently. “It’s just part of the job.”

He pulled back just enough to look you in the eye. “No. It’s more than that. You take care of everyone. Even when you’ve got nothing left. Even when you come home looking like a ghost.”

You smiled softly, blinking away the stinging behind your eyes. “I do it because I care.”

He reached up and cradled your cheek in his palm. “I know. That’s why I care so damn much about you.”

His thumb brushed just under your eye, catching the tear that had snuck out without your permission.

You leaned into his hand, eyes fluttering closed. “I’m just so tired, Hayd.”

“I know, baby,” he murmured. “You don’t have to be strong here. You get to fall apart with me.”

That did it. You didn’t sob, not really—but the weight of the week, the exhaustion, the stress of having so many people relying on you… it all let go. A few quiet tears, a soft sniffle, and then silence again. His hand never left your cheek. His body never stopped holding yours.

He didn’t fill the silence. He just let it be. And that—that meant everything.

When your breathing evened out and the worst had passed, he kissed your forehead again and whispered, “Stay right here. I’m making you grilled cheese.”

Your eyes cracked open. “Grilled cheese?”

He smiled. “With tomato soup. And I’m cutting it diagonally, because you’re fancy.”

You giggled through your nose. “God, I love you.”

“I know.” He stood, stretching his back a little. “I’m the man of the house, remember?”

“I thought Harold the donkey was the man of the house.”

Hayden threw you a dramatic glare over his shoulder. “That ass has been trying to usurp me since day one.”

The soup and sandwich combo was perfect.

He brought it to you on a tray like you were royalty, then sat beside you and made sure you actually ate every bite, even when you were tempted to crash between mouthfuls.

Once the food was gone and the show was still playing quietly in the background, he curled you into his chest again, tucking your legs across his lap.

“You’re gonna sleep for like fifteen hours, huh?” he murmured into your hair.

“Minimum.”

“I’ll feed the animals. Harold and I will put our differences aside for the greater good.”

You smiled into his shirt. “You always take such good care of me.”

His voice was low and soft, like a promise. “You take care of everyone. Someone has to take care of you.”

And with that—warm, safe, fed, and finally home—you let yourself fall asleep in the arms of the man who loved you hardest when you had nothing left to give.

And that, really, was everything.

———————————————————————————————

Tag list:

@skyguytoast @dessxoxsworld

[steviesummer]

inspired by and as a direct follow up to this post by @strangersteddierthings:

Eddie is horrified. He remembers the day Steve is referring to, though clearly not as well as Steve does. He calls out as Steve raced up the stairs and hears his door slam.

“Fuck.” He stares blankly at the wall in front of him. He can’t believe things went so bad so quickly. He’s been trying to get to know Steve better, get closer and damn if he didn’t just blow the hole thing. He’d shown up early, told Steve he needed to prepare as an excuse to spend some time with him. Despite everything that happened over spring break, Steve had remained guarded, standoffish no matter what Eddie tried. At least now he knew why. He’d fucked things up before he’d known there was something to fuck up.

He feels even worse about calling him a bully. Sure, Steve had looked the other way and even laughed at some of the mean jokes others had made, but he was far from the worst. That dubious award went to Billy Hargrove, but even without him, there was plenty of people who did far worse than Steve did. Especially because Steve is right. He did hit first, metaphorically at least. He can justify it all he wants as trying to protect himself, but that doesn’t make it right. Steve all but admitted that as he said the same thing. He feels nauseous at the realization that maybe he was just as bad as those he decried. That for all his talk about accepting outcasts and defying convention, he was just as prejudiced. Swallowing hard, he heads back to the dining room and looks at the clock. There is no way he is going to be able to run the campaign today. He’s not going to be able to focus or even play without thinking about how things might have been if he hadn’t driven Steve off all those years ago. He grabs the phone and dials Gareth’s number. “Emerson house, Sheryl speaking.” “Hi Mrs. Emerson, it’s Eddie.” Eddie is proud that he manages to keep his voice even. “Is Gareth there?” “Oh, yes! Let me go get him for you.” “Thanks Mrs. Emerson.” Eddie focuses on breathing while he waits. “Eddie? Hey man, what’s up?” Eddie breathes out. “Hey Gareth. Look, I know its last minute, but we’re gonna have to postpone Hellfire. Something came up.” He could hear Gareth’s frown through the phone. “Postpone? What happened, did Harrington do something?” As if he couldn’t feel worse. “Nah. I’ll explain later, but can you call Jeff and Frank, let them know? I gotta call the freshman, too.” “Alright, but I’m going to hold you to that.” “Fair enough. Talk to you tomorrow.” Eddie promises before hanging up. He weighs his options for how to tell the Party. Eventually, he decides on calling Mike, know that the younger teen won’t push too much. He’s dialing the Wheeler home before he can second guess his decision. “This is Mike.” Eddie feels a rush of gratitude that Mike is the one who answered, rather than Nancy or one of their parents. “Hey Mike, it’s Eddie. Listen, Steve’s not feeling great and having Hellfire here isn’t going to help. Can you call the rest of the Party, let them know we’re gonna move it to another day? I’ll keep an eye on Steve.” Eddie knows Mike is a confused, given how adamant he’s been in the past about not canceling or moving Hellfire, but as he expected, Mike accepts what he says at face value. “Sure. Need us to bring anything?” “Nah, I’ve got it. Pretty sure he just needs some peace and quiet so he can rest. But thanks.” They say their goodbyes and Eddie puts the phone back on the hook.  With that done, he checks that the door is locked and faces the stairs. Now for the hard part. He’s not sure what he’s going to say, if there is anything he can say that will fix this, but he has to try. Even if doesn’t change things between him and Steve, Steve deserves at least that much. Every step feels like it takes effort, chest heavy with guilt, but it only takes him a few moments to get to Steve’s door. It’s closed, which doesn’t surprise him. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts before knocking. Nothing. “Steve?” If it wasn’t for the quiet sound of Steve’s breathing he could hear through the door, Eddie would think he had left. He glad that he at least didn’t drive Steve out of his own home. He rests his forehead on the door. “I’m sorry.” Eddie hopes Steve can hear how much he means it. “You’re right, I fucked up. I made an assumption and took out my anger at other people on you. And that wasn’t fair and it’s not okay. But I want you to know that I’m sorry. Even if it wasn’t you, I shouldn’t have done that.” He lets out a hysterical laugh as he realizes - “And despite that, you still humor the kids when they talk about D&D and agreed to let us play here and didn’t punch me in the face, which makes you a better man than I.” He falls silent, listens as Steve’s breathing slows. He isn’t sure how long he stands there. He wonders how many other people he hurt this way, without even realizing. Knows he wants to do better, be better. He sighs, feeling his shoulders slump. “Anyway, I canceled Hellfire for today. I told everyone something came up, don’t worry about that. I’ll make up some story, make sure they know its not your fault. And uh,  let me know if you want to hang out again or something. I know I’ve been around a lot; didn’t realize that I was making you so uncomfortable, which is probably another thing I should apologize for. Anyway. Yeah. I’ll see you around, okay?” He waits a moment for an answer, but when none comes, he backs away from the door and walks downstairs to gather his stuff. It hurts, but he knows Steve deserves space and to be the one to initiate contact. He has some thinking to do, anyway.

[revelboo]

I'm going to crown you queen of cliffhangers, here you go 👑

Starscream would just steal it. Driving back to the real world today, so no posts until later in the evening

Everything Is Alright Pt 87

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• Servos curled loosely about you so you stay put, Megatron scrolls through reports. Aware of your sullen silence after he’d laughed at you. Realizing the Seeker’s really convinced you that he loves you even though Starscream only loves Starscream. He almost pities you, because that look on your face has made it obvious you love him in return. Even after he’d told you what Starscream was capable of, you’re still loyal to him and that’s impressive in a way. Optics flicking down when you lean into his servos again, shivering. Figured out you were cold some time ago, but also much too proud to accept help from him if he offered it. You’re warm against him, he can feel the beat of your little heart and it’s unsettling. This helpless, little thing in his hand.

• Sneaking a glance at his face to make sure he’s still scrolling, because you feel guilty about leaning into his warmth. Like it’s a betrayal. You don’t like him, but he’s warm. That’s all. The silence between you had gone past uncomfortable some time ago. Know you’re supposed to be talking to him, trying to endear yourself to him for safety, but when you’d slipped up and said the L word and he’d laughed, you’d been too angry to try. Because it hadn’t been a mocking laugh, it was genuine. Like the idea of Star caring for anyone is hilarious. “For a murderous warlord, you’re pretty boring,” you mutter, immediately cringing as he glances at you.

• “Would you prefer I raze a town or two?” He growls at you, amused when you scowl. “I suppose I could make a show of force,” he begins and you twist toward him, a little hand grabbing his servo and a quick ‘no.’ Frightened eyes stare up at him, your fear much less entertaining than he’d expected. Why are your expressions so Cybertronian? So easy to read? Venting, he shifts his servo until you pull your hand away. “Then don’t complain.”

• “Boring’s good. I like boring,” you say, heart still racing. Had he been serious? You’re not sure as one corner of his mouth twists slightly like it might have been a joke. In horribly poor taste. Then he reaches up a servo and touches your head, absently patting you like a favorite pet that did a cute trick as he continues scrolling. Which part of what you’d said had he liked? Which part of his amusement can you exploit?

• It takes longer than Starscream expects to dig through the archives of Shockwave’s meticulous, excessive notes. Chasing a rumor he’d overheard decades ago about how this world was seeded with energon. Knows the scientist was experimenting with different varieties of energon, most too unstable to be feasible. Long term anyway. There. A note with coordinates for where an Ore-13 that had proved toxic to the volunteers that had used it, but had increased their strength exponentially, was seeded. Even if it had eventually killed them from repeated use. But he only needs to use it once. One time to end Megatron. To protect you.

• Can’t monitor the Seeker all the time and he knows it, but it’s hard when Soundwave knows how desperate Starscream is. Entering the bridge, his shoulders ease at the sound of your soft voice and a rumbling reply from Megatron. Because you’re talking to each other and he has to believe it’s a good thing. Needs Megatron to see you for you to be safe. Even if you and Star both hate it. Megatron notices him first and the almost teasing curve of his lips flattens out. Serious again even as you stand up to lift a hand in greeting and Megatron shifts his servos around you as if to keep you from falling. A small thing, but one that gives him hope. “Reports on Autobot activity,” he says.

• Watching Soundwave hand over a datapad, you’re almost tempted to reach up your arms like a little kid demanding to be picked up. Especially when his head lowers to stare at you like he knows. You think he might reach out a servo at least, touch your hair or arm, but he doesn’t do that either. So you sit back down. Almost embarrassed that you’d been picking at the warlord and actually enjoying his retorts. Hating that he has a sense of humor. That little, guarded half smile. He’s all business now, though and you wonder if there’s anyone here he can joke with, smile with. Or if he’s like Star and trusts no one. Hating that the thought bothers you that they’re all alone together.

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