#like he was so desperate to distance himself from who he used to be that he needed to make fun of everything he could have been perceived as

[woolysium]

Stay.

﹒♡﹒Pairing: Jongho x reader

﹒♡﹒Summary: Each night, you find him in the same place—always waiting. But the closer you get, the farther he seems to slip away.

﹒♡﹒Word count: 853

﹒♡﹒Genre: angst, hurt, SFW

﹒♡﹒Warning: death and loss, looping nightmares, mild psychological

﹒♡﹒Author's note: So, I’ve been in a bit of a deep mood lately and couldn’t keep it to myself lol. Had to write it out, and here we are. Hope you can vibe with it, and as always, I’d love to hear what you think! Also, this is just a quick drabble, the other fics are still in writing, I didn't abandon them don't worry.

The first time you woke up in the meadow, it felt like déjà vu.

The sky was impossibly blue, the grass soft beneath your feet. A tree stood alone in the center, its branches swaying gently as if it were breathing. Jongho was there, leaning against the trunk. He looked small from a distance, his shoulders hunched like he was holding the weight of the world.

You called his name, and his head snapped up. Relief flooded his face, and his lips parted as if to speak. But he said nothing, only staring at you with an expression that made your heart twist.

“Why are you here?” you asked.

He didn’t answer, only gestured for you to come closer. His hand was trembling.

When you stepped forward, the ground beneath you shifted like water, rippling and distorting. The tree began to blur, and Jongho’s form faded.

“Wait!” you shouted, reaching out, but your hand grasped empty air.

You woke up gasping, your chest heaving as though you’d been drowning.

___

The dreams didn’t stop.

Each night, you returned to the meadow. And each night, Jongho was waiting, his face growing paler, his presence weaker.

“Why do you keep leaving?” he asked one evening, his voice breaking.

You frowned, confused. “I’m not leaving. You’re the one who disappears.”

He looked at you, his jaw tight, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Stay this time. Please.”

The desperation in his voice made something inside you crack, but before you could answer, the world dissolved again.

You woke up crying, your pillow damp beneath your cheek.

___

In the real world, Jongho was quiet. Too quiet.

He still smiled at you when you teased him, still hummed softly to himself when he thought no one was listening. But something was different. His laugh didn’t reach his eyes anymore, and his silences were heavier, stretching longer than they used to.

“You’ve been acting strange lately,” you told him one evening, trying to sound casual.

He looked up from his book, his brow furrowing. “Me? You’re the one who seems distracted.”

You wanted to tell him about the dreams, about the meadow and the tree and the way he kept begging you to stay. But the words stuck in your throat.

“I’m just tired,” you said instead.

He didn’t press, but the way he looked at you made your stomach churn. Like he was searching for something he couldn’t find.

___

The dreams turned darker.

The meadow was gone. In its place was an endless void, stretching into nothingness. Jongho stood at the edge, his back to you, his silhouette barely visible against the darkness.

“Jongho,” you called, your voice echoing in the emptiness.

He didn’t move.

You ran to him, the ground beneath you crumbling with every step. “Jongho, look at me!”

When he finally turned, his face was pale, his eyes hollow.

“Why won’t you stay?” he asked, his voice trembling.

“I’m here,” you said, reaching for him. “I’ve always been here.”

But your hand passed through him like smoke, and the realization hit you like a punch to the chest.

“What’s happening?” you whispered, your voice shaking.

He didn’t answer, only stared at you with that same haunted expression.

“Jongho, please,” you begged. “Talk to me.”

His lips parted, but before he could speak, the void swallowed you both.

___

The final dream was different.

You were back in the meadow, but it was cold now, the grass stiff with frost. The tree stood bare and lifeless, its branches clawing at the sky like skeletal hands.

Jongho was there, sitting beneath the tree with his head in his hands. His shoulders shook, and when he looked up, his face was streaked with tears.

“Why do you keep doing this to me?” he asked, his voice raw.

“I don’t understand,” you said, your chest tightening.

He stood, his movements slow and deliberate, like every step took all his strength. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?” your voice breaking as confusion washes over you.

“You’re not here!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the empty meadow. “You haven’t been here for a long time!”

The world around you began to crumble. The tree splintered, the sky cracked, and the ground beneath your feet started to give way.

“Jongho,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “What are you saying?”

He stepped closer, his hand reaching out for yours. “I’m saying…” His voice cracked, and tears streamed down his face. “I’m saying I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep pretending you’re still here.”

The ground gave way beneath you, and as you fell, the memories came rushing back.

The crash. The blood. The way Jongho held you in his arms, screaming your name as the life drained from your body.

You had been gone for months.

The dreams were his, not yours.

___

Jongho woke up alone, his pillow wet with tears.

The room was silent, the air heavy with the kind of silence that suffocated. He reached out instinctively, his hand brushing the empty space beside him.

“Stay,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

But there was no one left to answer.

by @woolysium

[sturnswrites]

back to you - pt. 1

Matt Sturniolo x Fem!Reader

⤳ angst, angst, more angst, crying, breakup

⤳ you and matt break up after you leave for college but when summer break comes around you both can’t seem to shake the feeling of one another away.

---------------------------------------------

The room felt colder that day, despite the California sun pouring through the windows. Y/N sat cross-legged on Matt’s couch, her heart racing as she tried to make sense of the words coming out of his mouth.

“I don’t want to do this,” he finally said, his voice low but trembling.

“Then don’t.” Your voice cracked, and you hated how desperate you sounded. “Matt, we can figure it out. Long distance isn’t the end of the world.”

“I just think… with you going to New York and me staying here with Nick and Chris, it’s going to be hard,” Matt said, his hands twisting nervously in his lap. He wasn’t looking at you, his gaze fixed somewhere near the carpet.

“Hard?” she repeated, her voice catching, eyes stinging with tears. “Matt, we’ve been together for two years. We’ve been through everything together. Why can’t we at least try?”

He finally looked at you, his blue eyes clouded with something that looked a lot like pain. “Y/N, I’ve thought about this a lot. I don’t want to hold you back while you’re starting this new chapter. And I don’t think I can handle being so far away, not knowing if—if we’re still the same.”

He paused for a second leaving the room with enough silence to hear a pin drop. “You’ll be out there meeting new people, having new experiences. And I’ll be here, stuck in the same routine. It’s not fair to either of us.” he continued. 

“It’s not fair?” you repeated, your voice breaking. “What’s not fair is you deciding this without me. What’s not fair is you giving up on us before we’ve even tried.”

His shoulders slumped, and for a moment, you thought he might take it back. That he’d tell you he was being stupid, that you’d find a way to make it work. But instead, he shook his head, his face etched with pain.

Your chest tightened, the weight of his words sinking in. “So that’s it? You’re just giving up on us?”

“I’m not giving up,” he insisted, his voice breaking. “I’m letting you go because I love you too much to keep you tied down.”

You stood up abruptly, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. Your hands were trembling, eyes blurred with tears, but you didn’t want him to see how much he’d broken you.

“I never felt tied down, Matt,” you said quietly, her voice trembling. “I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be—with you.”

And then you walked out, leaving behind the only person who had ever made you feel completely whole.

-

The months that followed were nothing short of excruciating.

New York was everything you had hoped it would be—bustling, exciting, alive, a blur of classes, new friends…and trying desperately to move on. No matter how many new friends you made or how many late-night adventures you went on, there was a constant ache in your chest that refused to go away.

You threw yourself into school, keeping yourself so busy that you barely had time to breathe, let alone think about Matt. But he always found his way into your thoughts. You’d hear a song he loved, or pass by someone wearing a hoodie like the one he used to wear, and suddenly it felt like you were back in his room, begging him to choose you.

You’d see his face in your memories—the way his nose scrunched when he laughed, the way he used to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, the way he’d whisper “I love you” like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It wasn’t fair. You hated how he still had this hold on you, even after he’d been the one to end things.

Meanwhile, in Los Angeles, Matt was unraveling.

At first, he convinced himself he’d done the right thing. He told himself that breaking up with you was selfless, that he was giving you the freedom to thrive without any ties holding you back. He was still filming videos with Nick and Chris, smiling for the camera, cracking jokes like nothing was wrong.

But as the weeks turned into months, that resolve began to crack.

He’d lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, replaying the moment he let you go. He’d watch old videos on his phone of the two of you laughing together, and it felt like a punch to the gut every time.

Nick and Chris noticed, of course. They weren’t blind to the way Matt had become quieter, more withdrawn. But every time they tried to bring it up, he brushed them off, burying himself in their work.

Still, he couldn’t stop himself from reaching for his phone late at night, your contact saved under “My Favorite Person.” His fingers would hover over the keyboard, crafting and deleting messages he’d never have the courage to send.

- 

By the time summer rolled around, you’d convinced yourself you were over him. Or at least, you told yourself that enough times to believe it.

​​One of your friends, Emma, had decided to throw a party for everyone to reconnect after their first year of college.

“It’ll be fun,” Emma had said. “I promise!”

You weren’t so sure about that, but you went anyway, hoping the night would distract you from the lingering ache in her chest.

“Everyone’s going to be there,” Emma had said, grinning as she handed you the invitation. “It’ll be like old times.”

“Sure,” you had replied with a forced smile, pushing down the nagging thought that “everyone” might include the one person you weren’t ready to see.

When you arrived at the party, the air was filled with the familiar buzz of laughter and music. You slipped easily into conversations, catching up with friends you hadn’t seen in months.

You were in the middle of a story, a drink in your hand, when a voice you hadn’t heard in far too long made your heart stop.

“Y/N?”

You turned slowly, your breath catching as your eyes met Matt’s.

He looked… different. His hair was a little longer, his face a little sharper, but his eyes were still the same piercing blue that had haunted your dreams.

“Oh, hi,” you said, your voice carefully neutral. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

He shifted on his feet, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “Yeah, Nick dragged me along. I didn’t know you’d be back.”

“Just for the summer,” you replied, your chest tight.

An awkward silence stretched between you, and for a moment, it felt like you were strangers. But the way he looked at you, like you were the only person in the room, made your heart ache in a way you weren’t prepared for.

“Well,” you said finally, “it was nice seeing you.”

“You too,” he murmured, his gaze lingering on you as you turned back to your group.

But the night was far from over.

-

You couldn’t stop noticing him.

Every time you glanced across the room, Matt was there—leaning against a wall, talking to Nick, or laughing with someone you didn’t recognize. And every time, you felt his eyes on you, as if he was just as unable to look away.

You tried to ignore it, focusing on your friends and the easy rhythm of their conversation. But it was impossible not to feel the pull, the magnetic force that had always drawn you to him.

Matt was losing his mind.

Seeing you again was like a shot of adrenaline to his system, every memory he’d tried to bury rushing back with brutal clarity. He wanted to talk to you, to explain, to apologize. But every time he tried to muster the courage, the words got stuck in his throat.

Finally, as the night began to wind down, he couldn’t take it anymore.

You were standing alone on the back porch, the soft glow of string lights casting a halo around you. He stepped outside, his heart pounding as he closed the distance between you.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice soft but urgent.

You turned to face him, your expression guarded. “Matt.”

“Can we talk?” he asked, his eyes searching yours.

You hesitated, your emotions swirling in a storm of hope, fear, and anger. But something in his gaze made you nod.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “Let’s talk.”

And with that, he led you away from the noise and the crowd, the weight of everything unsaid hanging heavy between you.

---------------------------------------------

ok now this one got me excitedddd

⭒ margot

[basuralindo]

Hey do you think Jamil has trouble seeing people his age as peers?

Like, growing up having to be a caretaker to a guy literally a few months older than him, always expected to act like the adult in the situation, expected to work with adults and adopt their perspectives and pick up their slack. Do you think he just, forgets sometimes?

I mean we've seen him go into caretaker mode with other sophomores, and the only people I've seen him take seriously are juniors like Vil who also act much older than they should have to (his reactions to Leona look more like a trauma response and I don't wanna get into it here). People like Malleus and Cater still somewhat get the caretaker treatment. Like I just highly doubt that he subconsciously realizes he's actually part of his age group

Aaand that inevitably brings up Azul, who also acts like he thinks he's older than he is. Whether you're looking at it from a shipping angle or not, he reacts to Azul like an actual peer. With older students, he seems more in his element but there's still a status hierarchy which he compulsively reacts to. With Azul he doesn't acknowledge any status worth respecting or see him as someone who needs to be looked after. He just bickers like an equal, in a way that implies he actually does see Azul as a real peer, like subconsciously he's categorized this guy into the same group as himself, who was previously alone on that level (he gets like this more with the twins too, over time, but it seems to start with Azul).

And my favorite part about this is, while that response stems from them both acting more like adults in general, they elicit a pettiness from each other which drags them both down to actually acting their own age, and I just love that. Their characters are perfect foils for each other and it seems to make them both less isolated in a way.

[thornshadowwolf]

DAN AND PHIL RETURN????????

[almadelsur]

💋 The Secrets One Keeps

summary: You're in love with jj but he's with kie, so in moments of pure desperation you often find yourself turning to the person he hates the most...rafe

warnings: some good old angsty pining, very very slight smut if you squint, fem!reader, one or two uses of y/n, plz let me know if I missed anything

a/n: SHE'S BACKKKK, so I've decided to completely reformat and re-post this fic with a few tweaks and editing considering i first wrote this like 3 years ago, and yes for those of you who have been asking, I fully intend to finallly continue this fic....more info on that later ;)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・

JJ’s eyes change the moment Kiara steps into any room. Immediately his presence is ripped away from your immediate atmosphere, popping the little bubble you'd spent all afternoon crafting as he sprung up to greet the olive-skinned enigma that captured his affections.

“Kie!” The joy in his tone was incomparable to anything he’d directed at anybody else. Nothing could draw out such happiness from the blonde. You hated that about her.

In an attempt at self-defense, your brain shut itself off. Shielding you from processing the scene in front of you, your emotions ran cold like cement pouring down and across your neurons. It was the only way you could survive such a beating to your heart.

You figured that by distancing yourself mentally, you wouldn’t have to raise suspicion and distance yourself physically. In reality, you knew the real reasoning was your inability to stay away from JJ but the facade helped you cope.

“Hey J” she embraced him and his body relaxed around her as if she was the only source of his happiness. The only way he’d find alleviation from what he perceived as a shitty life being through her. “Sorry I’m late my parents had me running like crazy at the wreck today.”

Scattered greetings filled the air from the rest of the pogues, yet you could only focus on the way his eyes fixated on her like she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Here come sit baby” he offered her the seat he had just previously been place holding. What you thought had been quality time with your best friend, presented itself to you now as momentary attention to pass the time until his actual desire arrived.

Settling herself down and offering you a wide smile, her shoulder bumped against yours gently as a sign of acknowledgment.

“Hey dude” she directed at you, but you didn’t reply. You just couldn’t bring yourself to pretend. Not today anyway. Instead, you offered her a small smile, it was minimal but it was the best you could do under the circumstances.

“Yo" A crumpled tissue paper flew at your head, jj attempting to refocus your attention on him, "didn’t you say you were gonna get some water or something?” He spoke up, the scheme evident in his tone.

“um yeah I guess” You lifted yourself up and took a few steps before jj used the opportunity to slump himself down where you had been sat and sprawled his arms across his girlfriend’s shoulders.

“snooze ya loose sucker” he joked as he turned to Kiara to start up some mindless conversation. Leaving you behind in the dust.

Your teeth gritted as you focused on making your way to the kitchen hoping the distance from the scene unfolding would lift the iron grip on your heart.

You made the fatal mistake of glancing back and you were met with the image of jj nuzzling up to kiara in a picturesque display of love. The lump building at the base of your throat indicated that it was your time to get the hell out of there before you broke down in front of everyone. 

“Shit guys, y’know what I just realized I gotta go” You spoke quickly, your tone matching your pace as you rushed to the exit of the chateau. 

“You’re still coming to the party later though right?” John B asked, not tearing his eyes away from the screen in front of him. 

“Mhm yeah sure” you opened the door ready to depart. 

“Shit I forgot about that! Me and jj are gonna be late, we got dinner at the wreck tonight.” kiara added as you stepped out, unable to control the escape of a rogue tear.

“Date night babyyyy” You heard JJ cheer before you slammed the door behind you. 

“Is Y/N okay? She seemed a bit off.” Kie nudged JJ as she questioned. 

JJ furrowed his eyebrows momentarily. Glancing out the window, he saw you jog away from the house, and a brief flash of worry flashed through his mind. As quick as it came, it dissipated. He shook his head figuring that if there had been something wrong, he’d have been the first to know. 

“Nah she’s okay don't worry.” he offered to kie.

Boy was he mistaken. 

——————————————————————

“Fuuuck me” you moaned out, sinking into him one last time. You were hot, sweaty, and heaving as you pulled him out of you.

“I thought I just did” Rafe taunted leaning back to lie down, arms crossed behind his head causing his taut abdomen to flex.

You scrambled off the bed, picking up your garments and shoving them back on your body forcefully.

“What, no pillow talk?” He tried again.

“Rafe..” you trailed off. Whenever you’d finish fucking, you’d struggle to even look at him. The self-hatred flooded your body as soon as the orgasm poured out.

“Hey you called me” he eyed you intently but you knew he didn’t actually care. To rafe cameron everything was just a game. At this point it was pretty much common knowledge. “In fact” he moved closer to you so that he could speak directly into your ear “It’s always you that calls me.”

“Don’t be a dick” you stood up and eyed your heels contemplating whether you could face the walk back in them. “You know it makes me feel like shit.” It might have sounded brutal but that’s how things were with rafe.

“Yeah, it’s like you punctuate your orgasms with self-hate.”

“I'm a pogue, rafe.” You argued back as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“So? Kooks and pogues can fuck you know.” You couldn’t comprehend why you were even having this conversation. Why now, why tonight.

“Yeah maybe, not you though.” You didn’t want to tell him the reason explicitly.

“I fuck pogues.”

“You fuck anyone.” The words came out almost instantly and without thinking, yet rafe took no offense.

“Exactly so what’s the issue?”

“The issue is, rafe.” You paused trying to find the words without actually having to say the words. “The issue is that if my friends found out they’d hate me, probably more than I already hate myself.”

He just chuckled, the look in his eyes changing as he figured you out.

“What's funny?” You challenged.

“You don’t have to bullshit me princess.” He looked up at you with a devilish glint in his eye. “You just don’t want jj knowing about your little escapades huh?” Bingo.

“He’s with Kiara.” You shrugged him off.

“Uh huh, you like him but you can’t have him.” Every word he spoke striking a nerve deep within you. “So you’re fucking me to fuck him over.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” You grabbed your heels and shoved them on, wincing as you buckled them up.

“Don’t I?” He threw his joggers on lazily as he stood, the level dynamics changing significantly. The older boy towered over you. “Where are they tonight?”

“Back at John B’s, we had a little get-together.” You crossed your arms. More often than not you usually called rafe after a few drinks left you feeling lonely. “Sorry, your invite must have gotten lost in the mail.” You attempted to jab at him with sarcasm yet he clearly held the upper hand with his line of questioning. 

“So all of them are there now?” He stepped towards you.

“Mhm,” You lied.

“Even jj?” Moving closer until your neck was craned upwards to meet his eyes.

Taking your silence as an answer, he reached up and ran his palms across your upper arms, prompting you to uncross them.

“He was uh- him and kie should be getting there soon” You mumbled.

“So would i be wrong in guessing, that might have prompted your call then?” You let yourself be guided by his movements leaning your neck further back as his hand trailed up to your jawbone.

“rafe…” you called out insignificantly.

He leaned in and pressed his lips against your neck, right over where he could feel your pulse, and pressed down.

You couldn’t help the gasp that left your mouth. Because as much as your heart belonged to jj, rafe was just so fucking good at raising your temperature.

“Round two?” He mumbled against your neck.

“Yeah..” you attempted yet it came out as a whisper. He grabbed you swiftly and lifted you, moving you across the room and throwing you down onto his bed, crawling on top of you in a predatory manner as he did so. As your back hit the bed, the ringing of your phone brought you back from the haze he had you under. 

“Wait rafe stop stop” you pushed him off and grabbed the screeching mobile, pressing it up to your ear. “Hello?”

“Dude, where are you?” The sound of jj’s voice came through over the pumping sound of music and party chatter. “Me and Kie just got back and John B says no one’s seen you for like over an hour.”

“Oh I’m uh, I had to go do something for my mom” The lie pouring out of your mouth caused rafe to chuckle which was of course met by a slap from you signaling for him to be quiet.

“Oh well, when are you getting back? I have to tell you about this date. You’re gonna be so proud of me I actually think I’m ready to tell Kie I love her” you screwed your eyes shut as he spoke.

“Yeah I- you know what I can’t make it back my mom needs me to stay and help out but uh I’ll see you tomorrow or something.” You hung up before he could even reply, throwing your phone down uncaring of its state.

“What’s wrong? They getting hitched?” Rafe spoke up from behind you.

You turned to Rafe, the fire in your veins pushing your arms to grab him, roughly pulling him back onto you.

“Just shut up and fuck me rafe.”

And fuck you he did.

——————————————————————

The next morning you woke up to the sight of rafe’s bare back. Not much of a cuddler, you figured.

Quietly you pushed the covers off and began to dress yourself back up. As you got to your shoes you sighed and shook your head, as if there was any way in hell you were going to walk home in heels. You scooped up your shoes and your now-cracked phone shaking your head, slightly ashamed at your outburst.

Without even a second glance at the sleeping body you were leaving behind, you made your way over to the door. As you turned the knob and stepped out to leave, a husky voice spoke up.

“I’ll keep my ringer on for you babe.”

You rolled your eyes looking back at him, “Fuck you rafe.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m counting on.” He didn’t even open his eyes as he answered, instead just rustling around in the bed and turning to the other side, once again facing his back to you.

You scoffed as you exited. Your internal rant clouded your vision, body on autopilot with an excellent self-navigation of the Cameron house from the countless times you’d made this exit.

“Y/N?” The gentle voice wiped your thoughts clean as the shock stilled you dead in your tracks, slowly turning to come face to face with none other than Sarah.

“Sarah” you drawled out. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s my house?” Her head was cocked to the side, equally shocked to see you.

“No I just mean- I thought you were spending the night at John B’s.” You forced the small talk, avoiding the topic of why you were here, sneaking out at 8 in the morning.

“He had to work today, did you spend the night here?” She glanced up at the door of rafe’s bedroom.

“Umm-“ There had only been two other instances where you had been at a complete loss for words. The day jj told you he and Kiara were dating, the morning after your first sexual encounter with rafe, and now this.

“Are you sleeping with my brother?!” She whisper-shouted, eyes wide as the realization hit her. Busted.

“No?”

“Oh my god!” She grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you to her room, slamming the door as soon as you were both inside. “How long has this been going on?!” Her tone was loud and her hands wild as she interrogated you.

“Just a little under a year.” You sat on her bed and looked at your lap as you spoke. Reminiscent of a child being scolded.

“A year?! Oh my god!” She repeated. “Who knows about this?!”

With that, you looked up at her desperately. “No one. No one knows so please don’t tell them.” You didn’t have to name names for her to know who you were referring to.

“Are you two like” she paused “together?” She scrunched her nose up, disgusted at the thought of her bully of an older brother dating anyone.

“No god no. It’s just sex” you were just as uncomfortable as Sarah was, having to tell her about boning her older brother.

“Disgusting.” She turned away from you with her arms crossed, looking out the window.

“Look I’m not proud of it okay? Just-“ You sighed “Just please don’t tell anyone” pleading again.

Sarah let out a long sigh and uncrossed her arms. She walked over to you and joined you on the bed, her eyes showing concern mixed with something you couldn’t quite place your finger on.

“I thought you were into jj” she spoke softly, there it was. Pity.

“Yeah well, jj is with kie and instead of sitting around wallowing in self-pity, I decided to do something about it.” As the words left your mouth, you realized how weak the explanation was.

“So you just use rafe to bang the jj out of you.”

“It’s not like Rafe cares, if anything he’s also using me.” You tried to reason.

“I don’t doubt that. But I mean, that’s- It’s not healthy, you’ll never move on if you don’t actually process your emotio-“

“Look Sarah, I don’t need to do any of that shit okay? What I have here works, when I fu- when I’m with rafe, I don’t think about jj.” Tears began to swell in your eyes “Sleeping with rafe helps me forget about everything, even if it’s only for a little while he uh- he makes me feel good.” To an extent, there was truth behind your words, while you and rafe fucked the rest of the world went away. It was only after, that the crippling self-hatred hit you along with the return of your immense feelings for jj. 

Sarah shuffled over and threw her arm around you. “That’s not good for you, it’s just momentary. It’s easy and it's a cycle, you’re never going to get better going down this path. Especially not with rafe.”

“Rafe he’s- he’s not that bad.”

“Yes he is. But i bet it gives you satisfaction fucking him knowing jj hates him. Feels like revenge right?” She’d always been so perceptive your Sarah, you hated how she could see right through you.

Tears ran down your cheek silently. “You’re not gonna tell anyone right?” You sniffled.

She gave you one of those classic salt-of-the-earth Sarah Cameron smiles, the kinda smile that would light up any room she walked into. “Takin' it to the grave babe.”

A loud beeping caused both your heads to whip towards the window. “Shit, I completely forgot I was supposed to go on the HMS with pope and jj, we were gonna chill there until John B and Kie finished work.” She rose to her feet and extended an arm towards you. “Wanna come? Or we could drop you home if you’re not up for it.”

With a sigh you took her hand and pulled yourself up, walking beside her as you mentally prepped yourself to face the blonde you desperately pined for.

“Well rise and shine campers.” jj yelled out of the window of the drivers seat.

“Y/N! Where you been dude? you totally bailed last night.” Pope was next to speak as you and Sarah filed into the Twinkie. As JJ began to drive you avoided any form of eye contact in his general direction.

“I had to go help my mom out, blackout at mine again.” You didn’t even look at pope either, instead focusing your attention on the blur of trees and houses pacing by the window as JJ sped down the winding roads.

“Isn’t that what you were wearing last night?” pope, observant as always, pointed out.

“Uh yeah, I didn’t really get any time to change cause…”

“I called her last night when I got home, I was so drunk I don’t think I was ready to stop the party.” Sarah covered for you.

“Yeah I wrapped up helping my mom out and then this one calls me talkin bout a sleepover or something so I didn’t exactly have much time to change.” 

Thankfully pope had lost interest as soon as he had asked the question, otherwise, your overcompensating ass would have been caught out straight away. You always had to add to the lie until you felt like you had sold it completely.

Keeping your eyes trained on the outside meant that jj’s frown directed at you through the windscreen mirror went completely undetected. He always knew whenever there was something up with you and right there and then he knew something definitely was.

“Hey, you okay?” He didn’t need to address you explicitly for you to know he was talking to you.

“Yeah just tired.” You shrugged him off in an attempt to distance yourself from him yet again.

He knew you were lying but he didn’t understand why, you never lied to each other. Apart from John B, the pair of you were closer to each other than with anybody else in the group. You’d been best friends since kindergarten, and since then you’d sworn 3 things to each other.

1- You’d always share your snacks.

2-You’d always be best friends even if you argued.

 3- You would never ever lie or keep secrets from each other.

Of course, as the both of you grew older the rules became more and more lax. The snack sharing was limited only to when you felt nice enough and sometimes you’d go for days without making up if you had argued particularly badly. Having kept two friendship-breaking secrets from him, the childhood rules seemed pretty insignificant by now.

“Mhm,” he responded, flickering his eyes between you and the road. “Are we taking you home to change first?”

“Yeah, I don’t know if I’ll join you guys afterward though.” You chewed down on your nail anxiously as the tension from being in the same space as jj paired with the guilt from having fucked rafe prior, suffocated you.

JJ made a face as he focused on the road, something was wrong with you and he’d be dammed if he wasn’t going to put his everything into finding out what that was.

[timmydraker]

Tim begins to distance himself from his family after Damian becomes Robin.

It was obvious in the way he ran off to rescue Bruce, but that was more of a physical thing at the end of the day. He was desperate and had lost any kind of safety net and support he had after Dick threatened Arkham and how badly he hurt Alfred with his instance that Bruce was alive.

Either way he was going to get Bruce back, if not because he felt like he was an aimless, nothing human being without Batman then there was that he wanted to be believed.

Then Dick handed over Robin to Damian who at that point genuinely despised Tim, though there was also a level of jealously in the young Wayne’s mind at the intelligence and analytical Tim.

It was then that Tim decided he would bring Bruce back and then do his own thing, outside of Robin and outside of Batman.

He clearly had done his job hadn’t he? Sure Bruce was dead, but Dick was acting as Batman and that Batman had a Robin, so his reasoning for being Robin was extinguished.

Tim brings Bruce back and the older man praises and thanks him for several days and then, like everything else, the attention moves away. It goes to him connecting with Damian on a vigilante level and catching up on the last several months of him being ‘dead’. It goes to Jason who, now that he’s lost his foster father has decided that maybe he could try a little harder after all.

It goes to everyone and anyone other than Tim and this time? That’s actually the plan.

Tim isn’t as good of a hacker as Barbara, but she’s basically a god at it so compared to others he might as well be master level, just not against her. This he uses to shift around peoples schedules so Alfred has no choice but to let him go to school on his own (Tim may have also invented an early morning ‘club’ that was totally legit and not at all a fabrication). He makes it so when Dick is over or Jason takes the rare opportunity to visit he had to work at WE or DI, something important he can’t neglect.

He never has to walk Ace or Titus because he’s busy with his team mates.

Team mates who think he’s busy helping out Batman.

Tim still does work as a hero, but it’s entirely through his businesses after a while. A few times he has no choice but to go out in a boring black suit with a full face mask and hoodie. It’s got nothing on it, no symbols or gadgets. Nothing to connect him to anyone.

He starts with the homeless, dishing out vaccines like candy without even doing a campaign to showcase it.

Then he changes Bruce’s rather naive approach to orphanages and makes it so every single child who is put through is given a small amount of funding. He makes it so kids have more chance to stay with siblings, makes sure everyone who even so much as enters the ground of a orphanage have a real background check and sure the adoption rate drops, but so does the missing kids and DV cases.

Tim steals over fifty million from people like Luther and Penguin and all kinds of corrupt rich assholes for the majority of the funding and not even a cent of it is traced back to Wayne or Drake businesses. Whiles he’s digging into Lex be manages to get enough evidence to put a sizeable dent in his reputation, even if Lex manages to smooch a fair bit of it back.

He’s manages to take out a large sized trafficking ring and helps get the victims into a real recovery home that he hand picks out security for.

Later, as in a few days afterward, he discovers a dog meat farm and everyone medical veterinary student suddenly finds themself free of student loans and debt and with multiple work opportunities available and volunteer work being down right pleased for.

Tim knows he’s being noticed but given that he basically lives in his office in the heart of the city, he isn’t there to hear his old teammates and ‘family’ talk about the mysterious Dread.

Dread who was named that after a report came out about a theory of an unknown hacker or ‘cyber vigilante’ who was stealing money and information from rich folk and giving it to the poor, giving all of the 1% dread that he would hit them next.

The exact quote was ‘Those with money deeper than their pockets dread the hackers next moves. And they should feel that dread as a warning for this Robin Hood like legend seems to be getting braver.’

Dick was sure the hacker would have been called Robin if he hadn’t chosen that name already, to which Barbara responded with grumbles and growl because she couldn’t find anything other than holes and traps left by the hacker. It was like they knew her every move before she even made it!

Tim, obvious to his growing reputation until it fully took off, hadn’t even considered that his actions would be framed a threat by Batman. He would say it was because he didn’t think Bruce would ever really target him like that, but in actuality it’s because he knew Bruce was one of the few good rich folk. Surely he would be on the side of a secret vigilante hacker trying to use horrible people to do good? He embraced Dread quickly and was happy he make the rich squirm and brought a sense of hope to people, it was just like Robin but instead of them being safe and given light they were given a peace of mind in a mix of revenge and justice.

What Tim doesn’t know is that Bruce is still too far into his whole image of black and white, good and evil, that he tends to forget there’s grey areas.

At least Jason is on the side of Dread, even if he still thinks the myth of a story is just that, a myth.

It’s when Tim blows up a bank when everyone has gone home for the night just so people will find the underground money ring that and he visits the manner to get a few things that he hears them talking about it.

By that point it’s been around two years since he dropped Robin and as usual Dick always greets him with a look of a desperate puppy, “Tim! Hi, you’re here. I haven’t seen you in months, how have you been?”

Tim smiles at Dick even if he hasn’t gotten over his anger at his oldest brother and moves to sit at the breakfast table with everyone (Alfred, Bruce, Jason and Damian).

“Good. Busy, we’ve had a lot of donations lately.”

Jason snorts, “No shit. Isn’t Wayne Enterprise one of the few ones not hit by Dread?”

Bruce grumbles and shakes his head, “I wouldn’t say that. They’ve managed to get into our system and completely changed the Jason Project.”

Jason grins and laughs happily, “you mean improved! Crime Ally is doing great now. Not the best, but still a fuck of a lot better.”

Smiling at the man who once beat him to an inch of his life, Tim takes a sip of his tea and casually says, “You’re welcome.”

The whole table goes quiet as Tim continues to casually sip his tea.

The silence carries for a total minute before Bruce puts down his cup and leans forward with a slight growl in his voice, “Explain.”

“Explain what?”

Bruce stands over his son even from halfway down the table and very obviously tries to calm himself with a deep breath, “What do you mean ‘you’re welcome’?”

Tim makes an ‘oh’ expression before cocking his head to the side in confusion, “I was the one who fixed the Jason Project? Wait, did you guys not realise I’m Dread?”

Damian shouts out a ‘what?!’ That makes Titus jump and Tim laughs under his breath, “What did you think I was doing?”

“Running the business! Not stealing from people and black mailing politicians!”

It’s Tim’s turn to growl now and he stands up himself with a glare at Bruce that is as close as any of them have gotten to the famed Bat-Glare, “Are you fucking kidding me? Like are you a Tully kidding me with that horse shit?”

Bruce looks stunned and Alfred doesn’t even tell him not to swear.

Tim slams his chair into the table.

“What the fuck else would I be doing, Bruce? I’m not Robin, that was taken from me, so what else was I gonna do? I finished my job, not only keeping you from killing anyone but bringing you back, so I had do pick something else. I’m not stealing from the rich, I’m stealing from selfish cunts who ruin peoples lives for no reason and giving it to people like Jason. So, don’t you fucking yell at me and don’t try to make me feel bad for this, not when I’ve done more in two years than you ever have and- don’t you fucking speak Dick, not when you were the one who took my place here away from me! Now, I have a trafficking ring I need to expose so good. Fucking. Day.”

Jason is the only one who follows him.

[percheduphere]

LET'S TALK ABOUT LOKI'S SHOES (ACTUALLY, HIS WHOLE WARDROBE)

Production costs aside, clothes tell the audience about how characters think of themselves.

Loki's shoes in the S2 finale raised a lot eyebrows, but I find them quite fitting: they are comfortable, practical, and most importantly, they are humble. The camera brings this to our attention to communicate his evolution in character.

Loki has always dressed well, often times ostentatiously. Whether he is at war, passing as a Midgardian, or held captive as an Asgardian prisoner, Loki communicates his social class and sense of superiority through clothing. For him, clothing armors his fragile sense of self and against others' opinions of him. He intends to be perceived as deadly charming but ultimately unapproachable.

His attire in the first Thor movie is roughly equal parts green and gold, signifying his royal status. His style is dressed down for his brother's misadventures in Jotenheim, yet overall both silhouettes are lofty, princely, but not hardened or threatening.

In Avengers, Loki's look has more black and leather, with exaggerated emphasis on his shoulders meant to intimidate as he assumes the role of villain. The silhouette is very hard, heavy, and edgy. Gold detailing is prevalent as well. Combined with the goat's helm, this is Loki's most pretentious outfit, which speaks to an undercurrent of low self-esteem and a compulsive need to impress. There's no mistaking he is the main antagonist of the story.

In Thor 2, Loki's attire is similar to Avengers but the overcoat is exchanged for a less bulky version (perhaps conveying he is less guarded now that the effects of the Mind Stone are no longer influencing him). Loki's role likewise pivots from the harsh lines of a villain to the more flexible edges of a reluctant villain-turned-ally. This aligns with his character arc when he protects both Jane and Thor, seemingly sacrificing himself.

In Thor 3, Loki's silhouette is streamlined even further. The overcoat is done away with in favor of what appears to be a leather doublet, pauldrons, and vambraces. Gold accents are minimal. While stylish, Loki's attire is more practical than showy, and his helm serves the dual purpose of protection as well as weaponry. At this point in his arc, Loki has become a full antihero, joining his brother's side in rescuing as many Asgardians as possible, and eventually dying in a vain bid to protect Thor from Thanos.

The TVA does something very fun and interesting in taking away Loki's ability to dress himself. Since Loki cannot use his magic in the TVA, he is forced to wear the same clothing as his captor/advocate, who eventually becomes his best friend and peer.

Perhaps, on a subconscious level, this helped Loki to feel included. We know by his pwn admission that Loki fears being alone and desperately craves a sense of belonging. At the same time, he intentionally dresses to put people at a distance, thereby protecting himself from potential rejection at the cost of isolating himself further.

When Mobius gives him that TVA jacket for the first time, Loki seems uncharacteristically pleased. It is not an attractive jacket by any means, yet he neither scoffs at it nor refuses to wear it. Instead, Loki puts it on and is content when Mobius says it looks "smart" on him. He continues to dress like Mobius and, indeed, mimic some of his mannerisms such as placing his hands on his hips. Without clothing meant to push people away, Loki opens up, has more fun, and makes friends.

Loki's choice of attire as he assumes the mantle of God of Stories (and time) is fascinating. Setting aside the clear design inspiration from the comics, Loki's silhouette is soft, remarkably so. His colors are earthy hues of green, and the only bit of flare are the light gold trimming and crown. The look brings to mind the garb of sages and wise wizards rather than royalty or warriors. He's powerful yet approachable because there is humility in his bearing. And that humility springs from a well of healthy self-worth, self-love, and a deep love for others.

The shoes are not meant to be attractive. They are meant to help him ascend the throne, nothing more.

[queenie-the-court-jester]

yandere bunny hybrid x reader

A/n: the Intro was rushed because I got too excited to write the smut. Not proofread 🌺

Tw: noncon turns to dubcon, androgynous breeding kink, little dirty talk, he's a horny bastard. Mommy kink but it can be applied to any gender. Slapping body parts, he has a minor lactation kink. Mdni please!

★you met the little furball while you were out on a evening walk. It was the middle of winter and being cooped up inside the house all day was starting to get a little claustrophobic

★you didn't notice him at first since he blended in with the snow. Stopping mid-walk when you heard a weak little whine coming from behind you. Slowly turning around, you saw a pair of red eyes staring at you from beneath the snow

★approaching them slowly, you could finally see him more clearly. Milky white skin turning a light blue due to hypothermia. He didn't have the strength to run when you picked him up. Patting his head, you headed back home.

★giving him a warm bath and setting him next to the fireplace, you slowly nursed him back to health. He was very reluctant at first, but your touch was too comforting to pull away from. He hasn't felt this safe since he was just a baby bun! He stayed with you nearly the entire winter

★midway he starts to get himself familiar with your home, peeking under furniture and into rooms, he seemed to understand you when you'd ask him questions in English

"what's your name little fella?"

"cotton.."

★eventually you had to let him go back into the wild, just a month before spring arrived. He was reluctant but with enough convincing he finally left. Looking back at you from the forest edge, watching you wave goodbye with that beautiful smile he loves

❣️cotton who goes into heat early because he can't stop thinking of you. Burrying himself in his burrow, humping the air. Nothing is as soft as you and your bed. Nothing can make him feel as safe as your touch does

❣️he shoos any females who wish to mate away. Claiming he already has a mate. Oh he wished you'd come into the forest looking for him, to take care of him again as he fills your tight little hole up with his cum

❣️he spends most of his time shamelessly masturbating to the thought of you. His entire heat cycle has been on loop since he left, so finally gathering the balls he heads back to your cottage. Watching you from a distance, lazily stroking his already sensitive cock.

★just minding your business, you don't notice the certain bunny hybrid approaching slowly. You don't have much time to react before a familiar mop of white hair tackles you to the ground. Desperately humping your clothed sex as he whines and grunts.

"cotton!? What the hell are you doing!?"

"hah- nhg need.. mate.. pretty mate.. need to breed! Ohh!"

★you tried pushing him off, but when did he get so strong!? Pining your arms down and ripping your clothes off, wasting no time in lapping at your genitals. Eating you out like a starved man, sucking and nipping your inner thighs until he's sure you're nice and lubed up

★he carefully pressed the tip in, but he doesn't last long as he slowly sinks deeper into your gummy walls. Letting go of your arms and roughly grabbing your hips, which were sure to bruise later, brutally fucking your brains out. Slapping your chest and privates as he grinds his cock deeper

★he keeps going even after he's ripped multiple orgasms out of you. The pleasure slowly chipping off your resistance. Leaving you a blubbering moaning mess under the bunny. A pool of his cum under where your sexes kept meeting.

★it doesn't matter what gender you are, he's determined to breed you until you're swelling with his children. He couldn't wait to suck and bite your chest once it was swollen with milk!

"gonna be so pretty- mph! So pretty, all swollen 'n fat with my babies.. gonna be a good mate, right? G-gonna give me lots of 'em right? Oh ohhh! Cumming again! 'Yer squeezing all my cum out! Mommy!!"

★let's just say that you should get use to your new roommate husband, because now there's no way of getting rid of him. Ever.

[kittyfrisk9]

IdeaDpxDc: A nice moment with a sleep demon.

Note: Sorry, I don't know English, so please use a translator. I apologize if you don't get the idea.

Dead On Main.

---

Danny accidentally absorbed some of Nocturn's powers (like in the Vortex episode), and now, with these new temporary abilities, why not take advantage of them? Like a kid with a new toy, Danny (or should I say Phantom: with a new design) has fun every night going from dream to dream.

The dream world is so strange! Without the constant threat of a dream entity trying to take over the world and all that. Now he has fun exploring the most unusual parts of his classmates' subconscious, or anyone's in general.

Even though he knows he shouldn't be doing this (after all, he's a responsible adult now), spying on other people's dreams isn't exactly something a mature person would do.

On the other hand, Danny is the responsible adult; Phantom is the one who uses his new powers recklessly. Plus, no one in Gotham knows who Phantom is, and at the end of the day, he's not hurting anyone. Point in his favor!

It was all fun and games… until he felt it: the unpleasant taste of a nightmare, distressing and desperate. Phantom knows he has to intervene, because, unlike Nocturn, he does not delight in the suffering of others.

So he goes. And what he sees shocks him.

Resonant laughter of a psychopath, the constant pain of flesh being beaten, and the devastating reminder that no one came to help. Phantom doesn't just see it, he feels it. Gross. What is this? Why would anyone be hurting a child? Then he understands: this is not just a nightmare, it's a memory, and someone is suffering from reliving it.

He absolutely will not allow this nightmare to continue.

...

Jason hasn't been having good days lately, mostly because instead of going to therapy, he's chosen to sweep his trauma under the rug and aggressively throw himself into crime-fighting. He's not good at dealing with his emotions, especially when he's been tormented by the same damn nightmare over and over again.

He knows the script by heart, he knows how it will end, but he still feels the same fear as the first time.

His head hurts.

"No, not again," he thinks in terror. Once again, he's tied up, unable to move or call for help. It's colder than he remembers. The walls have a grotesque tint, with laughter written in every corner. But the worst thing is the silence… until the sound of clashing metal begins to resonate.

Everything is a thousand times worse. He's sure the original scenario wasn't like this, but his terrified mind refuses to accept it.

The metallic sound resonates louder, each crash rumbling in Jason's chest. His breathing quickens, and then he hears it: that laugh.

A deep, distorted echo of laughter that seems to come from every direction. The laughter snakes around the grotesque walls, filled with the same letters that repeat his agony. “Ha… ha… ha…” fills the air, louder with each invisible step that approaches.

Then, he appears.

It’s not the Joker he remembers from that fateful night. This one is worse. Bigger, more deformed, with a smile that seems to tear at his own face. The colors of his suit are darker, more twisted. It’s as if his mind has amplified him, made him more monstrous.

“My, my, how little Robin has grown? But… something remains the same, doesn’t it? No matter how many times you live it, it always ends the same way. And to think that you were my greatest work of art!”

His voice is mocking, but behind the mockery is pure cruelty, a wicked amusement that lights up in those crazy eyes.

The Joker leans towards Jason, his face invading the small distance between them. The sound of metal continues to echo, and Jason knows what's coming next.

"Oh, I almost forgot…" he says, pulling out of nowhere an iron crowbar that gleams in the dim light of the nightmare. "It wouldn't be a good memory without this, would it?"

That's when the pain begins. Jason doesn't want to scream, and he won't. Even though that abominable creature is just a representation of his killer, he won't give him the luxury of listening to him suffer. The blows continue, and Jason bites his tongue. It's just a nightmare, it's not real… it's not real.

It's not real.

It's not real.

It's not-

"Hey… Are you okay?" he hears him ask. His shocked gaze turns to where the clown should be and discovers that he's gone. In his place, there's a handsome young man: short, slightly messy black hair, expressive purple eyes, and a body almost completely shrouded in dark shadows.

The mysterious man had a cosmic air about him, surrounded by a mix of special effects of stars and galaxies. Something magical.

And new.

Jason honestly doesn't know what he's seeing, or why he's seeing it. "What?" he says, unable to find another word to describe his situation.

The entity laughs at his stunned state, a reassuring echo very different from the joker's laughter. Then he snaps his fingers, and suddenly he's no longer in that ugly room. He's now in a field of flowers, beautiful and vibrant, looking out at a starry sky.

Okay, this is the part where he asks his brain how he went from being in a nightmare to being with a handsome guy under the stars, hands free and untethered.

"Relax, you're not crazy," the being says as he lies back in the grass. “You were in pain, and I didn’t like it, so I got you out of there. Don’t worry, that abomination won’t bother you again.”

Jason blinks twice, bewildered, not understanding anything. “You… saved me?”

“You could say yes.”

“Why?” He shakes his head. “No, wait, that’s not the question. Who…?” Looking back at the being, he decides to change his question: “What are you?”

He seems to have taken the being by surprise.

It clasps its hands together as it looks up at the sky, trying to act normal. Jason narrows his eyes. “You can call me Void.”

“Did you just make up that name?”

The being looks away, seemingly embarrassed at being found out. “Yeah…” And suddenly exclaims, “Ah, ancients! I'm not supposed to be doing this, much less with one of the bats."

That last sentence had given away more than it should have.

"Hey, how about we admire the night view and then pretend this never happened?" Void suggested with a hopeful smile, turning to Jason.

Maybe it was the soft scent of the flowers, the calm atmosphere, or just the tiredness after so many nights of endless nightmares, but Jason, without thinking too much about it, walked over, lay down next to Void on the grass, and said, "No."

He needed a break.

...

And that's how Jason befriended a dream demon. And how Danny pretended to be a dream demon until Nocturn's powers wore off. He couldn't let the bats find out his identity.

After that, they spent more time together, fell in love, there was drama and there was closure. In the middle of all that, Danny started having tea with Alfred in the dream world, and at other times, he had fun bothering the other bats in their dreams.

But that's another story.

---

Note: Sorry, I don't know English, so please use a translator. I apologize if you don't get the idea.

Part 2

[goldfades]

HAUNTED BY YOU──FATHER MAYHEW

part two!!!!!!!!

─ summary | father mayhew is being tormented by dreams of a worshiper at the church, who appears both angelic and temptingly sinful in his visions. as the dreams grow more intense, he begins to wonder if they’re a sign from above or a test of his faith. when you confront him, father mayhew must choose between maintaining his distance or giving in to the passion that’s been haunting him

─ pairing | father charlie mayhew x fem!reader

─ warnings | nsfw under the cut! mdni! wet dreams (strong start! i know!), description of self-pleasuring, oral (m!receiving), heavy degradation,hair-pulling, just overall rough sex, orgasm denial

─ ev's notes | like everyone and their damn mom, i've fell under nicholas's damn curse and i just had to come back to tumblr for this very self-indulgent fic. this is just porn with a lot plot LMAOOO. BUTTTTT my requests are open if you wanna send anything in! (please do btw i'm obsessed w nicholas LMAO)

ok love u bye!!! pls send me requests!!!!!!

⇨ missing out on updates? check out my masterlist!

Father Charlie had always believed in the purity of dreams.

They were, in his mind, the unfiltered whispers of God—or at least, they had been. Lately, those whispers had been replaced by something far more sinful, and the dreams that used to bring him peace now left him gasping for air, tangled in sheets soaked with guilt and lust.

It started a few weeks ago, innocently enough.

You—a devout presence in the church, never missing a Sunday mass—had always caught his eye, but only in the way a shepherd might glance over his flock. He admired the way they knelt at the altar, the reverence in your bowed head, the delicate movements as you lit a candle in prayer. He told himself it was only admiration. But then the dreams began.

At first, they were fleeting images: your hands, fingers brushing over rosary beads, your doe eyes glancing up at him, lingering just a moment too long. He could dismiss them as nothing more than his mind playing tricks on him, the remnants of a long day.

But the dreams grew more vivid, more demanding. He saw you standing in the chapel late at night, a halo of moonlight casting a soft glow over your features, and when you turned to him, your gaze held something more than devotion. Something in between desperation and lust, something that was pure filth.

Charlie would wake in the dead of night, his chest tight with guilt and desire. He’d slip out of bed and kneel before the small wooden cross in his room, praying for guidance, praying for strength. But no matter how many Hail Marys he whispered into the darkness, the dreams persisted.

And now, they were getting worse.

Tonight, the dream came again, but this time, it was sharper—too real. You stood before him, just as you did every Sunday, but there was no congregation. Just the two of you, alone in the quiet sanctity of the church. He could hear your breathing, could feel the weight of your presence as they stepped closer, your fingers grazing over his. He swallowed hard, his throat tightening as they looked up at him with eyes that seemed to hold the weight of eternity.

"Father," you whispered, your voice soft but filled with something dangerous, something that made the blood in his veins run hot.

He wanted to look away, wanted to pull his hand back, but he couldn’t. Instead, he stood frozen, his heart pounding in his chest as you moved closer, so close now that he could feel the warmth of your breath on his skin. You reached up, their fingers brushing lightly across his cheek, and he felt a shudder pass through him—half desire, half longing.

"Why do you run from this?" you asked, your voice a low murmur that echoed in the stillness of the church. "Why do you run from me?"

He swallowed thickly, words catching in his throat as he tried to speak. "This isn’t… I can’t…"

But before he could finish, you pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him with a touch so gentle it felt like a caress. "You don’t have to speak," you whispered. "You already know the answer."

With that, you kissed him—soft at first, almost testing, as if waiting for him to push you away.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he felt himself melting into the kiss, his resolve crumbling as you deepened it, your hands sliding over his chest, pushing aside the fabric of his cassock. The feel of their touch was electric, every nerve in his body alive with sensation as they explored his skin, your fingers leaving trails of fire wherever they roamed.

"Please..." he heard himself whisper, though he wasn’t sure if he was begging them to stop or to continue. His breath was ragged, his heart pounding in his chest as desire overwhelmed him

Your lips traveled down his neck, leaving a path of heat in their wake, and Charlie groaned despite himself, his hands moving of their own accord to grasp your hips, pulling them closer. You pressed against him, and he could feel the softness of your body against his, the intoxicating scent of your familiar perfume filling his senses.

He knew this was wrong. He knew he should stop, should pull away and regain control of himself, but he couldn’t. His mind was clouded with lust, his body betraying him completely as your hands continued their exploration, your touch driving him to the brink of madness.

"Let go," you whispered, your breath hot against his skin as you slid a hand lower, your touch eliciting a sharp intake of breath from him. The pleasure was overwhelming, surging through him like a wave as you stroked him, you movements slow and deliberate, coaxing him closer and closer to the edge.

Charlie’s grip on the altar tightened as he felt himself losing control, his body trembling with the force of his desire. He wanted more, needed more, and you seemed all too willing to give it to him, your lips pressing against his once again as your hand moved faster, pushing him closer and closer to release.

When it came, it was like an explosion of heat and pleasure, washing over him in waves that left him gasping for breath. He clung to you, his body shuddering with the intensity of it all, his mind spinning in a haze of ecstasy and guilt.

And then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over.

Charlie woke with a start, gasping for breath, his body tangled in sweat-soaked sheets. His heart raced, pounding violently in his chest as the remnants of the dream clung to him, vivid and inescapable. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to shake the images from his mind, but they lingered—soft touches, whispered words, the sensation of heat curling through him in ways it shouldn’t.

It had been more than a dream. It was more sinful, more explicit, and far too real. His skin still burned from where you had touched him, your hands roaming over his body with an intimacy that made his chest tighten with guilt. His throat was dry, aching, but not with thirst—no, with something far deeper and darker.

"God," he muttered, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. "Please..."

He shifted under the blankets, feeling the undeniable evidence of his arousal—a sickening reminder of what had transpired in the dream. Shame washed over him like a cold tide, dousing the warmth that had gripped him so fiercely only moments ago. He didn’t dare move, his entire being consumed by regret and disgust.

He couldn't believe he came from the mere thought of you. It was sickening—he felt like a teenager all over again. How could he have let this happen? How could his mind, his very body, betray him like this?

Your face flickered in his mind again—those eyes, filled with longing and desire, the way you had smiled at him, that wicked, knowing grin. It hadn’t been innocent, not in the least. You had touched him in ways he had never been touched in a while, ways he wasn’t supposed to experience again.

He threw back the covers, the cool air in the room hitting his overheated skin as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. His feet hit the floor with a soft thud, and for a moment, he simply sat there, head in his hands, struggling to regain some semblance of control.

A priest wasn’t supposed to feel this way. He wasn’t supposed to be consumed by desire, least of all for someone so... unattainable. Someone who had come to him for guidance, for spiritual comfort, not for whatever this had been.

He stood, shaking, the cold of the room biting into him. He needed to calm himself, to pray, to wash away the evidence of his sin.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t forget the dream. Couldn’t forget the way it had felt—the warmth, the pleasure, the ache of it all.

Father Charlie whispered a desperate prayer under his breath as he padded to the bathroom. As the water ran cold over his skin, he prayed again for strength—for a release from this burden that had taken hold of him.

But deep down, the fear gnawed at him: what if this wasn’t the last time? What if he wasn't strong enough to resist?

He shivered at the thought.

──

Father Charlie stood by the doorway of the church hall, his gaze sweeping over the room. The sounds of children’s laughter and the murmur of conversations filled the air as parents and volunteers mingled. It was a typical event—one that should’ve had his attention focused on the joyful chaos before him

But his focus was elsewhere.

You sat at a table on the far side of the room, your attention seemingly on the children around you, but there was an unmistakable shift in the air between the two of you. His eyes kept being drawn back to you, despite his efforts to look elsewhere, to find something—anything—that might distract him from the growing heat in his chest and the tightness in his pants.

Then, you slipped the bright red lollipop between your lips, the movement slow, deliberate, and utterly intoxicating. It was a seemingly innocent gesture, one that any onlooker might dismiss, but Charlie saw it for what it was—a silent taunt, a temptation that you knew he couldn’t tear his gaze from.

His throat tightened as he watched you, your eyes flicking up to meet his, a playful glint dancing behind them. You held his gaze as you swirled the candy in your mouth, the exaggerated motion sending a jolt of excitement and heat straight through him. It was subtle enough to avoid drawing attention from anyone else, but the intent behind it was clear.

You were tempting him. And he knew it.

Charlie clenched his jaw, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the back of a nearby chair. He felt torn between his duty—his responsibility to maintain control, to be the figure of moral guidance he was supposed to be—and the way his body reacted to you, the way desire simmered just beneath his skin.

You smirked around the lollipop, letting it slip slowly from your mouth before you spoke to the child beside you, your voice light and innocent. But your eyes remained locked on his for a beat longer, the unspoken tension hanging in the air.

Father Charlie turned away quickly, trying to suppress the fire burning through him. He felt as though he were in a battle with himself—a war between the man he was and the desires that he struggled to keep buried. His mind raced with guilt, knowing that this tension—this attraction—was something he should never indulge.

But when he glanced back at you, and saw the way your plump lips wrapped around the candy once more, his breath caught in his throat. The world around him—the event, the children, the laughter—seemed to blur into the background as you continued to play this dangerous game.

Every gesture, every glance, felt like a carefully orchestrated tease, one that made it impossible for him to look away, even though he knew he should.

Charlie’s heart pounded in his chest, the temptation pulling at him stronger than it had ever been before. He couldn’t let this go on, he told himself. He needed to leave, to step away before he lost control entirely.

But no matter how hard he tried to convince himself to walk away, the sight of you sitting there, sucking on that lollipop with a mischievous glint in your eye, held him captive.

He let out a sigh, feeling his pants tighten once more. He glanced down, there was a noticeable bulge poking out.

With a sharp inhale, he tore his gaze away from you and pushed himself toward the nearest exit, keeping his movements as natural as he could manage. His skin burned with shame as he walked, the feeling of his pants tightening only making his predicament worse. He kept his head low, praying no one would stop him on his way out.

Or worse, see the issue at hand.

The corridor leading to the church bathrooms was mercifully empty, the laughter and conversations fading behind him as he moved quickly toward the door marked Men. His steps were hurried, and by the time he reached the bathroom, his breath was ragged.

Charlie shoved the door open and stepped inside, locking it behind him. He leaned against the sink, gripping the edges tightly as he tried to collect himself. His reflection in the mirror showed a man torn between the roles he was meant to fulfill and the raw human desire threatening to break through.

The bulge in his pants hadn’t lessened, and the sight of it brought another wave of heat crashing over him. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if that would block out the image of you, teasing and playful, with that lollipop in your mouth.

The temptation was too much, and he hated himself for it.

He couldn't think about you. He couldn't allow himself to dwell on the way your lips had moved, or the sly glint in your eyes, or the overwhelming desire that had burned in the pit of his stomach. He needed to focus. To rid himself of this unbearable need before it consumed him entirely.

With shaking hands, Charlie fumbled at his belt, a silent prayer escaping his lips, though he doubted any words of faith could cleanse the guilt twisting inside him now. He fought to keep his mind blank, but the image of you kept resurfacing—your teasing smile, your suggestive glances, the way your mouth had played with that lollipop as if you knew exactly what it was doing to him.

His breath hitched as he unzipped his pants, his mind waging a losing battle against his body's demands. This wasn’t what he wanted—not really—but the heat, the tension, the pressure… it was all too much. He felt helpless, lost in a battle he had no hope of winning.

He cursed under his breath as his hand moved over the fabric, the friction both a release and a deepening source of guilt. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to keep silent, though the shame only made his body more desperate for relief. It wasn’t just physical; it was emotional, a chaotic mix of guilt, desire, and the thrill of crossing a line he had vowed never to approach.

His thoughts flickered back to the church hall, imagining you sitting there, your eyes still locked on his, your lips still playing that dangerous game. But instead of the lollipop, it was his cock instead. You were looking up at him with those doe eyes, the ones he could never get enough of.

This was wrong—so terribly wrong—but in this moment, nothing else seemed to matter.

A strangled sigh escaped him as the tension inside built toward its inevitable conclusion. His movements became more frantic, his mind clouded with both desire and self-loathing. He fought to suppress the groan rising in his throat, his body betraying him as he sought the release he knew would come all too quickly.

But before he could cum, he heard a knock. His eyes snapped open, his body shaking. But his movements didn't falter.

"Taken!" He groaned out, rolling his eyes in annoyance.

"Father, it's me."

Charlie froze, his entire body going rigid at the sound of your voice. The very voice that had been the cause of his torment—the one that filled his thoughts during long, sleepless nights, and echoed in his mind during moments of prayer. Hearing it now, so close, made his stomach lurch with guilt and panic.

His hands were still trembling, his sticky arousal refusing to dissipate even as the cold wave of reality crashed down on him. He bit down on his lip, heart racing, his mind screaming at him to pull himself together. But the fact that you were standing just beyond the door, oblivious to the storm you'd stirred within him, made it impossible for him to think straight.

"Father?" your voice called again, this time with a soft, almost innocent lilt that twisted the knife deeper.

He swallowed hard, forcing his breathing to steady, though the heat in his chest hadn’t faded. His hand hovered over his zipper, shaking with the shame of what he had been doing just moments before. His body still ached with unresolved tension, but he pushed it down, trying to ignore the unbearable need that still pulsed through him.

"Yes?" His voice cracked as he finally spoke, hoarse and raw. He cleared his throat, trying to sound composed. "I... I’m a little busy at the moment."

There was a brief pause from the other side of the door, and he could almost imagine the look on your face—the innocent expression you always wore, one that belied the way you had been teasing him, testing him for weeks. You had to know what you were doing. There was no other explanation for it.

"Sorry, Father," you replied, your voice apologetic, but with that familiar hint of playfulness that made his pulse quicken. "I just... I wanted to talk to you. Is everything alright? You sounded a bit... off. You just ran off, and I was worried."

Worried? You knew damn well what you were doing.

His heart hammered in his chest. He wasn’t sure how to respond, especially when he could still feel the tightness in his pants, the shameful evidence of his struggle with temptation. He couldn’t let you see him like this. Not after what he had almost done. No, not almost—what he had done.

"I’m fine," he replied, the words rushing out too quickly. "Just—just give me a moment, please."

There was silence on the other side, and Father Charlie closed his eyes, cursing himself under his breath. He knew he needed to calm down, to suppress the lingering arousal that still throbbed through him, but it was nearly impossible with you standing just beyond the door, your voice echoing in his mind, a constant reminder of the desires he could no longer ignore.

"Okay, Father," you said after a long pause, your tone gentle, yet still laced with that underlying tease. "I’ll wait for you outside."

As soon as you spoke, he let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding, his body slumping against the sink in a mixture of frustration and shame. He could still feel the tension coiled tightly in his core, but he had to ignore it now—had to push it down and find some semblance of control before he faced you.

Charlie adjusted his clothes quickly, forcing himself to focus on anything but the ache that still pulsed through him. He wiped the sweat from his brow, straightened his collar, and took a long, deep breath.

The door was still locked, but knowing you were just outside filled him with dread and anticipation in equal measure. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could withstand the temptation you had placed in front of him, but for now, he had to pretend. He had to keep up the façade of control, even as the cracks in his resolve grew deeper by the day

With one final glance in the mirror, Father Charlie steeled himself and turned the lock, pulling the door open to face the very source of his downfall.

And there you were, standing just a few feet away, your eyes wide and innocent—though he knew better than to believe it was all innocence. You were a temptation he could barely resist, and every interaction only pulled him further into the darkness he'd been desperately trying to avoid.

"Is everything alright, Father?" you asked, tilting your head slightly, that sweet, familiar smile on your lips. But your eyes—those teasing eyes—held a glimmer that set his heart racing once more.

"Y-yes," he stammered, his throat tight, doing everything in his power to keep his voice steady. "Everything’s fine."

But as you looked up at him, your gaze lingering just a moment too long, Father Charlie knew this battle was far from over.

Your eyes glanced down at his pants, his bulge evident. Your eyebrows rose as you blinked up at him, the same teasing smile on your plump lips. "You don't look fine, Father."

The way you said his title almost made his knees buckle. He couldn't handle it, not anymore. "What do you think?" He snapped.

Your teasing smile widened, clearly pleased by the crack in Father Charlie's composure. His words, harsh and unsteady, only seemed to encourage you. You took a small step closer, the space between you shrinking as the tension in the air thickened, palpable and dangerous.

"What do I think?" you repeated, your voice soft and sweet, but laced with a knowing edge that sent another jolt through him. "I think you’ve been struggling, Father. I can see it in your eyes… feel it in the way you look at me."

He clenched his jaw, fists balling at his sides. Every instinct screamed for him to shut this down, to end the conversation and walk away before he did something he could never take back. But the heat burning in his chest, the tightness in his pants, and the way you gazed up at him with those teasing, taunting eyes made it impossible for him to think clearly.

His breath hitched, his throat tightening as he tried to keep his voice level, to maintain the last threads of control he still had. "You... need to leave," he muttered through gritted teeth, though the command sounded more like a plea. He took a step back, trying to put distance between you, but his back hit the wall, trapping him in a corner.

You didn’t follow him, but your eyes stayed locked on his, your lips parting ever so slightly as you spoke again. "Do you want me to leave, Father?" you asked, your voice dripping with temptation, your tone making it clear you knew the answer before he could even speak.

He opened his mouth to respond, to say yes, to do what he knew was right, but the words wouldn’t come. His body betrayed him, still trembling with the aftermath of the temptation he had barely controlled just moments ago. The guilt twisted deeper in his chest, but with you standing there, so close, so dangerous, he couldn’t bring himself to push you away.

You took another small step forward, your eyes flicking down once more to the bulge straining against his pants. "You don’t look like you want me to go," you murmured, your voice low and intimate.

The way you said it, so confidently, so calmly, broke something inside him. His breathing quickened, the shame mixing with desire in a way that left him dizzy and unable to think straight. His hands itched to reach out, to grab you, to pull you closer, but he forced them to stay at his sides, his knuckles white from the effort of holding back.

"Fuck," he got out before he finally grabbed your wrist. "You know exactly what you're doing, don't you?"

You didn't respond, just stared back at him with a smirk. "What you mean—"

"Shh, shut up. Just shut up," Father Charlie got out as his grip on your wrist tighten. He looked around the empty corridors and pulled you into the bathroom, practically pushing you into it. He slammed the door behind him, locking it.

The slam of the door echoed through the small bathroom, the sound sharp and final. Father Charlie stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling as he fought to keep a grip on himself. The small, dimly lit space felt suffocating, the walls closing in as the tension between you thickened, charged with unspoken desire.

You leaned back against the sink, your expression still playful, teasing, as if you held all the power in this twisted game. And maybe you did. You watched him, your smirk never fading, as his eyes darkened with lust, the lines between what was right and what he wanted blurring faster than he could stop them.

"Father," you whispered, your voice lilting, almost mocking as it dripped with the weight of temptation. "We really shouldn't—"

"I told you to shut up," he growled, cutting you off. His voice was rough, raw with the conflict tearing him apart. But his body betrayed him, his hands trembling as he reached out, fingers wrapping around your arm with a grip that was both desperate and unsteady.

For weeks, he had tried to deny it—to push down the thoughts, the fantasies, the overwhelming pull of desire you had stirred within him. But now, standing here with you, the air thick with temptation, he felt like a man on the edge of a cliff, teetering between control and the abyss.

"Do you think this is a game?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous, though you could hear the tremor beneath it. He stepped closer, towering over you, his body radiating heat. "Do you think I don’t know what you’ve been doing? The looks, the way you talk to me, the way you… tease me?"

You met his gaze, unflinching, your smile widening. "Maybe it is a game," you said softly, tilting your head, eyes dancing with mischief. "But you’re the one who's playing along."

His grip tightened, his breath hitching as your words sank in. He hated how true they were. Every time he had looked at you, every moment his mind had wandered to the things he shouldn't have been thinking—he had been playing into this. And now, he was standing on the edge of a line he couldn’t afford to cross.

But he had already crossed it, hadn't he?

"Shut up," he whispered again, though this time his voice was weaker, the command laced with more desperation than authority. His free hand pressed against the wall beside you, his body leaning in closer, so close he could feel the heat radiating from your skin.

You tilted your chin up, eyes gleaming as you watched him struggle, as if you were daring him to let go of the last shreds of control he clung to. And maybe, just maybe, he wanted you to push him over the edge.

"Or what?" you whispered back, the challenge clear in your tone.

Father Charlie’s jaw clenched, his entire body tense as he wrestled with himself, his grip on you tightening. His breath was hot and ragged, his heart pounding in his chest as he stared down at you. For a moment, it seemed like he might pull back, that he might step away, regain the control that had been slipping through his fingers.

But then he kissed you.

It was sudden, rough, and filled with the weeks of pent-up desire he had been fighting so hard to contain. His lips crashed against yours, his hands pulling you closer, as if giving in to the temptation that had been haunting him was the only way to make the ache go away.

The kiss was hungry, desperate, and you could feel the conflict in every movement—how he both wanted this and hated himself for wanting it.

You moaned into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulled him closer. His hands slid up and down your back before suddenly finding your hair, pulling it back from the kiss.

"You're a whore," he gritted out as he gripped your hair impossibly rougher. "A whore in disguise, aren't you? You feign innocence but you're the most sinful in this Church."

Father Charlie's words were harsh, laced with anger and lust, but the grip in your hair sent a different message—desire and desperation. His brown eyes, dark and conflicted, bore into yours as he pulled you even closer, his breath hot against your skin. His control was slipping, unraveling faster with every second, and he knew it.

You smiled up at him, the tension between you crackling like a live wire. "If I'm sinful, Father, then what does that make you?" you asked softly, your voice teasing, daring him to continue.

He clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing at your words, a low growl escaping his throat as he yanked your head back, exposing your neck. "It makes me weak," he muttered, his lips ghosting over your skin. "Weak because of you. Because of the way you tempt me."

His mouth hovered just inches from your neck, his breath warm, his body pressed against yours, every movement charged with the weight of the forbidden. His hands, still tangled in your hair, trembled with a mixture of restraint and hunger.

"You're what’s wrong with me," he whispered, his voice hoarse, as if he were trying to convince himself of the words as much as he was trying to convince you. "You’ve dragged me down to your level. Made me forget everything I stand for. Everything I’m supposed to be."

But even as he spoke, his lips brushed your neck, leaving a trail of heated, fleeting kisses along your skin. His body moved on instinct, driven by the desire he could no longer deny.

Father Charlie's lips pressed harder against your neck, his breath ragged as his restraint dissolved. His words, filled with self-loathing, contradicted the urgency of his touch. Each kiss grew more desperate, more reckless, as if he were trying to bury the shame and guilt in the taste of your skin. His grip in your hair tightened, pulling you closer, and the tension between you ignited into something explosive, something neither of you could stop now.

His free hand roamed down your body, fingertips pressing into your waist, his touch both rough and reverent, like he was grappling with the weight of his own desire. Every brush of his hand, every kiss, was a betrayal of the man he had once been. But the way your body responded, the way you leaned into him, only fueled the fire burning inside him.

"God help me," he whispered against your collarbone, the words barely audible, as if he were speaking them to himself more than to you. But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

You let out a soft moan, your hands tangling in his hair, encouraging him to continue, to give in completely. His resolve crumbled further with every sound you made, every movement of your body against his. The line between right and wrong, between control and surrender, had long since vanished.

Charlie pulled back for a moment, his eyes wild, filled with a mix of anger, lust, and confusion. His chest heaved as he looked at you, torn between pushing you away and pulling you even closer.

"I hate you for this," he rasped, though the heat in his eyes betrayed the truth. "But I can’t stop. I can’t stop wanting you."

You smiled, a knowing, satisfied smile, as your hand slid down his chest. "Then don’t stop," you whispered, your voice dripping with seduction, coaxing him deeper into the darkness.

That was all it took. With a frustrated growl, he crashed his lips against yours again, harder this time, as if punishing both of you for the sinful desire you had ignited. His hands roamed freely now, no longer held back by hesitation or fear. There was only the raw, uncontrollable need consuming him.

Whatever consequences lay ahead, whatever guilt or shame waited for him on the other side of this moment, Father Charlie couldn’t bring himself to care. Not anymore.

Charlie yanked your hair back again, then stared into your eyes. Without warning, he pushed you to your knees roughly. "How about you do something useful for once, huh?" He muttered breathlessly.

You blinked back up at him, your hands finding their place on his hips. You moved slow and deliberate, which angered Charlie more. Charlie’s eyes darkened as he looked down at you, his grip on your hair tightening, pulling at your scalp just enough to make you gasp. The frustration in his gaze was palpable—fueled by your deliberate slowness, by the way you reveled in the power you had over him.

“You think this is funny?” he growled, his breath ragged as he watched you, his fingers digging into your scalp. His frustration was obvious, but beneath that anger was a raw, unquenchable desire. He hated how much control you had over him, how easily you made him lose himself.

You smiled up at him, slow and teasing, your fingers trailing over his hips, letting him feel the barest touch of your hands. “Maybe it is,” you whispered, eyes gleaming with mischief, enjoying every second of his torment. "At least, to me it is."

You could feel the tension radiating from him, the barely contained hunger in his every movement. Slowly, teasingly, you ran your hands lower, grazing over the bulge straining against his pants, earning a sharp intake of breath from him.

Charlie’s hand tightened in your hair as a low growl escaped his throat. “You think you’re so fucking clever,” he rasped, his voice low and dangerous, his grip on you firm as he stared down with a mix of lust and anger. “But you’re going to regret this.”

Your smirk widened, and without breaking eye contact, you undid his belt, letting it fall to the floor with a soft clink. His breath hitched as you slowly unzipped his pants, the anticipation thick between you, hanging in the air like a loaded weapon.

“Prove it,” you challenged, your voice a soft murmur as you looked up at him, daring him to follow through on his words.

For a moment, Charlie stood there, his chest heaving, torn between the overwhelming desire that had consumed him and the guilt gnawing at the edges of his mind. But the pull of temptation was too strong—too powerful to resist any longer.

With a grunt of frustration, he grabbed the back of your neck, forcing you forward as he freed himself. “I don’t care what happens after this,” he growled, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with lust and anger. “Right now, you’re mine. And you're gonna do what I fucking tell you.”

You barely had time to respond before he pushed your mouth onto his cock, rough and demanding, his hand guiding you with a forceful grip. The suddenness of it made your breath catch, but you quickly adjusted, falling into a rhythm as he set the pace, his body trembling with the intensity of his need.

You wrapped your lips around him, moaning. His cock was dripping with pre-cum, and your saliva made it messier—but neither of you cared. The bathroom was filled with the sounds of his ragged breathing, punctuated by the occasional low moan as you worked him with sloppy, measured motions. His hips thrust forward, pushing deeper, his control rapidly slipping away as he surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure.

Your mouth was so warm and inviting, he couldn't stop. This was what heaven felt like, he swore—there was nothing better than this feeling, the feeling of your sinful mouth.

Charlie’s hand tightened in your hair, pulling you closer, his fingers digging into your scalp as he lost himself in the moment, all thoughts of guilt or consequences forgotten. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely more than a growl as his head fell back, eyes fluttering shut. “You… you’re such a fucking tease.”

He pushed you until you were gagging around his cock, much to his dismay. "Take it, whore. This is what you wanted, right? For me to use you?"

Your eyes were watering and your jaw felt like it was going to break, but his mean words egged you on. You hummed around him, a wicked smile curling at the edges of your lips as you kept gliding up and down his cock.

But just as he was on the edge, just as the tension in his body built to an unbearable peak, he suddenly yanked you off him, breathless and furious, eyes blazing as he stared down at you.

“Get up,” he commanded, his voice low and guttural, barely holding onto the last threads of control. “Turn around, whore.”

You barely had any time to react before he turned you around to face the mirror. He bent you over the sink as you let out a whimper, before his hands found your hair again and yanked it up.

"Look at you," he murmured as he forced you to look at yourself.

Your hair was a mess, your mascara running down your doe eyes and your sticky cheeks and chin. You caught your breath as you glanced back to meet his eyes through the mirror.

He bent you completely over the sink and landed a sharp slap on your behind. You let out a yelp, shutting your eyes at the stinging feeling. "Fuck,"

"What? Is it too much now, baby?" Charlie spoke, his voice dripping with mockery. His lips were curved into a smirk as he tutted. "This is what you wanted, right?"

He didn't give you time to respond before leading the tip of cock to your folds. You felt his heavy tip on your sloppy entrance, practically begging to get fucked. He hadn't even gotten the chance to touch you properly and you were already soaked.

He hummed at the warm feeling before pushing inside. He let out a huff of air, his head falling back in pure ecstasy. "Oh, yeah," was all he could get out. Your hands found the edge of the sink, gripping it tightly as you let out a desperate moan.

Charlie pushed himself all the way in, bottoming you out within a few quick seconds. He didn't even let you adjust to his size before he began slamming you into roughly, the edge of the sink burying into your stomach.

His thrusts were sharp and relentless, he wasn't letting up anytime soon. You felt like you were on a different planet, the feeling of his cock was dizzying as your eyes rolled back into your head.

"O-oh, fuck!" You cried out as your head fell forward.

Charlie gripped your hips even tighter as he groaned with each slam of his own hips, his head falling back. Your cunt tighten around his cock, and he felt your release coming. One of his hands reached up to grip your head roughly.

"Don't you dare cum, not yet," He got out breathlessly as you tried your best to nod. "Do not cum."

You squeezed, holding off your orgasm as you were told. You didn't know if you could—but you knew the consequences would be dire, Charlie wasn't playing around anymore.

A few harsh slams and he was cumming deep inside you, his moans echoing in the small bathroom. He rode out his high, his grip in your hair not easing one bit. "Fucking take it,"

You whimpered as you tried to hold off your orgasm, tears falling from your eyes as you gripped the sink. Without warning, he slipped out of you.

Your eyes opened and you turned around to face him. "Charlie—"

He cut you off swiftly as he pulled his pants up. "You don't deserve it,"

"Deserve it?" You practically cried out. "I just let you fuck me and you're not gonna let me cum?"

Father Charlie just shrugged. "Whores don't get to cum."

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[staryuee]

WHAT THEY DO WHEN THEY’RE IN LOVE!

꒰warnings꒱ not proofread, dainsleif/pantalone may be ooc (´°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀)

⠀꒲ ` synopsis . . . just cute habits, actions etc that they do, whether intentionally or not, after being struck with cupid’s arrow.

⠀꒲ ` characters . . . jean, diluc, zhongli, xiao, nilou, xianyun, dehya, wanderer, arlecchino, pantalone, dainsleif

⠀꒲ ` notes . . . scrolling through the genshin tag makes me wanna die sometimes…i’m trying to do investigative work and i have to quickly scroll past the same smutty language like it’s booktok torture + also i’ve been playing baldurs gate 3 for the past several days and i think i’ve developed a problem…

G. JEAN — 琴

ʚ jean is very subtle in the way she loves someone, she doesn’t want to keep it secret per se, but her love is always almost adjacent to a puppy crush; something that seems fleeting but in the long run returns harder and hits oh so much worse.

ʚ she can’t necessarily abuse her powers, and she wouldn’t dare dream of messing up the order she so carefully has managed to maintain, so the way she tries to convey her feelings across isn’t too brash or loud.

ʚ simple things like letting her hands brush against yours when she passes you documents, allowing you to visit her office whenever you please even if it’s to just sprawl down at a nearby couch and read a book you found in the library while meandering, and even letting you join her on her daily walks across the courtyard.

ʚ during windblume festivals she won’t hesitate to strike up a seemingly harmless and friendly conversation, all the while sneaking a flower into your hair that resembles the feelings you stir up inside her fuzzy heart.

ʚ jean is overall quite an awkward person when it comes to anything related to romantic or plantoic ties, she’s a bit of a people pleaser in that way where she prefers to assume everyone’s a friend before an enemy… or in this case, “interested”.

ʚ with backup and sought guidance from her good friends lisa and kaeya, she’ll try a myriad of tactics to get you to notice her; a little shoulder massage there, a heartfelt sticky note placed on your workstation there, inviting you to classic candlelit dinners etc.

ʚ yes, believe me, she even tried the cartoonish “rose bit between teeth and uncomfortably arched side lean on a wall” approach before deciding it’s much better to listen to herself than the flamboyant duo.

R. DILUC — 迪卢克

ʚ diluc is the actual epitome of a gentleman. his love is so pure and genuine you can’t help but flower press every petal from the various bouquet he personally delivers to you on special occasions (anything from you completing a particularly hard or draining mission to doing something you thought you’d suck at).

ʚ his coat is also yours now. it’s like a six sense at this point to notice when you’re shivering out in the cold winds, and it’s become even more of a routine for him to simply shed that fluffy coat of his and drape it appropriately over your shoulders, trying to maintain a comfortable distance between you two as he adjusts it both to ease your tension and assure the pounding of his heart goes unheard.

ʚ diluc doesn’t enjoy using his riches to woo someone, it’s uncouth and just shows a desperation unbecoming of someone who dates to marry. if he wants to know you’re in it for the long haul, he’ll be much more sensitive and thoughtful when picking out gifts for you, each them have to hold some level of significance in your life.

ʚ the whole fiasco with his poor maids and some sneaky, perverse stalkers and diluc’s flaming great sword certainly applies to you as well; he’ll quietly ensure your safety in the night, helping you walk home with his arm hooked under yours, and in broad daylight he won’t hesitate to swing that polished wolf’s gravestone of his against any onlookers.

ʚ diluc is extremely closed off but deeply sentimental, he can so easily find himself rambling about his childhood stories to you; anything from how he used to collect seashells with kaeya to bring back to their dad, or how him and jean used to let baby barbara braid their hair together while babysitting…to things that are slightly more troublesome and heart wrenching to even mutter.

ʚ he may be less vocal than most in terms of feelings, but that doesn’t mean he won’t commit to it if he’s in love with someone. diluc isn’t the slightest bit dumb, he understand in order to get his feelings across he needs to do more than take random days off to spend time with you, he needs to at least hint it in a way that clearly gets his intentions across.

ʚ believe me, whenever you come by to dawn winery per notice, everyone raises a brow at you with curious smirks and gazes as diluc nearly stumbles on his words to get the phrase: “you look lovely tonight” out.

ZHONGLI — 钟离

ʚ he has up to thousands years of romantic customs under his belt, he understands the vague signs and ways to further communicate how much he adores you.

ʚ … that would be the case in its full if not for the fact for the first thousand couple years of his life he wasn’t busy maiming other gods and shedding blood. safe to say, his memories of mortal “courting” is slightly, if not absolutely, a massive, weaving and overlapping trail of various centuries and cultures he’s been accustomed to; anything ranging from the days when khaenri’ah was still in its prime to nowadays with newfound slang.

ʚ he’ll recite the most beautifully heartfelt and awfully sincere poem all the while you’re fighting your life in a haunted house (he’s heard this activity is helpful to get couples closer to one another, and given the fact you’re clinging on for dear life at the edge of his coat, he assumes he’s on the right track!)

ʚ he wants to impress you while also maintaining an air of genuineness to his actions, and while that does sometimes end in awkward situations where he ends up wearing regal attire to what’s supposed to be a casual dinner at wangmin, his heart remains completely pure in its endeavours.

ʚ oh, let’s not forget this man is quite literally a dragon too!

ʚ sometimes he can forget you don’t have the same complexion as him and will proudly present you some sort of glimmering relic from his hoard, forgetting that certain materials that existed back in the day were deadly and or toxic for mortals to touch let alone possess.

ʚ with a little nudge in the right direction, he’ll quickly learn everything there is to know for how to properly handle your precious heart. whatever you’d like, you may have — if it’s within his reach, that is. but it doesn’t mean he’ll stop at what’s available, no, just how much he’s willing to risk for you.

XIAO — 魈

ʚ he’s already embarrassed and awkward enough with accepting the fact he likes you, so accepting the fact that he loves you had left him with a lengthy exorcism spree down in some forgotten areas in liyue (it didn’t help).

ʚ in all honestly, not much changes; both because he’s rather emotionally constipated but also because he’s more than sure he’s loved you for longer than he seems to currently acknowledge.

ʚ letters that came only on special occasions like your birthday or his became much more frequent and a lot less poetic, it felt more like he was writing about his thoughts at the time, a little akin to how you’ve made him feel less constricted and much more free; he can finally have the courage to step out of his comfort zone.

ʚ all those small acts of love he used to subtly express (i.e gifting you two crystaflies, personally inviting you to come hang out, etc) he manages to double, he can’t have you thinking his intentions are the same as before. no, they’re much stronger now.

ʚ his guard softens around you regardless, but when you randomly fall asleep on his shoulder on your weekly visits at wangshu inn, instead of taking you to one of the rooms, he’ll sit there and allow you to rest, and if he’s assured you’re not awake to ridicule him, maybe, just maybe…he’ll sneakily loop his arm around your waist.

ʚ even just the thought of you makes him spiral into daydreaming, sitting atop a tree and swinging his leg back and forth carelessly as he stares up at the night to await for a new light, knowing full well the only sun he wants to see is you…just imagining his hands holding your waist like they did so long ago makes him shiver (hopefully this time he’ll get to do it when you’re not falling, and instead are falling for him)

NILOU — 妮露

ʚ nilou is basically a disney princess, if you see her singing to random birds that come watch her performances, everyone in the grand bazaar already knows it’s because you’ll be in the crowd that night.

ʚ each step within her routines are done with the little more passion, if that even is possible given her character, all because she imagines that pride and hopeful heart eyes in your eyes as all the attention is on her.

ʚ sometimes this fixation can lead to dumb mistakes on stage which bring her to sulking away with a hand on her forehead dabbing away at the sweat, but even the mention of your name as you pass by several sumeru streets is enough for her to brighten, do a quick wardrobe switch and run off to tackle you within her embrace.

ʚ nilou is not loud, but definitely not subtle. the exact representation of how she feels when you come to encourage her at her lowest (though those days are few). you’re there for her in ways you don’t imagine, and that alone is enough for her to daze away into the night as she cuddles her pillow, legs wrapped around it and all, and begins thinking about the what ifs of your relationship.

ʚ sometimes it’s a little comedic the way she speaks about you, it almost sounds like she’s reminiscing about a fictional book character with how much she takes pride in whatever little thing you do. no one tires of seeing her footsteps lightly tap against the ground in circles as she gushes about how when you complimented her the other day, you touched her cheek seemingly subconsciously ∩^ω^∩

XIANYUN — 闲云

ʚ she’s a little embarrassed at just how obvious she can be sometimes, it doesn’t help the fact her own children keep using this love of hers to their advantage.

ʚ she keeps nagging them about not taking care of themselves (she’s all too keen about their health and whereabouts now that she dwells alongside liyuean people) and yet just the mention of your name has her slightly stuttering in a ditzy trance as she hooks her glasses back up her nose bridge.

ʚ without hesitance, she’ll show you a photo album she has of all those close to her; would you like to see the drawing little ganyu made when she just barely had her horns? or perhaps the polearm young shenhe broke when she miscalculated her own strength in training?

ʚ her family is her pride and joy, it’s only natural for her to want you to be part of it even if it’s something as silly as raking through photos of a chubby ganyu eating the stem of a flower or teeny shenhe napping on a tree.

ʚ a peaceful life mingling with mortals has left her with ample time to enjoy the trivialities of life, and yet she finds her mind all too quickly wandering to you; had you been taking care of yourself? were you feeling lonely? did you need her to make something for you?

ʚ a secretive worry wart that quickly becomes that ancient adetpus she used to pride herself as soon as your delicate hands accidentally brush against hers; suddenly she’s perked up, chest heaven up high with a confident hand on her shoulder: you wouldn’t even think that flurry of pink hues gushing across her cheeks was real if not for the light providing evidence.

DEHYA — 迪希雅

ʚ oh she’s absolutely ecstatic!!

ʚ there’s genuinely nothing better than love in her eyes, especially just having the ability to love and trust someone fully when you haven’t been able to do so for a plethora of years.

ʚ doesn’t try to hide it, like at all, if anything she makes it rather obvious with the way she constantly pulls you closer as if you were already an item, arms constantly clinging onto you and your sides or her hands messing up your hair as you greet her.

ʚ she’ll take you anywhere you ask, free of charge of course (just promise to smile…and maybe if you’re up for it give her a kiss on the cheek, that’s sure to be enough reimbursement).

ʚ she’s already quite a confident and outwardly friendly person (if the price is right that is) but when in your presence? what’s wrong with just a little bit of showing off…

ʚ dehya needs you to see the best side of her!! maybe then you’ll finally give in and realise that her constantly asking for you to come join her on her travels and commissions isn’t brought out of mere timed coincidence

WANDERER — 流浪者

ʚ i saw that a few people were upset and confused by wanderer’s sudden switch up into being more kind/friendly, but i think we all forget what kind of person he was before his betrayals.

ʚ he loves wholeheartedly, if he adores something it consumes him in a warm pit of mushy domesticity — he doesn’t hate love or being kind, he hates the way it makes him vulnerable and the way it reminds him of the way he used to be.

ʚ that also means he’ll completely ignore you, or, try his best to rather.

ʚ wanderer knows within his heart that he completely years for you, just the accidental slip of his gaze meeting yours makes his brain go haywire, sending volts of electricity down his spine — you make him feel so alive.

ʚ it’s terrifying to return to a person you once were especially now with the knowledge of how being the way you were lead to some sort of tragedy, he’s managed to build up these walls so high and here you were, sneaking in through cracks he didn’t even know he had.

ʚ and he both loves it and hates it; loves the fact he can still feel, but hates how he’s so easily susceptible.

ʚ loving you turns into self-loathing and brooding, his feet pacing up and down every street at night to clear his muddled head. small distractions like taking strolls in meadows or sleeping up in the vines of trees lead to just thoughts of you and you alone.

ʚ wanderer refuses to be overly friendly and buddy-buddy with you even if he’s aware that if you decided to just one day hold him sincerely he’d burst into tears, but he can compromise with being less cutthroat.

ʚ “shut the fuck up” turns into him just rolling his eyes at you as you ramble (he soaks up any piece of information he can and locks it away), items you gift him now are more apparent in their value as he yells at those who dare question the dumb aranara pin you bought him and placed sneakily on his hat…oh and he gives you hat privileges.

ʚ it’s raining? …get close to him so you don’t begin complaining about the way the rain feels on your skin.

ARLECCHINO — 阿蕾奇诺

ʚ she starts treating you less like an asset in her “contact if in need of assistance” roster and more like a friend — of course, she maintains that distance between you two, but she lets you wriggle around in her heart to see if you manage to fit.

ʚ chances are, you will — unknowingly she’d grown to love you in ways that may have even gone unnoticed by her given how natural they were; inviting you to random gatherings when the whim arises, pulling your chair out for you when out for brunch, or even tucking away strands of hair and twirling it around playfully.

ʚ arlecchino’s love isn’t something immediate or expected, she’s a woman who keeps every card close to her chest and her children even closer, you have to prove to her that you’re worth it, in a way that doesn’t necessarily mean spilling blood but more so answers the question: do you care, and are you willing to accept her blinding love?

ʚ it’s like a shepherd dog with a lost lamb, but that little sheep is just you, and she’s a wolf in need of a muse.

ʚ cute tea parties aren’t uncommon with the two of you, she’ll happily let you indulge yourself in treats as she leans back with scorching tea in her hands while memorising every curve of your lips as you chew and swallow, she loves watching the way your eyes crinkle when you smile and the little sway from side to side you occasionally do as an expression of joy.

ʚ once arlecchino notices that she’s began treating you as another authority figure in the house of hearth, she’ll reach and collar you gently, intertwining her dark, cursed hand into your flowery one.

PANTALONE — 潘塔罗涅

ʚ one of the most attractive qualities a man can have is knowing when to shut the fuck up and to slide his card over during a dinner — both such things pantalone can do effortlessly, especially when it comes to you.

ʚ arlecchino claims that: “he allows his actions to be governed by the vengeance and hatred locked in the depths of his heart.” something that definitely translates into his love affairs in more than obsessive manners.

ʚ don’t be afraid of the massive hauls of clothing and sparkling jewellery galore that are being trudged in by multiple men, darling, it’s just a menial souvenir from his latest travels and newfound connections that he thought you might enjoy ^^

ʚ while his grandeur usually stems from his deep hearted desire to overthrow the imbalance between immortals and mortals, rest assured the luxury he provides you purely stems from his desire to make you his.

ʚ whether that entails you being his pet for him to seek comfort from on the occasion or a genuine connection where he can comfortably hold you at night purely depends on you.

ʚ oh, you’ll let him chew your ear off about his recent expedition and extravagant plan? consider your rent payed for the next few months and a few kisses on your cheek that certainly aren’t actually part of the snezhnayan custom (let him indulge in those little cravings or else he’ll undoubtedly be petty).

DAINSLEIF — 戴因斯雷布

ʚ has a breakdown.

ʚ a little dramatic, but honestly if his entire life wasn’t a disgusting mess already, you’ve come to make it worse. fate is deliberately mean to brooding blondes it seems, given the fact he’s now stuck pacing around back and forth on a trail of dead abyss mages as he rereads a letter you’ve sent him weeks ago.

ʚ everything you give to him, everything you say, do, write, whatever, he remembers implicitly. each word you say is engraved into him as if they were important artefacts regardless of how pointless and mundane.

ʚ it can honestly get a little…scary at times? you’ll mention liking something once and all of a sudden you find it within your possession at least a few weeks later.

ʚ dainsleif doesn’t have enough time to wallow in the glory of mushy, all consuming love despite desperately wanting to imagine how your hand would feel caressing down past each of his scars, but what he can do is protect you, and to him that’s a greater blessing than intimacy he knows will end eventually.

ʚ a big tough man who would honestly fold the moment you call him any variation of a pet name, specifically with the word “mine/my” at the beginning — hey, it’s nice knowing you mean something to someone the point they view you as inseparable.

ʚ the timings at which he comes to aid you are all too convenient and believe me he’ll try his best to downplay it as coincidence, all the while he’s breathing heavily both from the face your eyes are scanning his so closely and the fact he used up so much energy to merely make a portal to sneak into your space.

©STARYUEE do not copy, steal or repost ♡ ᴜsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ɪʜᴇᴀʀᴛɢᴀɴʏᴜ

[sunnymoonxx]

❝programmed for pleasure❞ | qimir x fem!reader

pairing: qimir x fem!reader

summary: Your best friend Qimir always had your back, and that didn't change when the Jedi accused you of treachery. Without hesitation, Qimir helps you hide. After days of close quarters and constant danger, things get heated and secrets flow to the surface.

warnings: this is just filth, english is not my native language, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (who needs it with him right), fingering, hints of mind control, reader finds out qimir's identity during the act, choking, cockwarming, degradating, praising, 5k+ words, not proofread

a/n: in ep2 when osha was pretending to be mae and qimir's mask dropped- so did my panties and i wish we could see what would happen if the jedi didnt barge in

also i apologise if this is not my best work my brain's rotting

now playing, fill the void by the weekend and lily rose depp

The sun blazed overhead, casting long shadows across the bustling market square. The air shimmered with heat, and the scent of exotic spices mixed with the dust kicked up by the steady flow of people. The cacophony of merchants hawking their wares and customers bartering for goods filled the air, creating a lively yet chaotic atmosphere. That's when you jumped in, covered in a heavy cloak, weaving through the crowd, moving with desperate urgency that contrasted sharply with the slow pace of the marketgoers.

Your breaths came in ragged gasps, and sweat trickled down your temples, but you didn’t dare slow down. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing the fear that suffocated you.

You glanced over your shoulder, scanning for signs of your pursuers. There, in the distance, the unmistakable silhouettes of Jedi Knights moved with an unerring determination, their robes flowing like liquid shadows. Panic surged within you, propelling you forward even faster.

You stumbled into a fruit vendor, nearly toppling the cart, and barely registering the vulgar complaint thrown at you, only focused on your desired destination.

Ahead, through the throng of people, you spotted the familiar sign of your friend’s shop. It was a small, unassuming place, nestled between two larger establishments, almost easy to miss if you didn't know what to look for. You aimed yourself toward it like a ship setting course for a distant star, your legs burning from the exertion.

Another quick glance back showed the Jedi gaining ground, their calm, composed faces a stark contrast to your own panic. You had to reach the shop; you had to get to safety. With a final burst of energy, you pushed through a group of curious onlookers, thrusting them to the ground, and practically threw yourself against the door of the shop.

It swung open with a jingle of bells as you tumbled inside, the cool air a welcome relief against the overheating streets. You slammed the door shut behind you, the noise causing your friend, Qimir, to look up from behind the counter, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Hey, what are you—"

"Shush," you panted, leaning heavily against the door, trying to catch your breath, scanning any sign of the Jedi through the glass door. "I need to hide."

“What is going on?” Qimir appeared right behind you, his face a mix of concern and curiosity. He motioned for you to follow him. This wasn’t the first time you had begged Qimir to help you, and many times you had promised to pay him back, but you never did. You tried to calm yourself as you followed him to the back of the shop where the infamous hidden trapdoor was placed.

“I owe you,” you breathed out, looking up at Qimir before you kneeled down to get in, climbing your way into a narrow space, the darkness of the room slowly enveloping you.

“You always do,” he murmured to himself before he closed the door, leaving you alone in the pitch-black darkness. You’d been here many times, so it wasn’t difficult finding a certain switch, turning on the lights that partially blinded you. As you quickly got used to them, your other senses heightened, hearing Qimir making his way back to the front of the shop above your head.

You pressed yourself against the cool earth, willing your racing heart to calm. Above, you could hear the faint murmur of voices, the unmistakable timbre of the Jedi questioning. You held your breath, every muscle in your body tense, praying that your hiding place would remain undiscovered.

You calmed yourself, putting your hand on your chest where your heart would be, carefully listening to the conversation above you.

“Have you seen a cloaked figure running by this shop? We saw them run this way; do not bother us with lies,” came Yord’s unmistakable voice. You had never liked him, even as a youngling or a Padawan. He finished his trials sooner than you and felt the need to remind you every second. Today was the last day you decided to respect it.

“I think I saw someone pass by, but I didn’t see their face or where they were going,” you heard Qimir lie to the Jedi, protecting you again. You never grasped how he could lie to the Jedi and not get caught. You always suspected he was Force-sensitive and accidentally blocked everyone out of his mind, but that theory vanished quickly when he once face-planted on the ground after you woke him from his peaceful sleep. Maybe he was just a good liar.

Minutes felt like hours, but eventually, you heard the Jedi grow quiet, leaving the shop. You allowed yourself a tentative sigh of relief, knowing that you had narrowly escaped capture. For now, you were safe, as long as you stayed with Qimir.

It didn’t take long for Qimir to come back for you, opening the trapdoor to get you out. You climbed fast, jumping at him, almost crushing him with your suffocating hug.

“I’d like an elaboration on this one,” he declared into your ear, waiting for you to let go of the hug but returning it with slight pressure. “Weren’t you supposed to be in the Outer Rim? That’s where your Master sent you.” You let him go, running your fingers through his hair, making a big mess on his head. He let out an annoyed scuff, furrowing his eyebrows, but his smile betrayed him.

“Hmm,” you whispered, turning back to him to walk to the door and shut down the blinds. The Jedi might have been gone, but you weren’t sure. “I was already there. Mission accomplished.” You replied with excitement as you threw away your cloak on the counter, turning in a circle back to Qimir. His expression was to die for.

“Wait,” he picked up his hand as if to stop you from coming closer to him. You stopped your movements, a cheerful smile playing on your lips. “You killed Kelnacca, without a weapon, and managed to come back and do whatever you did for the Jedi to hunt you down?” He didn’t trust you at all, and it was painfully obvious. He circled around you to block your way, even if you had no intention of going outside and leaned against the counter.

“I killed Kelnacca without a weapon, came back here, and killed Torbin.” You smiled, hoping for Qimir to cheer up too, for he was the one always believing in you and your Master’s missions for you. “That’s why they chased me; they found out. But it’s done. I did it.” You couldn’t help but jump towards him, looking up at him as he stared you down.

“You killed them both without a weapon?” he repeated his question, scanning your figure up and down, like he was trying to figure out if you’re joking or serious. Your smile dropped, as you realized he was more of a puppet to your master than your friend. You liked Qimir, but there were times when you didn’t know what he was thinking or where he was going on random days.

You scuffed to yourself, annoyed but understanding in some way. You weren’t always the best apprentice, but you earned it. You earned your place as his pupil and hoped, one day, your master would show his face to you.

“Is this what you want?” you asked, irritated, throwing a tied bag on the counter, right next to Qimir’s hands. He was hesitant but opened the sack, revealing two Jedi lightsabers: Kelnacca’s and Torbin’s. “I could have brought their heads, but that would defeat the purpose.” You added, frustration obvious in your tone. You were so excited to tell Qimir, your friend, about the great news and were immediately let down by his reaction. You hoped he’d be happy for you, finally safe from your Master as you satisfied him with your work.

"Sorry, just shocked," he let out a small chuckle before closing the bag again and leaving it on the counter. "He'll be so pleased with you," he turned to you, a wide smile on his lips. The drastic changes in his mood always scared you, but now you were simply happy you could share the happy news with him.

“Of course I’m proud of you too,” Qimir added, coming towards you to pull you into another hug, this one warmer and more reassuring. You hesitatingly wrapped your arms around him, melting in his embrace. However small and skinny he looked behind his untidy clothes, whenever he hugged you, you almost disappeared between his arms.

“Now who’s gonna tell him?” you muttered into his shoulder before he let go of you, his hands leaving your back seconds later. You were so happy about your success that you never thought of informing your master. Even though you passed his test, you were still nervous about talking to him. His mask was scary enough for you, and his quiet mannerisms were even worse. You could never read what he was thinking, what he was planning next, or what he might be contemplating doing to you. If Qimir volunteered to inform him, you wouldn’t protest.

“Well, you should,” he stated to your bad luck. “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.” He smiled before going behind the counter to search for something on the lower shelf. You had to snort at his choice of words.

“Please,” you chuckled. “My Master? Thrilled?” You came behind Qimir, observing as his long fingers grasped a small glass of orange drink and set it on the table. “I don’t think he’s ever shown any emotions besides boredom and anger.”

“That’s because he’s wearing a mask,” Qimir pointed out, pouring the orange fluid into two separate small glasses. “Maybe he’s smiling behind it.” You admired Qimir’s delusion.

“I bet,” you started, waiting impatiently for Qimir to finish pouring the drinks, “he’s actually planning my demise behind that mask.”

Qimir handed you a glass, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Or he’s planning your next big test, which he’ll pretend doesn’t impress him but secretly makes him proud.”

You raised your glass to his, a smirk forming on your lips. “To surviving another day and confusing my Master,” you toasted.

Qimir clinked his glass against yours. “To more victories and shared secrets.”

As you took a sip, the cool, sweet liquid refreshing your parched throat, you felt a wave of gratitude wash over you. Despite the looming threat of your master’s reaction, Qimir’s unwavering support made you feel like you could handle anything. With a deep breath, you set your glass down and looked at him, determination shining in your eyes.

“Alright,” you said, your voice steady. “I’ll tell him. But if he decides to execute me, I’m holding you responsible.”

Qimir laughed, a sound that felt like a balm to your frayed nerves. “Deal. But I have a feeling you’ll come out of this stronger than ever.”

“Let’s hope,” you sighed, leaning against the counter on your elbows, letting Qimir’s eyes wash over you. “Also, he has to be hiding something.”

“What do you mean?” Qimir asked, a confused expression on his face as he put his already empty glass down.

“What if he’s deformed under the mask?” you let out, your face scrunching at the thought. “Or what if he’s just ugly?” You stared at nothing, not paying any attention to the words you were saying.

Qimir’s eyebrows twitched with amusement as he scanned you carefully. “You haven’t seen his face yet?” he asked, noticing how you played with your ring between your fingers as you stared down at the ground.

“You know I haven’t,” you replied with an annoyed sigh. “Look, I made peace with it, but I’m still curious about what he looks like. I want to know who’s teaching me all these things.” You complained, pushing yourself away from the counter, your eyes glancing at the black curtains over the window.

Qimir leaned back, crossing his arms with a thoughtful look. “I get it. It’s human nature to want to see the face behind the mask. But maybe it’s more about what he’s teaching you than what he looks like.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, shaking your head. “Leave it to you to find the deeper meaning. I just want to make sure I’m not taking orders from someone who might be scarier without the mask.”

Qimir chuckled, stepping closer. “You’ve faced Jedi Knights, completed impossible missions, and survived under his training. Whatever he looks like under that mask, you’ve proven you’re stronger than any fear or curiosity.”

His words settled over you like a comforting blanket, and you felt a bit of the tension ease from your shoulders. “You always know what to say, don’t you?” you turned back to face him, a genuine smile on your lips. Lately, you had noticed the way he looked at you. How his eyes darkened when he thought you weren’t watching. How his arms twitched your way when you walked past him and his intense gaze during your conversations. Like now.

Qimir was your friend, supplier, and occasional therapist. You could always vent to him about your Master, and he listened carefully. Many times, you slept over in his shop, passing out on the floor, exhausted from your tests and missions. You couldn’t count how many times you bled out in front of him and woke up the next day with your wounds bound and healed. You knew Qimir had his own secrets that he wasn’t confident in sharing with you, but some things kept you awake at night, wondering.

Despite his poor hygiene and greasy hair that framed his face in an unflattering way, you found him magnetic and charismatic. Something about him pulled you closer, and you didn’t know what. Between the nightmares and horrors, you were a victim to in your dreams, Qimir showed up to comfort you many times. You were embarrassed every time you woke from them, but the images never left your mind. And whenever you saw him after, you deep down wished they would become true.

Two days have passed since then, yet his intense gaze still lingered in your mind. He let you use his shop as your personal sanctuary, a hidden refuge from the Jedi that didn’t stop searching for you. Each day, you watched them through the window. Three times they've marched past, and twice they've entered, repeating the same questions, their eyes scanning for any sign of you.

Qimir once suggested you could leave the planet, but you quickly dismissed the idea. The Jedi now controlled who could leave or enter the exosphere. You regretted not hiding Torbin’s body, leaving him there to rot. Anger had taken over. You wanted the Jedi to find him. You wanted to shove it in their faces.

The days began to stretch into what felt like weeks, with only the tension between you and Qimir keeping you alert, even though it made time drag. The first night when you jumped out of the shower and had to borrow his clothes, you didn’t miss the way his eyes flew to your legs that the towel didn’t fully cover. Or when you tied your hair into a braid, his gaze never wavered. You didn't mind being observed, but with Qimir, it was different. His gaze made your stomach flip, and you couldn’t decide if in a good or bad way. His touch made you shiver, his presence alone made your skin burn. The only relief was that he wasn’t sensitive to the Force. If he knew what you thought every time you saw his hands or brushed against him, you’d want to drown yourself.

A few hours after you hid in his shop and got drunk together, you both decided it would be fun to practice some moves and fighting techniques, without lightsabers. Minutes later, you found yourself straddling Qimir’s lap, pinning his hands above his head. You knew he could easily turn the tables and have his way with you, but he didn't move a muscle. Instead, he laid there, letting you crush his lap as he circled your face. You remembered it vividly: how his breath tickled you, how his lips were so close that moving an inch would ruin your carefully built friendship. You were grateful for the self-control classes your Master put you through.

Now you were seated on the floor, leaning against the cold surface of the counter, staring out the window. The black curtains were no obstacle to you. You heard Qimir coming out of the shower; he didn’t want to smell like the gasoline you accidentally spilled on him. You held a glass of some beverage Qimir had prepared, both of you slowly getting dizzy from boredom and drinks. Resting your head against the table, you closed your eyes and saw Qimir through the Force. He was still in his small, cozy bathroom, drying himself with a towel. His hair was wet but looked better than it had a few days ago. His back muscles flexed as he raised his arms to dry his hair. You hadn't realized he was so fit under his clothes, and it made you squirm in your seat.

You knew you shouldn’t be spying on him like this, but the only time you had seen him like this was in your dreams, and reality was far more enticing. Your thoughts grew louder with each passing second, one screaming over another.

He was your friend and also worked for your Master. It would be wrong. You knew the consequences it could have on your relationship with Qimir, and you didn’t want to risk it. But the way he looked at you, the way his proximity made you feel, and the thought of his body against yours drove you crazy.

Your Master wasn’t against you having lovers and fulfilling your desires, as long as you stayed loyal to him. But you weren’t sure how he would feel if his two subjects started something together.

“You alright?” Qimir’s voice woke you from your thoughts as he stood in front of you. Only in his pants. You looked up at him, trying to contain your craving as you checked him up. Droplets still falling down his chest as he leaned against the other shelf, looking down at you from dangerous vicinity.

You almost choked on air, forcing yourself to look away.

“Yeah,” you choked on your words, lifting the glass to take a sip of your untouched brew. “Why you ask?” you forced a smile, missing his still wet, glossy chest to get to his face. Your heart dropped as you met with his prolonged stare. Half-lidded dark eyes staring right at you, his silhouette towering over you as he took a step closer, throwing the towel he was holding on the table.

“You staring into distance kind of scared me.” He chuckled, tilting his head as he leaned against the counter, you almost broke your neck looking up at him. He was right above you.

His hand was placed right above his pants that got to caress his thighs first. His skin was clean and wet, scars decorating his abs. His muscular chest was uncovered, free for you to admire. When he spoke to you his voice was low and raspy, different from the one he usually used. Your heart fluttered as you noticed his eyes wondering around you as he awaited your response.

You had to move, you thought to yourself. Pushing yourself against the floor you lifted yourself to your legs, the drink in your hand spilling as your hand twitched from almost falling into Qimir’s arms. You could feel the warmth radiating of off him and smell the shower gel he used. His hair was dripping wet, droplets adoring his sharp collarbones. His nipples were hard from the chilly temperature in the shop, his forearm big and large, holding his body above the table.

“Just, concentrating.” You coughed, putting the glass on the counter. “So,” you woke yourself from your dreaming, turning away from him, trying hard not to stumble. The drinking wasn’t as bad as Qimir’s half naked figure centimeters away from you. You felt faint and your thoughts only got worse, like somebody was putting them in. You felt a pressure, but you were convinced you were doing it to yourself subconsciously.

“Is everything okay?” You heard Qimir asked again behind you, feeling him walk towards you. You could feel his hands lifting, so when you turned back to face him, they brushed against your stomach. You had to fight back a moan.

“Just, the Jedi thing.” You smiled, hoping you were convincing enough, and he wouldn’t suspect even the theme of your thoughts. Resting your hip against the table and crossing your arms against your chest, you put a leisure expression on your face, as your mind raced with images. “It’s stressing me out.” You unnecessary added, trying to stare anywhere but his face or his arms or his exposed chest. He had to be cold.

“It’ll pass in a few days.” He smirked, lifting his arm to rest it against your shoulder. The cold skin made you gasp but not as much as his dark eyes.

“I just don’t want to bother you here for days.” You tried to convince yourself. “You surely have things to do, and my Master will be waiting for the news. I’ll go after sundown.” You didn’t wanna go but you had to inform your Master and the air between you and Qimir started to be intoxicating if you didn’t do anything.

“I’m sure he already knows.” He cocked his head, pulling his arm away but leaving his fingers to tickle your skin.

“You told him?” you wondered, pushing your thighs together as a small smirk appeared on his smile.

Fuck.

“No,” he denied, his eyes leaving yours, to trace them down your body. “But I’m sure he knows. Maybe he wants you to relax for a while.” He implied. You dropped your gaze from his eyes to his lips, your core slowly heating up.

“I would rather still be sure,” you swallowed your saliva, your voice breaking, his body dangerously close to yours. “Aren’t you cold?” you let out, embarrassment washing over you. He let out a chuckle when he saw your hand awkwardly pointing at his bare chest.

“Not really,” he replied, scanning your expression. He knew you were nervous; he knew your legs were about to give up and how you struggled to pretend to breathe normally. He enjoyed every second of it.

“Good, good.” You uttered, nodding along. “As long as you’re comfortable.” You wanted to fall into some deep hole and never come out.

“Are you comfortable?” he purred, closing the space between you two, his hand lifting to your face but not actually touching you. Just hanging there, below your jaw, right next to your neck.

“Why, why wouldn’t I be.” You stumbled over your words, his eyes burning your skin open. You felt his breath against your face, his curtain bangs brushing over your forehead. His feet met with yours, his chest in front of your face.

“You don’t look the best.” He whispered, leaning in, his lips now touching your ears, sending shivers down your spine. You moved your hand to the counter next to you, praying and holding yourself for dear life. “I think you need to relax.” He teased against your ear, slowly moving to your neck.

“I think I should get ready to go.” You panted, but not moving a muscle. His one hand moved right next to yours on the table, fingertips touching yours. You were so frozen by his lips tickling your neck, you inhaled sharply when you felt his hand sneak behind your waist to pull you against him. Your hands automatically pressed against his chest, closing your eyes.

“If you want,” he rasped, lifting himself to face you. You couldn’t recognize him. His eyes were pitch-black dark, animalistic look set in them. His lips were full and pink, not a sign of the Qimir that you talked to few minutes ago. You were breathless, your heart pounding heart against your ribs.

“Do you want to go?” he whispered, carnal lust in his gaze staring right back at you. You felt the wetness between your legs growing stronger with every passing second. “Do you want me to let you go?”

“No.” you answered so fast you felt ashamed. But what followed fulfilled all your dreams and more.

All the useless items and glasses on table thrown on the floor without any of you touching them, to make a room for you as Qimir lifted you up on the counter. You shakily brought your hands into his hair as he dived into your lips, imitating sex. His hands groped your breasts, fondling them and pinching your nipples through the thin fabric of your borrowed blouse.

You felt his hand abandon your face, making its way between your legs, feeling your wetness through the pants. You were soaked. You didn’t miss the smile on his lips when his fingers pushed against your core, feeling how wet and useless you were for him.

You whimpered against his mouth when he pulled away, resting against your forehead as you breathed each other air.

“For how long you were this wet?” he smirked against your lips, his fingers putting pressure against your pants making you gasp. He knew the answer, he knew exactly what you liked and where you liked it. But he wanted to hear it coming from your mouth.

“Since I first saw you,” you muttered, rolling your hips against his fingers for more friction. As soon as you made that movement, he pulled his fingers away to shoved them inside your mouth. You didn’t protest and without hesitation started to circle your tongue around them. His fingers were thick and long, making you choke when he moved them deeper.

“Such a fucking slut.” He growled, his legs spreading yours apart. Your heart fluttered at his words and confirming its statement when you let out a moan, from his fingers sneaking its way under your pants and panties to find your burning clit. You threw your head back, as your back arched, wanting to feel more of his touch.

Qimir watched you with satisfaction spread on his face as he felt you getting wetter and wetter, your body responding to his digits. He continued teasing your clit, rubbing it in circles as his other hand squeezed your breast roughly.

“You want it that bad?” he murmured, his voice raspy and electrifying. He chuckled at your failed attempt to respond, inserting his finger into your soaked hole. He pumped it slow and deep, reveling in your reaction. “No worries now.” He taunted.

Qimir couldn’t keep the smirk off his face as he watched you squirm and moan. He relished the power he had over you, keeping you in the dark and letting you believe you weren't being humiliated in front of your Master. He added another finger, scissoring them to stretch you for his cock.

“Let me hear you beg for it,” His eyes gleamed with lust as he towered over you, plunging his fingers deeper inside of your cunt. He curled his fingers inside you, rubbing your g-spot as he pumped them faster. “I want to hear you plead for my cock.”

You had no idea Qimir had this in him, but you were so dizzy because of his fingers fucking you hard, you had no strength to focus on anything else.

“Please Qim-“you shivered, eyes rolling back in your head. “Please I need you inside me.” Your breath hitched, his fingers curling and spreading your cunt.

“Atta girl.” He whispered to himself before pulling his fingers out of you, receiving a vulgar insult thrown at him. He relished in seeing you like this. He dreamed of this every day, wanting you, his pupil, spread open in front of him, letting him take you however he wanted. You were his and he was gonna make sure you understood what exactly that meant.

He smirked mischievously before leaning forward to kiss you deeply, wrapping his arms around you tightly. “Once I start, complain all you want, I’m not gonna stop.” He whispered against your lips before breaking away and looking deep into your eyes. He was a totally different man and it made you shiver throughout all your body. Even his energy changed, letting it wrap around you in the Force.

Qimir startled you when his hands landed on your chest, pushing you back so you’d lay open on the counter, legs spread open for him to take. Smiling excitedly, he grabbed your hips and move you closer to the edge of the table, before slowly unbuckling his pants.

“You ready?” he asked, licking his lips before pulling his cock out, already covered in pre-cum. He looked so beautiful above you, his hips so close to yours, his hair falling into his face and his chest raising as fast as yours. You looked a mess, but you were his mess and he wanted to devour you.

Nodding, you made yourself comfortable on the table, its cold surface making you shiver.

Smirking, he positioned his dick at your entrance and slowly thrust himself inside, making sure to stretch you nice and slow, taking his time to make the moment last. He bit back a moan, looking down at you lovingly as you struggled to keep your eyes open and not pass out at his thick cock filling you up.

“You’re doing great so far for me.” He grinned, before pulling out and slamming back in, his movements becoming faster and rougher. You forced yourself to grab the ends of the table to hold yourself in place, Qimir’s grip on your hips being nothing compared to the way he was treating your pussy.

His thrusts became harder, loving the way your walls wrapped around his cock, squeezing him tightly with each thrust.

“You’re finally getting what you dreamed of,” he groaned, lifting your hips to drive his cock deeper before pounding away. “Getting fucked by your Master.”

You cried out when his cock brushed against your sweet spot, not realizing the meaning of his words until seconds later.

“What,” you tried to lift your head up, but the way his grip tightened on your waist to fuck you harder had you failing to catch your breath. Your heart started to pound faster as the realization hits.

He saw your expression change but your body kept replying to his merciless thrusts. His hand moved from your waist to reach for your head, lifting you up, face to face. His forehead was covered in sweat, his long hair curling around his ears.

“You did so well on your last mission, I had to reward you.” He panted, not stopping his assault on your cunt. He read the conflict in your mind, letting you come to your own conclusion.

“You’re,” you trembled, his cock spreading your walls so good you had trouble to even consider the words he was saying, denying yourself.

“You’re such a good apprentice but such a slut now,” he mocked you, his hand moving from your hair to your neck, putting in pressure. “I wished you realized sooner tho. We could’ve had this every little visit of yours.” You cried out as his hand fully wrapped around your neck, his cock never stopping filling your cunt.

“Master, I don’t understand,” you managed to breathe out, feeling his cock start twitching inside your walls. You heard him groan, right next to your ear, at the feeling of your tight hole gripping him. He started to thrust harder, feeling the friction build up.

Resting your foreheads against each other and swallowing each other’s moans, had the both of you sweat, the room picking up your scents.

Qimir reached down, rubbing your clit as he continued to fuck you hard. He could feel the tension building inside of you and knew you were close.

“Cum for me, love.” He growled, his hand never leaving your neck and pulling you closer to him. “Cum for your Master.” He hitched, picking up the pace, slamming into you as hard as he could. He could feel his own orgasm approaching.

His grip on your throat tightened as he fucked you harder and faster, slowly losing control of his strength. He could see the look of pure ecstasy on your face as he pounded into you and squeezed your throat harder. Your hand automatically few to his hand that held you, struggling to breathe but not enough to make you pass out.

“You belong to me,” his voice broke, letting you know he was getting closer and closer to losing it. “You’re mine.” He whimpered into your ear, his hips bucking wildly, driving his cock deep inside of you as he came, filling you up, marking you as his. His paced slowed down to match yours, wanting to feel you cum around him, your walls almost crushing him.

Qimir didn’t move and kept his cock inside you, letting himself and you calm down and try to catch your breath. As you regain your composure, your head against Qimir’s chest, your mind almost exploded with the overwhelming thoughts.

I fucked Qimir.

I fucked my Master.

Qimir was my Master all along.

You wanted to run away, hide yourself and never come out, but Qimir’s, your Master’s arms wrapped around you and your pussy still keeping his cock warm, had you melting, not wanting to move an inch. You were confused, terrified, and thrilled all at the same time. All the times when Qimir disappeared without explanation, all the time he lied to the Jedi or did things only Force sensitive beings could achieve. It all made sense now and clicked together like a puzzle.

But you also realized he had the power to read your thought all along. He could see the impure images, the ideas, and pictures you had in your mind. Your complains and desires. Your fear. But that didn’t matter anymore. You let your Master used you, like the good apprentice you were. You had no idea what would happen now, your heart wanting to jump out of your chest, your skin covered in goosebumps. You were scared but the desire was stronger. And if Qimir ever taught you something was to transform those emotions into power. And you had enough desire to annihilate the entire Jedi order, with Qimir by your side.

[eddiemunsons-missingnipple]

Next caller.

《 Pairings: College!Eddie Munson x shyfem!reader

《 Summary: Eddie hosts a late night radio show for his college campus, where he discusses various different topics. He's mostly known for his DnD and sex talk segments. You've been a long-time listener who works up the courage to finally call in for some help.

《 Warnings: Smut, 90s!Eddie, he's around 24 here. Phone sex, dirty talk, voyeurism, masturbation (female), sex toys. Eddie refers to the reader as sweetheart, good girl, and Miss caller. I didn't want to use y/n, so he's given you some pet names instead.

Word count: 3.9k

A/N: Please reblog, comment, and like to show support. Not proofread. Please ignore mistakes.

Mini series masterlist

18+ no minors

Year 1990

Eddie was in his final semester of college with a very popular radio show. He became pretty much well-known on campus overnight. His radio show is known as "The Munson Experience," and it slowly became an overnight hit.

Fans of DnD tuned in for his hour of lore telling and tips on how to build up your fantasy world. Metal heads tuned in for his controversial opinions on bands. Others listened specifically for his special segments in regard to the topic of sex. Boyfriends called for advice on dating and different ways to get their girls off. Girlfriends called him to give thank you's and ask what they could do to repay the favor. He would have callers tell him their most outrageous stories.

Eddies show became popular very fast after he introduced his sex segment. He even became some what of celebrity at your college. He never used a different name or tried to use any type of anonymity. He didn't care if people knew him for his show or even liked him for it.

He was unapologetically himself at all times. You seen him around campus walking from one lecture to the next. Eddie would always wear an old band tee with the sleeves cut off, turning into a muscle tank. He liked showing off his tattoos. One arm fully covered in dark ink all the way down to the top of his hand. The other arm had a few tattoos scattered here and there. His hair was almost past his shoulders, and he had a small nose ring in his left nostril.

You'd always watch from afar as people would approach him to make small talk. The guys rushed over to invite him to their house parties and girls, giving out their personal phone numbers. It was no secret that Eddie knew how to please women. You heard the stories, and judging by his advice on his show, you believed them. He would even share his own personal hook up stories sometimes during the segment.

You and Eddie only ever had one class last semester together, but he never even made a single glance your way. You never approached him either, opting to just admire from distance and make your way to class. Every evening, you did, however, turn on the radio to listen to his show. Truthfully, you only listened to hear his voice. You had no idea what he was rambling on about most of the time, but you didn't care. His barritone voice was like warm honey to your ears. You found comfort in listening to him every night before bed. It was strange how the moment his show started, your stress of the day just melted away.

One day, you were going to call him for help about something you had never told anymore before. You already felt like you could trust him with this sort of thing. You were determined to speak to him even if you had to confess never having had an orgasm before. You don't know why you're putting so much trust into him, but you have.

You were desperate for his help and attention if you're going to be honest. You would lay in bed daydreaming about being in those other girls' shoes when he described what he did to them. How he would feel between your legs. Having his weight on top of you as you came undone beneath him.

Maybe you'll call in to his show tomorrow? What harm could it do? No one would even know it was you on the other line. You didn't have many friends on campus, so it's not like anyone would make the distinction so quickly. This would all be completely anonymous.

You just needed to speak with him. You never could work up the courage to talk to him in real life. You've always been too shy and easily intimidated. Eddie was a nice guy from what you could tell. There was nothing to be intimidated by at all. You would always get butterflies in your stomach when you saw him around. He made your stomach do flips when he flashed a smile, revealing the dimples in his cheeks. You could never work up the courage to ever approach him, so you just settle for your fantasies instead.

A few weeks went by, and you still haven't called. Not that you didn't try. You would call and hang up when you heard what you assumed was an assistant answer the phone. The moment you heard, "Thank you for calling in to the munson." You slammed the phone on the receiver. Not even letting the poor guy finish his sentence. This situation was driving you crazy you were convinced he could and would help with your problem. You assured yourself he was the only one who could because you didn't want anyone else to.

You mope around your shared home with your roommate, Monica. She could tell something was bothering you but never pressed on the issue. You two weren't the closest, but there was a mutual respect and love for one another. She'd try to get you to go out to parties with her but knew not to pressure you. The moment she heard a no, she left it at that, shrugging her shoulders and leaving you be.

"I can tell something is bugging you." she asked for the millionth time that week.

You sigh. "Im fine, I swear -- just little stressed." You put on a fake smile heading back to your room, leaving her to continue getting ready her date. Hoping she won't ask you again, you locked yourself away for the night. There was a light knock at your door, and you heard your roommates muffled voice from the other side. "I'll be back late. Get some sleep, okay?"

You ignore her as she leaves for the evening. Flopping yourself back against your pillows, you turned to look at your phone. Then, glance at your clock, it read 10:45 pm. It's almost time for his last segment of the night. Should you call? Would tonight be the night? You rolled over on your side, staring between the clock and your phone.

You sat up quickly, snatching the phone and dialing the numbers. Your heart already pumping with adrenaline when you hear the dial tone. A lump in your throat builds from nerves and excitement. Tonight was the night, and you were not going to chicken out this time. You hear the distinct voice on the other end of the call. "Thank you for calling into the munson experience. What are you calling in for."

You struggle to find your voice for a moment. The man on the other end is waiting for you to respond, and he almost hangs up, thinking it's another crank call. "I'm calling to speak to Eddie." You're voice barely even a whisper that you needed to repeat yourself three times. Eventually, they put you on hold while they got ready for his final segment. You exhale a deep breath you didn't even know you were holding in.

The sound of the music they put you on hold to cut off and your stomach drops. This was it you were finally going to do it. Not only were you going to speak to him, but you were also about to confess something that always made you feel embarrassed. You know it's nothing to be ashamed about truly. Judging by the countless women who called in with a similar problem looking for advice.

The music playing on the radio fades, and you hear him greet you."Hi, thank you for calling in. How can I be of assistance?"

You struggled to find your voice yet again.

"Hello? C'mon, don't be shy. This is a judgment free zone here." He leaned forward in his chair, getting closer to the microphone.

"Umm, hi, I was calling for something I think only you can help me with." You're clutching the phone in a tight grip against your ear. Your hands are shaking, and you hope no one can recognize you.

He leans back in his rolling chair. "And who am I speaking with."

"I....I'd rather not give you my name." You stammered. Your anxiety is building up, and you are so close to hanging up.

"That's okay. We'll keep this anonymous." He replied.

His brows raise for a moment as he listened to you talk. You sounded a little too familiar to him, and he has a sneaking suspension he might know who you are. He won't out you just in case he might be wrong and also respecting your wishes to remain anonymous.

You take a deep breath. "Well, you see, I've never...I don't know how to say this."

"You never what?" Have sex or something? " He asked, but his voice showed no emotions.

"No...I mean I'm not a virgin or anything like that. I just....I've had boyfriends, and anytime we did stuff, I never-- finished." You confessed to him.

His eyes widened for a moment, and he felt a pain of sadness in his heart. He could tell you were scared to reveal something so personal like that. Especially to him, a total stranger on a live radio show with hundreds of listeners. "You never had an orgasm before. Is that what you're trying to tell me?"

Pinching the bridge of your nose." Yes, that's what I'm telling you."

"Huh, okay, have you tried getting yourself off, at least?" He questioned, spinning around in his chair. His assistant, the other side of the room, listened Intently to the conversation.

"Well you see that's my problem anytime I tried to make myself cum I just kinda give up. I get so close and right when I'm there... I stop." You blurt out as you feel a weight being lifted from your shoulders.

He ponders for a moment before responding. "And how can I help you with this exactly? "

"Well, I was hoping you could guide me through it." Your face scrunching up as the words left your mouth. You knew this was a dumb idea from the start. He wasn't going to help you, and any moment now, you're waiting to hear him laugh at how ridiculous this is. There's a long, almost uncomfortable silence.

Eddie, on the other side of the line in his booth, is in utter disbelief. Sure, he definitely wants to guide you through that experience. What guy wouldn't? He just truly can not believe this was happening live on HIS show. His assistant kept mouthing no to him, knowing this could end badly. Eddie doesn't care he's doing it. He picks up his old bandana that's been discarded on the table and wipes sweat from his forehead. He nods back at the assistant, signaling hes going along with it whether people like it or not.

Picking up his yoyo, he props his feet up on the table in front of him. "You want me to help you cum?" Is that correct?"

"Yes, that's what I want. I need you to help me any way you can." You're sounding more desperate than intended.

"Okay, well, miss caller. I think im the perfect guy for the job." He smiles tossing the yoyo back and forth to the palm of his hand.

You smile as the anxiety you felt early slowly fades away.

"What are we using tonight, sweetheart? Fingers or toys?" He asked tossing his yoyo aside.

"Umm, I have a toy I can use." You closed your eyes tight, answering his question.

"Do you want me to talk dirty to you while we do this, sweetheart? " He got his voice lower in the mic, causing your breath to hitch.

'Uhh, yes... I'd like that a lot, actually." You bite your lower lip, anticipating what he's planning.

A grin plastered on his face while his mouth gets unbelievably closer to the mic. His voice felt so close to your ear. Your skin prickles with goosebumps. "Are you laying back, sweetheart?"

"....uhh,yes, I'm laying in bed." Your voice shakey on the other end.

"Good girl, get nice and comfortable for me."

You involuntarily squeeze your thighs together when you hear him calling you a "good girl." You turn off your bedside light and let the warm glow from your candles set the mood.

"What are you wearing?" He asked, licking his lips.

"A shirt and panties." You replied, looking down at yourself.

"Yeah? wanna take those panties off for me." He continued on making his voice low and deep. Similar to his DM voice, he would put on during his DnD segments. A shiver runs down your spine, and you can feel yourself getting wetter. There is a small wet patch already forming on the thin lace material of your panties.

You moved and carefully dragged the delicate lace down your legs, tossing them across your room. "They're off."

"That's a good girl." He praised.

You lay there patiently waiting for him to continue.

"Can you be my good girl and grab that little toy you told me about?" He asked you, feeling himself growing hard as well. He still can't believe he's doing this but doesn't want to stop. "Do you have it?"

Reaching over to your bedside table, you open the drawer, grabbing the small vibrator.

"I got it." You whisper into the phone.

He readjusts in his seat, "Turn it on for me."

You do as he says and turn the small vibrator onto the lowest setting. That ball of nerves in the pit of your stomach creeps back in. You want to do this, but the thought of hundreds of people listening to you right makes you second guess the decision.

"On second thought, maybe this was a bad idea." You admit trying to fight back tears as a lump in your throat forms.

"No, no hey its okay. What's wrong?" He asked, sounding concerned.

"I--i just remembered there are people listening." You stumble over your words as you try not to cry. Feeling a little ridiculous that you're even going through with this.

He frowns to himself. " Listen, it's just me, and you okay? If you don't want to do this, I understand you can always hang up."

"Yes, please." You spoke sofly.

"NO!--I want to do this." You blurt out. Once again, there is a long pause as he's thinking of the right things to say. Eddie doesn't want to make you feel pressured. He wants this to be an enjoyable moment. "Shall we continue?"

"That's my good girl." He cooed.

You whimper lowly into the phone, but it doesn't go unnoticeable. He already knows how to get you riled up, and he hasn't even gotten started yet. "You like that, don't you?"

"You like it when I call you a good girl?" He teased.

You gulped into the phone." Yeah."

His assistant in the next room is chewing on his nails out of pure terror. He's never seen this happen before on a live radio show, and he just knows what a shit storm it could cause. Eddie doesn't seem to mind at all his focus and attention were strictly on you.

"I want you grab that toy and put it to your clit. Can you do that for me?" He gets his voice low again. Your nipples harden under the thin material of your shirt. You bring the vibrator to your sensitive bud and gasp when you feel the vibrations.

"Okay, sweetheart, now think of me between those thighs. Think of my lips wrapped around your clit sucking so so softly. Imagine my face buried between your legs.." He's breathing heavier into the mic. His cock getting painfully hard in his jeans "Are you thinking about it?"

"Mmm, y--yes I'm...I'm imagining you there." You gasp and moan in the phone.

"I know you must be soaked right now. I wish I was there with you, spreading you open with my tongue. I bet you taste so fucking good" He kept going his voice getting more seductive in your ear.

"Is this your first time thinking of me like this?"

A sly grin creeps up on his face as he probably already knows the answer.

"I bet you have. I'm sure you've seen me around our campus. You've probably wondered what it would be like having my thick cock deep inside you. I would make you cum so fucking hard." He's getting really into it now, and his heart races with excitement.

You sink further into your bed as the vibrator continues working on your clit. Your hips bucking up as you writhe on your blanks, taking in every word he spoke. The phone keeps falling from your ear the more relaxed you become. Your mind in a fog while you listen to him say the dirtiest things. No one has ever spoken to you like this before, not even your ex-boyfriends. "Hey, you there?"

You gasp, "Yes, I'm here."

"Great. I need you to try and keep the phone to your ear as best you can for this part. Now with your other hand, use your fingers to fuck yourself but keep that vibrator where it is, got it?" He sounded much more serious this time.

You kept the vibrator right where it was at while you gently brought two fingers to your entrance. You slide them between your wet folds, getting them covered in your juices. You bite your lower lip hard as you teased around your dripping pussy. You hear him groan in the other end of the phone and wonder if he's enjoying this just as much as you are. You gently dip your two fingers inside you, getting them as deep as they possibly could go. "Ooh! Fuck." You moaned in his ear.

"Yeah, that's it pretend your fingers are my cock sweetheart." His let out a shakey breath.

"I bet your so fucking tight. Just thinking about your tight pussy taking my cock is making me so hard." He's getting himself riled up.

He rubbs the back of his neck, trying to stay focused. "I'd have to take my time with you first. Working you open until you're ready to take all of me."

"Is it big?" You ask him meekly, panting into the phone while your fingers stretch you open.

"Fuck baby--id have you feeling so full." He groaned in the mic, struggling to keep himself composed. Clenching his jaw tight as he opens and closes his fists.

Eddies tries his best to resist rubbing himself over his jeans as he listened to you. He has to remember this isn't about him right now it's all about you. His sole purpose of the night is making you cum and he's determined you will.

Your fingers continue pumping in and out at a vigorous pace. The vibrator placed carefully on your sore bud while you try your best not to drop the phone again. "I can hear your dripping pussy from here."

His words turn you on even more, making you grow wetter for him. Your body is covered in beads of sweat as your face grows hot. Your pussy making a loud schlick noise with every pump of your fingers.

"Feel good?" He asked you with amusement etched in his tone.

"Yes, it feels so good." You let out weak pathetic response. "Oh my god!" You squealed into the phone. Desperately trying to keep it balanced between your head and shoulder. You're a moaning, whimpering mess, and you don't care how loud you're being. You've never felt like this before it's terrifying and thrilling all at the same time.

He laughs, rubbing his chin letting out a quiet grunt before speaking again, "You sound so sexy when you make those little noises."

His listeners are having a hard time distinguishing if he's getting himself off in the process or if he's just playing it up for the moment. They're used to his crazy antics, but this was something entirely new. They were all shocked and impressed they were getting to witness this.

Your fingers pumping harder as you curve them upwards to rub against that sweet spot on your walls. Your thighs shake as you arch your back off the bed. You imagined they were his cock instead pounding in and out of your pussy like this. You feel a tightness in your core building up, and you know you're getting close.

"You're getting close, aren't you?" He whispered seductively.

"S'close." You whined.

"That's it be a good girl and cum." Cum all over my cock." He groaned.

The vibrator on your clit helping to bring you closer to your release. You spread your legs them even further apart. You're moaning louder into the phone. You can't even hear Eddie's voice anymore. Fucking yourself with your fingers is becoming difficult the closer you are to your release. Your walls clenching up tightly around them, and your pulse quickening.

You plunge them in and out of your pussy faster. That coil in your tummy is getting tighter. The feeling is all too familiar, and you start to get scared. What if you can't get past this part? You're doubting yourself again. You let out a deep breath and relax your mind.

Your legs shut involuntarily, and the vibrator falls from between your thighs. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your first ever orgasm rips through your body with so much intensity. Your vision goes black, and you stop breathing for a second. The phone lays abandoned next to your head, having dropped it long ago. You can hear Eddie's muffled voice calling out for you.

Tears begin pouring from the corners of your eyes. You couldn't help getting emotional after all of that. Not only was this your first time ever being able to have an orgasm, but the entirety of the situation was starting to set in. You felt amazing, and Eddie did such a great job helping you along the way. There were just some insecurities starting to creep in that you wanted to keep away. He's the only man that's ever made you feel like this, and you hope maybe one day you'd find the courage to meet him in person.

Everything went dead silent for a few minutes except for a few sniffles you hope no one else could hear. Your body glistening with sweat and your thighs sticky with your juices. You're still coming down from your high as your tears slowly fade away.

"You there, sweetheart? You heard him ask from a short distance.

With shakey hands, you pick up the phone to your ear. "Mmhmm...I'm still here." Your voice coming out small.

"You did so good for me." He praised you one last time. "It's okay. I'm right here He reassured.

"How was it?" He asked, hoping you had a good time.

"It was overwhelming but amazing." You smile weakly into the phone. You can't see him, but he's smiling back.

"Yea knew I'd be perfect for the job. Haven't had one complaint yet." His cockiness coming back almost immediately. Just as he was about to reach for a pack of cigarettes, he noticed he's way over his scheduled time. His eyes widened in a panic as he locked eyes with the clock above him.

His assistant busts through the door, signaling that the show is now officially over for the night. Eddie startles for a moment before jumping out of his chair and yanks the mic up to his mouth to close out the rest of the segment.

He slams his hands down on the table enthusiastically. "GOOD!..GREAT!-- and that's it for tonight's show everybody thank you all for listening. Thank you to our lovely caller, and if you guys wanna see my band play, come visit us at The Hideout every Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday nights. Especially you miss caller you can come see me anytime you like."

You listened to him give thanks to everyone when the song called "about a girl" from some band named Nirvana fades away his outro. You flopped back down on your bed. Your body is way too weak to even roll over your legs feeling like jello.

Laying there resisting the urge to fall asleep, wanting to savor this special moment as long as you could. You thought about what he said before hanging up. You were definitely wanted to see him soon. You had to after this night. You needed to finally meet him and maybe repay the favor.

[buck-star]

Your love | L.H

>> He’s a monster, he was made to be one, so why should you even think about loving him? But somehow you do it anyway, he doesn’t quite understand it, he doesn’t want to broke you, but he can’t be on distance with you either. <<

Pairing: Bestfriend!Logan Howlett x Bestfriend!Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 2.711 Words

Warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, Logan thinking he doesn’t deserve love, slight argument, crying, best-friends to lovers, love confession

Authors Note: It’s my first time writing for Logan, and it might be not much like him. But I wanted to give that broken boy a bit of comfort! Dividers made by me.

Events: Trick or treat [Logan Howlett, trick/treat, best friends to lovers, “I thought you will never say that.”], Seasonal-Delights Bingo: Fall Edition [Row Three-Three, taking care of each other]

Masterlist | Logan Howlett Masterlist

“Can you please stop looking at me like that?” He grumbled; his voice was low and deep, while his eyes darkened slightly. You kept looking at him with such a sweet, almost admiring expression, and he just couldn’t look at you when you did that.

Logan didn’t understand how someone like you could care for someone like him, but still, you looked at him with the softest, sweetest expression he has ever seen. And then the smile that was across your face, the kindest and most assuring one he thought possible.

“Like what?” You asked, not sure what he meant. You always looked at him like that, and he never complained about it. But now, suddenly, he did. You narrowed your eyes, tilting your head slightly to the side. The smile and the soft expression were still visible, and he cursed himself quietly.

“Like you actually care, like you could actually love me. A monster, the animal I was turned into. The one that’s still there, because you can’t... you can’t love it,” he groaned. Logan was desperate for love, for affection — things he never got but still craved. But on the other side, he was too scared to admit it — to let someone close — it was too dangerous that he could hurt that person. That Logan could hurt the one person who meant everything to him — you.

He ran his fingers through his hair and closed his eyes for a moment. Logan needed a moment to breathe deeply, trying to calm himself down — or else he would be on his knees begging you for love. He let himself fall back on the couch next to you; there was still some distance, but you felt his weight pushing down the cushions underneath you.

“Just— please stop looking at me like that, like I could be more than just an animal,” he mumbled, loud enough for you to understand. Your heart felt heavy as he spoke those words. You knew he had trouble seeing the worth in himself, but you didn’t think he thought of himself as an animal and nothing else.

Your eyes widened and your jaw dropped, a soft gasp leaving them. You were speechless; so many thoughts ran through your head, but none of them wanted to be spoken out loud.

You knew what he did, but you also knew that it wasn’t his decision that he was used for experiments. Used because he was a mutant; he was used by then so they could get his DNA so they would have been able to make more “of them." They tried to break him, tried to make his abilities as best as they could to copy him after. They just needed him as a weapon, as an animal who didn’t care, who just did whatever and whenever they told him to do the assignment.

“Logan—“ you got interrupted by his low growl. A cold shiver ran down your spine, and you liked him directly into his eyes, trying to understand why he wanted to push you away. His brown orbs were staring into yours while you tried to bring the thoughts into your head in an order.

“Don’t. Just don’t.” He shook his head; his expression was pleading — you have never seen him that pained and broken from the inside before. But the way he looked at you, pleading eyes that were watering slightly, your heart clenched, and you just wanted to reach out and assure him that he was way more than what he thought about himself. “Please, can you just stop looking at me like that, bub.”

You nodded slightly, not really liking the idea of looking at him any other way than you always did. Your smile faded, and you turned your face to look at the little table in front of the couch you were sitting at. Logan groaned next to you; he didn't like the idea of you looking away from him either, but he just couldn't let you give him the hope that he could ever be more than the animal he was.

“How do you want me to look at you?” You asked, your voice cold and caused a shiver to run down his spine. He swallowed thickly, unsure how to answer your question — he didn't know, he really didn't. “Do you even want me to look at you?”

His heart clenched; he wanted nothing more than you looking at him. Logan needed you to look at him, but on the other side, he just couldn't handle the thought of being able to break such an innocent and sweet soul like yours. He was rough, blood stuck to his hands, and he was a monster, but you? You were the sweetest, most adorable, and most precious person he has ever met. Logan couldn't allow himself to let someone like you be close to someone like him — he didn't deserve your love, and you would be safer when you didn’t give him hope to be more than just an animal.

“I–I want you, just…” He inhaled deeply. His heart felt so heavy when he saw half of your face. The light and happiness almost completely turned into darkness and sadness. He didn't want to hurt you, but he couldn't bear seeing you act around him like he was actually loveable. “I want you to look at me, bub. Just not with that sweet and innocent expression, because—”

You interrupted him when you turned your face toward him. And in the very moment he wanted to say sorry, to ask you to just forget about his ask. The coldness — just like he asked for — was visible in your eyes; as much as he tried to push the upcoming fear that he could have pushed you away now, he liked it better — not for himself but for your protection.

“Thank you for letting me decide who I think is worth my love and who isn't,” you said. Without another word or waiting for an answer, you got up from the couch, shaking your head. Your heart broke into pieces the further you walked to the door and away from Logan. His mouth dropped open as he watched you leave the room, knowing that you wouldn’t look back. His words were stuck in his throat, and he couldn't help but feel his heart breaking as well.

As much as he wanted to protect you from him, he couldn't handle your cold shoulder either. Plus, he did break your heart now anyway — so maybe he should have given you the chance to decide if you could love him. But only maybe, because deep down he knew he did neither deserve you nor your love.

Only when the front door of his apartment closed with a loud thud, he blinked again and let the air he was holding in out slowly. “Good job, Logan,” he mumbled to himself before running his hand over his face and trying to calm himself down. Maybe you just go for a walk and come back after?

“Bub, please,” he mumbled, hoping you would finally pick up. It’s the at least fifth time he tried to call you, but there was still no answer. You didn’t reply to his messages, and you didn’t pick up when he called. Logan just wanted to make it up to you; he wanted to take back all those things he said and just keep going to the point where you stopped before he asked you to look with a less lovely expression at him.

There was still no answer, and he was almost ready to break everything around him as he suddenly noticed the slightly shuffling coming through his phone. His abilities were good enough for him to hear your soft breathing through the speaker, and he immediately relaxed.

“I’m so sorry, Bub. Can we talk, please? I need you to listen,” he breathed out, his voice pleading, almost desperate already. He needed you to listen, to let him apologize, and maybe just forget about everything he said so you wouldn’t look so broken any longer — the picture of you so sad haunting him for hours already.

You hummed, not trusting your voice enough after all these hours of crying. You wanted him to know that you were listening and you wanted to say something, but you also didn’t want him to think he hurt you. Even though he did, he would only hate himself more for something he couldn’t change — for something you have to work through together. But Logan would blame himself for hurting you, comparing himself with the animal they told him he was.

“O-okay,” you mumbled with a hoarse voice, hating yourself for sounding exactly like you didn’t want to sound. And he knew immediately that you cried; Logan’s heart clenched, and he hissed. “I-I’m listening.”

“Are you crying? Please, don’t. I’m so sorry. C-can I come over? Please, let me just come over, okay?” Logan asked; his voice was shaking, and you tried to swallow another sob down that threatened to slip past your lips. Your heart was still hurting; his words were running through your mind, but yet you still needed to see him just as bad as he wanted to be around you.

The silence made him go crazy; he just wanted to hear you allowing him to come over. He just needed to hear your voice, to feel your small body pressed against his way bigger one.

"Please, can I? I need to see you; I need to hold you... so bad.” Logan’s voice was almost like a whisper while he was biting his lip, drawing blood.

“O-okay,” you said just as quietly before you heard him rushing through his apartment to get everything he needed — keys, phone and a jacket. You almost smiled softly as you imagined the way he rushed through his apartment, placing his keys in the kitchen to try and find them on the floor. His phone was most likely placed in the living room on the couch, but he was looking in the kitchen.

After the two of you hung up, you grabbed a glass of water, trying to take away the roughness in your voice that came with the soreness of your throat. And just when you finished your glass, you heard the keys in the apartment door, knowing that Logan broke a few tempo limits — but he didn’t care, not when he knew that you were waiting for him. That he could make it all up to you, that he at least would be able to apologize for saying those things.

When he took off his shoes and threw his jacket and keys to the side, you could already hear him stomping through the floor. The thick, smelly air of the amount of cigarettes he has the last couple of hours following him. His hair was a mess, and his eyes were just as red as yours as he stood in the doorframe of your living room and looked at you.

Logan may have a key; he could walk in and out whenever he wanted, but right now he just wanted you to feel comfortable around him — so he didn’t want to overstep anything in storming into your apartment without your permission. And the fear to scare you away was the only thing that stopped him from pulling you into his thick arms and holding you until he removed every little bit off the shit he said earlier.

“Bub, I’m so sorry,” he mumbled, watching you intensely. You nodded, looking him up and down — he was a mess, broken, and hurt. Just like you, he looked just like you. He was the one who hurt you; he doesn’t think he has a right to be sad or hurt, but somehow he was still feeling it.

“Stop blaming yourself, okay? Your feelings are valuable; you’re allowed to feel them,” you said, your eyes moving to his face. You shivered as his intense hazel eyes were staring into yours, trying to read everything you could think or feel.

This time it was Logan who nodded. He pushed himself off the doorframe and walked closer, slowly. “I try, but we both know it’s in me. Can I?” He asked, pointing at the empty space on the couch next to you.

“It’s not just you, not just me. It’s a problem between us,” you mumbled, waiting for Logan to sit down. He placed his thick arm over the backrest, turning toward you. “It’s just… I hate that you do that.”

“Telling you to look less lovely at me?” The shaking of your head confused him. How could something else be the reason for you being mad when it was the very moment you turned cold as he said he didn’t want you to look at him with that sweet and lovely expression. “How can it not, Bub?”

“I don’t like that you want to decide who I can love and who not. That you try to push me away because you’re scared to hurt me,” you explained, making his eyes go wide. “You’re acting like you don’t matter, but you fucking do. For me, for me you matter, Logan.”

He watched you; his hand moved closer to you until his fingers brushed over your shoulder. “‘M sorry, bub. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just… struggle?”

“Can we struggle together at least?” You asked, tilting your head to the side to place it on his muscular arm. You noticed his muscles tensing and the quiet sound of his claws coming out of his hands. You chuckled; a small smile was playing around your lips. “If you need to steady yourself, do it. But could you maybe not destroy my couch with your claws?”

Logan immediately looked at his hand, noticing his claws before he swallowed thickly and tried to calm himself so he wouldn't destroy your couch. His eyes wander back to yours; he loved the way your expression was so soft and lovely around him again. He couldn’t imagine you looking at him any other way; he didn’t want to think about your cold, broken look any longer.

“You know... I can’t help myself. I need to kiss you so bad, bub,” he mumbled, inching closer to you. Logan brought his other hand to your chin; his thumb brushed over your skin, and you sighed softly. “You’re just so—”

“Caring and lovely? You told me, Logan. But then I prefer that you kiss me instead of breaking the fabric of my couch,” you laughed softly. It was the sweetest laugh he has ever heard. “And stop looking at me like that. You may not believe it, but you deserve love, like everyone else — even more actually. And even if you wouldn’t, please let me decide if I want to lo—“

Logan interrupted you before you could even finish your sentence. His lips were soft as he pressed them with such a forever against yours. The feelings he tried to push away were overwhelming; whatever he would try, he couldn’t back off anymore — but he didn’t even want to. His lips were moving slowly against yours, not quite dominant but serious — he put everything into the kiss he could possibly show you.

“You mean like that?” He asked, grinning at you. You shook your head, earning a soft chuckle from Logen. “I love you, bub.”

“Mhm… thought you would never say that. Because I love you too. And not even you can stop me from feeling that way, Mr. Howlett,” you said, your forehead resting against his. You felt his breath on your lips, and it made you crave more of his soft but dominant kisses.

“I’m glad I can’t. Because your coldness wasn’t something I enjoyed, Mrs. Howlett,” he smirked before pressing his soft, plump lips against yours once again. Even though you weren't ‘Mrs. Howlett’ just yet, it was more than just a joke. It was a promise that you’re going to be his, completely. He was going to propose at some point; maybe he needed some time to get used to your love, but he knew that he would with some time and that he would return the love just as much.

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[ervotica]

milf!reader fucking coach!patrick because she wants her son to get accepted into his tennis program and they’re old friend who used to fuck in college but she despises him but she’ll do anything for her son👀

warnings; smut, 18+, p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it), cum eating, a smidge of foot stuff if you squint, hate sex, exes (ish) to lovers (ish)

a/n; your honor i need him actually

imagining him wolf-whistling at you when you seek him out on the courts, racket strapped over your shoulder, hand limply holding a basket of tennis balls as you watch him practice his serving, trying and failing not to ogle his entire body through his clothes.

a sweat soaked tank top, slick and transparent. the smell of musk and man and tennis. thick corded thighs dusted with dark hair as he moves fluidly, as though the racket is an extension of himself. a thick bulge in his shorts that, no matter how much you hate him, you want to have your mouth on.

he’s all fire and passion and heat, and you know from experience that trait rings true in all areas of his life.

“so, you’re a milf now,” he drawls, beckoning you closer with a tip of his chin. your mouth is dry, chest so hollow it feels like you’re about to crumble from the inside out.

you roll your eyes, hoping to look more confident than you feel, taking place on the other side of the net.

“and you’re still a prick. your point?”

“why are you here?” he presses, tossing the ball up and catching it with a skilled ease that has your stomach flipping.

“how do i guarantee my son a place in your tennis program?” the words feel heavy on your tongue, struggling not to curl your lips into a sneer at the sight of his smug expression.

“you think i’m a prick but you want me to teach your son?”

“i think you’re a prick but i know you’re good at tennis. and you’re a good teacher. and i want him to be good.” his brow quirks. at least you’re honest.

he discards the tennis ball behind him and crosses the distance between you, long legs coming up to step over the net.

“i can think of a few things.”

that’s how you find yourself at his place, legs slung over his shoulders. it’s wet and dirty, each rock of his hips squelching as he feeds you his cock into your needy cunt inch by inch.

“yeah, know this pussy missed me, baby,” he rasps, pinching at your twitching clit. his throat works around a thick swallow, lips parted in a groan when you clench your cunt round him, shifting your hips upward to allow him to sink further into the wet clutch of you.

“stop talking to my pussy, you freak,” you hiss, quickly silenced as he flattens his thumb over your swollen bud, rolling it in tight circles until you’re creaming round him, wailing with the sheer force of your orgasm

he lifts your ankle, turning his flushed face to mouth at the smooth skin there, huffing hot air against the sole of your foot that has you squirming.

there are some perks to fucking patrick zweig.

he knows every inch of your body, knows what makes you tick and which buttons to press to keep you babbling nonsensical filth beneath him. knows your pussy, knows how to fuck you until you cry.

you’re clinging to his shoulders, almost drawing blood as you dig your knuckles further into that skin, because you know him just as well. know that this gets him going, keeps him rutting into you with that fervour that - despite yourself, despite hating him - you’ve missed so desperately.

because despite hating patrick zweig, no one fucks you like he does.

when he cums it’s in excess, spurt after spurt of it until you’re plugged full and it’s flooding you, dripping out of your spasming hole and gathering over your furled asshole. he gathers some of it with two fingers, feeds it into your eager mouth.

“i’m sure we can work something out about those tennis lessons, sweets.” and he grins, all teeth. the look should have you balking, send you running, but you find yourself drawn to it, clinging to the familiarity of him.

you’re caught in his honey trap once again, and he has no plans of letting you get away this time.

because you both know, no matter how much you claim to hate him, he’s the best sex you’ve ever had.

and he’s sure he can make you love him. just with a little time.

[clockwayswrites]

Danny is a minx and I am not responsible for him.

Okay, so, you all voted and I, um, failed? We didn't get to cuddling. There should be cuddling coming? Idk, darlings, this was my third start on this and Danny took over. I've got no say in this anymore. Canon-typical violence, crude language, cross dressing, discussions of prostitution

---

“You think you can fucking play us like that?!”

The shout carried easily through the crisp fall air. Red Hood sighed and changed direction away from his safe house and towards the noise.

“—fuck you up for that! Give us our fucking money back!”

“Fuck you,” snapped back a voice that Jason had come to recognize over the last several months. Right then the words dripped in fake, but damn convincing, heavy Crime Alley drawl, but Jason knew it all the same. “If yous don’t got it, don’t bet it. If yous don’t got game, don’t play it.”

“Yeah, no, I don’t think a little girl like you gets to say how this goes,” a third voice growled.

Hood clung to the edge of the roof just long enough to drop silently into the alleyway next to the dive bar. From the quick glance sent his way he was only noticed by the damn minx, so he leaned casually back against the grimy brick wall and unholstered his gun.

“Right? Yeah! Yeah, bitch! You don’t get to say how this goes!” the first voice shouted again. The guy’s shoulders were squared up as if he was some sort of threat in his overpriced, knock off bomber jacket and ill fitting jeans.

It almost made Jason want to sigh.

Actually, fuck it, Jason gave in and sighed loudly, knowing how it sounded through the modulation of his helmet. Bomber Jacket and his buddy, I Swear This is Real Italian Leather, spun around and then cowered so quick Jason swore they gave themselves whiplash.

“So,” Jason said with every ounce of disinterest he could put in his tone, “how does this go? Because right now, I’m thinking that it’s you two who are gonna be going before I put bullets between your eyes.”

“Right, um, yes Red Hood,” Bomber Jacket cowered and grabbed desperately at his friend’s pleather jacket to pull them out of there.

“And gentleman,” Jason said, making them freeze in their steps, “next time you lose your money to a pretty lady, you leave her the fuck alone about it.”

They nodded frantically as they backed the rest of the way out of alley and then took of running.

“I think you made one of ‘em piss himself,” the minx said, looking from the alley way to Jason with those striking aqua eyes.

Jason just shrugged and holstered his gun. “Probably.”

The short, tight skirt clung to the minx’s legs, pulling up enough with the sashaying steps that Jason had to wonder how everything stayed hidden. He kept still as fingers tipped in bright pink nails walked their way up his chest to the red bat. Aqua peered up from below thick, dark lashes. “And did I hear right? You think I’m a pretty lady?”

“Hair is nice like this,” Jason said brushing a gloved finger through the black strands that just brushed the edges of the chin. “But surprised your cock isn’t hanging out of that skirt with how short it is.”

Danny let out a started laugh, resting his forehead against Jason’s chest for a moment before he patted it and backed up to a more respectable distance.

“Duct tape and body shapers works miracles.” The fake Gotham accent was gone and replaced with the faint Midwestern drawl that Danny only seemed to let out around Red Hood. “And don’t make that face, the duct tape is outside of the panties.”

“You can’t see my face,” Jason pointed out, a bit grumpily because he had been grimacing at the thought.

“I was still right though,” Danny said with a smug little smiling pulling on his cherry red lips. It was a good color on him. He leaned back against the wall and spread his legs in a way that Jason couldn’t help but follow with this gaze. “Everything is fine down there, Boss, just a little squished. Offer’s still on the table if you want to check out the good. No charge for my darlin’ knight.”

Jason snorted at the continued offer from Danny; it was practically as good as ‘bye’ between them at this point since Danny seemed to offer it every time. “I’m not going to be one of your Johns, Danny.”

“Told you no charge. Could just be two people who like sex,” he offered with a little shrug, but pushed himself off the wall to leave. No, Danny pushed himself up off the wall with a wince.

Jason was at his side in an instant. “One of those fuckers get you?”

“No, so no hunting them down,” Danny said. His voice was confident, but the way he actually leaned on Jason’s offered arm was worrying. “Just a bad John— ex John. That’s why I’m sharking pool instead of working the corner.”

As if Danny had to work an actual corner anymore. He appealed to a very specific type of client that could pay to have something pretty and convincing on their arm and still get what they wanted between the legs and in the sheets.

“You taking anything for it?” Jason asked.

Danny just shrugged. “Nah, Boss, nothing over the counter works on me really.”

“Clinic?”

Danny snorted. “As if. They can test for STDs and that’s about as much as I want a clinic near me.”

Jason resisted the urge to cuss at Danny. He got it. After all, he only trusted Leslie or Alfred really— or a family member in a pinch.

Maybe he could just bluster Danny into getting some help. “Right, come on.”

“What?” Danny asked, digging his heels (and fuck those were some heels) into the ground.

Not willing to put with that right then, Jason just swung his arm under Danny’s legs and scooped him up like he was nothing. Fuck the Johns really had to be able to throw Danny around if they wanted that sort of thing.

“Boss, Hood, what the fuck?!” Danny hissed.

“Safe fucking house is what the fuck so I can check you over.”

“Boss, if you wanted in the skirt—”

“Danny, shut the fuck up and let me make sure you’re alright, alright?” Jason asked, looking down at him.

Danny stared back with a frown. Then his sighed, like it was the biggest concession in the world to make. Finally he rested his head against Jason’s chest. “Fine, Boss, whatever you say.”

“Thank you,” Jason said, more gently than he meant to.

-

Jason had to suck in several careful breaths as he took in the wound splashed across Danny’s ribs. “No fucking John did that to you and if they did—” if they took some sort of hot poker to Danny’s side— “I’ll kill them if they did.”