#moving on tuesday rip

[isbergillustration]

This City is Real

[i-luvsang]

i’m about to be so gODDAMN BUSY IM SO 😭😭 my manager scheduled me for four days out of the five i’ll be here for this week. i’m gonna be so tired :,) but the week after that i’ll have three shifts max and then i’m done working there so. i must persevere. plus i need money after the amount i spent in guatemala LOL

[tardis--dreams]

Tomorrow is office day. I'm not going with this body but i will feel guilty about it the whole time.

[slvttyplum]

✰ don’t take your panties off | satoru gojo

synopsis: you made a mistake and didn’t wear panties to bed, now you’re facing the consequences.

contents: cnc, smut, lowercase spelling.

don’t take your panties off when sleeping; just don't. it’ll create a problem in the middle of the night that you aren’t ready to solve.

this particular night was a little too warm; only a gust of wind passed by every few seconds, and the fan was broken.

the electrician didn’t come until thursday, and it was tuesday night, and wearing an oversize shirt with nothing under it wasn’t a big deal.

you slipped under the covers and drifted off to sleep. satoru was working late that night, so there was no need to wait for him.

a few hours later, you were awakened by a hand smoothing and caressing your thigh, a hand nudging against your ass, and something sticking to your entrance.

you blinked a few times, clearing out the blurriness, before turning your head. all you could see in your peripheral was white hair.

“satoru?” you let out softly, just to make sure that was actually him. it was already dark, but the bright moon was letting out some illumination through the blinds.

the response back was just a hum; his hand was still caressing your side, and the “stick” that was poking your entrance was finally entering.

“the polite thing would be to respond back when i ask if it was you.” a defeated sigh ripping past your lips, and his forehead tapping your shoulder.

“sorry, im a little tired.” his rough voice and the warm vanilla scent, letting you know he just got out of the shower.

your thoughts were interrupted when he thrust into you with full force, your hand scrambling to hold onto the sheets.

“so am i, so why do you wanna do this now?" his length deep inside you from the position the both of you were in.

fucking from the side always made his dick go further, especially when you fucked back.

it was true that satoru just got back home not too long ago, and it’s also true that he was tired, but he couldn’t resist you.

when he first came home, his first priority was to eat, but not before checking if you were dead or not.

when he opened the door, there you were, sprawled on your side of the bed, one of your legs spread up, exposing your bare ass.

a lump forming in his throat from the sexy sight. he didn’t expect you to be this bold; whenever you wore an oversized shirt, you wore panties, so this was different.

swallowing the lump inside his throat, he quietly walks to your side of the bed, leaning down and placing a kiss on your cheek.

your sleeping face making him blush was always so cute when you slept; too bad he was going to ruin that.

sleeping so innocently, he felt bad for what he was about to do. yeah, he could’ve woken you up, but it was already late, so why not make it quick?

of course he wasn’t going to fuck you when he just came home from working and sweating all day, so he hopped in the shower and came out.

quickly sliding into bed and pulling his briefs down, not before sticking his fingers in your heat, sliding them out, and looking at them.

an amused scoff erupting from his mouth. you were wet. as hell, what in the world were you thinking about?

he took no time to line himself up with your entrance, your body jolting from the random touch.

“i just love you so much," he says, laughing softly, responding to your previous question, and pushing into you again, the wet noise making him even harder.

a moan slips past your lips, your eyes still closed, and satoru’s touch sends shivers down your spine.

your body is now more sensitive since there was no time to prepare, even though your pussy was practically leaking.

his head moved to the crook of your neck as he kissed, then slid his tongue over a spot, your hand clenching the sheet even more.

his warm breath traveled down your neck to your shoulder, placing a few small kisses there. the softness of his kisses made you smile.

the pace is getting sloppier and harder as he pushes into you deeper, causing you to gasp and cough. the change in pace is making your eyes roll back.

“softer.” your hand reaching back to push his stomach, so he slides out of you, but he takes your wrist, gripping it.

a whine coming from your lips as you squint your eyes shut, your thighs clenching, and your stomach turning from the pleasure.

“you can take it.” he grunts out, his jaw clenched and his face still on your shoulder.

another whimper comes from your mouth, then a moan follows as he presses into your sweet spot, the tingly feeling dispersing all around your body.

his hand gripping your wrist even harder, your shoulder and wrist aching from the tightness he was putting on, causing your walls to clench.

satoru kisses your shoulder again, then licks over the spot, his eyes flicking to your face, your lewd expressions making him harder.

“i’m sorry.” he lets out, pushing deeper inside you, repeated sloppy thrusts into your wet cunt.

tiny curses escaping his mouth as he gets faster, your breasts bouncing up and down from how fast he’s going.

the headboard hitting the wall repeatedly, his tip getting deeper and deeper inside you, and your eyes opening from the final thrust.

a cough falling out of your mouth as you feel warm liquid feel you up, his dick slowly sliding out of you.

his body that was previously pressed against you, leaning back and letting go of your wrist.

leaning down, he takes a finger sliding over your opening, cum coating his finger and a smile dancing on his lips.

you quickly get up, spreading your legs, and looking at the sight, a vein could be seen popping up in your forehead.

“fucking dick!” you scream out, quickly sliding the pillow behind you and hitting him repeatedly, cursing him out.

he’s laughing, curled up, and holding his stomach, deciding to just suffer the consequences.

you’re never going to go to bed without panties again.

[dcxdpdabbles]

The Undead Florist

Anon said: Basically, I just wanted Danny to deliver flowers to the Justice League heroes from his fans. If you can include Everlasting Trio. U can add whatever crack you think would be best! Thank you!

Clark is in the middle of blocking a heat ray attack from a robot that copies the powers of any Justice League member when the unexpected happens. A kid, no older than fourteen, boldly walks into the battlefield carrying a lavish bouquet of red roses and trigger lilies.

He's dressed in a worker uniform: light brown khakis, a black shirt with a light-born vest, and a black baseball hat resting neatly on his head. There is a company logo on the upper right of his vest but Clark does not recognize the stylized D.

There was a still moment when Clark's super speed could see the exact second Amazo spotted the child. The boy wasn't paying attention, staring at his phone screen, which had the faint details of a map, and had two headphones in his ear.

Clark's eyes widen in horror, and he opens his mouth to try to shout a warning—though he doubts the kid could hear him over the loud music playing in his ear—but before he can, Amazo flung out an arm straight at the kid's head, still pinning Clark down with a cheap version of his own laser ray eyes.

No! No, please, he's so young! He pleads mentally, frozen in horror as the robot's hand goes right through the kid's head. It took a solid minute for Clark to realize that Amazo's hand hadn't ripped through the skull of the child but rather had passed through him as if the boy was not physically there.

From underneath a black baseball cap, brim, electric blue eyes stare at Amazo. Gesturing vaguely to the arm going through his head, the boy frowns. "Rude much?"

"Access: Black Canary," Amazo says in response, his jaw opening wider as a super-powered scream is released, pointing black at the kid's face.

The frown on the worker deepens as the boy reaches up and- slaps the android in the face? "Dude, I'm trying to work. I have like eight flower deliveries today. Also, that was a weak imitation. This is a real Ghostly Wail."

He opens his jaw, letting out a sound that wasn't as loud as Black Canary or Amazo but somehow worse.

And the sound—the unholy screech that releases from the child sends Clark to his knees, quivering in his boots as Amazo disintegrates right before his eyes. The only thing left of the android is a smothering pair of robotic legs that fall over with a loud thump.

The boy huffs, paying no mind to the fact that he took out the enemy the league had spent the last six hours fighting before Clark tried to lure it away from the city. He merely glances back at his phone, following the little moving icon on the map until he stands before the fallen hero.

"Hi! Are you Superman?" The kid asks in a polite, chipper tone. It's such a whiplash change between his normal voice and his customer service voice that it sets in. This is really just a Tuesday for him.

Clark opens and closes his mouth with a weak "Yes" and is pushed out.

The kid's smile grows as he pushes the flowers into his arms. Clark nearly drops the vase, scrambling to get a good hold of them as the kid pulls out a harmonica and plays a little jingle. It sounds like a mix between Happy Birthday and Ring Around the Roses.

Once he is done, the boy holds out his arms wide open and loudly proclaims, in a very obvious Transatlantic accent, which makes him sound... rather otherwordly: "These flowers are sent by your fan Kattie Longsmith in Metropolis, wishing to thank you for rescuing her mother and brother from a fire. She wants to remind you that she is your biggest fan and hopes you have a lovely day. Thank you for selecting the Undead Florist as your means of flora travel!"

With a theatric bow, the boy blinks out of existence.

Clark is left kneeling alone in a destroyed cornfield, beating black and blue, while holding a vase of lavished roses and lilies. He is unsure how long he will stay there, trying to process what he just saw as the Batplane flies onto the scene, Bruce jumping out of it with a cry of his name.

Batman growls upon taking in the scene before his friend rushes to his side. "What happened?"

"I ugh...I got a flower delivery." He manages to utter, eyes still trained on the spot of the strange kid.

"What?"

"Trust me, I'm as confused."

It turns out that Clark's delivery is not an isolated incident. Over the past three months, various Justice League members have reported similar interactions with the Undead Florist.

Flash got a bouquet while trying to stop Captain Cold. The kid had wandered in the middle of a fight, unfreezing the speedster to hand over yellow lilies and sunflowers from a little boy named Teddy Smith in Central City. He had melted the freeze ray that was shot at him while Barry was in the middle of a panic, thinking he would watch a child die.

One little jingle and message was delivered in a Transatlantic accent later, and the boy was gone without a trace again. Bruce had gone to the scene, trying to find anything that could give him some clue, but he disputed the clear picture of his face and the recording of his voice. Nothing about the boy came up in their systems.

Wonder Woman was next, receiving two large bouquets of roses from a fellow woman she had rescued named Trix Cooperman. Her jingle was slightly smoother jazz , and the message leaned towards romantic than gratitude from a fan, but the boy had delivered it nonetheless.

He also took out Cheetah with a well-placed punch, highly impressing Diana. He had the makings of a warrior.

Then Green Arrow, Green Lantern, Martian Man Hunter, Batman, Martian Man Hunter, Hawkgirl, Aquaman, Zatanna, and surprisingly Vigilante each got their own flower grams.

None of them were able to get any information about the child, seeing as he only appeared when the members were in the middle of a fight, which was driving Bruce mad.

Of course, they had tracked down all the clients but met a dead end when each claimed they had never placed an order with Undead Florist. Even when Diana was holding her rope, the people gave the same answer.

They had no idea why Undead Florist was delivering flowers in their name or where the message that came along with the flowers appeared from. The chilling part was that the messages did actively represent their emotions and feelings towards the heroes, but how the overpowered child knew that was left unanswered.

The other thing that bothered Bruce was that the Undead Florist only appeared when they were in battle.

"Maybe it's because he doesn't know how to find you otherwise," Nightwing suggested at the Justice League-wide meeting.

"He uses a GPS that is locked into the heroes." Batman grunts, not dismissing the suggestion but challenging it, which causes his eldest son to shrug.

"Undead could be following online tips or something. It's not like the Leauge is seen just strolling around the cities, but people tweak when they do happen to see us."

"We could test that. Have a group of heroes just relaxing at a cafe or something. See where he appears and if there is a pattern after monitoring social media." Red Robin suggests, rubbing his chin.

Batman considers it before nodding. "I shall divide the teams."

The Justice League goes out, doing as instructed, and sure enough, they find the Undead Florist appearing more and more. Red Robing happily puts together the pattern, pointing to social media generated by the younger generation's demographics.

Undead Florist is an actual teenager using DCtweets to find heroes to bring flowers to. They have enough proof of that to show he's harmless if one ignores his more than impressive battle skills.

"Now all we need to do is catch him," Clark announces. "We don't want to scare him, but the Justice League really needs to know how he's doing all of this. It could be a security risk."

Meanwhile, Danny chills in his haunt, watching Sam tend to the flowers in a large greenhouse he placed for her. Tucker is typing away on a ghost zone-powered supercomputer, looking at all the Soul orders their business is getting.

The Ghost Zone didn't have a formal currency; they had Deals instead. Even small unconscious deals—like wishing on a shooting star, throwing a coin in a fountain, or sending a prayer or two—could be turned into deals if a higher being encountered them.

Luckily for those people, Danny and his lovers are very kind higher beings and choose to complete their requests in a way that satisfies all of their obsessions without stealing souls.

Sam got to spread her greenery across worlds, Tucker got to spend time with tech from different universes and Danny was able to explore and protect the souls of humans.

That Danny could exchange these Soul orders for gold was no one business but their own.

"Ohhh, another order, Red Robin, from Universe Nine!" Tucker crows. "It's roses in the shape of a heart from Kon-el. Aw, he's in love with his best friend!"

"That's sweet." Danny smiles, leaning over his boyfriend's shoulder to read the message he must memorize when he struts into Gotham. "I know how much fun dating best friends is."

"Let's help those losers confess then!" Sam calls, raising her hands as roses of various colors burst to life around her.

[formulafics]

★ THE JPG CHRONICLES | PART 4

Scenario: in which the grid and fan favorite mclaren reserve driver opens a jpg account, but it isn’t what was expected. this time around, yn ln finally reveals who her boyfriend is.

Pairing: f1 grid x fem!reader

A/N: guys, we’ve made it to the last part of the jpg chronicles. i just want to thank everyone who’s followed along with this and i hope you enjoy 🫶🏻 also paying homage to the pink and orange theme since all of the other parts use that!

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3

yn.jpg

liked by logansargeant, landonorris, oscarpiastri, mclaren, and 245,678 others

yn.jpg VEGAS BABY ‼️ mom (my pr manager) said i can’t say what i want to say about the race. she also said if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say it at all…so anyways vegas is pretty cool race aside 🥰

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yn.jpg shoutout to @/logansargeant for his first appearance on this account!

⤷ logansargeant thank you yn

⤷ yn.jpg your welcome!!

landonorris caption is real

norrisnation yn speaking for the lando girlies (gn) once again

rizzciardo LMFAO REFERRING TO YOUR PR MANAGER AS MOM

⤷ yn.jpg she is mother

alphatauritaurialpha yn this isn’t a bf reveal :/

⤷ yn.jpg babe i promise the bf reveal is coming. i have plans for it

⤷ piastrispastry YOU GOT CALLED BABE BY YN YOU WIN AT LIFE

racing.news

liked by ynln.official, pierregasly, landonorris, snd 56,782 others

racing.news sources say yn ln is ‘in trouble’ with mclaren team principal due to her second instagram account where she is notorious for posting funny pictures of her coworkers.

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norrisnation so this is why she’s delaying the bf reveal

ynln.official HELP???? IM NOT IN TROUBLE WHAT 😭

mickshumacher @/ynln.official 😳

⤷ ynln.official mick do not feed into this madness you’re better than that

⤷ sunnyshumacher mick and yn may not be dating but i love their friendship so much LMAO

landonorris im crying this is so funny

⤷ ynln.official of course you’re here

mclaren can’t take her anywhere 🫣

⤷ ynln.official ENOUGH

rizzciardo YN IN THE COMMENTS IS SENDING ME THIS IS SO FUNNY

yn.jpg and yukitsunoda0511

liked by landonorris, yukitsunoda0511, maxverstappen1, pierregasly, fernandoalo_official, and 367,891 others

yn.jpg home is wherever he is. ❤️

view all 5,672 comments

yukitsunoda0511 i love you ❤️

⤷ yn.jpg I LOVE YOU

landonorris the day has finally come 🙏🏻

⤷ yn.jpg stfu

fernandoalo_official 👍

⤷ yn.jpg dad approved. thank you nando

norrisnation ARE WE OFFICIALLY GETTING THE BF REVEAL? IS THIS THE REVEAL? IM GOING INSANE

yukitauri WAR IS OVER

yukitauri MY BABIES IM SO HAPPY RIGHT NOW

yukitauri ALSO MY PARENTS ‼️ MY PARENTS ONLY BC YALL ARE HATERS

yukitauri THROWING UP RIPPING MY HAIR OUT YN IT IS A DAMN TUESDAY YOU CANT DO THIS TO ME RIGHT NOW

rizzciardo i expect an increase in content of them. i need it

formulatsunoda ykw i’ll be so honest i did NOT expect it to be yuki but im not mad 🤭

yn.jpg

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, logansargeant, alex_albon, yukitsunoda0511 and 354,672 others

yn.jpg back to our regularly scheduled program 😼

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yn.jpg i am @/fernandoalo_official btw and he is @/ynln.official. he’s just a silly teenage-ish girl

⤷ dreamyalbon YN PLEASE WHAT 😭

⤷ fernandolandoland okay but her relationship with fernando is so wholesome she rlly is his grid child

alex_albon nurse, she’s out again

⤷ yn.jpg 🤺

maxfewtrell this account is my roman empire

⤷ oscarpiastri same mate

maxsupermax we are so back

yukitauri idk about yall but i won’t be moving on from the bf reveal that is my home

yn.jpg @/schecoperez not commenting = hater 😿

thank you for reading! all feedback is appreciated — dae <3

GENERAL TAGLIST | @renarots @jsjcue @treehouse-mouse @lovstappen @illicitverstappen @minkyungseokie @arkhammaid @vroomvroomverstappen @vellicora @stopeatread @topguncultleader @cixrosie @leclercvsx @motorsp0rt @piasstrisblog @lokietro @spidersophie

JPG TAGLIST | @dl-yum @youdontknowmeshh @lighttsoutlewis @kodzuvk @sofs16 @raevyng @p4st3lst4rs @1655clean @judespoision @evans-dejong @leireggsworld @landosgirlxoxo @3joracha @lanando4 @toasttt11 @gaslysainz @sadg3 @scenesofobx @leilanixx @zaynzierulez @flippingmyshit @goldenharrysworld @celesteblack08 @thatoneembarrasingmoment @willowpains @coolio2195 @bey0ndne0 @sheslikeacurse @sadg3 @biitch-with-wifi @torchbearerkyle @plutotcles @cherry-piee (more tags in comments + some would allow me to tag 💔)

[wanders-in-wonderland]

Ex-Boyfriend

I broke up with him last week. We’d only been dating a few months but the red flags were there. He always wanted to make decisions for me and I’d always felt like he didn’t see me as his equal. He was always treating me like a helpless little girl, being patronizing and condescending at times. The last straw came when he insisted that I quit my job and move in with him so that he could “take care of me properly.”

He took the breakup surprisingly well. No angry outbursts or attempts to convince me to stay. I’d assumed that we would never see each other again and we’d each move on with our lives. I was very wrong.

It was Tuesday night and I’d ordered takeout after a longer-than-usual workday. So when my doorbell rang, I didn’t bother to check the peephole before I excitedly flung it open, expecting to see my dinner. Instead, it was him.

Before I could even register what was going on, he shoved me back and slipped into my apartment, slamming the door behind him and locking it. “What the fuck? What are you doing here?” I’m immediately angry and annoyed, I thought we were going to be mature adults and move on with our lives.

“Shut the fuck up bitch,” he snarls out, his voice deeper and angrier than I’d ever heard it before. It stuns me and a small tendril of fear begins to take root inside of me. He’d never hurt me before, and I’d never been scared of him. Sure, he was overbearing and demanding, but never in a violent way.

But now, the look on his face and his tone suggested otherwise. “Why are you here?” I whisper softly, fear and apprehension taking over my previous anger. He laughs with derision, “I’m here to take back what I own.” His words are delivered with so much finality that I’m thrown. What does that even mean? Before I can fully think about it, he strikes.

His hand comes up and wraps around my throat, tightening and pushing me against the wall. His body presses against me and I cry out from the force of my body hitting the wall. “Stop! Please!” I can hear the terror in my own voice now and the severity of my situation hits me fully. He’s so much bigger than me, stronger, faster, and I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that he could seriously hurt me if he wanted to.

“I said, shut the fuck up, you stupid bitch,” he growls before his lips meet mine in a bruising, punishing kiss. I whimper into his mouth, tasting iron on my own lips as he pushes against me harshly. The hand around my throat tightens even further, restricting my airway and making me lightheaded. His other hand goes between my legs and he rips at my shorts and underwear.

He’d never treated me like this before. Back when we were dating, he was always gentle, sweet, and attentive during sex. But right now, he was anything but soft. His fingers pushed against my core, harshly rubbing my clit, making me whine into his mouth. He pulls his fingers away briefly and breaks away from the kiss to shove his fingers into my mouth.

I gag around them, feeling tears start to gather in my eyes. “You little bitch thought you could just walk away from me? I’m going to make you regret that,” he growls into my ear and pulls his fingers from my mouth.

“Please, no, stop! I don’t want this, please just leave me alone. We broke up, you never have to see my again,” I’m sobbing now, realizing how trapped I am as his intentions become more clear. He scoffs, “Oh no, you are never going to leave me again.”

I cry harder at his words. His fingers, wet with my saliva, come back to my pussy and without any preparation, he thrusts two into my cunt. I wail as I feel him violate me. He starts to pump his fingers, curling them just right to hit that spot inside of me that makes me see stars. He knows my body better than myself and he knows exactly how to touch me to make me fall apart. I can feel my pussy gushing around him, drenching his hand despite my mind knowing that I don’t want this.

“Please, please, please!” I’m begging him, pleas falling from my lips like a mantra, hoping that he would stop and just leave. But he doesn’t. His thumb presses down on my clit with just the right amount of pressure and I can feel myself getting closer and closer to an orgasm.

“Look at you, falling apart like this on my fingers. Your body knows who you belong to, little whore,” he says, his voice rough in my ear. I’m delirious, overwhelmed with pleasure and torn between my body and mind as he works me to my climax. I arch into him and scream as I shatter into an orgasm that leaves me reeling. My pussy clenches around his fingers, squirting my release all over his hand and wrist. It’s humiliating how fast I came apart for him.

His fingers keep playing with my pussy, working me through my orgasm as I pant and moan softly. I collapse against him, feeling broken and defeated. Suddenly, I feel a pinch on my arm and I turn my head to see a syringe sticking out of me. He smiles darkly at me as he pulls it away, and I feel the effects immediately as my eyes start to drift shut and my body falls into unconsciousness.

—

I wake up and immediately recognize my surroundings. I’m in his bedroom, my arms and legs tied to his bedposts as I lay on my back, completely naked. Fear and worry floods my mind when I realize that I’m trapped here with no way out.

“Welcome home, honey,” he says from a corner of the room. My vision darts to him and I see him sitting in his armchair, drinking a glass of his favorite bourbon. “Why am I here? What do you want?” I demand, hoping to infuse anger into my voice but it sounds weak, scared, and helpless even to my own ears.

He smiles. “I think you know what I want. I want you back. And I’m going to have you no matter what it takes.”

“You’re delusional,” I whisper, staring at him. “You raped me. I’m never going to get back together with you.” His smile falls from his face and his eyes harden.

“I wouldn’t call it rape, sweetheart. Not when you squirted all over my fingers. I think you came harder than you ever have, and your body certainly knows who it belongs to,” he says, his vulgar words making me blush. My cheeks burn even more because I know he’s right. He made me fall apart on his fingers despite how much I hated it, and he’s the only person who’s ever been able to control my body so perfectly.

He sets his drink down and pushes up from his chair, stalking towards me. I whimper and cringe away from him as much as I can but he tied me too tightly for me to have any wiggle room. He runs his fingers up my leg, toying with me.

“You see, I think you’ve forgotten that I own you. And I think it’s up to me to remind you. And if you behave like a good girl, I’ll even overlook the fact that you tried to leave me,” he murmurs softly as his fingers brush gently across my pussy. I whimper when he flicks my clit softly, my body jerking against the ropes in response.

“I was so patient with you all throughout our relationship. I gave you time to adjust, even let you keep your little job for a few months. But you just had to go and ruin it all. Now, we have to do things the hard way,” he says as his fingers keep rubbing at my clit.

I can feel my pussy starting to drip again, and I want nothing more than for him to just stop and leave me alone. I hate that my body responds so well to him, and I hate that he knows that. I bite my lip, trying to hold back moans as he works my body closer and closer to another orgasm. My eyes flutter shut as I feel the sensation building, and I want to sob knowing that he can bend my body to his will.

I’m so close now, his fingers finding just the right places to stroke and flick. Small whimpers and whines are escaping my throat as I chase my orgasm. I can feel myself about to erupt when suddenly, he pulls his fingers away. I let out a short wail when my orgasm comes to an abrupt stop, my body clenching and throbbing at the loss of stimulation. My eyes fly open and meet his and I’m sickened to see the satisfaction on his face.

His voice is laced with faux sympathy, “Aw honey, did you want to cum?” I shake my head stubbornly as I pant, trying to get myself back under control. He smiles as he sits down on the bed next to me.

“You see, I spent a long time thinking about how I wanted to break you. I thought about just tying you to a fucking machine and vibrator and letting it completely wreck you. But that’s less fun. I’d much rather take you apart by myself. Maybe next time, I’ll leave you on the machine for a few hours and see how it ruins you. This time though, I want you to know that I can break you myself, with no extra help. So you know that I own you, completely.” He smile is dark and full of promises. Fear is overwhelming me, not just a fear of him, but also fear in knowing that he is absolutely correct.

I stare at him with tears in my eyes, “Please, please don’t do this. I’m sorry I broke up with you but I don’t want this. Please just let me go.” Part of me knows that begging is useless but I can’t help it. I have to try. He tsks at me and I watch as he undresses, showing off his gorgeous body that always made me drool a little.

He comes onto the bed and slots himself in between my legs, looking up at me from my pussy. “By the end of tonight, you’ll be begging me to take you back,” he murmurs, redirecting his gaze to my dripping pussy.

Without another word, he dives into my cunt. He’d always been so good at eating me out and that hasn’t changed at all. His tongue paints long strokes over my pussy as he laps up my wetness. He pays special attention to my clit, expertly playing with it and drawing out gasps, whimpers, and moans from my mouth, despite my best efforts to muffle them. Before long, I can feel my orgasm building. The stimulation is so good against my clit and pussy and I want to beg him to make me cum but I’m too stubborn to let those words come out of my mouth. I’m so close and I can feel myself about to fall off the edge when suddenly, he pulls away. My hips arch upwards embarrassingly, trying to chase the pleasure he’s ripping away from me and I can’t help but let out a sob.

“Poor honey, were you about to cum again?” His voice is tinged with condescension and I want to be angry but all I feel is desperation. “If you beg, I’ll let you cum,” he says, smirking.

I want to scream and beg but I’m too stubborn to give in so all I do is glare at him. He laughs as he presses soft kisses along my thighs and stomach, waiting for my orgasm to fade before beginning again. He brings me to the brink using just his mouth another five more times, each edge chipping away at my resistance. My pussy drools onto the bed under me as I’m subjected to his whims.

I’m sobbing and writhing after another edge and I finally can’t take anymore. “Please,” I whisper, my voice cracking from need and desperation. “Please, let me cum.”

He looks up at me and smiles. “Breaking so soon, honey?” I want to cry and I wish I could be stronger but I’m so fucking desperate. “Please, I’m sorry I broke up with you, it was a mistake,” I murmur, not able to meet his eyes.

The satisfaction on his face makes me feel sick. I hate that he’s able to turn my body against me and I hate that I’m too weak to resist. But his next words make me feel even worse.

“I don’t think you’re actually sorry yet. I think you’re just saying that so I’ll make you cum, honey. And that’s not good enough.” His last words punctuated with his fingers driving into my pussy and I arch my back and wail. It feels so good and I’m so close that I know I’d cum if he just kept going. But he doesn’t. He pulls his fingers out and slides them into his mouth, licking up my wetness from them.

He waits for me to calm down before he dives back in, driving me insane with his mouth and bringing me to the edge over and over again. I lose track of how many orgasms he’s withheld from me but before long, I’m begging with every breath. I’m almost incoherent with need, babbling out pleas to him, trying to say anything and everything that would convince him to let me cum. I’m apologizing over and over again for leaving him, pleading with him to take me back as I writhe and shake under his mouth.

Some amount of time later, he pushes himself up from between my legs and leans over me. His face is inches from mine as his eyes take in my face, pink from desire and need, my eyes watery with tears. His lips meet mine in a soft, gentle kiss and I can taste myself as I melt into it. His hands come up to cup my face gently and I moan softly into his mouth, feeling his warm body cover mine, pressing me into the bed. He’d always made me feel safe, and now is no different. My brain is fuzzy but I’m trying to press myself even closer to him, straining against the ropes toward him.

“Please, please, baby, take me back. I want to be yours again, please, I love you, I’m so sorry,” I’m babbling as soon as his lips leave mine, desperate to convince him to take me back. He smiles tenderly at me, “Of course, honey. I know you were just a little misguided earlier.” The patronizing tone gives me pause for a second, registering in my brain as something that used to annoy me, but the notion fades as quickly as it came.

I arch up toward him, pressing myself into him, trying to rock my pussy against him. “Please, please, please,” I’m whimpering but I’m not sure what I’m begging for, whether it’s to cum or for him to take me back. His fingers trail down to my pussy and he slides two of them inside of me. I gasp and moan deeply, feeling him scissor his fingers and then curl them into my g-spot as his thumb finds my clit. Fuck, it feels so good and I love it so much. I love him so much.

I feel myself barreling toward an orgasm again, and I’m begging again, begging for him to keep going, to let me cum, promising him that I’ll be good, I’ll be the perfect girlfriend, I’ll do whatever he wants if he would just let me cum.

He pulls his fingers away and I let out a gut-wrenching sob. “Aw honey, don’t cry, I have something even better than my fingers for you,” he says, smirking at me. I feel the head of his cock nudge my pussy and I moan and start to beg again.

“Please, please, please give me your cock. Please, I want your cock so much, please!” I’m rocking my hips, trying to entice him to just thrust into me. He rubs the head of his cock along my clit gently and I’m so sensitive that I feel like I could cum from that alone. Then, without warning, he slams his cock home into me.

A scream tears out of my throat as I cum immediately around him. All of the orgasms he’d withheld from me seemed to slam into me all at once and I feel my pussy clench down around him and squirt my release out. He groans in my ear, and I feel a part of me preen in satisfaction knowing that my pussy is making him feel good too. He starts to thrust hard and fast inside of me and I scream as my orgasm seems to continue with no end.

I’m delirious, cockdrunk, moaning and whimpering from the pleasure as he fucks me into the mattress. I wish my arms and legs were untied so that I could wrap around him and hold on, never letting go. He’s relentless as he sets a brutal pace, fucking me so hard that I see stars. The stimulation is overwhelming and I’m sobbing as he takes what he wants from me. I feel his thrusts start to falter and I know he’s close. I whine against him, wanting him to cum inside of me.

“Please, ah, please cum inside of me! Please make me yours!” I want his cum to paint my insides, I want him to claim me inside and out. He moans deep in my ear at my words and with one final, deep thrust, he buries himself inside of me and cums. I feel his cum spray my insides and I cum again, my pussy milking him.

He collapses on top of me, and I love the feeling of his body on top of mine, pressing me deep into the bed. I look up at him through bleary eyes as he leans in to kiss me softly.

“Are you going to be mine forever now?” He whispers against my lips, his eyes gleaming of victory. I smile up at him, content and satisfied, “Forever and always.” I don’t know why I’d ever thought to break up with him in the first place.

[skyahri]

Soul |Ryomen Sukuna X Reader| HC

Summary: Sukuna meets the reincarnation of the only person he's ever loved.

Warnings: Implications of sex? Female pronouns. Reincarnation. Fear and anxiety.

- - - - -

"Rin..."

It came out like word vomit before Yuuji could even process what he was saying.

You looked at him, confused. Your name wasn't Rin and you'd never met this man before. Who did he think you were?

He slapped a hand over his mouth. Sukuna had forced his way to the surface just to ramble out a name? In all these years as his vessel, he'd never done something so trivial.

Sensing the flicker of cursed energy, Gojo, Megumi, and Nobara prepared themselves. It'd been a while since Sukuna had tried anything. Some sort of pact he'd formed with Yuuji kept him mostly content, although they weren't sure what it entailed.

It happened in the blink of an eye; Sukuna had taken over and stood directly in front of you, one hand flat on your chest and the other on your face.

"Rin... I could never forget the feel of your soul."

Your heartbeat fastened. An overwhelming feeling of fear fell onto you, rendering you unable to move.

What would you be able to do anyway? He's a God, and you had no abilities outside of actually seeing the damn things.

You had no idea what he was talking about. Your name isn't Rin and you'd never had any kind of encounter with either men until just now.

Megumi tried to move forward, but Gojo stuck an arm out in front of him. Something was off about the way Sukuna was acting, and he didn't think it was threatening.

It would be best to see how this played out instead of possibly starting a war that was never meant to begin in the first place.

"What are you doing? We can't let her-"

"Hold on."

They watched as Sukuna looked you up and down, inspecting your robes, hair, and face with a certain softness. His face was still hard and his movements still confident, but there was just that feeling.

"You look so different, but thats to be expected. Are you fairing well?"

You swallowed hard. His delicate touch did nothing to soothe your nerves. If anything, it only confused you more. He was tucking your hair behind your ear, giving you some sort of smile, and yet you feared he was going to rip your heart right out of your body.

"Um..."

Really, how were you supposed to respond? What sort of answer was he expecting? What were the consequences if you were to answer incorrectly?

Were you meant to comment on how you supposedly looked different? Was it your features? Your clothes? Your haircut?

"I'm scared."

Sukuna paused. You were horrified to have answered wrong, and now you could only hope he wouldn't kill you.

But he did something unexpected; he laughed. A thick, hardy chuckle that made your blood run cold.

Was this the end? How pitiful. Slain on a random Tuesday afternoon all because you wanted to meet up with an old friend. That's not a proper death.

"A thousand years and countless reincarnations, yet you still know how to make me laugh."

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to your forehead. You only had a moment to panic before a lifetime of memories filled your mind.

You remember the time before modern civilization when you relied on hunting in the woods and crops from the neighbor's farm.

You remembered your parents, siblings, friends, and other villagers. You remember your home on the outskirts of town just against the forest line.

But most importantly, you remember Sukuna.

You remember meeting him as a human, and then several years later as a curse. You faced off against him, and although you couldn't beat him in the end, you'd come close enough to earn his respect.

He stood above you, two arms crossed, one on his hip, and the other outstretched to offer you a hand up.

Who were you to refuse such a gesture from the king of curses?

He allowed you to join his temple alongside other followers of his with the condition you devoted yourself to him entirely. The offer was presented as a choice, but the alternative was death, so any reservations you had were null.

You wanted to go with him anyway, but that's beside the point.

From the very beginning of your journey with him, it was made clear to everyone that you were 'special' and not to be bothered.

This fact didn't hold up too well with some of the others, but what were they to do about it? Argue with Sukuna? Tell him they were more deserving of his attention? How pathetic.

He allowed you privileges that would only ever be known to you, like dining with him or joining him on trips. These small pleasantries became grand ones, like sharing his bed and allowing him to claim you.

Your relationship was equal from then on. You were not just a follower of his anymore. He was just as devoted to you as you are to him, and he ensured you knew it.

He'd always make sure to tell you how special you were, that he was taking his time with you and granting you pleasure. How you were his favorite, and no one else could even compare. How others had not been so lucky in the past.

He'd escort you to and from the hot springs, have humans bring you flowers and jewelry, and allow you to see the most vulnerable aspects of him.

He promised his love for you would never die, and here he is a millennia later proving true to his words.

Once the unrelenting onslaught of memories subsided, your hands met his- one still on your chest feeling your heartbeat, and the other slid partway into your hair- and all you could do was appreciate his presence.

You stared up at him. His face was different, but that intense look in his eyes was all the proof you needed that he was still the same man from all those years ago.

Tears beaded up in your eyes and quickly dripped down your cheeks. Crying had never been your thing in the past, but you didn't care to stuff the feelings down. Such a reunion was an occasion enough.

"My love," you whispered.

He leaned his forehead down to meet yours.

"My Queen."

[itsonlydana]

Noisy Neighbors | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader x Bard 👑 [king's special]

Your new neighbors have been the bane of your existence - or rather sleep - for the last few nights, always keeping you up with their extensive love life. When you go up to confront the couple, you find another solution to the problem.

warnings/tags: NSWF! THIS IS ADULT CONTENT ✋️| [modern!AU] threesome, oral (f receiving), anal sex (m receiving), unprotected p in v, slight choking, brats (reader & Thranduil), mocking & dirty talk, Thranduil being a snarky bitch, he bites a bit, spitting, one ass-slap, praise, pet names, dom!bard, [reader is described with hair no further, no use of y/n]

word count: 6,2k

an: *lifts hands into the air* I'm sorry but writing Thranduil bitchy in this trio is what comes naturally, alright? I've been powering through this whole Sunday and between watching f1 and eating watermelon and packing up for a vacation, this surely made this day better. (not proofread, just wanted this baby out)

+ masterlist + rules + 🌿 reposts and comments are much appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

They’re at it. Again! 

Another night and you’re yet again held up by your neighbors fucking for the second time; on a Tuesday no less.

It’s 1 am and nearly seventy-three minutes – timed and noted down in your frazzled brain – after the noise had stopped the first time but now the moaning upstairs continues; this time accompanied by the banging of probably a bed frame that, if the force is anything to go by, is close to smashing in the walls. 

You haven’t seen the new neighbors that had moved into the apartment above you, there had been moving trucks, a handful of handsome and very good-to-look-at guys carrying furniture around the garden and blocking the elevator for hours, leaving cigarette buts around and ringing at yours so often you doubted it was an accident every time, but there had been no one who introduced themselves.

Well, not personally. 

Or rather in person, because what you hear every night is as personal as it gets. 

As you lie in your bed, alone one might add, you wonder who this couple is. 

Not that you have anything better to do. They’re the reason you’ve been either sleepless or fallen asleep to a lovely ASMR of two guys moaning that slowly snuck itself into your dreams; if anyone dares to say it isn’t appropriate or normal to think about the – sex – life of your neighbors you could counter that you had every right! Especially you. 

They’re probably young, you figure, not by the number of times they’re going at each other and the length, god, it has been a good while, that stamina is astounding, but by whatever coherent words you can understand now and again, their voices delimited the range of possible ages. 

And you had seen a pair of laced-up thigh-high black boots walking up the stairs after you had once heard the front door open and raced to peek through the peephole. Another time there had been a pair of very shiny and tight boxers left in the washing room downstairs and while you felt like a creep expecting them hanging on the line a few feet away from you, your basket clutched into your hands as you thought of the other renters here and how often you had seen their underwear, you concluded this must be one of theirs. The shoes as well as the boxers could belong to some older couple but that was most unlikely adding the different factors.

The names on their doorbell say ‘Oropherion & Bowmann’, though no Google search has brought up anything forth that could be them, nothing around this area anyway. 

Another moan rips through the night, guttural and raspy, and by now, that sound’s imprinted into your mind as well as the gasp and shout that follow. A few seconds of bed rattling later the boyfriend/husband/lover roommate with lots and lots of benefits reaches his peak as well in a deep moan that reverberates in your bones and sends a heat to your face and much lower. 

When silence falls, there’s an embarrassing moment of clarity as you release a shaking breath and quickly stand up on shaking legs to open your window, inhaling the cold air outside to fight against the urge to look up some porn and follow their example. 

They’ve gotten to your head, twisted up whatever the stress at work had left to be corrupted into this perverse lust. On the one hand, you’ll do anything for a night of full sleep but on the other hand… what you wouldn’t do to – no, no, no, this route is just a spur of restlessness. Leftover frustration over the last few exes, and dates being unable to bring out whatever your neighbors clearly had no problems with. 

They’re so vocal in their pleasure, that the last experiences of grinding against jeans in dingy club bathrooms or hookups ended in an unsatisfied call to a cab firm makes laying there, listening, fantasizing, even more unbearable. 

Not just because of the few residues of your consciousness, the blaring ‘this is so wrong’ -sign lighting up neon red in your head, but taking in their noises travels a long way through your body and you’re short of actually snapping and resolving the issue of the throbbing inside your pants yourself. 

The silence and air luckily help the cooldown; body and mind alike, and you wait, breathing in and out, calming down. Being up this late (or early) grants you the advantage of hearing the cicadas, the constant clicking, the low buzz of the aircon, and the distant rush of cars passing by. Somewhere there’s laughter, across the street, a TV light flickers through the white curtains fluttering in the opened window. 

People and animals are still up. Life’s going on. Another night of losing sleep isn’t the end of the world, even if the long day ahead will try defiling this feeling of peace that you conjure, brain hooked on the few meditation videos your friend has shown you recently. The stress of this situation manifests in an uncontrollable grumpiness that slips over your tongue and spills out of your eyes like thunderous weather clouded once bright skies – suddenly, one sentence meant nice gets on your nerves. 

You sigh and trot back to the pushed-back covers of your single bed, slipping your naked legs under the thin sheet. This is fine. Completely fine. You just need to close your eyes and concentrate on those damn sheep you had been counting before the rude interruption.

One sheep …. your shoulders sack into the pillow, relaxing slowly.

Two sheep … a heavy yawn breaks through your lips.

Three sheep … finally, you’ll be able to fall asleep. A few hours aren’t preferred, yet they’re better than no sleep at all.

Four sheep — and is that another. fucking. moan?

You sit up in your bed fast enough for dizziness to take over but that isn’t stopping any of the rage that switches your body to autopilot. In seconds after the godforsaken long moan echoes, you’re taking long and hard steps across your apartment, not caring one bit that you’re wearing neither shoes nor a long enough shirt to barely cover your ass and you haven’t even met them so this was neither an appropriate outfit nor emotion to confront them for the first time but fuck propriety!

“Fucking men,” you mumble underneath your breath as you waltz through your front door, – taking one step back to carefully push a sandal in between door and frame –, and then you’re up the stairs. Each step is fueled by that anger, the restlessness that pushes you over. In no other world would you have gotten this infuriated to completely ignore the otherwise introverted side of you, though they have taken it too far, “Just you wait.” 

You basically fly across the corner of the stairway, rushing up the last few steps until you see the dark door, boots standing in front of it, and before you can even think about what you’re about to do, your fists already collide with the wood once, twice, three angry times.

Four for good measure.

Five just because they’re surely taking their time.

Before your hand knocks another time, the door is being ripped open and you’re suddenly face to face with the nightly disturbers of your peace. Or rather face to chest. You’re certain your eyes are still angry because when you lift your chin to look away from those sweaty chests and find their faces, the man closest to you flinches the tiniest bit.

“You’re fucking loud,” you point a finger firstly at them, then down, pronunciation making it clear that you aren’t swearing per se, “I’ve been trying to sleep for so fucking long and I’ll give you one guess why I’m still up and about? Huh? Ever heard of compassion for neighbors or– I don’t know, holding in some of the noises?” Your chest heaves at the row of complaints that spills over your curled lips, cheeks hot and very possibly just as red as they feel.

There is a second of silence where your voice carries through the hallway, bouncing along the walls. 

You take the opportunity to give them a quick once-over, adding a wealth of new details to the mental picture you've been building. The man in front has dark brown, messy hair pulled into a ponytail, with some silver strands curling and sticking wetly to his forehead and temples. He sports a scruffy beard, with stubble on his pinkish cheeks and a thicker mustache over his lips. His body hair trails down, covering his defined chest, and extends further into the tight black boxers you saw in the basement.

The other one is strikingly different. Tall as well, towering over you though this has to do with the ice-cold and annoyed look that bores into you out of blue-grey eyes under heavy eyebrows. Long blonde hair falls over his lean chest, slightly ruffled but that’s no wonder after the two-and-a-half rounds in their bed. His lips are stuck together, adding to his attitude.

Both of them are gorgeous, dressed in nothing but boxers, and their bodies are marked by fingerprints and scratches. And while they surely are a bit older than you, that gap couldn’t be much.

“Wow,” the blonde, the one leaning against the wall behind his partner, the one being more long legs than anything else, rolls his eyes, “Aren’t you lovely?” 

You swear you nearly feel a vein pop. 

“Lovely?” you bring out between clenched teeth. 

The brunette shoots a look over his shoulder, getting a shrug out of the taller one in exchange that most likely means he doesn’t care one bit, and then he turns back to you, offering a crooked smile that sinks in the edge of the right corner, an apology pulling the plush lips down. “I’m sorry,” he starts and nudges his head back, “an’ excuse Thranduil, he can be very – bratty.” The thick accent that curls around the words slightly surprises you but you’re back on track fast.

One eyebrow raised you stare at them. “Sure,” sarcasm drips over your tongue, “and to shut him up you dick him down or what?” In the morning, you’ll probably very much regret this crude language, the dismissive tone that resembles more a hiss than anything else. 

“Yes, actually,” Thranduil cuts in and pushes his sharp chin up, looking down at you over the bridge of his nose. One of his hands, gods, they’re huge, lazily pats the broad shoulders of his partner, long and ringed fingers clanking together. He’s laying down heavily on some possessive shit you couldn’t care less about.

“Bite the curb or turn the moaning down,” you snap back, brows furrowed together. 

“Maybe –” 

“I’m Bard, by the way,” the brunette interrupts him and holds out a hand for you to shake. Hands, that had been who knew where a few minutes ago. Both of you seem to realize this at the same moment and while he cringes and pulls back, you offer your name, only looking at Bard and ignoring Thranduil, draped over Bard's back like a prying cat.

“Nice to meet ya. Thought about coming down a few times but never caught you home,” Bard says, attempting small talk. His effort is overshadowed by the sharp look-over Thranduil gives you, and it's clear that this is not the time to play the friendly neighbor.

You make that clearer by crossing your arms in front of your chest, unconsciously bunching up your shirt, and revealing the black string of your panties. Bard swallows, heavily.

“Well, nice to meet you,” you echo back dryly and cock your hip, “Can I go back to sleep in peace now? Are we done with this?”

Bard’s smile is pained, a bit embarrassed if you have to guess. “Sure, sorry again.”

“I’m not.” 

Thranduil hasn’t even looked at you as he whispers loud enough into Bard’s ears that it’s definitely meant for yours as well. And that piece of shit has the gall to flutter his lashes, his mouth ghosting over the hickey right against Bard’s neck, the offending lips curled into a smirk you want to wipe off. 

The sigh that leaves Bard is deep and deflates his whole chest, his shoulders following the drop of his arms. “Thran–”

“Oh, is that right?” On the contrary, you push your shoulders back and tip your head, sizing up the neighbor who, in your opinion, can move right back out again. No matter how pretty and unfairly sexy he is, that mouth of his ruins it. “Where do you pull out this fucking behavior? I just came here because you two have been going at it for hours and haven’t bothered to think about anyone else. I'm so sorry that –”

“Apology accepted,” Thranduil grins. His grey eyes are gleaming in amusement at your noticeable anger and he makes a high sound out of the back of his throat that sounds a lot like a giggle.

“Fucking hell, Thran!” Bard slaps his hand back, the flat of his palm meeting flexing muscles of Thranduil’s thigh, and lowly, sensually, Thranduil moans. This man is the walking definition of shamelessness.

That sound, the low vibration that usually comes through your walls, shoots to your core so fast that you sputter on the next breath. Hot curling heat makes itself comfortable in your lower stomach and you can’t help but blush – a feast for the unabashed man.

“If I had known we had such’ prude for a neighbor we would’ve found another place,” Thranduil says, most likely just to tease, because in the few minutes you’d known him, he’s definitely a teasing brat.

Ready to fight for yourself you shake your head and furrow your brows further.  “I'm not prude –”

“It’s okay” A Cheshire cat-like smile disproves the false compassion, making it all sound much more patronizing. Thranduil has gotten under your skin, an itch you yearn to scratch however you can, “Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“No, but I’m not a prude!” You lick your teeth, stepping closer to their door as if that will make your point more convincing than the tight vintage shirt you’re wearing, with a fading Care Bear printed right over your tits.

In mocking, Thranduil rests his chin on Bard’s shoulder, holding your slowly wavering gaze. “Not everybody is comfortable with such an active sex life.”

With ease he smothers every bit of self-control you have left, thinning out your resolve to stand higher than him. You glower, all the thoughts of failed one-night stands pressing onto your tongue and loosening it faster than you can realize what you’re spitting in front of their feet – one statement powerful enough to change the entire atmosphere into another type of tension:

"I would be if I would get it!" 

“Woah, let’s take it a notch back, shall we, hun?” Bard’s soothing voice could have been directed at each or either one of you two, and you notice how heavy your breathing has become, how much your hands twitch pressed against your breasts, and how Bard’s eyes flicker over where the shirt stretches tighter. 

Interesting…

The hand on Thranduil’s thigh wanders higher, immediately capturing your attention and it's the tanned color of it against ivory white that gets you. The difference in softness and hardness, obvious callouses moving over smooth skin. 

As subtly as possible, you shift your weight to squeeze your thighs together, heightening the throbbing evoked by every inch of skin in front of you. 

Neither Thranduil nor Bard misses it. You can tell it by Bard’s eyes darkening, Thranduil’s smirk widening dangerously and their stance, Thranduil’s arms slinging across Bard’s taut stomach, fiddling with the silky band of his boxers, as well as Bard leaning more right – opening up the way into their dark apartment.

“What if –,” Bard starts, fingers digging into Thranduil’s thigh.

Ice-cold eyes that suddenly burn with hot interest look you over, stopping right where the hem of your shirt exposes your underwear, “You could join us?” 

The offer shuts down your body as soon as your mind comprehends what Thranduil’s lowered, honeyed voice had presented to you and unfortunately, the inquiring “huh?” sounds much more like a whimper than originally planned. This question, this golden opportunity presented on a silver platter is fuel to the aching arousal pooling in your stomach and you can’t deny that, while lying in bed at night, listening to their intimacy, hadn’t evoked that dirty thought in you. 

Flushes of heat spread from your pelvis. You lick over your teeth. 

“What?” you laugh nervously. 

“You’ve heard us right,” Thranduil’s hand stills over the v of Bard’s hips. That he doesn’t move is nearly as taunting as the constant toying, wandering, and scratching he had done till then. 

“Pff as if –,” you stutter stubbornly, even if the pooling of wetness in your underwear betrays you, “as if.. as if I'm gonna waltz into the apartment of two strangers.. two men! You could do whatever to me!”

“Yeah, and you heard exactly what we could bring out of you” 

Their moans and the bed slamming against the wall are pretty good arguments against a case already won in their favor, despite how you’re still trying to grasp for straws.

“My organs when you strip me to the bed and murder me silently?”

“Jeez, you have an imagination woman. Is the stick this far up your ass that –”

“Babe!” Bard’s elbow lands in Thranduil’s side, warningly and soft just like his voice.

“No, let him finish” you glare at Thranduil, “I’d like to know what he thinks about presumed stick in my arse and its results.”

“I think you are prude and underfucked, jealous and so stripped up tightly you won't admit that a good fuck – and honey, I’ll deliver nothing less – would loosen you up,” Thranduil finishes his speech with a tip of his head forward, daring you to talk back and gosh, you wish you had some comeback, anything to prove him wrong, however, the wetness that sticks syrupy between your legs strikes out all other thoughts except:

You want them. You want both of these men.

“So—so what?” you retort, knowing they're right, a pout forming on your lips and a persistent crease of defiance. “That's such a testosterone-driven answer; typical man, thinking their cocks are the miracle cure to a woman’s dry spell.”

Even Bard tuts now, his soft eyes falling to your underwear. “You sure? Hun, you can whine all ‘bout but I can see your cute little panties being all wet – oh come on, don’t blush, I see them alright?” And sure, the material may cling to your cunt and the breeze in the hallway coming from an open window enhances that feeling, but– “Darlin’,” Bard chuckles, “Stop thinking, ‘s not that hard to accept you want it. Come on in, let Thranduil apologize sincerely for his hissy fit.”

You huff. 

Thranduil breathes a kiss toward you, pink lips forming a cute heart, and you only think: “Fuck it.”

Thranduil’s mouth, as he proves a few minutes later, is quite good at apologizing, fantastic even.

You’re spread on your back across their bed – ironically you find out it’s directly above yours –, legs opened up by his large hands, the metal of his rings biting ice-cold into the heated flesh as he kneads his fingers into your thighs and teases you most annoyingly by kissing all around your clit. His arms are wrapped around you in a way that's confining you to lie there and take whatever he decides to give you, or not in some moments.

“Pretty girl –,” Thranduil murmurs into the sensitive and practically vibrating skin, “Should’ve known there’s something sweet about that sour tongue.” His tongue is just as bitter, licking straight through your folds, gathering the absurd amount of wetness and ending shortly before your clit to press a wide opened mouth kiss into you. 

Your hips buck upward in desperation and at the same time exhilaration and Thranduil’s biceps flex to pin you down again; giving you no wiggle room.

“Better lie still,” Bard whispers and tilts your head back by the hand he wraps loosely around your throat. It’s not hard enough to blur your vision, but just hard enough to remind you of the power he holds over you. His fingertips close in together, putting the right amount of pressure on your windpipe for you to gasp for air; then he pounces in and takes over your lips in a heated kiss.

Your behavior, because you do in fact give it your best to stop your legs from crushing the head between your legs, is rewarded by Thranduil with the assistance of his tongue finally flicking over your swollen clit, first playfully then in earnest. He closes his lips around the bundle of nerves, grazing his teeth slightly over it and your head would’ve fallen back if it isn’t for the hand holding you to Bard. “Oh fuck,” you whine and grasp down. 

The second you burrow your hands into Thranduil’s hair, twirling some strands around your fingers for a better hold, he moans into you. Hot air meets the wetness of your pussy and the tips of your nails dig slightly into his hair roots. It turns him on more, that you grind yourself desperately against his face, your hands weaved into his hair to get back control and Thranduil’s tongue swipes over your pussy, diving in to plunge the tip into your entrance. 

“That’s it,” he gasps, sending the words straight through you while he fucks his tongue back into you a few times. Then he switches back to sucking on your clit and doesn’t stop; no matter how your thighs shook and fought to shut close, he stayed on his task of taking you completely into his mouth and rolling his tongue in figure-eights, circling in closer and closer. 

The sounds of Thranduil eating you out are pornographic, slickness from your spit and wetness, his ever-constant breathing and relentless swirls through your pussy that have your back in a wonderful arch. Bard’s lips swallow most of your whimpers up, and when he starts to lick his tongue against yours, teeth playfully tugging on your lower lip, you feel the stars before you see them. 

It starts up fast, heading toward you at full speed and you choke out your orgasm in a broken wail, fingers tightening in Thranduil’s hair. When he doesn’t stop and stimulation becomes overstimulation, your eyes flutter to escape the nearly drunken stare of his gray eyes hidden under long lashes and finally, he slows down. Bard too, leaves your lips in one last, dragged-out kiss that you want to chase after; his mouth is too sweet and gentle, a perfect harmony of caring and hunger.

“All attitude until the attitude drips down her legs and messes up our bedsheets,” Thranduil laughs huskily and wipes the back of his hand over his glistening lips and chin. He puckers his mouth, a wide grin on his face as he crawls up to you. “Now, how do you want this?”

Breathless, you look up to Thranduil and Bard, the latter already moving to shed himself of his boxers. When you see what Bard packs under the tight black underwear a wheezing laugh escapes your throat.

“Yeah,” you scoff at his arched eyebrow, “I would be fucking that multiple times as well.” 

His cock stands heavy against his stomach, thick and bobbing, white precum rolling down the veins. “Like what you see?” Bard teases, one hand wrapped around himself, leisurely stroking up and down. “I’ll let you have a taste if you’re good.”

A large palm spreads over your abdomen and Thranduil slides two fingers down to pinch your still sensitive clit so you yelp and scowl at him. “You won’t be getting any of that tonight,” his voice sounds threateningly possessive, and at the sight of his much taller body towering over yours and that look in his eyes, your stomach flips. “Don’t think I’ll let you hop on there after you disturbed us. Tonight –,” Again, that word that emphasized like he did promises more nights after this, “tonight he’s mine.” The last bit he whispers into your ear, the soft locks of his hair brushing your still-covered chest. 

All that Thranduil had time to undress you for, had been your underwear and those had landed ripped into two somewhere in the darkness of their bedroom. This meant you would have to borrow some of theirs or rush downstairs with your cunt on display and after this should be over, you have no idea if you would even be able to walk. 

Thranduil, by the feeling of his bulge pressing into your stomach, isn’t small either. That cockiness had to have a source somewhere and they don’t call it that for no reason.

Bard’s laughter interrupts the staring contest you two have going on, otherwise you’re not sure how long it would’ve gotten on or who would’ve quit first; not you, he could poke his cock into you however he wants. The other man walks around the bed, heading to the end where Thranduil’s long legs hang off and by the sudden twitch in the body crowding yours into the mattress and the cry Thranduil lets out, you strongly think there has been a tickling involved. 

You laugh as well, the sound dying swiftly when Thranduil turns back to you and grinds his hips into you. All that comes out then, is a straggled whine. 

“Fucking asshole,” you grumble and pull on his hair again, forcing his head down for you to kiss his wet lips. 

Able to taste yourself on his tongue, you greedily open your mouth further, and Thranduil wastes no second to dominate. He takes over the kiss, distracting you just enough that you don’t notice Bard taking off Thranduil’s boxers until the cock against your stomach twitches at a particular noise out of the back of your throat and precum dribbles onto your skin. 

“Someone’s eager,” you tease.

Thranduil promptly bites you in return. “Says the slut moaning under me,” he retorts, scratching his canines across your neck. “Now, take that skimpy shirt off or I’ll rip it like that sad excuse of underwear.” 

You roll your eyes but follow his demand, pulling the tight shirt off and flinging it away. Free for him to touch, Thranduil’s fingers of one hand find your right tit, and, putting the rock-hard pebble in between them, he steals the air out of your lungs pulling and twisting your nipples. “At least, oh fuck you –!” 

Your attempt to speak gets drowned out by a cry of need and suddenly, you’re getting crushed into the mattress by Thranduil’s heavy weight, his fingers still tight around your nipple and his mouth close to your ear. His ass is the only thing not forcing you down. 

Bard, who has been silently chuckling and observing until now, decided the time’s right to move this forward and over the head of blonde hair pushing itself into the crook of your neck, panting hotly and frustrated, you see Bard circling his rim with two fingers. 

“So that’s what shuts you up,” you whisper for Thranduil to hear. 

He lifts his head slightly, though the angry eyebrows fall quickly at another moan.

Behind Thranduil, illuminated by the moonlight outside, Bard looks positively majestic and dominating, his shoulder-length hair free from the ponytail, falling ruffled into his face as he inhales and forcefully spits down to where his fingers are slowly pushing further into the ass presented to him. 

“That’s good, Darlin’,” he praises and Thranduil keens, eyes full of hearts, “Push back a bit, makin’ it easy for me, aren’t you? Go on, sweetheart.” At your gasp – you’re not unaffected by the praise, not at all and if you weren’t coming down from a sensational orgasm that had your clit in flames.. – Bard looks up and winks at you. “Go on. Wonderful, you’re just the best. Look at you, beautiful.” He’s obviously talking to Thranduil but you follow his command despite it; the aura around Bard makes it impossible to do anything less than obey. 

Lying there under these two men, feeling their weight, hearing their moans and the rasps of their deep voices, and being clouded in the smell of sweat, cum, and body odors mixing, is fulfilling fantasies you hadn’t been creative enough to think up.

“Oh – Bard, can you – hah, yes, there –” Thranduil arches into the touch catlike, his back up in the air and the curve of his spine glistening, now that a few drops of sweat are decorating the skin, marked in pink trails of fingernails of a hand that twists slightly and adds another finger. 

Your chest is full of blonde hair, platinum after another inspection, strands perfect to comb your hands through. Thranduil’s lashes flutter beautifully. His lips open up, puffing out airy breaths, pink plush lips coated in spit after he runs his tongue over them. 

Biting down a comment of how he had been right about the ‘shutting up and dicking down’, you act without thinking. The kiss is much slower and sensual than the last, maybe to distract Thranduil from that pain/pleasure that Bard afflicts on him, opening him up four fingers at one time. Soon though, the grind of Thranduil’s hips becomes too much to endure, he already left a wet trail of precum all over you and while you’re still gasping into his mouth, you blindly reach between your bodies. 

“Goddamit,” you grunt, angling your hips slightly, “You’re no help at all.”

“What?” Thranduil groans and everything vibrates, “I’m the one having four fingers up my arse, can’t you just wait a fucking second?” 

“Mhm, no.”

“You’re such a brat,” he leans down, hair fanning over you and trapping you in a bubble where it’s just you, his panting breath and the fire in his eyes; he’s gorgeous. “I’m sorry but –”

“Apology accepted,” you cut him off, smiling sweetly.

A second later you swear you’re being ripped apart; immediately tears spring into your eyes, hiding Thranduil’s satisfied smirk behind a watery curtain as he pushes his cock in further, stretching you past known limits. The only proof that you’re still breathing is the pitchy moan, the whine that follows the stretch of inch after inch.

“Fuuck–” 

It’s going on forever. The rocking of Thranduil’s hips. The slow drill of his cock pushing its way through you, carving a spot into your clenching walls. Surely it’ll come out of your throat. 

You blink fast, regain your vision, and look down.

“Oh my fucking god,” you slap a hand against Thranduil’s shoulder, trying to get a grip on reality, “How are you this big?”

“He’s a mouthful,” Bard pitches in, grinning, and finally reaches a point where he has prepared Thranduil enough. He spits again; once into his hand, which he immediately closes around his cock again, and once between the globes of Thranduil’s ass, watching it trail down. Bard gathers some of Thranduil’s long hair to gently push it over his side. “Are you ready, my love?” he bows down for a soft kiss to the protruding bones of Thranduil’s arched spine.

Ironically, that's what finally gets you and Thranduil on the same page. 

A page that was full of unintelligible curses, punctuated by groans and underlined by hands grabbing for each other. 

Your hand digs itself into Thranduil’s back as he finally bottoms out, buried so deep you can feel him in the back of your throat – or that’s the pressure from that massive cock bullying your insides – and he stills, hipbones digging into you as well as if he hasn’t already marked you up enough with his girth.

Bard reaches forward, thus pushing in faster than Thranduil expects it and your fingers intertwine over the blonde's back. Electricity zips through you, starting from your toes pressing into the sheets, up your shaking thighs to your clenching cunt, and higher up your spine into your head.

Thranduil, fully sandwiched between you, can do nothing except follow the unforgivable rhythm Bard sets. 

The bed creaks as he rocks into you, just when Bard pushes in. The start is messy, lots of “There–” and “Fuck, slower–” until they change it up. 

Thranduil’s breathing is ragged and erratic as he moves against you, his hips pistoning against yours in a steady, firm rhythm. His arms hold you in place, his body covering you completely, lips moving along your neck and shoulder. You, being just on the receiving end, take everything he gives.

“Finally out of complaints, aren’t you?” he angles his hips to thrust harder. “A – ahh – all you needed was a good cock to shut you up.” 

You almost gag on a whine, proving him just right. “No– so-ohh – not true.”

A fleeing look to Bard and you’re silently begging. For what you don’t know. Maybe his support. Maybe to fuck Thranduil hard enough he swallows his words.

“Oh, Thranduil,” Bard starts and you truly think he’ll be on your side,  “If she’s still trying to mouth back you’re doing something – fuck – wrong!”

Thranduil laughs, fucking laughs. Each snap of his hips fills the room with shameless sounds, and as painful as it is to admit, his low baritone causes your pussy to clench tighter, dripping arousal. The fire they started burns higher when he wedges one hand down between your legs, somehow landing on your clit perfectly despite the brutal pace of his and Bard’s thrust. 

“You should’ve come up the first day you heard us,” Thranduil spits out, “Could’ve had this cock making you happy every night. You needed this, right? Someone, to fuck you stupid? Did you lie awake all night and listened to Bard fucking me, fiddling with yourself as if your dumb little fingers could ever come close to this?” His middle finger demonstratingly flicks your clit up.

“Please, oh– please, please,” you sob, the messy circles he’s rubbing with his thumb dumbing you down to a mumbling mess. Pleasure dances in every vein, lights up nerve endings in white-hot fire. 

"Gosh, I think I’m feeling that stick I had been talking about,” Thranduil rasps, pressing his palm against your lower stomach, bringing out another wail, “Oh wait no, that's just me giving you exactly what you needed." 

You’re wringing out his cock, every stroke sends him deeper and deeper, crushing your g-spot, urged on by the slaps of Bard’s balls. He’s taking it slower, staying against Thranduil’s prostate and spreading his hands in the long hair to control when his boyfriend slams into you. 

“C’mon, honey. Be good and come on Thran’s cock, won’t you? He’s so sorry for his bratty behavior but as you can see –” Bard sends his hand down swiftly, shocking you as his palm lands flat on Thranduil’s right cheek with a loud ‘smack’; a scream of pleasure and Bard pats the already reddening skin, “he’s insatiable.” 

That’s what does it for you, in the end. 

Already spiraling toward the edge with Thranduil’s pace and his fingers slipping, rubbing, flicking in all directions, it’s the calmness in Bard that sends you over. The relaxed hold in Thranduil’s hair, how he thrones above you, patiently waiting for his turn because he’s already fucked Thranduil twice tonight – what are another few minutes of watching you slurring their names?

If Thranduil’s cock broke you in half, the orgasm that spikes through you angrily and into every cell splinters whatever’s there to shred. It’s blinding, hot and cold, a wildfire and ice bath. It’s the strongest you’ve cum in a while and your brain shuts down. 

Thranduil groans as you clench around him, but, sensing – or seeing it in your fucked out expression – that you can’t take anymore, he drags his cock out of you. 

Half conscious your head drops to the side as you try to catch a breath that isn’t sweat and hair. Through blurred eyes, you have a front-row seat to the change in Bard. He swiftly lifts his head once, shaking back his hair and exposing the long column of his throat and the muscles that flex in his shoulder, before he’s sprawled atop Thranduil, grabbing the red and heavy cock wet with your cum and fucks him. 

Raw and unapologetic. 

Fingers pull on Thranduil’s hair, forcing his head back into his neck and Thranduil groans, arching his back closer to Bard. It’s a glorious sight, their hips meeting again and again, Bard’s hand wrapped around Thranduil’s cock, pulling and jacking him off in that same rhythm that Thranduil had rubbed you earlier.

Bard’s panting as well now, grinding more than thrusting and watches himself disappear inside Thranduil. “You feel so good, Thran–” he mumbles, “one more time for me, alrigh’ gorgeous? You did perfectly tonight, taking me three times.”

The praise continues to rain, hailing down like the short and precise twitches of Bard’s hips and when Thranduil hits the bed in a low moan of Bard’s name, coating the bedsheets underneath him white, Bard follows shortly after; buried deep inside his boyfriend.

For a while, the room is filled with efforts to catch your breath. Sweat clings to your body like a second skin, glistening on Thranduil and Bard lying close to each other next to you as well. 

“Oh my god,” you whisper, “the neighbors are gonna hate us.”

[qaxqxd]

Spider Lust

♡Pair: Miguel O’hara x Afab!reader

Genre: Smut

Warning: NSFW / Sexual content

A/n: Fulling my Janitor.ai roleplay (sigh) Also Miguel could release his venom on command if he wanted. (first time writing smut in forever.)

Summary: You and Miguel were on a mission to stop an anomaly in a lab. It was supposed to be a stealth mission. You both got caught red handed and were now hiding for it to die down a bit. Hiding in a small cramped space wasn’t a good idea, or.. Was it?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Great, just absolutely great. You were in a tight space and sitting on your Boss’s lap. Just how you wanted to spend your Tuesday’s night.

“Stop moving around.” He whispered, gripping your waist.

“Your lap is uncomfortable.” You whine.

“You should have thought of that before you grab the USB.” Miguel spoke, seeming a little pissed.

“Why would I think about sitting on your lap?” You teased him.

“What?- No! You know what I mean.” He frowned. You couldn’t turn around to look at him, but you knew he was a little red.

I mean it was technically your fault that you were in this situation. You grab the USB without thinking it wasn’t guarded. You technically could have done this on your own too, but Miguel insisted on coming along. Now you know why. He probably predicted you would screw up or something.

Miguel always acted like he knew the future which was- True sometimes. He is trying to stop the multiverse from collapsing, so maybe he predicted your screw up. But goodness, his lap is uncomfortable. You tried to move a little closer into his lap. It was a little more comfortable, still uncomfortable.

“(Y/n) stop moving.” He whispers again, his hot breath on your neck. You didn’t listen and moved closer, until your back touched his chest. His grip on your waist tightens. You heard him grunt a little.

“My bad, it's just really uncomfortable on your lap.” You said. He had both hands on your waist trying to move you somewhere comfortable on his lap. He didn’t say anything after, so you scoot back to your original spot. Laying your head on his chest.

You heard his heartbeat, it was pretty fast. He was breathing heavily on your head.

“You alright, boss?” You spoke sort of concerned.

“Yeah, I’m. I’m fine.” He had his head buried in your shoulder. You felt a bump underneath yourself. You felt like you were sitting on a rock. You moved a little, not knowing you were grinding on his groin.

You felt him flinch.

“Please stop moving, (Y/n).” Miguel sounded like he was out of breath.

“What are you carrying in your pockets?” You asked, still moving a little. “My suit doesn’t have pockets.” He grunted.

A moment of silence went by when you realized what you were sitting on his cock. Your eyes widen and you turn all red.

“Shit- I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to-”

He crashes his lips onto yours. Exploring every part of your mouth. Shutting you up. You both let go to catch your breath. A string of saliva connects you two.

“I can’t resist you anymore, amor.” His words send shivers down your spine. You felt your core heat up.

“You can have me then.” You mumble. 

The look in his eyes was lust hungry. Using his claws to rip off your suit. He kissed your bare neck.

“You owe me a new suit.” You whisper. “Mhm..” He continues to kiss your neck caressing his fangs onto your neck. His hand going into your panties and feeling your folds.

“You're so wet for me, querida.” He teases, sliding his fingers inside of you. Pumping them in and out. You moan at the pleasure.

“Shh… You don’t want to get caught do you?” He coe.

As his pace picks up, you feel your climax rise. His large fingers felt so good. You jolted as you felt his fingers go deeper inside. Your back arch as he finds your g-spot. He kissed your lips, trying to silence your moans.

Miguel was using his other hand to play with your breast. Flicking your hard nipple with his thumb.

“Miguel- I’m, I’m close.” You whine. As you felt the waves of pleasure crash over you. You came on his fingers, riding your orgasm out. He took his fingers out of you, licking his fingers. You watched the nano tech disappear from his groin and his cock flinging out.

The bead of pre-cum dripping from his tip. Your eyes widen at his size. Miguel lifted your thigh up with one hand. As the tip of his cock enters you. He rubs your clit with his cock teasing you.

 “Put it in already.” You mewled as he slowly slid his lengthen into you. You felt so full, tears forming. 

“So needy” He chuckled lightly. 

You moaned out, as he started to thrust into you. You felt his cock so deep inside. He was throbbing inside of you. As pain turns into pleasure. You heard him groan as he picked up the pace. You tighten around his cock, but he was able to thrust in. His thick cock stretched your hole so much.

“Ah mami, you're so tight. Such a perfect fit for my cock.” He bullied your tiny cunt. Your eyes rolling back to the intense pleasure. Your only vocabulary was his name. As you came for the second time.

He rubbed your clit while thrusting into you. He loved that you came on his cock. He was hungry for more. His hips, bucking to your hole. His pace is a little sloppy from before. You clutch onto his back, basically digging your nails into him.

You came so many times afterwards, he fucked you stupid. You cried into his shoulder. As he release, you felt a hot liquid shoot into you, painting your walls.

“ngh.” You moaned, but Miguel covered your mouth with his hand. Your thighs trembling on his cock.

“You did so well.” He praised you. Miguel kissed your head. Exhaustion took over you, and you fell asleep. As for Miguel, he placed a long lab coat over you. Carrying you out of the cramp room as the coast was clear.

Back to HQ with the USB.

Mission succeed? 

-

WC 1k

[pastorpresent]

Inspired by a lovely ask/prompt from @flower-majesty-anon, who asked for some deadclaws lipstick marking and mirror shenanigans with a sprinkle of angst:)) thank you so much my dear for the prompt!

Logan is panting hard into Wade's mouth, making desperate little noises everytime Wade thrusts into him. The sort of noises Wade wishes he could literally keep in a bottle, because they are fucking glorious - and he puts a lot of that down to the fact it's The Wolverine making them. Who would've thought he would dissolve so beautifully during sex? Sound so sickeningly sweet?

Wade could admit he was obsessed. Who wouldn't be? It's funny, because back in the Honda odyssey days, Logan would've swore up and down that he was not a bottom, and yet the first time he let Wade try, one otherwise dull Tuesday afternoon - about a month ago, a few weeks post world saving... well, Wade hadn't had a dick in his ass since, and Logan had become his own personal flesh light.

And Wade was a gentleman. He left it to Logan everytime to choose which half he wanted to be, and then silently squealed in delight as the man, Logan Howlett himself, would blush the prettiest of pinks and ask to be fucked open on Wade's dick.

Life did get better, kids!

Their sex was violent, and rough, and neither of them would have it any other way. How else were you supposed to do it when you finally find someone who matches your immortality and boner for being ripped into?

Honestly, despite what most people would likely think, Wade was just a tad more on the aggressive side than what Logan was. Of course that was only because most the time the older mutant was getting fucked so hard and edged for so long that he wasn't cohesive enough to fight, settling for lazy bites on Wade's neck that barely broke the skin, because he was rocked into a moan before he could finish the job.

Wade loved to mark Logan. Biting and sucking hickeys everywhere he could reach, the marks smeared with a little bit of blood. It meant Logan was his. All fucking his.

"Fuck," Logan breathed, grasping his shoulders to stop himself from being smacked into the headboard with the force of which Wade was hammering into his body, the tightness absolutely fucking delicious, hugging his dick perfectly. Jesus, he wanted to be inside Logan permanently. It was his happy place. Screw unicorns and waterfalls and meadows - the best place he could conjure up in his cesspool of a head was here, with Logan all sweaty and desperate beneathe him while he hammered his g-spot.

He leaned forward, catching Logan's lips in a brief kiss before moving just below his jaw, nosing at the skin, sucking hard, nipping with his teeth.

It drove Logan crazy, as usual. Wade felt him tighten around him, and the brunette gasped, lifting his chin higher. Always so beautifully accomodating and obedient. His Kitty.

By the time he was done ravaging at his neck, they'd both came, and Logan looked like he'd been mauled. In the best way, obviously. His neck was bruised, hickeys layered atop of each other like some sort of dirty collage. He looked gorgeous, sprawled out on the mattress, chest heaving, marked up.

After a minute or two of being collapsed in a sweaty heap together, Logan got up to go grab a towel. And yeah, Wade knows as the 'fucker' that really ought to be his job, but he was comfy lying in the mess of bodily fluids, and realistically Logan had the easier job! He just had to lie there looking pretty while Wade did the hard stuff. Ha, get it? Hard stuff?

Yeah, not his best, but there was something about a two hour sex marathon and orgasming a half dozen times that turned his brain a bit mushy.

He watched Logan go, said mush brain not quite awake enough to muster an ass comment, so he settled for just staring at it. He was heading for the bathroom, but Wade watched him pause at their mirror.

His fingers traced over the marks on his neck as they healed into nothing.

The expression on Logan's face was... sad, as he ran his hand over his bare neck and jaw.

He didn't say anything, moving to get the towel, and returning without mentioning it. He cleaned himself up first, and Wade watched. There was rarely silence between them, mostly because of Wade- Logan could probably not say more than single word every half hour and there still wouldn't be lues of silence.

When there was, it was comfortable. As it was, the current silence was because Wade was studying Logan, trying to get a read on his earlier reaction.

Did he not like the marks? They went away pretty quick, and he enjoyed the process of their creation well enough. Was it too much? They didn't really have any limits at all when it came to sex, because they could always sort of tell when the other wasn't into something, but he could've sworn Logan was into having his neck turned into some sort of crude rendition of Van Goghs 'starry night'.

Wade's train of thought was cut off by Logan cleaning his dick, his light touch too much for the very sensitive part of Wade's anatomy.

"You're too quiet," Logan said as he wiped down his chest, which was sticky with their combined release.

Wade took the towel from him and gently wiped Logan's eyebrow, where he'd missed the bit of come Wade had landed there on his third (fourth, maybe...?) orgasm.

"I'm not the one staring at themselves in the mirror like some teenage girl the morning after prom night," Wade replied, and yeah, maybe the humour was a bit of a defence mechanism here - because he was internally panicking over the idea that Logan wasn't into this, them, as much as he was, and worse still - he didn't feel comfortable enough to let Wade know.

Logan looked uncomfortable.

Fuck, dammit!

He couldn't lose this. Now he'd gotten a taste, he'd be a damn addict for Logan's skin and...

And he was the person who could make Wade feel fucking alive, for the first time since he went and got himself tortured into a damn freak. There was something about dying and regenerating over and over - you come back, breathing and solid, but it's like there was still a death rattle beneathe your ribs.

When he was with Logan, whether they be balls deep in each other or just eating fucking breakfast, that coldness dissipated. Quietened down into something Wade could conceivably ignore.

"It's nothing, just drop it," Logan muttered, but that had never been Wade's strong suit.

"Nope, tell me what's up or I'm never putting my dick in your sweet ass ever again," Wade slapped said ass, and Logan growled, cheeks going red.

"It's... fuckin' stupid, you'll just make fun of me," Logan scoffed, folding his arms over his chest and looking down at the bedding rather than Wade himself.

"If it's upsetting you it's not stupid. Come on babygirl, spill your guts to daddy," Wade purred, which only made Logan's glare intensify and the redness to spread down his neck.

He huffed a sigh, moving to get up, but Wade grabbed his wrist.

"No, hey, c'mon! I'll stop, I'll stop. Just tell me what's going on in that head of yours, peanut," he said, and Logan settled back on the bed, pulling one of their blankets around himself so he wasn't completely naked.

Wade didn't really give a shit about covering himself up, lying spread eagle on the bed still.

"Just... no fucking laughing, alright?" Logan gritted, and Wade nodded, "pinky promise," he said, holding out his pinky finger which Logan ignored.

"I like when you leave marks. I... I really, really like it, actually because it..." Logan's quiet voice trailed into silence in the room as he fidgeted, growling low in his throat as he grew frustrated at finding the right words.

"It makes you feel owned? Like you're mine, baby?"

Wade really wasn't mocking this time, reaching out to run a hand over the exposed skin of Logan's thigh, which earned him a full body shiver. Bingo.

"Uhm- I- yeah, and I know it's pathetic but I... I like it. I like feeling like I'm- I'm yours," Logan admitted, somehow even quieter.

Wade sat up, cooed softly and brought his lips inches from his kittys, lifting a hand to cup his cheek, "you're all mine, hm? All mine forever?"

Logan's expression faltered a little at that last bit, and Wade frowned, "so what's the problem, angel?"

"The marks don't stay. They dissapear too quickly and there's... there's nothing. No proof of it- and I know it's stupid, cos it's hardly like I could show up to work looking like... but it just gets to me a little, seeing them fade as fast as they do."

Logan's staring down at his lap, struggling to swallow around a lump in his throat, and Wade just wants to melt into a pathetic puddle, because he understood what Logan meant but also to have his lover genuinely upset that he couldn't show off the fact he was getting fucked rough and good every night... it was as hot as it was depressing.

"What if you let me take photos next time? We could keep them in the drawer, and whenever you need a reminder..." it wasn't a perfect solution by any means, and he planned to brainstorm something better, but it would do for now.

Logan smiled softly at the idea, but it looked like he was still a bit dissapointed, "sounds good."

Wade kissed him, soft, just lips, and swore he'd make it his mission to make Logan look like his in a more long lasting kind of way.

//

Logan felt utterly stupid.

Why the hell did he admit that shit to Wade?! He must think he's the most ridiculous, pathetic person on the planet - and Logan wouldn't blame him.

He'd admit he may have some... issues. Issues that make it so he needs to feel owned, because if not he just feels like he's floating without purpose.

And, well, nothing in his life seemed to last, generally speaking. The x-men were supposed to, once upon a time, before he let them be slaughtered. His quiet life in the mountains was supposed to, his relationship with Scott and Jean... but none of it ever did.

The only things Logan had come to know as permanent fixtures in his life were pain and, ironically, loss.

And maybe it was because Wade had literally pulled him up from the abyss of nothingness, but he really needed him to be permanent. Needed them to be permanent.

But everyday he'd watched the marks the merc would bite into his skin, cushioned by affirmations of appreciation and devotion and ownership, dissapear into nothing, leaving no trace behind as if they'd never happened at all.

It hurt. It broke him a little bit to watch them fade, because he couldn't lose this and he didn't need the very physical visual reminder that with just one stupid fuck up, he very well could.

He might have already, in all honesty.

They hadn't fucked in two days. Which to most, is nothing. For them? Well, Logan can only fuck himself alone on a dildo so many times in a 48 hour period, and he thinks he's on track to set the damn record.

Wade is sort of just dipping in and out the apartment, never around enough for them to kiss, nevermind fuck, and Logan feels like some girl with a crush, sitting around twiddling his thumbs and waiting on Wade to fucking notice him - or more accurately, to take him to their room and fuck him stupid.

By day three, he figures it's probably over. He freaked Wade out with his chronic neediness and instability, and he pulls up apartment listings and thinks about packing his shit. If he really has ruined this, he just needs to be gone. He can't drag it out, not this, not with what they have. It's too much, and if it's going to disappear, Logan isn't going to hang around and watch it fade like the marks on his neck.

He'd say he has too much self respect for that, but in reality he's just a fucking coward.

On day four though, he's woken up to kisses.

On his chest. His neck. His shoulders.

Soft lips pressing against his skin, and he blinks awake, squinting against the sunlight creeping between the gaps of their shitty curtains.

"Hmph," he breathes, and those lips kiss his jaw, teasing the corner of his lips, "morning, gorgeous," Wade's familiar voice breaks through the fog in his brain.

He glances down, and at first he's confused by the red painting his skin. He wasn't in pain, and Wade didn't tend to make him bleed unless he was a willing, conscious participant.

Then Wade came into view, and Logan realises the red, for once, isn't blood.

It's lipstick.

"What..." he frowns, lifting a hand and pressing his thumb lightly to the mercs red lips, which stretch into a smirk as he does. His thumb comes back the same shade of red.

"It won't be permanent," Wade says, kissing his jaw, nibbling a little in a way which makes Logan's back arch the tiniest bit, "but it will last longer, especially 'cos the lady in the store told me this one was a right pain in the ass for staining skin," Wade wiggled his non-existent eyebrows, and Logan stared.

Stared for a bit too long, probably, because Wade is lifting off of him, the tiniest dredges of embarrassment visible in his expression, "if you think it's weird, we can stop. I just thought-"

"Not weird," Logan interrupted, pretending the hoarseness of his voice was purely from just waking up, "I just... you thought about solutions? You... you went fucking lipstick shopping? Consulted the damn sales clerk? All for..." Logan trailed off, his throat suffocating on emotion.

"For you, babygirl. Anything for you, you should know that by now," Wade finished.

Logan is almost relieved when Wade returns to kissing his way around his body because at least he doesn't see the way his eyes well up just a little.

He gets lost in the feeling of Wade all over him, relishing in it, by the time the merc moves to his ear, biting playfully at his earlobe and leaving a smudge of red there too.

"I want you to see. Want you to watch me mark what's mine," Wade spoke low in his ear, and Logan felt his entire body shiver at the notion of it, knew Wade did too by the way his smile widened, in that annoyingly smug way it tended to when he discovered something about Logan that he'd prefer to stay hidden.

"You like that idea, sweetheart?" Wade hums, sickeningly sweet.

Logan keeps carefully quiet, but Wade isn't exactly one to drop things and if anything, his evident embarrassment only eggs the merc on.

"Nuh-uh, princess. If you want something, you gotta use your words like a big girl or daddy isn't giving you anything," Wade pulls back a little, an obvious threat, and Logan glares because even that, those fucking nicknames, did something to him that he didn't get. Drove him insane with a need that he didn't know he had until he met Wade.

Part of him was just overwhelmed and pissed, never really one to submit quietly - but while Al was a pro at getting the blood out, she couldn't do much if Logan slashed up the sheets into ribbons.

He bit his tongue hard enough for copper to fill his mouth, and when he spoke his gritted teeth were stained red like the trail left behind from Wade's lips, "please, Wade."

"Please what?" Wade pushed, tilting his head and grinning from ear to ear.

Asshole.

"I- I want..." he swallowed, exhaled.

"Want what, honey?"

"Want to watch. Want- want to see you marking me and fucking me, please," it all came out a bit rushed, but Wade seemed pleased regardless.

"Your wish is my command," and then Wade was moving off of him, but bringing him with- fingers intertwining as the merc guided him off their bed and in front of the full length mirror they had propped in the corner of the room. It was dirty, and cracked in the corner, but Logan still felt his breath catch when he caught his reflection.

The trail of red smudges up his neck, around his jaw, bright and stark against his skin.

Marks from Wade. Kissed deep into his very being, born from a devotion he didn't deserve - because honestly? All Logan had ever wanted was to be owned, claimed as somebody's, but he'd always been tossed out. A stray. Good enough to pet, but not good enough to keep.

'Girls flirt with the dangerous guy, Logan... they don't take him home'

At least no one had ever thought so until Wade.

Wade, who found him at his lowest and claimed him - even all the way back then. Gave him a home and a second chance at life, and then did all of this. Went and bought lipstick, because of some dumb little hangup Logan had. Did all of this for him.

The gratitude was overwhelming. His knees buckled, his throat impossibly tight, and Wade caught him with ease, adjusting them so most of his body weight was pressed against Wade's scarred skin.

"Need a break, baby?" Wade asked behind him, lowering them both to the floor, tugging Logan back until he was sat on his lap, his eyes still on their reflection as he leaned his head against Wade's shoulder.

He shook his head the tiniest bit.

"Good girl," Wade praised, the words going straight to Logan's achingly hard dick which was standing to attention against his stomach.

Begging for attention Logan knows it won't get, not yet anyways, because when Wade's in this sort of mood, his cock goes completely ignored while he focuses on-

Fuck, there it is. A finger teasing his hole, dipping in just enough to make Logan groan, thighs jolting, his head hitting back against Wade's shoulder with a dull thump.

"Love your pussy, princess. She practically pulls me in," Wade teases a second finger, and Logan can see how embarrassingly red he goes.

"Wade," he scolds, unable to manage much more, and it's mortifying anyway because instead of the gruff warning he intended, his voice instead came out all breathless and squeaky.

"What?" Wade asks innocently, "you want me to stop?"

And it's not a question, not in the way Wade asks it - because he already has his answer.

He takes his fingers out, dragging them up his torso, tapping Logan's bottom lip. Logan's jaw drops open so fast it clicks, and Wade slides the digits in far enough to make Logan gag.

He glares at mirror Wade, biting down a little in retribution, which just earns a chuckle from the man behind him, "wet 'em, babygirl."

Logan swirls his tongue around them, unable to stop himself from nibbling just a little, until they are soaked.

Wade pulls them out, moves them back down, and Logan lifts up a little so he can slide them in like before.

He let's out a startled sound when Wade shoves him forward instead, barely catching himself with his hands as he's forced onto all fours.

Wade thrusts both fingers in all at once, wriggling them deep until they are simply pressing against his prostate with the most irritating, feather soft touch.

Logan tries to push back onto them, but Wade smacks his ass, tutting loudly.

"Now, now! If you can't be good, daddy is going to tie you up and make you watch him jerk himself to the most disgusting porn imaginable, all while you get nothing."

That stupid nickname again. Logan couldn't speak, his brain seemingly offline, so he just sort of whimpered instead, struggling so much to stay still that his arms began to shake, every cell of his body begging him to start moving and fucking himself on Wade's stupidly good fingers.

"That's it, good girl," his other hand trails until it's cupping his chest, a thumb grazing his nipple, which makes Logan moan.

He looks away from the mirror, mortified seeing his face twisted up in pleasure. How the fuck does that turn Wade on?

Wade notices, because of course the fucker does. He's always so damn vigilant, but it's like it gets cranked up to a thousand during sex. Or fighting. But Logan would put money on the fact it's higher during sex.

"Watch yourself, sweetheart. Look at how pretty you look with my fingers inside you while I play with your tits," Wade says, and Logan reluctantly meets his own gaze in the mirror, which makes Wade coo with praise, "there's my pretty girl, you're a damn vision! And you're all mine, aren't you sweetness?"

Wade punctuates his point by leaning forward, draping himself over Logan's back. The switch of position drives his wriggling fingertips into his prostate for a second, and Logan very almost buckles to the ground. He kisses along the bare side of his neck, starting at the junction where his collarbone is, biting down hard enough to tear into muscle.

The blood blends in lovely with the red lipstick, and Logan is panting like a fucking dog in heat.

"Mine, all mine," Wade repeats, and it's like everytime he says that magical little word, something punches into Logan's gut in the best possible way.

He kisses up to his jaw, then over his cheek, his tongue dragging over the kiss marks and smudging them a bit, making them messy.

Wade grins at him in the mirror, and Logan would smile back but his lips seem frozen in a permanent 'o' position as he watches Wade leave marks. As he watches them remain on his skin.

"Wade- daddy," he whimpers, and for the first time probably ever, he's the one who renders Wade speechless during sex, watches as his pupils expand so wide his eyes are practically black.

Wade is still on top of him, until a punched out breath leaves his lungs, his eyes rolling back a little, "jesus, Lo. Fuck," he mutters, and Logan blushes but feels distinctly proud of himself.

"Gonna fuck you so hard your healing can't keep up princess," kisses over his spine, and when Wade shoves him down a bit more, forcing his back to arch, he can see the trail of red left behind.

"Please," Logan breathes.

Wade takes his fingers out, brings both hands up to bracket Logan's hips, holding him firmly in place.

There's no lube involved when Wade pushes into him, and it burns. The stretch burns him from the inside out, but it feels so fucking good.

"So fucking tight. You feel like a damn virgin, you been saving yourself for me, Wolvie?" Wade's normally steady voice sounds a bit wild at the current moment, as he finally bottoms out. Logan moans at the fullness, squirming a little, holding his breath.

"Except no- because no virgin moans like the two dollar whore that you do. No virgin can handle a dick in their soaking cunt like you do, babygirl," Wade grunts, and Logan paws at the carpet, breathing heavy and uneven as every word makes that heat building low in his stomach even more intense.

Wade pulls back, then slams back in, holding him in place with nails digging into flesh, fucking him hard and fast and brutal.

Logan screams into the carpet. Wade grabs a fistful of his hair, yanking his head up, "fucking watch, bitch," he orders, never slowing or faltering in his rhythm.

Logan does. Sees the way Wade looks totally gone in his pleasure, thrusting ridiculously. Watches the way his body jerks with every movement, the red marks on his skin catching the sunlight, barely distinguishable from the ever so slightly darker shades of blood.

"I- I'm close, can- can I-" it's like Wade is pushing every word out of him, and Logan realises that he's going to come with his dick completely untouched, and that thought twists it so instead of his rapid run towards the end, he's barelling right past the finish line, and he should've came by now from the impossible tightness in his balls but it's like he physically couldn't. Like he needed Wade's permission and fuck, he really was his bitch in every sense of the word, wasn't he?

"You can come, baby," Wade says, and Logan does. Immediately. Like on fucking command, and he can hear Wade chuckling as his arms give out and he goes falling face first into the carpet, his lower half only staying up from Wade's impossibly tight hold.

He glances at their reflection, mouth dry as Wade continues to fuck into him, his thrusts getting more unsteady but no less forceful as he gets close.

Logan whimpers, his entire body tingling and oversensitive.

"Almost there, sweetheart. Want me to finish inside of you? Knock you up? Want everyone to see you with my baby in your belly and know you truly belong to me?"

And Logan really doesn't get how he manages it, because his dick was half softened, but he comes again, his stomach clenching in a way that hurts as his second consecutive orgasm rips through his utterly confused body.

He must black out, and Wade must come, because the next thing he knows is blinking through bleary eyes up at their ceiling, and it's like he's up there and floating, chest heaving with exertion.

"Lo? You back with me?"

Wade. Wade, he wants Wade. Needs him, now.

"I'm right here," Wade hums, pressing against him, and Logan whimpers, chasing his lips, eyes half lidded.

Wade kisses him all gentle, fingers scratching over his scalp, humming against his skin, "you look gorgeous, baby. Look," and he's tilting Logan's face slightly, just enough to see himself in the mirror.

He's still all marked up. All Wade's, and he makes a happy sound in the back of his throat.

"Are you purring?" Wade asks, incredulous but teasing, his tone light.

Somehow the glare Logan aims for is just a smile, and he tugs Wade in for another kiss.

He does have to shower eventually. They both do, when the come drying over their bodies becomes gross and sticky. The red is washed away, but Logan almost cries in relief when he discovers Wade was right about the staining.

It's subtle, slightly reddened spots on his skin which will likely remain for the next couple of showers, but Logan finds himself running his fingers along them throughout the day, smiling softly to himself.

And well - when they do fade into something no longer visible a couple of days later, Wade has no problem recreating them.

[feyarcher]

Toronto people! Need furniture for cheap and can pick it up literally today (Monday April 29th)? I'm in the Annex, moving, and need to offload a bunch of stuff asap as in either before 5pm today or at like 9am on Tuesday. You have to come get it though and if able, ideally pay me like $20-50 cash for most things but if you are in a bind, I'm fine giving them for free.

Items that must gtfo:

-Blackbrown Ikea Malm double bedframe that lifts up for underbed storage*

-Small blackbrown Ikea table with 2 chairs (danderyd/ingolf I think)

-32" tv

-tiny blackbrown ikea tv stand, whatever their cheapest smallest one was. Free with tv if you want it.

-Small grey couch with double pull out bed*

-Brown faux leather armchair (sears rip)

-Black desk with one large drawer across the whole width. Has scuffs but 🤷‍♀️ (sears rip)

- Black 5 drawer dresser (sears rip)

- Portable AC unit. There is a tear in the hose that can probably be fixed with duct tape, but I leave that to the new owner.

- 2×4 Ikea Kallax in grey

- Half sized grey bookcase (wayfair)

Message me if you want something and can come get it. I can take pics in the morning if you ask for them too.

*bring 2 people. My back sucks and I cannot help you carry them. Also bed disassembly is up to you if desired but I do have tools you can use on this end.

[superblysubpar]

<- part three | part five -> | series masterlist

chapter summary: Steve drives you to work all week.

the song: Smoke by Caroline Polachek

also for your listening pleasure: Do You Believe In Love by Huey Lewis & The News, We Are the Champions by Queen, and In Your Eyes by Peter Gabriel

6,475 words | please see masterlist for gen warnings / wearing steve’s clothing, but size isn’t mentioned / for the purposes of this fic, you drink coffee and you take it sweet / alcohol mentions/consumption - you are tipsy in this / brief descriptions of car accidents/injury with some blood/ slight descriptions of panic/anxiety happening to Steve | my blog is 18+

Hawkins, Indiana - Tuesday

You slam the alarm button down when it goes off on Tuesday morning, sitting on your bed, fully dressed, one hour too early. 

Your knee bounces up and down, your teeth rip at the skin next to your thumb, and you stare at the clock, counting down, literally, to when your ride will be here. 

Steve had offered, when he dropped you off last night, to pick you up all week. It was supposed to rain off and on till Friday, you shouldn’t have to bike so far, it was the least he could do all babbled out of him as you sat in his passenger seat still wearing his clothes. 

What was the surprise, to both of you, is that you’d said yes to his offer. 

He’d blinked at you, you blinked at him and he nodded, fingers fiddling with the radio dial as he murmured, “Cool, cool.”

You’d sat in his passenger seat in silence, both staring out the windshield at your apartment complex until Steve cleared his throat and looked at you with raised eyebrows.

“Oh!” You quickly snapped off the seatbelt and pushed the door open, pausing to look down at the clothes you had on and the wet ones in your hands. “Um, I’ll, I can change quick and-“

“No!” 

He snapped his jaw closed and rubbed at his temple, blowing out a breath before he gestured, “I meant, like, don’t go to the trouble. It’s late, and, I’ll see you, and it’s fine, I don’t even wear those pants to sleep in because they’re too hot and-“

“Steve?” You interrupted, lips twitching against a smile. 

“Yeah?” He replied limply.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Robin.”

“Tell me about it.”

He smiled. You smiled. Something was definitely wrong with your stomach and so, sure you were about to be sick in his car, you mumbled something about seeing him tomorrow and quickly closed the door, then climbed the stairs up to your front door. 

Steve waited to back out of his parking spot until you were safely inside where he couldn’t see you fall backwards against the door with an exhale and you couldn’t see him rubbing his face at the exit of the complex mumbling the word ‘idiot’. 

Which is what you felt like, when you woke up with the sunrise, still wearing Steve Harrington’s clothes. 

And you were still feeling like it after you showered, scrubbing at your skin till it stung because you felt like you needed to wash off any evidence of the smell that clung to your body like it was supposed to. But somehow that didn’t stop you from spending longer on picking out an outfit, or taking more time to get ready. Reasoning with yourself that it was because you didn’t have to bike, that you woke up early, it’s nice to dress up and take care of yourself every once in awhile, it feels good to be put together for no one but yourself. 

This is what you’re currently telling your reflection, avoiding eye contact with the sweatshirt as you stomp out of the room towards your kitchen. 

But as you move down your hallway, something, or rather someone, outside the window catches your eye and you grab your bag and leave your apartment to figure out what he’s doing. 

Steve’s crouched down next to your bike, large fingers working on something with the chain with a furrow between his eyebrows. He doesn’t hear you approaching, which is probably why he shoots up at the sound of your voice, the back of his head smacking right into the metal bike rack.

“Harring-“ his name cut off with a sharp empathetic wince as his eyes shut tight and his jaw pulses after he curses under his breath.

“Sorry,” you rub at your elbow, scuffing a converse on the ground as you squint at him, “Believe it or not, that wasn’t on purpose.”

Steve exhales what you think is supposed to be a laugh, as he blinks at the ground, “Yeah, I…” 

His words get lost somewhere between his brain and his mouth somehow because all he can think now is:

Pretty.

The word makes his tongue feel too big for his mouth, like he needs to say it or it’ll just keep sitting there and he’ll suffocate as it swells.  It’s not like he’s not thought that word around you before, he has. But the urge to say it hasn’t ever quite made him feel like this, like he’s gonna die.

“You…?” Your head tilts, eyes squinting to inspect him more, heartbeat thrumming faster as Steve stares at you intensely.

“Don’t,” Steve finishes, standing up slowly, your red helmet swinging in his fingers. 

“You don’t?” The two of you blink at each other.

“Believe you,” Steve offers.

“Oh, right.” 

You hate that you feel so warm under his stare, hate that you’re wondering if he likes your outfit. You hate-

“I, um,” Steve gestures to the bike, “I didn’t want you to feel like you had to say yes to me driving you. Since you, you know, hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

The words slip off of your tongue so easily, you bite down on it in fear that more lies will fall out. 

The words to Steve are, however, exactly what he needed to hear to remember who the hell he is. 

Steve grins, two freckles lifting as he asks, softly, fondly, “Yeah?”

“I,” you swallow, wondering if it’s possible that Steve Harrington possesses the power to erase ‘how to speak’ from your list of skills and abilities simply because he’s got nice eyes and smells good.

His grin settles, a smug smirk keeping his lips in a flat line before he whispers, “What’s the matter, baby? Cat got your tongue?”

Your eyes narrow, arms crossing over your Journey t-shirt as you snap, “I don’t hate you. I despise you.”

Steve’s gaze darts over your face, before golden iris’ are settling on yours. He takes a step closer, dangerously closing the gap between your bodies as he whispers, “Yeah? Well I detest you.”

His chest rises and falls, bumping your crossed arms, the toe of his Nike’s touching the tops of your converse. So close you can count freckles on his nose and see green in his eyes.

“Wow,” your words hushed, but dripping in sarcasm, “Another big brain word and it hasn’t even been a week. Would you like a prize?”

Steve’s eyes flash, his lips twist up as he leans in even closer, “Yeah,” murmured as the tip of his nose almost touches yours, mint toothpaste fanning over your lips, “I would.”

Your breath leaves your lungs, held somewhere so it can’t escape as his nose brushes the bridge of yours before it’s suddenly gone. 

“Come on, we’re gonna be late,” spoken over his shoulder with a grin as he heads towards his car. 

Steve faces his car again, biting the inside of his lip out of your sight as you close your eyes out of his. 

Were you just going to let him kiss you?

Your legs feel wobbly as you make your way across the pavement towards the maroon car, and even more so when, nestled inside and buckled, Steve’s hand rests on the back of your seat as he says, “You look really pretty today, by the way.”

His forearm flexes in the corner of your eye as he looks over his shoulder to back out of the spot, spinning his steering wheel with the other hand effortlessly. The movement and skill makes your legs press together under your skirt, and you bite the inside of your cheek, adamant on ignoring what your body wants to tell you.

Steve fiddles with the radio dial as he comes to a stop sign.

“You know,” you bite, mad at yourself for falling for this, mad at him for starting it, just mad, “I haven’t forgotten that you have five days left to get me, of all people, to sleep with you. And as much as it pains me to say this, we’ve been in each others lives for quite awhile now, and I know you, Harrington. This isn’t working, it’s not going to work, and the fact that you think-“

He says your name roughly, tight, like the word burns his throat to say it. He leans over the console, ducking his head to catch your gaze causing a strand of hair to fall over his forehead. 

“Have you ever thought, for one second, that maybe, just maybe, I’m not as much of an asshole as you think, but because I know you hate me, I’ve never even tried to give you a compliment because that’s just not what we do? Tell me, honestly, if I’d have told you that you looked pretty, before today, before this bet, you wouldn’t have bit my head off then too? Or, god forbid, would have believed me?”

His breath is sharp, his gaze pierces into you, making something in your chest spark and sizzle, it’s not unlike the swell of pride you get when you win, and it’s better. 

It’s addicting. 

A horn honks and Steve blinks, facing the windshield and moving the car forward again. 

“I don’t hate you,” the words are a whisper, not as easily said as earlier.

“Right,” Steve clears his throat. He glances over at you with a small smile, then back at the road as he sighs, “Just despise.”

You hum a feeble agreement, and let Huey Lewis & The News fill the silence, asking if you believe in love. 

Steve’s fingers tap along to the song, his lips part, every other word softly exhaled as he sings under his breath. Which makes it hard to convince yourself that his words were just words, they meant nothing, and yours weren’t true either.

Steve Harrington doesn’t think you’re pretty and you hate each other. 

Despise. 

Whatever.

Your hands rest in your lap, thumb catching on a loose thread in your skirt that you are indebted to now. 

Not because Steve thinks you look pretty in it. 

But, because, if you instead search for where the loose thread begins, that brain space cannot be occupied by trying to figure out other times Steve wanted to call you pretty, or how you would have reacted, or how there’s two coffees in his cupholders next to your elbow. Focusing perhaps on, how the snag happened in your skirt could even make it so you don’t think about how, somehow, the leather of the seats and the coffee in such a tight space only make his normal scent of something minty and woodsy better and-

“Before you ask, no it’s not poisoned, and no, this isn’t me trying to woo you or whatever.” He gestures to the coffee, as if he’s reading your mind, “Could you hand me mine? Think it’s the front one.”

You’re shocked to learn that one of them is for you, and even more so when he grabs the cup from you and sips, grimaces, then coughs. 

“Ugh,” he licks his lips and holds it over to you, “That one was yours.”

You hand him the other cup, staring down at the one he handed back to you.

He bought you coffee and seemingly knows how you take it. 

As he pulls into the Family Video lot, expertly avoiding the kids skating and running around in front of Palace Arcade already, he sighs.

“You know,” he puts the car in park and looks at you, “I don’t have cooties.”

Haven’t even thought of the fact that if you took a sip, your lips would be where his had been, your body warms at the ‘kiss through contact’ possibility like a thirteen year old girl with a crush, heartbeat erratic still from the gesture of getting you the coffee.

“Actually, I was wondering if you did in fact poison this, because you despise me.”

“Detest,” Steve offers quietly with a smile.

“Detest,” you agree.

“I took a sip of it though. How would it be poisoned?”

“Maybe you’re like Westley and built up some sort of tolerance to this particular poison.”

Steve stares at you, blinking in silence until finally he asks, “What?”

“The Princess Bride?” You unsnap your seatbelt as he starts to get out of the car, talking over the roof of it. “Harrington, you have to have seen The Princess Bride?”

Steve swings his keys on his finger as he follows you to the front door, squinting. Both of you loving to have something to discuss that feels like easily navigated territory again. 

“Is that the one with Daisy?”

“Buttercup,” you correct immediately, stopping on the sidewalk to face him, “That’s our first movie today. No ifs, ands, or buts.”

“Fine,” Steve shrugs, but then nods to the cup in your hand, “If you take a sip and say thank you really sweetly.”

You scoff, “I don’t have to do shit, I’m the manager. And that was an if.”

Steve nods, holding his hand out. “Okay, then give me the coffee.”

“But...” you hesitate, the smell of cinnamon and vanilla wafting up to your nose. 

He definitely knows your order.

“Thought you said no ifs, ands, or buts?” Steve grins.

Your lips scowl before you mutter, “Don’t be cute.”

“You think I’m cute?” He smiles wider than he has all morning, showing off perfect, dazzling teeth. 

You roll your eyes and lift the cup to your lips. His eyes remain on yours, drinking you in just as much as you drink the coffee, gazes unwavering upon each other. 

It’s hard to swallow the perfectly made to your specifications coffee when he whispers, “That’a girl. See, was that so hard? Now, what do we say?”

“Thank you,” you grit, but Steve’s hand stops yours from unlocking the door.

“That wasn’t very sweet…” he tsks, sing song lilt to his voice.

With his hand over yours on the handle, you sigh, focusing on getting to watch a favorite movie instead of the way it engulfs yours. Batting your eyelashes, you force out a cheery, “Thank you, Harrington.”

Steve smirks, shakes his head no. He leans in, just like he had at your apartment. 

Just like when you almost let him kiss you. 

“First name, honey.”

That sparking, sizzling, simmering feeling is happening in your chest again.

Steve’s breath in is yours out as you murmur, “Thank you, Ste-“

“Jesus Christ! Thank fuck you’re alive! I’ve been…”

Eddie’s shout drifts off as he jumps out of his van, his eyes darting between you and Steve who’s starting to stand up straighter, hand dropping from the top of yours.

You clear your throat as Eddie grins at you, then Steve, then you again as he steps closer.

Eddie’s gaze looks over your outfit and your cheeks warm as he hums, raising his eyebrows over bright brown eyes that see right through you. 

“Well, don’t you look nice today.”

  Hawkins, Indiana - Wednesday

  He was already on thin ice, and now, you were planning to fully cut a hole in said ice and let him meet his demise in the cold, dark water beneath it.

  Eddie doesn’t seem to care, as he winces with fake sympathy, and tosses an M&M in his mouth as you glare at him with your arms folded over your chest. 

  “What do you mean, you can’t take me anymore?” 

  He shrugs, but takes a step away from you, seemingly out of harms way.

  Physical harms way at least.

“I have to go back into the shop, Wayne needs me. I’m really sorry, I’ll make it up to you?” He puts on a nice, big, Munson level show - hands folded in prayer, big pouty lips, and blinking sad doe eyes. 

  You stand in front of the counter, rubbing your temple from the fluorescent that’s been blinking all morning. 

  “I didn’t eat lunch, I didn’t pack a lunch, because you promised the diner, you made a big deal about tradition,” you start towards him, hangry and looking for vengeance. 

  Eddie quickly sidesteps around the corner, standing directly across from you as you both go in a circle around the main counter where Robin sits, typing at the computer. 

  “Beer, on me,” he pleads, quickening his pace, “Tomorrow. A whole pitcher, just for you. I won’t even make fun of you when you get a gutter ball every turn!”

  “I don’t want beer, Munson! I want a strawberry shake and a damn cheeseburger!”

  “I can take you.”

  Steve’s quiet offer makes you freeze, Eddie grins and backs out quickly towards the front door, pointing, “What a wonderful idea Steve! I wish you both a lovely first date!”

  “Eddie!” you shriek, stomping towards the door, but he’s gone. 

  The bell chimes as he dashes through it with a salute, Steve clears his throat while you stand frozen, staring at the closed glass doors. 

  After Eddie had found you yesterday, and thoroughly bothered you about your outfit, and what he didn’t interrupt, because there was nothing to interrupt, he’d shown up at your apartment with far too many questions and far too much of an opinion on your relationship with Steve Harrington.

  Not a relationship. A friendship.

  No. 

  A mutual understanding. A common ground. An agreement of ceasefire of your overt…hatred. A, maybe, slow ascent to friendship, one day, perhaps. 

  Which seemed to please the idiot who was betting against Steve winning, well into the night. So, he agreed to take you out to lunch the next day, honoring your tradition, yet assuring you that the conversation was in fact, not over. 

  Robin finally breaks the silence, calling your name, then, “You good?”

  “Yeah,” you mumble, crossing your arms, “Just debating sleeping with Harrington so Eddie loses three hundred dollars.”

  There’s a choking sound behind you, and you spin to see Steve’s mouth stuffed with Red Vines.

  Your Red Vines. 

  “Are you kidding me? What did I say!”

  You stomp towards him and he holds up his hands in surrender, talking around the candy, “Hey, remember me? Steve,” he swallows, backing away and tripping over his heels. “I’m the guy who brought you coffee two mornings in a row and has the ability to bring you to a delicious, cheesy burger, fast?”

  You’re inches from him and he yelps, wincing before you even attack, then a shouted, “I’ll pay!”

  Stopping in front of him, you snatch up the package of Red Vines and growl, “And a shake.”

  Robin gapes at the two of you, then looks at Steve, “You brought her coffee? You never bring me coffee.”

  Steve glares at her while he grabs the package of candy back and holds them high above your head, ignoring your protests. 

  “You can have these back when you learn to say please.”

  “Can you pass the salt?” You speak around the fries in your mouth.  

  Steve sits across from you, eyebrows raised. 

  “Please,” you grumble. 

  You shake the salt over the basket sitting between the two of you after he hands it to you. The basket holding the fries he ordered immediately and flashed the waitress a smile and wink for so you got some food fast while you waited for burgers and shakes. 

  He watches your shoulders relax after a few bites, and decides he can attempt conversation, “Better?”

  Your head nods, fingers covering your mouth full of food as you say, “Yeah. Thank you.”

  Steve nods too, looking anywhere but you while you lick salt from your thumb or suck on the straw in your glass of coke. 

  “Glad I could help.” He risks stealing a fry for himself, his stomach grumbling in protest as it watches you eat and it gets nothing. 

  “Sorry,” you fiddle with the straw wrapper in your hands, shrugging, “I know I much more resembled a ravenous wild animal than a normal human being back there.”

  “Glad you said it,” he mutters, ducking when you throw the folded straw wrapper at his face. He catches it, playing with it between his own hands, staring at the table. “You were pretty upset though, what’d you mean about tradition?”

  You shove fries in your mouth, buying time to respond, wondering how much you should tell Steve. 

  “Um,” you cough into your fist, squinting out the window at the sky turning gloomy. 

  “It’s okay,” Steve waves it off, “I didn’t mean to pry. You don’t have to tell me.”

  He shoves fries into his own mouth, right as the waitress brings two burgers over, sliding a strawberry shake onto the sticky tabletop. Steve’s chewing becomes frantic, holding up his hand and you’re saying the words before you can even register what you’re doing.

  “Could he get some extra pickles please?” 

  “Of course, hon,” she sways off, delivering another shake at a different table while Steve blinks at you. 

  “What?” You avoid his intense gaze, looking at your burger as you lift it to your lips. 

  “Didn’t think you were paying that much attention to me,” he finally says, smiling at the waitress when she drops off a small container of pickles. 

He looks at his burger, not you, so maybe that’s why it’s easier to keep talking about it.

  “Kind of make it hard to not pay attention, Harrington.”

  The pair of you sit in silence, chewing your burgers as rain starts to tap softly against the window, the red neon sign next to you flickering and making his yellow tshirt orange. 

  “Wish I knew you were watching sooner,” Steve looks up to find you already staring, “Wouldn’t have acted like such an idiot, maybe this would be a different story.”

  Your heart thuds in your ears, too warm under the softness of his eyes.

  “Acted?” You manage to push past your lips, tilting your head. 

  Steve smiles, and grabs for the shake, waiting for you to protest him putting a second straw into it. When you don’t, you surprise yourself by offering up, “It’s from the night we met.”

  He blinks at you, wrinkle forming between his brows as he sucks on the straw between his lips. You look away from them as you clarify, “Eddie. The diner. It’s a tradition from the night we met.”

  “Oh,” Steve nods, pushing the shake away and returning to his burger, adding another pickle. 

  “Yeah, I,” you close your eyes, then open them to look down at your food, blurting out, “Met him, after I threw that beer. In Brendan’s face. He took me to the diner, here, for pie, and I sort of spilled my guts to him.”

  Steve’s jaw pulses, the furrow of his forehead only deepening as you explain, not lessening. He takes another bite of his burger, ketchup smearing against the side of his mouth, offering you a reprieve from staring at his lips as he speaks around his bite, “Got it. That’s when you guys started dating, right?”

  You blink, lips parting but nothing comes out other than a shocked, “Ha!”

  Steve looks up at the scoff, taking in your wrinkled nose and how your eyes stare at his lips as you laugh, “Eddie…Ed,” you giggle, “No.”

  “You and…never?” Steve sits up straighter, eyes bouncing between your own. 

  “Not even a little bit,” you laugh, touching your lip, “You’ve got…”

  Steve swipes at his lips while he asks, “But you said you spilled your guts, I just assumed after what that asshole said and did that Munson like comforted and you and…”

  He trails off as you lean forward, rolling your eyes. 

  Your thumb swipes over the corner of his lip as you shrug, “Yeah, we bonded over assholes and crushing on people who’d never give us the time of day while sharing cherry pie. Best friends ever since.”

  Steve’s heart thrums as your fingers linger on his jaw, before you sit back again.

  And then you lick the ketchup off of your thumb. 

  He finally stumbles over the words, “I love pie.”

  “Yeah?” You grin, grabbing the shake.

  Steve nods, keeping eye contact as your cheeks hollow around the straw. But then he rolls his shoulders back and grabs the shake out from your lips and back across the table.

  “Except cherry. You’re delusional for choosing that over lemon.”

  “You’re delusional,” you yank the shake back towards you, “If you think you’re having any more of this.”

  Steve leans over the table as you begin to sip the shake again, only to wrap his lips around the second straw, noses bumping as he tries to drink it faster than you at the same time. 

  Your feet are intertwined under the table as you push at his shoulder and he tugs on the glass, both of you making a slurping noise as you get to the bottom, then grabbing at your temples from brain freezes while laughing.

  “I can’t stand you,” you push the glass towards the middle of the table. 

  “That’s better than detest, I’ll take it.”

    Hawkins, Indiana - Thursday

  Steve holds out the bag of popcorn to you, and you grin, taking some as you lean into him, a little tipsy, in the backseat of his car. 

  You, because you were last out to the car, and Steve, because he doesn’t do well in the front seat when Robin is driving. 

  Which is saying something, because Eddie isn’t doing so hot as it is.

  “No, Buckley!”

  “Give me a break, Eddie! It is super dark outside, and I’m a new driver, never attempted driving in the rain, and I don’t know wiper speed to rain droplet ratio!”

  You snort, nose in the popcorn bag as your shoulders shake. 

  Steve shushes you, mumbling, “You’re kind of a menace tonight.”

  “Eddie’s,” you hiccup, blinking up under heavy eyelashes at Steve’s profile, mesmerized by the freckles that dot it, “Fault. Got me all that beer.”

  “No comments-” Robin begins to talk over her shoulder.

  “Ba-ah-ah,” Steve points forward, stepping on an invisible brake in the backseat while Eddie grabs her chin and keeps it locked straight ahead.

  “From the peanut gallery,” she finishes loudly.

  “No peanuts back here,” you throw a piece at Eddie’s ear, “Just popcorn!”

  Steve remains facing forward, watching intently as Eddie directs Robin on slick roads towards her house. “You didn’t have to drink it all.”

  “Oh,” you sigh, sliding over to the window and pressing your forehead against the cool glass, “But I did, Harrington. For I am the champion of bowling night!”

  He opens his mouth, but you sit up straight again, and press your finger to his lips, softly saying (but thinking you’re singing), “No time for losers.”

  Steve smiles behind your finger, eyes soft and melting you a little. 

  Which you almost say out loud, but the song on the radio grabs your attention. You squeal, which makes Robin jump, which makes the car sway and Steve grab your shoulders, pushing you back on the seat as you yell, “Turn it up!”

  “You’re such a loser,” Eddie grumbles, but does as you request. 

  Peter Gabriel’s In Your Eyes plays a little louder, but no one can tell, because you’re loudly singing over him.

Eddie rolls his eyes at the way Steve watches you, and Robin bites her lip, fighting back laughter as you shout, “You all love this song, don’t lie to me!”

  You scream into your fist, dramatically singing, tossing your head, pointing at each of them. 

  “And all my instincts,” you take a deep breath and whip over to Steve, kneeling on the seat, “They return!”

  You shove your fist into Eddie’s face, who pretends to bite it, refusing to sing. But finally melts at your pout, mumbling along with you, “Without my pride.” Robin happily joins in, in a high falsetto, when you whip your fake microphone over to her, “I reach out from the inside.”

  As they all join in with you for the chorus, you fall backwards, laughing, catching Steve’s eyes. 

  You’d like to blame the beer, the cozy dark backseat, the way Steve smells, the rain, the fucking song. And while you can’t blame them for something that was inevitable, you can pretend that without this specific combination you never would have. 

  If you were sober, and In Your Eyes came on, you never would have touched the two freckles on Steve’s cheek, your fake microphone falling limp, palm flat against his chest. 

  If it weren’t dark, and he didn’t smell so good, you never would have let those same fingers drag down his jaw, only to linger on his lips. 

  And if it weren’t raining, and Robin hadn’t taken a second to look back in her mirror and say, “Holy shi-“

  It never would have happened. 

  Eddie shouts, Robin screams, and something heavy and warm is on top of you as the car spins on the water that’s flooded the streets. 

  Your ears are ringing, muffled words lost in the sound, and you can’t move, something holds you down. 

  It takes a second to realize the car isn’t moving anymore, and there’s hands on your cheeks. When your eyes blink open, there’s golden hazel ones that remind you of a scared boy looking at you intently.

  “Are you okay?” He gasps from on top of you where you’re both horizontal in the backseat now.

  “I’m fine,” Robin says sarcastically from the front seat, “Thanks for-“ Eddie shushes her.

  “Of course,” you grumble, hands that were clutched in Steve’s shirt loosening and pushing at him.

  His hands shake on your cheeks, fingers touching a spot on your forehead that has you wincing and his chest moving up and down faster.

  “Harrington,” you push at him more, his hand cups your cheek, eyes turning glassy as you insist, “I’m fine, get off.”

  “Hey,” you shake his shoulder as stares at your forehead, breathing harder still, “Harrington, relax. We’re all fine.”

  The side of his face flashes with red and blue, his heartbeat thuds against your chest as his breathing continues to ramp up. Your hands cup his jaw, thumbs delicately swiping over his cheeks. 

  “Steve. Look at me.”

  His shoulders shake with a stuttered breath and then his hand quickly reaches forward, gently cupping the back of your head as the door behind you opens. 

  Someone speaks, but neither of you hear them, eyes remaining on each other as you whisper, “Take a deep breath, Steve. Please?”

  You nod as he does, your hands loosening on his cheeks as he starts to let his weight hover over you instead of pushing you down. 

  A voice from behind you asks Steve to get out first. He’s held back as paramedics help you out of the car and lead you over to the back of the ambulance. Robin stands next to you and you shake your head, the words I’m so sorry easily able to read off of your lips and Robin stops them with her hand up. 

  Eddie stands next to him, watching, just as intently, and he clears his throat. 

  “That was…” he starts, looking at Steve, then back at you, now getting your forehead looked at. “Glad you were back there, man.”

  Steve nods, numb, as he watches you wince and say, “I’m fine,” to the EMT stitching you up. His fingers graze down the bridge of his nose and his swipes underneath it, nodding when Eddie says he’s gonna go check on Robin. 

  Everyone is fine, save for your head injury. His car is fine, save for a ding on the back bumper.

  Your side. 

  He saved you.

  He protected you. 

  He was scared for you. 

  Your heartbeat picks up as your gaze on the wet asphalt beneath your scuffed sneakers catches bright Nike’s approaching. 

  “How’s the patient?” 

  Steve’s voice is soft, scared, not a thing like you’ve ever heard before. 

  Which is maybe why when you look up at him, nothing comes out of your parted lips.

  Rain drips from the tip of Steve’s hair, curling around his ears, a droplet caught on his cupid’s bow, darkening the green shirt he wears. 

  The EMT stares down at you, waiting, then she smiles, staring at your forehead as she offers, “She’ll be okay. No concussion, probably a little sleepy from the pain meds she just took, but overall just a little dinged up. Nothing a little night of tender loving care from her boyfriend can’t fix.”

  “Oh, no, I’m-“

  “He’s not, we’re not-“

  Steve and you talk at the same time, stopping when the other speaks. 

  “Oh, my mistake,” she hums. She looks down at you as she inspects her last stitch, smiling softly, “Well, maybe some tender loving care from a friend then. Can I count on you handsome? Get her home safely?”

  Steve nods, cheeks pink as he waits for you to stand, his hand resting by your elbow just in case, then hovering near your lower back as he walks behind you towards his car. 

  “Dingus!” Robin shouts from Hopper’s truck. 

  Steve turns to look at her, and as he holds the door open for you, he leans down and murmurs, “I’ll be right back, you’re…you okay?”

  “Mhm,” you nod, blinking from the pain of the movement. 

  Steve doesn’t look like he believes you, but nods, and closes your door softly, running over to the truck, squinting in the rain. 

A soft tap hits the glass of your door and you jump, rolling the window down for Eddie, the boys swapping places without you realizing.

  “Hey sweetheart, how you doing?” He folds his arms on the frame of the door, bent down to take a closer look at your head. 

  “I’m fine,” you answer without thinking.

  Eddie’s lips twitch, fighting the urge for the joke, “Of course you are. You okay with Harrington taking you back? Hopper always can? Need me to stay over?”

  You watch Robin grab Steve’s jaw, pushing and pulling him to inspect him while he rolls his eyes and pushes her off. A much more physical approach, but the same as Eddie’s nonetheless. 

  When you don’t say anything, he follows your gaze and sighs. “Yeah, you’re okay. Fucking hell, I gotta figure out where I’m getting three hundred dollars from, thanks a lot you Peter Gabriel loving dork.”

  “Eddie, I-“ you protest and he waves his hand, smiling.

  “Save it, you’re hook line and sunk for him. You have been since the day I met you, fine.”

  He kisses your temple, opposite of your cut, and taps the hood of the car before jogging over to the truck, swapping with Steve again. But he pauses in the middle, grabbing Steve’s shoulder and pointing at the car, then pats him and jogs off again. 

  Once Steve is back in the car, you wait for him to drive, to say something, but he looks at you expectantly and then you realize-

  Your seatbelt. 

  “Sorry,” you murmur, and then it’s silent. 

  No radio. 

  No talking.

  Just the swish of rain on the pavement under spinning wheels. The rhythmic pit then pat of it hitting his windows, the slosh of the wipers back and forth. Steve’s breathing. 

  You don’t realize you’ve been soothed to sleep from it all, the combination of alcohol and adrenaline fading, until the car is coming to a complete stop, engine off, and your door is being opened. 

  Steve leans over you, unbuckling the seatbelt, whispering, “Come on, trouble.”

  “Mmm,” you protest, eyelashes fluttering, head hitting the headrest with a frown. “Steve.”

  “I know, just a few more minutes then you’ll be in bed, come on.”

  His hands slide into yours, gently pulling you from the car, guiding you towards the stairs. Your lead filled eyelids blink with each step, as you mumble, “Keys.”

  “I got ‘em, come on,” his hand presses to your lower back, then roams higher, pressing lightly when you sigh from the feeling. 

  A door opens, a hand wraps around your waist and a shoulder supports your head. 

  Steve blinks in the low light of your lamp that must be on a timer, taking in your space for the first time. He closes your door, keeping his hand on your waist to steady you as you sway while he bends down. 

  He watches you, as he unties a sneaker, patting your ankle as he quietly says, “Lift your leg up for me, honey.”

  You do as you’re told, blinking down at the boy who gently removes your shoe, then the other as you rest your hands on his shoulders for balance. 

  “Steve,” you gulp around his name, blinking back tears.

  He looks up at his name, frowning as he stands, large hands cradling your jaw as he tuts. “Hey, what’s the matter? What’re these for, huh?”

  His thumbs swipe over your cheeks, catching big tears that spill over your lashes as you blubber, “I’m so so-sorry. Everyone could have been really hurt. I hate Peter Gabriel. I’ll ne-never listen to hi-him again.”

  Steve laughs, and you frown, blinking at him through tears, “It-it’s not funny. Stop laughing at me.”

  He clears his throat, nodding, “Right. It’s not funny.”

  His lips twitch when you frown more, fingers curling around his wrists that still support your cheeks.

  “Bedroom?” He asks softly.

  “Harrington,” you sniffle, eyes rolling, “I hardly think this is the time to try to make a move.”

  He shakes his head, “I meant so I can set you up before I leave, smartass.”

  You point down the hallway, but then sigh, “Can you get me a glass of water.”

  He raises his eyebrows at you expectantly.

  “Please?” you pout your lips out.

  Steve nods towards your bedroom, “Yeah, I can do that.”

  He watches you wander down the hallway, and click on a light in your room, before he heads to your kitchen. As he fills the glass up, he takes the opportunity to glance around at pieces of you he’s not normally let in on. Wondering where certain trinkets are from and what they mean to you. He notices the large collection of vinyl. He grins at the stack of Family Video tapes that are clearly over the rental limit, even for employees. 

  And he’s ready to say something sassy to you about it, when he reaches your room, but you’re already laying in your bed, eyes closed and curled up on your side.

  In his sweatshirt. 

  He sets the glass of water on the nightstand, then lifts your comforter, pulling it over bare legs exposed from small sleep shorts. He leaves a quick note about leaving your front door key in your mailbox. 

  Steve hesitates before clicking off the light, taking in your slow, even breaths, the shadows on your face, peaceful with sleep. 

  He kisses your cheek as he turns off the light, lips lingering against your skin for a moment longer than he probably should have. 

  “Goodnight, honey.”

AN: thanks for your patience in this chapter and the next! This chapter is actually what sparked the core of this whole series, and I’m excited to finally share it with you. It was originally being written in the winter, and the events of this chapter are heavily inspired by a moment that happened between my parents before they were married! My dad and mom were in the backseat of a car, an accident happened, and my dad had leaned over to protect my mom, and she says that's when she knew she was in love with him. Take that for this story however you'd like 🤭 So while it’s not exactly what happened anymore, the essence is still there and I hope you love it, it definitely holds a special place in my heart. Also, I simply can’t help myself from including The Princess Bride in all of my series it seems. Thanks for being here!

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[biblomaniac]

Supercorp headcanon:

Kara is ready to combust.

Everyday this week has been complete torment, but in a delicious way.

On Sunday, Lena wore an A-line floral dress to a brunch The Foundation hosted to promote its new Girls in STEM program.

On Monday, Lena showed up to CatCo for lunch with Kara in black slacks and a waistcoat, with a deep purple silk blouse underneath. Kara had to restrain herself from running her hand up and down the back of Lena’s blouse during their customary hug of greeting.

On Tuesday, the forest green dress Lena wore hugged her curves so well Kara couldn’t help but stare everytime she caught a glance of it across the room.

On Wednesday, a Hellgrammite started a fire in the business district that required the Superfriends help. J’onn, Lena, and Brainy stayed at the Tower as support for Supergirl, Dreamer, Sentinel, and Guardian. Four hours after the initial emergency alert, Supergirl flew into the tower through the balcony. She couldn’t wait to take a hot shower and maybe order some Chinese for dinner. But first, she had to write a debrief of her final saves from the day.

“Hey, darling. Are you ready to go?”

“Lena, hi! I’m almost—“ Kara starts to answer, but abruptly stops when she looks to the side and is eye level with Lena’s chest. “—done.”

The blue low-cut blouse Lena is sporting has left a considerable amount of cleavage exposed. Kara’s heart thunders, her face flushes, and her hand’s clench tightly to keep from reaching out to Lena. Unfortunately, the table under her grip isn’t prepared for the brunt of Kara’s Kryptonian strength, leaving two holes of twisted metal.

“…Oops.”

On Thursday, when Kara got to Lena’s penthouse, she found Lena snuggled on the couch in her National City University sweatshirt. The shirt was at least two sizes too large on Lena, giving it an oversized look. Kara’s eyes zeroed in on long, pale legs when Lena stood to greet the blonde with a hug.

After their hug, Lena moved into the Kitchen to gather snacks for their movie night. Without her heels, Lena had to tip toe to reach the Oreos on the second shelf.

“Darling, I can’t reach,” Lena huffed. When Kara turned to help, all the blood rushed to her head when she saw the former CEO’s nearly nonexistent short’s patterned with Supergirls crest.

Kara crossed the room on wobbly legs, reaching over the brunettes head to grab the Oreos, crackers, tea, and anything else from the top shelf Lena may need. If she takes a moment to glance down at her crest running along Lena’s ass and hips, well, she’ll just keep that little secret to herself.

On Friday, Lena wore black leggings and a soft white sweater to game night. Lena looked so soft and docile with her hair down, minimal makeup, and fuzzy socks. Kara couldn’t help but tuck her head into Lena’s neck, breathing in her sweet scent during their hug.

“Are you okay, darling,” Lena quietly asked as she moved one hand to cradle Kara’s head closer, while the other clutched onto strong broad shoulders.

“Fine, I’m fine. I just missed you.” Kara admitted.

“We saw each other last night, Kara.” Lena chuckled, moving to release Kara. The blonde wasn’t ready to let go, but did so anyway. Dropping her arms from Lena’s waist, Kara grabbed her hand and leading Lena to their favorite spot for game night.

On Saturday, it all finally comes to a head. The whole gang is out at Al’s Bar, enjoying the first night they’ve all been able to meet in what feels like years.

Lena looks stunning, dressed down in tight black ripped skinny jeans, a red crop top, brown leather jacket and black pumps. Their table had been crowded, and Lena made the executive decision to sit in Kara’s lap to “save space” for M’gann, who would be joining their group after her shift.

The drinks had been flowing steady all night, leaving everyone at least a bit tipsy. Kara had even indulged herself with an Aldebaran Rum and Coke. She sips slowly, remembering how it felt to be drunk the last time she had this drink. Lena’s proximity plus the alcohol is a heady combination.

By the time Kara is halfway through her drink, her left arm has snaked across Lena’s stomach, open palm holding the brunette close to her chest, while her right hand alternates between Lena’s thigh and her cup. Kara is hardly paying attention to the conversation, focused mainly on how close Lena is, how her hair smells like vanilla and honey, or how her heartbeat sounds strong and steady.

“Corazón, let’s go dancing!” Andrea exclaimed, pulling Lena to the dance floor.

Ugh, Andrea. It’s not that Kara dislikes her former boss, per se. The blonde just prefers that Kara and Lena time is not interrupted.

All week, Andrea has been popping up wherever Lena is. She stuck to Lena’s side during the entire Sunday brunch; called Lena for a meeting in the middle of Monday’s lunch date; was present for every single round Lena walked after Tuesday’s press conference; popped into the tower after Acrata helped with the fire on Wednesday; Thursdays movie night was interrupted when Andrea texted Lena about a “fashion emergency,” regarding a dinner she was going to; Andrea came halfway through game night on Friday, stealing Lena as her game partner and leaving Kara to third-wheel Alex and Kelly for the rest of the night.

Kara watches as Lena and Andrea move through the crowd of bodies to find a spot to dance in.

“You should just ask her out,” Alex leans over the the table to whisper-shout, her fourth beer clutched in her hand.

“Who?” Kara asks, trying hard to seem nonchalant.

“Lena, you dolt. We can all see clear as day how you two feel about each other. Put your big girls pants on and talk to her!”

“I don’t—I can’t, Alex. What if she rejects me? Our friendship just recovered, I can’t risk it asking for something I don’t deserve,” she laments, circling the rim of her glass with her finger.

“What about what Lena deserves? She cares about you, Kara. It’s been years of you two dancing around this thing.” Alex says.

“We aren’t dancing around anything, Al. She won’t want me, she doesn’t—“ the rest of her words die in her mouth as she catches a glance of Lena and Andrea on the dance floor. Lena’s back is pressed to Andrea’s front as the move to the beat of the music. When the song changes, Lena turns in Andrea’s grasp, standing chest to chest.

The glass in Kara’s grip shatters, spraying glass across the table. Thankfully, Kara’s cup was nearly empty.

“Shit, sorry. I’ll clean this up,” Kara said, using multiple napkins to collect the shards of glass.

Alex laughs, covering her mouth with her hand. “Kara, stop being a wimp and talk to her before Andrea asks her out again.”

“Yeah, okay, you’re right. I can do this, I got this.” Kara nods her head determinedly, chugs what remains of Alex’s beer and stands to make her way to Lena. As she navigates her way toward her hearts desire, she see’s Andrea’s hand lowering from its position on Lena’s back to rest on her ass. All conscious thought leaves Kara’s head as she quickens her pace just short of SuperSpeed to reach Lena.

“Lee—“

***************************************************

“Corazón, let’s go dancing!” Andrea exclaimed, pulling Lena to the dance floor.

“Drea, what are you doing?” Lena’s asks as she follows Andrea out to the floor.

“I’m helping you, Lena. If we get Kara jealous, she’ll stop acting like such a Girl Scout and finally make a move,” Andrea says, waving off Lena’s concern.

Lena stops walking and starts swaying at Andrea’s insistence, matching her moves seamlessly. It feels just like boarding school, with Andrea leading Lena by the hips. “I don’t know, Drea. You’ve been interfering all week and she hasn’t said so much as a peep. I don’t think she has feelings for me.”

“Joder, las dos son tan despistadas. She will! She has been jealous all week! We just have to step up our game,” Andrea exclaims in exasperation, turning Lena so that the brunettes back rests against her chest.

“Look at her, she’s glaring right at us! When the song changes, I’ll grab your ass and this will all be over,” Andrea laughs.

“Andrea! This is ridiculous. What does Sam think about this whole situation; shouldn’t you be worried about what she’ll say?”

“What’s between Samantha and I is none of your concern, Corazón. But if you must know, she told me, and I quote, “I hope it works so Kara can grow a pair—“

“Hey!”

“—I’m sure she won’t be bothered by what means I use to help you both along.”

“You know what? Fine, whatever. When it doesn’t work I don’t ever want to talk about this to either of you ever again.” Lena mutters, thoroughly embarrassed and ready to call a quits to their plan.

“I reserve the right to tease you both when it does,” Andrea replies, turning Lena around at the song change and moving one hand to grasp Lena at the ass.

“Kara’s coming; I told you this would work! Play cool,” Andrea says.

As Kara closes the final distance, she reaches a hand out to Lena, touching her on the shoulder, intent to end whatever this is between her and Andrea.

“Lee, mind if I cut in,” Kara asks sharply. Lena gives Andrea a glance, dismissing her wordlessly as she accepts Kara’s hand.

“I’m gonna step outside to take a call. Lena, call me later if you want to…talk,” Andrea imparts with a sly smile before moving to exit the bar. Kara glares daggers at Andrea’s retreating form.

“Hi, darling. How are you?” Lena asks, watching Kara’s face transform from a scowl to a happy grin.

“Better now that you’re with me,” Kara says pulling Lena closer by the waist. That Aldebaran rum may have given her a bit of confidence, but she won’t do anything Lena doesn’t want. “Is this okay?”

“Of course, darling. Are you okay; you looked a bit frazzled when you came over.” Lena wraps her arms over broad shoulders, admiring Kara’s beauty as they slowly grow closer to one another.

“Yes, yes. I was just a bit nervous, I guess.” Kara ducks her head at the admission, blushing.

Nervous? Odd. Kara may not be as outwardly imposing as Supergirl, but she is hardly nervous since her reveal to the world as being Supergirl. The synergy of Kara Zor-El encompasses both Kara Dancers and Supergirl, but without the necessity to hide behind one mask or the other.

Lena can’t hide the surprise in her voice, “What do you have to be nervous about?”

“I just—I want to be Andrea—“

“You want to be Andrea?!”

It seems the rum has also compromised her ability to articulate clearly.

“No, wait, that’s not what I meant. I want to be in her place with you. I’ve been…jealous. She’s interrupted our time together everyday and just now she was…” Kara bites her lip, turning her head to look away.

Lena bends to the side, trying but failing to catch Kara’s gaze.

“She was what, Kara. I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.” Kara is jealous. It almost seems too good to be true. Maybe Andrea’s plan will work after all.

Kara lifts her head, piercing blue eyes gazing into Lena’s own. “She was touching you! Holding you! I don’t want her to do that, Lena. I want, I want to do that.” Kara states with conviction, voice hardening determinately.

Kara thinks she’s overstepped when Lenas arms loosen from around her neck. She prepares to apologize, heart breaking at the thought of Lena turning her down. That is, until Lena reaches for her hands, dragging them from their purchase on her hips to rest just above her ass.

“You want to hold me like this?” Lena whispers, head tilted and pupils dilating. “You can Kara, you can touch me however you want.”

The blonde moves her hands down tentatively, looking for any signs of unease. “When she doesn’t find any, she palms at Lena’s ass, pulling her forward and holding tight. “This okay?”

“Perfect, darling; keep going.” Lena noses at Kara’s neck, interested to see how far this will go.

Kara starts to dance, leading Lena along to the thumping beat. She feels a new kind of thrill, so unlike the one she gets from being Supergirl. There is a hot, pulsating feeling running through her veins.

The superhero tilts her head down to lay a kiss on Lena’s temple. “This okay,” she asks, internally begging for Lena to want more.

“Keep going.”

Kara starts to lay soft kisses down the side of Lena’s face, hands still kneading her supple behind. When she reaches the brunettes jaw, she noses her way along the skin back up to her ear. She lays one more kiss on the shell of her ear before she whispers, “More?”

“More.” Lena says, nearly panting under Kara’s ministration.

The blonde drops her face to the crook of the shorter woman’s neck, placing a kiss on each pulse point before laying a third on the beauty mark at the center of Lena’s throat.

Lena reaches up, one hand tangling in the hair at the base of Kara’s neck, while the other holds firmly to a bulging bicep. “Keep going, darling,” Lena rasps.

Tentatively, Kara laves her tongue against the mark. At the sound of Lena’s quiet moan, Kara sucks at the mark. When she pulls away, there is a blossoming patch of red over the skin.

Kara touches her forehead lightly to Lena’s, gazing into verdant eyes.

“Can I kiss you?” Kara implores, cerulean eyes glassy and wanting.

“Please,” Lena supplicates, leaning forward ever so slightly.

Without further ado, the blonde presses her mouth firmly to the red painted lips in front of her. It isn’t long before the brunettes tongue runs across her lips seeking entrance into her mouth.

*********************************************

“Did it work?”

“Of course it did, Tesoro.” Andrea answers into the phone.

“Fucking finally. I’ll call Lena in the morning and get all the dirty details. Now that that’s taken care of, when are you gonna come see me?” Sam implores.

“I thought you were coming here next weekend?”

“ I am, but Ruby’s at summer camp for the rest of the week. I thought you could come spend some time here in Metropolis before we fly to National City.”

“Well, what’s in it for me,” Andrea flirts, already looking for red eye flights out east.

“You, me, an empty apartment, and all the time in the world to do whatever we please.”

“Promise me we can do that thing I like and I’ll be there in the morning.” Andrea knows she’s pushing her luck, but there’s nothing sweeter than a little pain with pleasure.

“Oh, baby, we can do whatever you want—” Samantha starts, voice sickly sweet, “—if you get here before dawn,” she finishes, voice low and demanding.

“Done.”

[etherealily]

𝙴𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃𝙴𝙴𝙽 // 𝙉𝙁𝙅!

Nate Jacobs + Fem!reader. Warnings : Dark. SFW, but discretion advised. Drugs.

I don't know if this is milder or darker than the previous parts, but I do know that it is LONG.

Part 1 : Whiplash

Part 2 : 9 Lives

Part 3 : Blessed

Part 4 : Shards

Part 6 : Sin

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc. : You're fun and you're wild, but you don't know the half of the shit that you put me through

═════════════════════ 🧿 ════════════════════

TUESDAY, LIBRARY, 4 PM.

"We need to talk."

Suddenly, Carl Jung had never been more interesting, your eyes unable to rip away from the words on the paper in front of them, ignoring Nate as much as possible.

Your shoulder suddenly jerked, and a soft whisper followed. "Hey. We need to talk."

Frowning, your eyes darted between the two Jacobs brothers, the looks on their faces not strict, but the most infuriatingly stoic gazes mankind had ever known.

"You had quite a weekend, right? Anything crazy happen?"

The real question Aaron was asking was whether you were going to talk about it.

"Nope, just lots of psych homework."

"See, this is why I'm telling you to drop Psych. Unnecessary stress.", remarked Nate, his fingers rapping on the table in an almost musical pattern. Almost, because music is art, and there was nothing artistic about the false smile he was giving you.

"I'll keep that in mind."

"How are the rest of classes going?" Small talk?

"Great. Chem is pissing me off, though."

"Eh, well, only nerds are good at Chem, and I don't fuck with nerds. So you're lucky."

Oh, thanks, man. Such an honour.

"Are you good at Chem?"

"I pass."

"Where'd you get time to study? What with all the vapes and parties and quote-unquote 'dozens of bitches'?"

He let out a breathy laugh. "I got good work-life balance.", he replied, leaning on his arms closer to you. His head tilted and you knew something psychotic was about to happen. Well, it was Nate. You knew something psychotic was about to happen the second he walked in.

"I'll bet."

He smiled at that. "Are you my friend, Y/N? Are we friends?"

"I don't think so."

"Good. We're on the same page.", he hissed, moving in closer, glaring at you with the same eyes that had been acting as a dam to his true emotions two nights ago. "You can't tell anyone." His fingers deftly twirled your hair around before tucking it behind your ear.

"About?"

"Saturday."

"How you threw a lamp at me?"

"What you heard about my Dad. What he wanted to... what he said. What you learnt about our family."

"I won't."

"No, seriously, Y/N, don't fucking play with me right now. You'll regret it if you do."

"I'm not playing around, either. I'm not going to tell anyone."

"Good.", sniped Aaron. "'Cause we'll fucking ruin your life if you do."

"Aaron.", whispered Nate, shaking his head. "She already said she wouldn't."

"And you trust her?! She walked in with this polite girl attitude and then when shit got tough, she yelled at you with Mom just a room away. And you told me she wanted to fuck Da-"

"Aaron, shut the FUCK up, okay? She said she isn't going to, so she won't." The glares were back on you, an unwelcome blanket in the heat of tension.

"Yeah, we wouldn't want to have to say stuff about you , too."

"Aaron, I said fuckin' drop it."

"No, she gotta know what's at stake, or she's going to take this shit lightly."

You could almost see the vein pop in Nate's head.

"Nate, what... what stuff?"

"It's nothing. Just... we needed incentive.", he muttered, shrugging.

"What incentive?"

"You're buddy-buddy with a drug dealer, Y/N.", he continued, although, to his credit, it seemed with a little reluctance. "And he has access to a lot of shit, right? Who knows if he's ever slipped something into your drink and... y'know."

"What the FUCK? What the FUCK, NATE?"

His idea of incentive was making you a rape victim?!

Being shushed by the librarian solidified your thirst for homicide.

"I mean, you fucked Shane voluntarily, so you're already a fuckin' whore.", he declared, shrugging again as if he was just stating that the sky would be lit up by fireworks on the Fourth of July. "Maybe he just thought it would be easier, without all the playing-hard-to-get-shit. You're close enough that he trusts you to watch over his store."

"You can't FUCKING be serious! FEZCO WOULD NEVER FUCKING-"

"How sad, you're in denial.", tutted Aaron, pouting. "How would you know? He could have used shit stronger than Rohypnol, ya know? Shit that could knock you out cold for hours, and maybe he even called a couple of his trapper buddies-"

Aaron shut up quite quickly when your knuckles met his jaw, but started cussing you out when Nate pulled you off of him. "We're just saying, Y/N, you don't tell anyone the truth of that night, we won't tell them the lies about Fezco."

You pointed your finger at Nate's chest, hoping to god that that would distract him from the rage-induced tears pooling in your eyes.

"You're a fucking coward, Jacobs. With a pervert dad. A fucking coward who can't admit that he has no idea what the fuck he's doing."

"Big words coming from a girl that was raped by her dealer."

OH, someone needs to euthanize this motherfucker.

FUCK. NATE. JACOBS.

TUESDAY, 9PM

Nate had no fucking clue why he was doing this.

He was just drunk, he supposed. Drunk and horny. Average teenage experience.

But it's like.. he could've done anything. ANYTHING else. He could've actually gone to the party, picked up some girl, screwed her into the bed.

But no.

He sat there, scrolling through the fucking SlutPages. For who?Shane's sister, maybe, because of the inexplicable hatred he'd been feeling for him for about a month that he couldn't really think of a reason for? You would think, wouldn't you?

He looked for you.

There was no way you were a virgin. But he should've known there was also no way you were a slut. Or at least, that you were smart enough not to end up there.

He almost fucking threw the phone onto the wall. Fuck.

And you'd blocked him. That was the problem. He couldn't even text you. And he didn't have your fucking phone number, Jesus fucking Christ, he should've gotten it! Relying on something as flimsy as social fucking media was stupid. Idiot.

Wait. Social media.

He quickly slid his chair over to his computer, his hands moving with a pace and mind of their own.

No fucking way would he admit this, but his brother... had some good ideas, once in a while.

When he was fourteen, he'd been wide-eyed, watching through the crack through a door as his older brother -17 at the time- created an account, some random username, some girly bullshit, and then gone Incognito, finding a picture to add.

And then he watched as his brother spent hours poring through pictures of girls - at the time, Nate's seniors- and then suddenly sigh.

"You know, you breathe like fucking Darth Vader?" "What's that?", he'd asked, ignoring that comment and padding over to sit next to him. "This account? I'll tell you, but it- it's like... private brother shit, ok?"

"Shit". What a novel word that was at the time.

"Okay." "Spit-swear it, runt."

He spit-swore. A thing he never fucking did again.

"You can use it. Whenever you're down bad for a chick but you're blocked." "Why would a chick I'm down bad for block me?" "You're so obviously fourteen."

And god fucking damnit, was he.

Not that he was down bad for you. But all he'd say is if this wasn't love, it was pretty fucking close. Why you enthralled him, no clue. You were so easy to rile up, but hard to push too far. You always seemed to be limitless.

He logged in.

Good, the loser, Crestin, posted a story.

Good, you were there in the background.

Great, you were hot.

Bad, you were drinking. Tequila. Wasn't that you and Nate's thing?

Of course, he wouldn't presume to have taken your tequila-V-Card, but he most definitely would have assumed that you'd associate tequila with him. With that night. He'd assumed you'd stay away from it, metaphorically forsaking him in the process.

But no.

Shane's tequila was non-traumatic, and apparently delicious. Ugh.

This simply would not do.

TUESDAY, SHANE'S PARTY, 11PM

"No, NO, GET the FUCK away from me!", you warned, pointing a finger at him. You should've taken his advice and learnt to shoot. "I'm warning you, Jacobs!"

Shane's party was meant to be the one place you could be to avoid Nate, seeing as the host was some sort of Nate-repellent, but NO, you'd just apparently underestimated Nate Jacobs once again.

And here he was, his hand gripping your wrist - just like the rope you wanted to grip his neck - and glaring down at you as if you'd just killed his entire family but he was mildly turned on by it.

"Y/N, just fucking listen! Just- stop causing a scene! Fuckin' LISTEN!", he ordered, grabbing your shoulder with one palm and pointing at you with the other hand, to stop you from writhing away from him.

"You can't just do what you did last week and then expec-"

He kissed you. What did he think this was, fucking Disney Channel?

"NO! NO!", you shouted, shoving him away and secretly hoping for a car to hit him as he stumbled back.

No such luck.

It really was the world according to Nate, wasn't it?

"You know it's okay, right? It's alright."

"What?"

"It's okay to want me.", he informed you, as if he was telling you it was okay to sing in the shower.

Everyone does it. It's like, a thing, relax.

"It's okay.", he continued, "People want what's bad for them all the time.", he murmured, his thumb tracing your lip like he was tracing out a line he wanted so desperately to cross. "It's human nature."

"You think I'm bad for you?"

He took a deep breath, as if he was about to tell you you were terminal. "I think you're good for my soul. Like a baptism without the water." His thumb moved further into your mouth, just barely grazing your teeth.

"Even you have no clue what that meant, admit it."

"It's called effect, Y/N. Drama. Intrigue. Doesn't have to make sense."

You stared up at him, waiting for elaboration, and that earned a huff from him as he looked around at the other people in the front yard - doing lines, making out, throwing up - before turning back to you. "No, honey, I don't think you're bad for me. In fact, I think you're unnecessarily good for me."

"Unnecessarily?"

"As in, I don't need your energy."

"Then why are you so insistent on being around it? 'Cause you want to fuck me?"

"No! Jesus. It's in the name, Y/N. GOOD luck charm. You help me do GOOD in my games. You're good energy."

"What's next? You gonna tell me my birthstone?"

"Oh, shut up.", he chuckled, shaking his head as he moved your jaw from side-to-side in what seemed to be a playful gesture, but at this point, could very well have been him trying to ascertain which cheek to shoot into or something. "You got your licks in. We good?"

"Good? No. NO. We're not good! You threatened someone I love, so no fuckin' way are we good!"

"I know, I know. Aaron wanted me to-"

"BULLSHIT!"

He sighed, as if you were his deranged relative who was climbing up some telephone pole.

"YOU just can't handle the fact that I saw you almost fucking cry! I caught you weak, and that's a power shift, and you don't FUCKING like it, do you?!"

His jaw ticked for a moment, but he managed to let out a mix between a scoff and a chuckle. And then, as if what you said wasn't quite literally exactly what he was feeling, he asked, "Are you done?"

"NO, I'm not fucking done! I still haven't got to the part where you threatened to accuse him of rape, which is a fucking terrible thing to joke about in the first pla-"

"Look, man, I don't have time for this shit, okay? I'm not hurting Fezco! I came here so I could tell you something."

"My GOD, Nate, you made your point! I won't tell anyone!", you groaned, snatching a drink from some already-tipsy guy's hand and downing it.

"That's totally hygienic.", he remarked, eyes finally tearing away from you as you both watched the drunkard stumble over a girl who was getting rid of her lunch and breakfast in the bushes.

"I got new incentive.", he murmured, his forehead against yours, and his thumb rubbing your cheek as if it owned land there.

"What, now you're going make Shane out to be a rapist, too?"

Not a bad idea, actually. The corners of his mouth curled down, and he scanned your face as if he were actually thinking about it, eliciting a tsk from you.

He hid a chortle as he continued. "I'm offering you a deal. You were right, back at the bleachers about the control thing."

He was about to ask you to sell your soul, you could fucking feel it.

"So... you get to control me. For however long you need. Like, a month, a week, whatever. Just don't tell anyone about my family."

Whoa. Plot twist. You did not expect him to sell his soul.

"Oh, yeah, I'm sure. So if I asked you to show up to school naked?"

"Yes, I'd show up to school naked for you. But it's funny seeing me naked is your first instinct."

His trust issues were suddenly working out in your favour- he was essentially offering himself up as collateral.

"If I ask you to announce a formal apology to me on a bullhorn before your game?"

"I just want you to leave my family alone, Y/N."

So that's where Nate Jacobs' humanity began. At his family. Noted.

"I promise. I'll do anything." The urge to say 'then die' was strong, but not invincible.

You wracked your brain looking for something you could make this psychopath do that would not cause him immense pleasure.

"Ah, see? Being the one in control isn't all it's cracked up to be. Too much power, and you don't even know what to do with it.", he taunted, pouting as he closed his eyes, pressing his forehead harder against yours. "Think. What is it you want from me?"

What the fuck did you want him to do?

"Do you want an apology? No, 'cause I've already given you plenty and you don't want meaningless things, do you?" His lips lightly touched yours and you could swear he smirked when you flinched on reflex.

But no. That wasn't what you wanted. He was spot-on.

"You want... do you want money? I'm a trust fund baby, essentially, right? My father basically owns the town. Sure, I could hook you up. Royal Enfield, BMW. Or, if you want, Chanel? But that won't cost me anything, at least not emotionally, yeah? So no. That's not it, either."

Why did you suddenly feel like your thoughts were transferring into his head?

"You want me? You want to cut me up, just like I forced you to watch me do to myself? You want to hold a gun to my throat like I did to you? No, because I'd low-key like it."

Yes, he would. So no, you didn't want it.

"C'mon, think. I'm at your mercy, I'm all yours. There's definitely one thing you want and you're just too much of a pussy to say it."

Why were you letting him do this? Why did you just accept that it was the world according to Nate?

"You wanna know what I think, huh? Huh? I'll tell you what I think.", he murmured. "I think you want me to care."

That got your attention. "Care?"

"I think you actually want me to give a shit about you, so you can justify to yourself why you keep lettin' this happen, don'tcha?", he asked, thumb rubbing your jawline. "You want me to stop acting like this whole thing between us is a game. You want me to acknowledge what I'm doing to you."

You hated this. You hated when men were right - it was ridiculous. And you absolutely despised when Nate was right, because it was dangerous.

"Look, I just want you out of my life, Nate.", you lied.

That had come out way too fast. That was the easiest thing he could do. That was the kindest thing you could have ordered him to do. That was mercy.

So why was he acting like you'd just asked him to jump into a fire?

"That's it?"

He didn't buy it. And neither did you. Because yes, you'd technically be very reasonable to want him out of your life. But no, the danger, the unnecessarily sexy amount of mortal peril you'd be in every second that you were around him- it was your fucked up version of heroin.

"I don't think you understand just what you're asking. You're going to miss me."

You scoffed and he shrugged, in a gesture that only seemed pitiful, as though he were allowing you to believe that for the time being.

'Denial isn't just a river in Egypt, baby', you could almost hear him snark.

"What if I miss you?"

You shrugged, downing another shot - one you'd stolen from a drunk girl this time. "I dunno. Just don't."

"You'll still come to games? Fist-bump me?"

"Still come to games? I guess, maybe? I'll high-five you, or something."

"I'll think it over." Wait, wasn't he the one who was making an offer?

═════════════════════ 🧿 ════════════════════

He found you almost fifteen minutes later, probably after mulling it over with a drink.

"I accept your terms. I'll go out of your life, starting Monday. However, I've got a little som'n som'n to show you.".

An AK-47? An atom-bomb? A grave he dug specially for you?

"It's a surprise. Only an hour. That's all I'm asking."

Only your sanity. That's all he was asking.

You'd promised yourself you'd never take anything from Nate Jacobs again, and you'd stuck to it.

I mean.

That was until he'd offered you molly.

Molly made you happy.

Molly made you forget stuff, like college apps, the loss of your internship and the fact that you'd basically been lying to your family the entirety of last week about the scar on your forehead.

But how he'd found that out was a question for the ages. And he seemed to know exactly what molly did to you.

And you best believe he was milking it.

"I want to get a tattoo."

"Okay...?"

"Correction : I want us to get a tattoo.", he whispered, before tsk-ing at your derisive snort. "C'mon, you get to draw whatever you want on me and I'll get it tattooed, I promise!"

"Tattoos are permanent, Nate."

"And you know what? So am I. In your life. In your head. On your lips.", he reminded, grinning mischievously, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth.

You barely fought against him - the ecstasy sprinting through your blood vessels - and you found yourself lying back on the grass, his hands bracketing your hair.

"Just fucking draw something on me, Y/N. Come on. And I'll draw something on you. Yeah? Sound good?", he asked, his hand creeping up your shirt with surprising reverence.

He chuckled breathily against your lips, shaking his head as he rolled off you, lying next to you.

"I'll draw something nice and meaningful. And you get to, as well. Nothing cheesy, though. Like a fucking arrow-heart or an anchor or some shit."

"How about a star?"

"What, a star is not cheesy? That's the cheesiest thing ever. That's the pussy tattoo.", he muttered, before looking up at your eyes, sighing magnanimously. "What kind of star?"

"The ones that are hard to draw. With all the lines."

"Really, Y/N? I give you the chance to mark my body up and you want the hardest thing to draw from second grade?"

"Where'd you want it?"

"Where will you be willing to touch me?"

That was a million dollar question. Willing is a very subjective term.

"Neck. Under my ear."

You nodded, taking the pen he'd brought and gently tracing out a couple stars under his neck. He played with some of your hair that had fallen in front of his face, with terrifying dedication, as you did so. "Yeah. Done. You actually getting this tattooed?"

"Now you.", he ordered, grabbing your wrist, not answering the question. Red flag number eleven thousand. The pen lid in his mouth and a focused furrow to his brow, he began drawing.

"Infinity symbol.", he informed you, before you could even ask.

"Why?"

"I dunno. It's meaningful. 'To infinity and beyond'. Favourite Disney Movie, right?"

"That is not my favourite-"

"Yeah, well, it's mine. Buzz Lightyear is like, my hero.", he muttered, rubbing his thumb over the drawing and then kissing it softly, all while looking at you.

"Really? You seem like a Big Hero 6 guy to me."

He laughed deeper. "You always take me so seriously."

"Fuuuck, I know I'm not supposed to say this..."

He lolled his head over to you. "You could tell me you're Ted Bundy reincarnate and I'd still smash."

You decided to ignore that comment. "I'm not supposed to say this, but... but I get why Rue did it. Like Jesus fucking Christ."

He nodded in understanding, looking at the tiny packet that still had a couple pills in it. "She was just too weak to limit herself. But we got no limits. You got infinity on your wrist."

"Look, Nate, I can't tattoo that shit. My family would kill themselves."

"Same."

"Then why did you-"

"We're gonna do something that could go either way. It could either freak you out or turn you on. On the off chance that it's both, then we're more similar than you realize.", he slurred, lazily brushing hair behind your ear. "'Kay?"

"What are we gonna do?", you asked, trying your hardest to pull away, but the ecstasy made you genuinely defenceless against human touch. And it didn't help that Nate was holding your arms tightly down on the ground, as if he were trying to plant roots.

"We're going to carve the tattoos."

He said it so conspiratorially. As though this was your secret to surviving the zombie apocalypse. And his fucking eyes. Glowing like fireworks. Glowing like a child finally being told he could get what he wanted for Christmas.

"WHAT?!"

He licked his lips with an almost roll of his eyes as he looked up at you, because you were so clearly overreacting, right? Slitting your own skin in the shape of an infinity on it was a perfectly normal teenage activity. Of course. Drinking, smoking, fucking, slicing.

"I'll do it. I'm experienced, as you know.", he scoffed, his lips at your shoulder now. "We only have about fifteen minutes left of your curfew, Y/N, please. Please? Play nice."

The molly was clouding your senses, clearly. You could tell because a) you were still having this conversation and b) you didn't even question how he knew what time your curfew was, and c) you hadn't punched him yet.

"Think about it, it's less permanent than a tattoo, baby, please."

And then he placed another one of those little pink pills on your tongue, pressing down and forcing you to swallow.

MONDAY.

The scream came too late to your liking.

You'd tried to scream faster, but everything had come rushing back to you. The fever dream was not a dream. It's always relieving when terrible 'realities' end up only being dreams. It's a different kind of terror when you realize that the nightmare was real.

The number eighteen was etched on your wrist like a pathetic mark, like... like a brand.

You couldn't even begin to figure out just what the fuck that was supposed to be. Eighteen? How was that meaningful? The year it becomes legal to have sex? Freedom, maybe? Joy?

He wanted this aneurysm in your head. He'd placed it there.

FUCK !

FRIDAY.

"What? What is it you want?!"

He frowned, his face softening out of genuine confusion, make him look almost comically harmless in the harsh stadium lighting. "You said you'd still fist-bump me."

"What does 18 mean?"

He shrugged, holding out his fist. You rolled your eyes, bumping it with your own. And then, after telling yourself you were imagining the ghost of a smirk on his lips, you froze. Because he'd turned, running off to the middle of the field. You saw his back.

His jersey. 18. FUCK. He blew you a kiss about two seconds before the ball was passed to him. 18. FUCK.

"Did you just fist-bump Nate?"

"Yeah."

"Why?", asked Maddy, scoffing softly.

"He was talking to me about the project and then he said he had to go, so I wished him luck and... I guess I fist-bumped him."

"Oh, yeah, ew, the project. How's that going?"

"I scrapped it."

"Why?", she questioned, after shaking her pom-poms and screaming out some over-enthusiastic cheer.

"I don't fucking like him. At all. He's a DICK."

"What? No way. I had no idea.", she muttered sardonically, slinging an arm around your shoulder. "But was it, like, really bad?"

You nodded.

"After the game, you wanna do molly?"

"No." The reply was almost immediate.

"You don't wanna do molly? Don't bullshit me. Shut up. You're doing it with me."

You'd have hugged Maddy for knowing you so well if you weren't so focused on the big, blue, number 18 running on the field, matching the big, red one staying still on your wrist.

FRIDAY, 9PM

Staying over at Maddy's was an offer you shouldn't have declined, because it was getting genuinely infuriating how Nate found out things.

You were still extremely lacking in sobriety when he'd crawled into your bed that night, covering your mouth to make sure you didn't scream. How? Million dollar question.

"You want me to tell you a secret?"

"A secret? Wait, not some bullshit about my lips that you came up with?"

"I listened to Queen."

You sat up. "WHAT?"

He chuckled, sitting up as well and tilting his head while resting it on his knees. "What? Elvis, too. I even watched Blue Hawaii. I low-key liked it. Why? Would it have changed your mind?"

You frowned for a moment, before shaking your head. "Still would've been nice to know."

"Okay, how about you just kiss me now, Rue 2.0?", he asked, tracing out the number eighteen on your wrist before looking up at you through slightly furrowed brows. That was a challenge, of sorts, that gaze.

"You have something to ask me." Didn't take a genius to figure it out. Insinuation was painted all over his face. He had an accusation and he needed you to defend it.

"When Shane fucked you, where'd he come?"

You frowned, staring at him for a moment. "Yo, I- what? Where is this coming from?"

"At practice he was saying he fucked you."

"He's a dickwad, of course he did."

"It doesn't bother you that he's spreading that shit?"

"If I paid attention to every rumour some butthurt, fragile-ego jock spread about me, I wouldn't have time to fucking study."

"Your reputation's gone, though. That's fine for you?"

You sucked on your teeth for a moment before exhaling. "You're here to find out if I'm easy?"

He looked at you for a moment, his expression unreadable.

"If I did this, Y/N, would you stop me?", he asked, shifting to his knees at the foot of the bed. "Hm? If I just...", he trailed off, kissing up your knee to your thigh.

"Nate. Stop."

"That's not stopping me.", he murmured, gripping your back and yanking you closer.

You kicked him away, grimacing. "Get out."

He gazed up at you, and for a moment there, it seemed like he was rooting for you, for the rumours to just be cruel rumours and not true.

"Get OUT!"

"You can't let me kiss you and then just... it doesn't work like that."

The world looked glittery and he looked godly kneeling down there.

His tongue licked slowly up your inner thigh. "C'mon. Take it off. It's just me."

"Get out."

He rolled his eyes, yanking your shorts down himself. "I fucking...", he murmured, voice muffled against your skin. "Love you."

"You don't fucking love me!" You were struggling but it was fruitless.

"I could."

"Get out, I'm not bullshitting."

"C'mon.", he murmured, reaching up to unhook your bra before pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. "C'mon."

"No! Get off!" His hand held you down.

"Just let me-", he muttered, his fingers finally removing your underwear as he pressed a chaste kiss higher up your thigh. Your breath hitched and his smirk widened, albeit, with a bit of disappointment. "There we go."

Kicking him away, you finally snapped. Maybe it was the molly. Maybe it was his tongue. Maybe it was the fact that he'd somehow found out that molly made you make extremely bad decisions. Maybe it was the fact that he knew you wanted nothing more than to fuck him that night.

"GET THE FUCK OUT, NATE! YOU SAID YOU'D LEAVE ME ALONE MONDAY, IT'S FRIDAY! GET THE FUCK OUT, PLEASE!" He took every kick and every punch like a total champ, you'd give him that.

The disappointment left, and he smiled, softly, caringly, like a mother hanging up her child's drawing on the fridge, as he wiped your tears away.

Standing up, he grabbed your hair, staring into your eyes so deeply you were half-wondering if they'd changed colour, before patting your shoulder. "I'm proud of you."

Proud for disproving a rumour?

You watched his shadow on your wall as it climbed down the window behind you.

Look, one thing could be said. Nate Jacobs was a man of his word. He did not speak to you. He did not text you. He did not acknowledge you.

You'd blocked him online and he'd blocked you in real life.

However, his other account still kept tabs on you.

Average social media interaction.

Shane Crestin ended up in the ER later that night.

Average Nate Jacobs interaction.

[clockwayswrites]

Totally not writing about Tuesday on a Thursday

Masterpost wc: 674 cw: attempted mugging

“Look, dude, I have seven dollars and fourteen cents in my wallet. I know that because I had to buy lunch on campus today and I have no idea how I’m going to make seven dollars and fourteen cents last the rest of the week,” a voice said from the alley that Jason was approaching.

A voice that was becoming very familiar over meals and passing each other on the stairs.

“What’s in the fucking bag?” a different voice croaked. “Hand it over.”

“My notes from class and binders of engineering diagrams. It’s worth even less than seven fourteen. I don’t even have a working pen in there, dude, the last one exploded in my hands this afternoon. Do you see how blue my hands are? That is not natural. I hope you know that that is not natural.”

Was Danny really being mugged and talking back to the mugger? This guy was a disaster. Jason moved quietly as he approached where the alley started.

“You’re a fucking liar, hand it over!”

“Okay,” Danny said with forced calm. “Just taking the bag off…”

There was was a heavy ‘fwack’ followed by an ‘omph’ of pain and the distinctive sound of a body hitting the ground. Jason gave up being stealthy and sprinted around the corner. Hopefully the mugger hadn’t gone for anything vital. His place was stocked with first aid, they were close by, he could—

Danny’s head shot up from where he was standing, bag dangling from his hand, over the prone body of the mugger. He smiled sheepishly. “Jason, hi!”

“Don’t ‘hi’ me, Tuesday! Are you okay?” Jason asked. He nudged the mugger hard with his foot. He only got a groan in response.

“Oh, yeah. I mean I’m still broke and tired, but what else is a college student?” Danny said breezily a he shouldered his bag again. He ran a hand through his long bangs, pushing them back. “But I’m fine— he didn’t even nick me with his knife!”

“You still shouldn’t argue with a mugger like that, it’s a good way to get stabbed,” Jason said, taking Danny’s hands and checking that he hadn’t actually been slashed. Jason wouldn’t put it past Danny to hide injuries, “and you don’t want to be stabbed.”

“Yeah, it really sucks. It took me weeks to heal last time I was, I kept ripping my stitches open,” Danny said breezily.

Jason had to close his eyes and take a breath. How was this guy alive? He grabbed the knife the mugger was using, folding it up and tucking it away, before he rooted through the man’s pocket.

“Um, Jay? What are you doing?”

“Looking for his— there!” Jason pulled out the rubber banded roll of cash and tossed it at Danny who almost most fumbled the catch. It was sorta precious how he looked down at it, eyes all wide in shock.

“Call it emotional distress compensation. No way you’ll find who else he robbed and he sure doesn’t deserve it.”

Danny cocked his head, several emotions running across his face before he shrugged and shoved the cash into his bag. “Guess I get to still eat this week!”

“Tuesday,” Jason said. He reached out and tilted Danny’s head up by the chin so that their eyes met. “If you ever don’t have enough to eat, you come to me, alright?”

“I don’t want to—”

“Tuesday,” Jason said more firmly. “I like cooking. I always make extras for left overs. I won’t have anyone in the building starving— I know what that’s like. If you don’t have enough to eat or the energy to cook or anything else, you come to me. There’s always food at my place. Now be a good boy and say you understand.”

Danny blushed and nodded, his head rocking in Jason’s large hand. “I understand."

“Good boy,” Jason said with a smirk. He let his thumb brush over Danny’s cheek before he dropped his hand. “Now come on, I don’t trust you get back home in one piece.”

-----

AN: Jason continues to despair over Danny's self preservation. Danny continues to blue screen over Jason. It's been so fun to get to explore the Jason/Danny dynamic as opposed to the Red Hood/Danny! It's turning out nothing like I expected LOL For how willing Hood is to be put on his knees by a feral Danny, Jason sure enjoys taking control of this soft nerd. Idk, I'm just going with it!

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