#nauseous even then though he clearly is good at what he does

[sockdooe]

Every time I think about my AU the more I’m screaming about how much everything could’ve been SO GOOD

[mostly-imagines]

The Alchemy vol. II

jason todd x fem!reader

aka the progression of your relationship with the red hood

part one

warnings: depictions of blood and injury, standard gotham violence, jason doesn't know how to have feelings, reader is angry, threats against readers life, implied concern of sexual assault

It might be a matter of deficiency in self-preservation skills, how the sound of your window sliding open does nothing to phase you. You don’t know if that’s your fault or his.

“How’s it goin’ down there?” You mumble, not sitting up from your position on the couch.

He pushes the window shut in his wake, huffing. “I am up here for a reason,” he says factually.

You crane your head back just in time to see him tug the red helmet off his head, setting it down on your side table. He has on his under-mask that covers the lower half of his face. You don’t like that one.

He glances around your apartment as he approaches with slow steps. “Why are all the lights off?”

“Forgot to turn ‘em on,” you tell him simply.

He frowns at you, confusion evident.

You pay him no mind though, taking an exaggerated breath and pushing yourself up off the couch before trotting over to the kitchen. You open the fridge and scrummage for a water bottle. Jason thinks it’s odd how long it takes you to find one in your own fridge. 

Once it's (eventually) in your hands, you chug down several gulps and toss the half empty bottle towards the counter where it lands with a sloppy thump and rolls.

When you return, he’s leant against the armrest of your chair, watching you. You stop in the middle of the room, a contemplating stare on the floor. He tilts his head at you, wondering what you could possibly be thinking so hard about.

You take a deep breath before plopping down to lay on the carpet all in one go. 

He peers down at you, barely trying to hide his amusement. “You’re drunk.”

You shake your head, “I’m not sober.”

“That’s—yeah.” He stands all the way, coming to lay down on the floor next to you, using significantly more coordination than you had.

He lays in between you and the couch, though it doesn’t seem you’d left him much room. If he minds, it doesn’t show. “What’d you do?”

“I jus’ went out with my friend,” you tell him, closing your eyes. “She moves pretty fast..”

It occurs to him that you might be laying on the ground because you got nauseous. He turns to look at you, scanning you over. “You good?”

“I feel great,” you keen. “I feel…swooshy.”

He gives you a bemused look. “Dizzy?”

You shake your head with a great deal of consideration on your face, “No, not even dizzy, just…swoosh.” You throw out a hand with a theatrical flick.

“Mhm.”

You pucker your lips to the side. “You come here a lot,” you comment, clearly working up to some greater observation.

“You’re in my neighborhood,” he shrugs. 

Your head tilts, “You live here?”

He pauses before correcting himself, “My territory.”

You hum, “Still. There has to be other people around here you know. ‘Specially if you’re passing out on balconies on the reg.”

He frowns, “I try not to make a habit out of it.”

You continue on, “Why do you always go to my apartment? There’s—”

“I don’t always come to your apartment—”

You deadpan, “You’re here like three nights a week. And I don’t even help you that much anymore, you’ve used up my whole first aid kit.”

You can literally feel the eyeroll like you have a sixth sense for it. “That thing wasn’t exactly impressive to start with..”

“Did enough for you, didn’t it? Anyways, my point is: I think you like me,” you say with a nod.

That has him going absolutely rigid, “What?”

“I’ve heard you’re an asshole.”

“What?”

You nod, “Like, people that run into you. They say you’re kind of a dick. You help ‘em ‘n everything, but also while being a dick. Sometimes.”

“Okay...”

“But you’re nice to me. Sort of,” you squint. “I think you like me.”

He hasn’t felt this straggled in a conversation in a while. “I—well I’m not here because you’re a world-class medic.”

You scoff, “There’s no world-class medics..” But then your tone switches up, into something lighter. “We’re friends aren’t we? I think we’re friends.” 

He shakes his head, staring up blankly. “Sure, we’re friends.”

“We’re friends and you like me,” you reiterate.

He really wishes you’d stop saying that. “Okay.”

“I like you too. Even though you’re kinda sketchy.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that.

You hum into the silence, looking up at the ceiling. “J…James, Jack, John…”

He smiles, gaze dancing across the egg-whitened popcorn texture of the ceiling. “I’m not going to tell you.”

You ignore him, “Jake, Jaden, Jason, Josh, Joe, Jesse…”

You’re about three shots too drunk to notice the way he briefly stiffens. 

“Juuhhh…” you lull your head to the side, the letter fading out slowly as you look into his eyes. If you focus, you think you can make out a few of those little specks of green again.

He seems to already be running his own study on your irises, his eyes now softer than you can remember seeing them before. 

His next words are whispered, the sounds barely escaping. “You’re pretty.”

What?

“What?”

“What?” He seems taken aback by his own words, like he also wasn’t expecting them to climb out of his mouth.

You can literally feel sobriety seeping back into your blood. “I’m…pretty?”

He blinks a few times, apparently trying hard to decide on what position he’s going to take here. “I—well…yeah.”

You blink once, relaxing. “I think…I think you’re pretty too.”

“What?”

“We can’t do this again.”

He breaks eye contact, looking almost dejected.

You turn your head down to where his hand thrums against the carpet. “I mean, I know I haven’t seen your whole face in one go, but I see the top half now and the bottom before, so I…maybe I shouldn’t be saying this.” You reset with a shallow breath, “I don’t know what your whole face looks like.”

“That was,” he blinks, eyebrows raised. “Fascinating.”

“Thanks,” you say flatly. You close your eyes again, though this time you remain facing him.

He feels a slight pang of guilt for the way he continues to ogle at you, eyes tracing over every detail of your face. But that ounce of guilt does nothing to outweigh the reward of gazing upon you. He didn’t mean to say it but he definitely meant it: you’re really fucking pretty.

Your eyelashes flutter for a moment before stilling, a display of peace washing over your features. It’s when your breathing steadies over and your face relaxes completely is when he starts to feel like a creep. It takes a lot of strength for him to force his eyes shut, depriving himself of the view.

And he doesn’t do it on purpose, but after a few moments his inhales and exhales take to the same rhythm of yours. The thin layer of the rug isn’t doing much to protect his back from the hardwood below and he’s pretty confident later he’ll curse himself for lying like this for so long. 

But as he lays, he doesn’t find himself focused on the dark red-gray of his eyelids like usual, so much as the warmth from the proximity of your bodies. He’s usually so concentrated on whatever the hell is going on in his head and it prevents him from really truly resting, but now, the only thing taking up his attention is physical sensations.

He feels this warmth in his heart that if he didn’t know any better, he’d call burning. His hands feel numb and he can distinctly feel the beat of his own heart in his chest, thrumming away.

He presses his lips to your forehead with a feather light touch, slow to pull away. He doesn’t make it all the way back to his original position before his movement lulls and his body relaxes again, joining you gladly in unconsciousness.

Gotham City has a particular gift for inconveniencing you at the worst possible moment and doing it multiple times a week.

Tonight's round of problems resulted in an entire city district getting shut down, the district which is regrettably right between your job and your apartment.

So on top of having to hole up into your work for two hours longer than you were supposed to, it took you an extra 45 minutes getting home while trying to maneuver around every other person in the same situation. And just to cement the quality of this night, the door to your apartment building slams nice and hard against your side and the light in the hallway is out.

You groan when you fail to get your key the lock the right way for the third time, lodging it in a final time and shoving the door open. You flick on the kitchen light and dump your bag onto the counter, kicking the door shut behind you.

You take a deep breath, eyes closed, as you lean your head back against the wall. The second you crack your eyes open again, a pile of red mass on the floor behind your couch catches your attention and startles some energy right back into your chest.

“Oh, shit,” you scurry over towards the window, crumbling down onto your knees in front of him. Your eyes dart across the red helmet, trying to makeout any signs of consciousness. “Hood?” 

There’s no response from him, no movement. You tug his helmet off, finding him eyes-closed with blood running down the side of his head. You push a hand down on his chest armor, shaking him. “J? J!”

His eyes flutter open slowly under his domino mask, adjusting to the light. With the disorientation on his face he looks younger, more his age. His hair is tousled up and you can make out some distinct curls in it when it's undone like this. 

He grimaces, gloved hand coming up to his head. He looks wearily at the blood on his fingers, before plopping his hand back down and blinking up at you. “Hey..”

You sit back on your heels with a sigh, “What the fuck?”

He makes a strained effort to sit up on his own so you try to heave him up by his forearm. As he comes up all the way you glance behind his back at a bag crumpled discarded on the floor. You can barely see some sort of fabric poking out the top. “What is that?”

“Huh?” He throws back a tired glance, “Oh. They're..curtains.”

“Explain.”

He looks at you blankly, “You don’t have any curtains.”

You blink. “Explain.”

“It’s dangerous for people to just be able to look in and see you. So. Curtains.” For a guy who reads Dostoevsky, he’s not much of a wordsmith. Though that could be the concussion. 

You reach around him and pull some of the fabric out of the bag, inspecting the linen. They match the theme of your living room.

You set it back down, blinking. “Thanks.”

He only gives a half-hearted shrug.

You look back at him, “How bad is the…?” You gesture to the side of your head.

He feels at the blood again, “It’s mostly just a cut. Shoulda stopped bleeding by now.”

You nod, “I’ll, uh—I’ll clean it up.”

He looks at you, shaking his head. “You don’t need to. Your kit’s almost empty anyways.”

“I restocked it,” you tell him, rising to stand. He lets you go retrieve your aid box without protest, listening blankly to the faucet run in the bathroom while you’re gone.

You return momentarily, damp rag in one hand, kit in the other. “Here, sit on the couch,” you tell him, nodding him up. 

He lugs himself up off the hardwood and onto the cushion with a groan. You position yourself on the cushion next to him, leaning over to inspect the cut. You brush through his hair as gently as you can, though you have to suspect he wouldn’t have minded either way—if only based on the pain threshold you know him to have.

As much as you are completely in his space, you’re having trouble getting all the access you need to fix him up right. You turn and adjust your angle this way and that but none of it works. 

You huff, sitting back. “I can’t..”

He nods his permission at you without delay, and you shift yourself over to sit fully on his lap, straddling him on the sofa. You put your focus into cleaning his wound, but you have to notice how deep he’s breathing and how he’s seemingly trying very hard to avoid eye contact. You’re sure your own breath is uneven and telling, and frankly you’re kind of hoping he has a concussion just so he might not notice it.

An unexpected sting has him flinching and grabbing your hips on instinct, a certain heaviness lingering in the air after contact. His hand tenses and he’s about to remove them from you completely when you manage to catch his gaze, and the few moments of silent eye contact are enough to convince him to stay. He forces his hands to relax against your waist, his fix on your face wavering before fizzling away completely.

You go back to dabbing at the blood and it’s clear that his thoughts get the better of him quickly. “You should move.”

“But then where would you go?”

He makes a rumbling noise from the back of his throat at that, saying nothing more.

You continue to wipe away at the blood until you can’t see it anymore, beyond the slice of the cut. You misjudge your own spatial awareness as you pull back from him, and the tips of your noses graze. Though the contact surprises you, you don’t move away from it. You become very acutely aware of his touch on your waist, how warm it feels atop your shirt. 

His head leans forward just barely before stopping. He retreats slightly and his body ultimately decides to come closer. He doesn’t stop until his lips, slightly parted, skim across yours.

Your breath catches as he looms nearer, lips touching against yours softly. He tests that pressure out for a moment, before moving to kissing you with more intent. You kiss him back, and though there’s an increasing resolve on both of your parts, the connection itself remains gentle, reposeful.

The last slight movement of his lips gradually slips away as he rests his forehead against yours.

A long beat passes before he’s tightening his grip on your waist and pulling you up to stand. You aren’t given the time to process the shift as he’s moving straight past you, head down. He pauses only when he gets to the window, back turned to you.

“Sorry—I’m…” his shoulders drop, “Sorry.” 

He climbs out and scales the fire escape in total silence until he’s gone completely.

You stand frozen in position, staring at the window with incredulity burning across your face.

What the fuck?

Two weeks pass of voided midnight visits. 

You’re not sure what to make of that. He kissed you, not the other way around. You couldn’t possibly have done something to upset him or throw him off since he’s the only one who did anything. All in all, it’s a little disappointing.

There had been tension there and it wasn’t shocking for you to learn that he wanted to kiss you. It was a bit of a surprise for him to actually do it, though not a bad one. But you were thrown for a grand fucking loop when he immediately bailed out.

Maybe you can’t read him as well as you think because you’d expected him to at least say something about it. It was a borderline given that he would come back and there would be a bonus surplus of tension but then there would be a resolution. Because he wouldn’t kiss you and then never come back. Nobody would do that, it doesn’t make sense.

It’s a little more than embarrassing to admit that you’ve been purposefully staying home in the hope that he’ll drop in. After fifteen nights of disappointment, you decided to put your focus elsewhere.

You’d asked a friend of yours to go out with you tonight, and never one to decline a night out, she agreed happily. 

The bell above the door jingles as you crack it open, peaking your head in. You find Chloe quickly, stood behind the bar with bottles in hand.

“Hey gorgeous,” she smiles at you, waving you in.

You step in, air conditioning hitting you hard. The sparkles on her cocktail dress catch your eye as she turns this way and that, trying to find the right spot for the whiskey. 

Chloe hums to herself as she searches, honestly taking a bit longer than she should. “You been cool?”

You nod, “Yeah, just—you know…” She doesn’t. Your affiliation with the Red Hood is something you’ve kept to yourself, though you don’t know why. It would be safer, more responsible to let someone else know about these drop-ins, but something about it feels personal. A strange feeling to tack onto it, you think. A regrettable one, at least. 

You take a deep breath, “You’ve been busy. Jessie call out again?”

She laughs dryly, “Oh yeah, of course. But it's fine, I love staying over an hour after close.” She sighs, “I’m almost done anyway.”

You circle around the bar, looking over the several yet-to-be-sorted bottles. “You need help?”

“No, there’s—” she cuts herself off as she looks over at the front door, face dropping. “Oh, shit. Duck.”

“Wha—” she yanks you down to the floor to crouch awkwardly behind the counter.

You hear the bell ring as the door swings open, followed by several pairs of footsteps and low voices.

“—Christ, if she forgets to lock the door one more fucking time I’m gonna kill her.”

You look at Chloe through furrowed eyebrows, her grip on you still tight. She shakes her head and puts a finger to her lips.

A second man mutters something you can’t make out.

The first voice continues, “Go around back and lug the crates in, we gotta start packing that shit.” 

Another voice, “The crates? They’re not here..”

There’s a heavy beat before the first voice speaks, “What the fuck do you mean they’re not here? She needs them now.”

“Well…the first shipments will be in later this week. The next batch’ll take until the end of the month, probably.”

A sigh, “Dumbass…”

The first voice huffs, “The end of the month? Are you fucking kidding me? I told you to get that shit ready weeks ago and you’ve got it coming in at the end of the month?” 

“I’ll…I’ll see what I can do to get it sooner.”

“Yeah, you do that,” he grumbles. “Motherfucker. I need a drink. Get a bottle of something.”

One of the men rounds the counter, tracks falling short at the sight of you and Chloe huddled against the counter.

“What the fuck?”

You and Chloe are wide-eyed and frozen as he sneers down at you. Still, he looks like he’s trying to be tougher than he is, compensating for size that he does not have, with an attitude that doesn’t match up with the way he sped around the counter to get the other man a drink.

Another guy comes around and you quickly recognize him as the man in charge. He frowns at Chloe, sighing, “You’re not supposed to be here still, Chloe.”

She shifts her weight, “I was just…finishing inventory…”

The bossman’s eyes move to you, laced with nothing but inconvenience. “Oh and you brought a friend. Great.” 

“Mr. Murray, we were just ab—”

He’s quick to cut her off with a hand, “Chloe. Stop talking.”

Her face falls flat and her words die off without hesitation.

“Get up.”

She’s pushing herself off the ground instantly while you’re still on the floor catching up with what the hell’s going on. As she moves out from behind the bar, you scurry to follow her. Your arm bumps against hers as you fiddle with the seams at the bottom of your outfit.

You dressed to go out with your friend on a Friday night, not to meet three mobsters in a closed bar with no witnesses. That’s to say, you’re feeling a little exposed.

You stand in the center of the bar, the three men looking various degrees of annoyed looks across their faces. Though the oldest looking of the bunch has something else in his eyes as he looks you up and down, in no rush to hide his engrossment in your bare legs.

“How old are you, honey?” Even without the blatant ogling, that’s never a good question to hear from a fifty year old man.

Your eyes avert to the floor, lips pursing. 

“Hey, don’t be rude. I asked you a question.” He nudges your chin up a bit rougher than necessary, forcing you to look him in the eyes. 

Somehow, you feel like there’s no answer here that would help you. 

The man at the bar serves as an unexpected saving grace of sorts, muttering, “We don’t have time for this.”

Your pursuer shakes his head, looking you over in a way that makes you feel very small. “I think we got plenty of time.”

“I disagree.”

All heads whip to the doorway where the Red Hood leans against the frame, checking his phone. A never invited but always welcome addition to the party. At least for you.

The man in front of you instantly steps back, putting some distance between the two of you. Hands across the room instinctively fly to holsters only to begrudgingly relax at their sides, probably figuring drawing on Red Hood isn’t in their best interest. Though your focus lies on the bell above his head that didn’t make a peep whenever he came in.

Hood shuts his phone off and puts it away with a quiet sigh before glancing up at the tension-filled room. He literally double takes when his helmet scans past you. You somehow feel more in trouble now than you did two minutes ago. 

“Hood..” the bossman says measuredly. “What are you doing here?”

He stares at you for a second longer before tearing his gaze away. “Just thought I’d check up on you, Murray. Make sure you’re not causing trouble in light of our agreement.” He makes a point of looking back at you and Chloe at that last part before looking to Murray expectantly.

He waves that off easily, “This is nothing. Just two late-shift employees.”

Hood takes a piqued breath. “You picked a bad time to lie to me,” he says flatly.

Murray shakes his head, “Look, we’re just cleaning up a mess. No harm.”

“Really?”

“This clean up benefits you too, they heard too much. The one girl—Chloe, get out. She’s fine, she’s not talking.”

Chloe wastes no time exiting hastily. Bye Chloe.

He continues, “We only need to kill one of them.” He says it like this is an ideal compromise. You’re feeling differently.

Hood huffs, pulling out a gun from his holster. “I’m thinking it’s implied that killing innocent people is a form of causing trouble. Which is in direct violation of our agreement.” He cocks the gun, pointing it at Murray’s head.

Murray steps back dramatically, throwing his hands up. “Hey, an alliance is an alliance!”

Hood wavers his head to the side, “Alliance is a strong word. Temporary tolerance maybe…”

The short man pipes up, “Okay, calm down, calm down. Nobody needs to get killed. We can cooperate.”

“That’s the spirit,” Hood quips, lowering his gun.

The older one shakes his head, “We don’t have anything on her, she’ll talk.”

The short man demurs, “We don’t know that—”

“She saw too much, we can’t have her walking around with that information,” Murray says, moving towards you. 

Hood puts his hands up like some kind of mediator, “Nobody’s killing anybody.”

Murray scoffs, “You were gonna kill me!”

Hood's hands drop as he stands in full, “And I still might!”

Boldly, Murray steps up to him.

But Hood looks down at him, easily a full head taller than him and at least twice his muscle mass. “Let's weigh out your odds here, Murray. Is that a fight you’re winning?”

The look on Murray’s face tells you it’s not and he struggles to maintain this chest to chest confrontation.

It only takes him a moment of wavering to decide to back off, though he sure as hell doesn’t look happy about it. 

Hood pushes past him, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you towards him. 

Murray splutters, watching you go. “You can’t—I-I know people.”

“I am people,” Hood grumbles, steering you towards the door.

Though you can be sure they have them, no one voices any objections aa he pulls you outside.

His stride doesn’t even falter as he marches you down the sidewalk in the direction of your apartment. Aside from the sound of the breeze wisping past your ears, it’s silent between you.

After two blocks you get the strong impression that this muted exchange of energy is just going to keep on, so you force yourself to find something to rattle off about. “That uh, that seems like something he’s gonna be mad about.”

He huffs, “Yeah, well he can get over it or die so I guess it’s a personal choice.”

You frown at his tone, “What’s your problem?”

That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say as his head snaps in your direction. “Why the hell are you out here?”

His sharp attitude has you stumbling a bit. “Why are you out here? You have a concussion.”

“I don’t have a concussion,” he grumbles. “And I just saved your life so maybe complaining about it isn’t your best move right now.”

You try to stop and face him but he doesn’t let you, keeping you moving along with him. “That’s what we’re doing? Really?” 

Are these about the social skills that you had expected from him based on your first meeting? Yeah. But that first meeting was months ago. He’s proven again and again that he has half a brain and the ability to read a room so you’re really not fucking sure what the hell his problem is. He won’t acknowledge that he kissed you and all but jumped out your living room window, but he will snap at you for asking about his concussion that there’s no way he doesn’t have. Especially if he’s acting like this. 

He ignores your comment, blatantly at that. “Did they say anything about a drug shipment?”

This is what we’re talking about? Sure. Fine. At least you’re talking. 

You open your mouth briefly before closing it again, eyes narrowed. “I don’t know.”

He tries again, “What about Nocturna? Did you hear that name?”

“I…I don’t know.” You weren’t exactly taking notes behind the bar counter. 

His head drops down heavily, “Okay, I think I’m seeing a trend for how this conversation’s gonna go...”

You gawk at him, astonished that he thinks it’s you who’s handling this discussion poorly. “You cannot be serious right now.”

He sighs, slowing as you approach the steps to your building, “Just—why’d they let Chloe go?”

You blink a few times, “I mean, she has a drug problem…” You guess that might be where she’s getting them from…

He nods solemnly, “Okay.”

You huff, turning to walk up the steps, shoulders heavy. You hope he’ll come up with you and maybe, just maybe, address the elephant in the room. 

“Are you—” you turn around to face him again, met with nothing but vacant air. 

A deep, tense, breath from you before calling out, “Really?”

One month. One month. And he decides to show up tonight like it’s no time lost. But there was some fucking time lost.

Count ‘em up, that’s one period, two paychecks, three grocery trips, four laundry days, and thirteen showers. And that stupid fucking vigilante ransacked your head during every single one.

You went through the five stages of grief for this bizarre, undefinable relationship and then discovered about six more while you were at it. 

So when you walk out from the bathroom, you’re a little pissed to see him sitting there on your living room floor, helping himself to a glass of water. 

Maybe it’s his domino mask that gives his expression the illusion of neutrality. Or maybe he really has no idea how insane it is that he would occupy your apartment like this after skipping out on you for an entire lunar cycle.

He leans against your armchair, inspecting a scratch on his lower arm. You enter silently, watching him the whole time as you make your way over to the far end of the couch.

He doesn’t look up at you though, not until after a minute or two of silence. 

“You got any bandages left?” he asks, throwing a glance over his shoulder. 

You stare at him incredulously. 

After ten seconds with no response from you, he turns around fully, frowning. “What?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I—” he squints, eyes flickering across your face. “No?”

You continue to gawk at him, not trying for any words.

He stares back, eyes wide. “I don’t know what you want me to say...”

You tear your gaze from him, preferring to stare at the wall. “You know what, I think I know what your problem is.”

He gives a laugh with little life to it. “I only have one?”

You bite down on your lip, “You only have one I’m ready to kill you over.”

He sits with that for a minute. A long minute, before asking softly, “What is it?”

You shake your head, glaring at an unoccupied nail in the wall. “That you’re an idiot,” you mutter. You start to walk away before turning around again after a few steps. “Where the hell have you been?”

He blinks, “Uh, there’s just been a lot of—”

“Bullshit.”

He’s about to argue his point, but quickly decides to concede, “Yeah.” He takes a deep breath, sitting back. “I…wasn’t prepared for this conversation,” he says carefully.

You scoff with a nod, “Yeah, neither was I, but it’s happening. I m—what did you think was going to happen here? I—you kissed me, you kissed me!”

“No I—” he huffs, “I shouldn’t have done that, okay?”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

He sighs, throwing his hands up at his sides. “What do you want me to say?”

You shrug without genuinity, “Anything that could possibly rationalize that sequence of decisions. You kiss me, run away, ghost me for a fucking month, and then show up again like nothing happened.”

He shuts his eyes, shaking his head. “I know, I know, I’m sorry!”

“I’m not asking you to be sorry, I’m asking you to pick a fucking lane and stick to it!”

He falls silent at that, eyes on the floor. It’s quiet for long enough that you start to think he’ll accept the silence as his cue to leave. You’re not sure if you want him to or not.

You take a deep breath, eyes closed. “I need you to start being straight with me. Now.”

He doesn’t look up, taking his time to find his words. “I am sorry,” he tells you. “I…I’m not good at this. I’m not good with words so I shouldn’t have fucking done it.”

Honestly you weren’t expecting him to actually come up with a reason, so you’re not prepared to weigh out whether or not it’s a good one.

“I like you...a lot. And I didn’t know—I don’t know—what to do about it so I kissed you and I didn’t think it through, and…I guess I panicked.”

That’s more than enough for you to warrant looking back over at him. It doesn’t take long for your gaze to start shifting around awkwardly while you scratch at your neck. “I would’ve taken you for more of a fight over flight kinda guy.”

He nods to himself. “Jus’ depends..” he says quietly.

And then it seems neither of you have anything else to say. You’ve run out of angry words to spit and he’s run out of apologies and excuses. But neither of you feel like you’re done.

The quiet lingers on for a painful amount of time. Your annoyance dissipates into something else, something more uncomfortable, but you couldn’t find a name for it. It’s got your thoughts going faster though and your chest feeling more hollow. Maybe not hollow…maybe just softer. 

He cuts through your thoughts before you can, “Are you mad that I kissed you?”

You shake your head, “No. I’m mad about what happened after.” You’re just mad about what happened after. Should’ve said just.

He thinks about that for a moment. 

“I can be honest with you,” he tells you. The way he says it, it’s somewhere between a peace offering and an assurance to himself.

You look at him again. He reads oddly vulnerable for a man his size with his reputation. You believe him. 

He goes on, “I trust you, you know? I want you to trust me too, if you can.”

You blink a few times, processing. “I…I don’t know anything about you.”

He nods, an anxious aura radiating around him. He leaves you hanging for longer than a few moments, getting you convinced that the conversation is just going to end there.

It doesn’t though, and after a few minutes, he sits up and reaches up to his mask.

It has you sitting up too, like he just pulled out a gun. Your hands fly up instinctually, as though this is completely uncalled for, as if he’s crazy for doing it.

He pauses his movements for a moment, making eye contact with you. His eyes reaffirm his words. He trusts you and he wants you to trust him.

You allow your hands to relax onto your lap and he continues on, taking his mask off.

You’re not revealed to much more of his face than you’d already seen before, but entirely in view like this, he’s a sight. You try not to stare but there’s little reward to removing him from your sight whereas the alternative…

All together like this you can see how his features balance his face out so nicely and make for a warm countenance, if not rough.

He takes a deep breath, setting his mask to the side. “My name is J…” he says with assurance. “Todd,” he tacks on.

You don’t mean to, really, but you’re sure the frown on your face is evident as puzzle pieces start forming and connecting in your mind. 

J…Todd…J…Jay…Todd…Jason…Todd…

Your mouth hangs open, “You’re Jason Todd. You’re de—” Well a couple things are starting to add up. “How are you…how are you not—”

He waves that away, tiredly. “It's a long story. Not particularly happy, either.”

Autopsy scar. Fuck. 

“I mean, I’ll…” he hesitates, “I’ll tell you if you want me to.”

He says it, but discomfort is painted across his face. You’re quick to shake your head, “It’s okay.”

He nods, likely relieved.

You stand up from your seat, crossing the room to sit down next to him. You’d half-expected him to tense up, but his body relaxes when you lean back against the chair.

You close your eyes before asking, “Who’s Nocturna?”

“She’s just this woman that’s been causing trouble for us.”

You don’t say anything and he continues on, shaking his head. “She’s more annoying than anything.”

You open your eyes, looking over. “Yeah?”

He shrugs, “Just trying to take over the underworld, the usual stuff. Nothing you need to worry about.”

You give a laugh that’s barely more than an exhale, relaxing your body completely..

There’s the slightest lull in activity before he sets his hand down on the floor, right on top of yours. The sounds of your breathing are the only thing that fill the room for a few minutes, save for the occasional car horn.

He glances at the clock on the wall, nearing midnight. “I have to go...” He says reluctantly.

You try not to let the disappointment show through your body language. “Go where?”

He pauses before telling you,  “A cemetery.”

You nod vacantly, “Oh. Just for fun, or…?”

He gives a dry laugh, “Just meeting an associate. They’re a bit dramatic, so.”

“Yeah, I’d say.”

“I’ll come back—I’m going to come back,” he mutters against your hairline.

You don’t respond, but you both know he’s good for his promise.

He looks around your apartment for a second before seemingly getting an idea. He pushes himself up off the ground and heads for your kitchen. You watch as he rips a sticky note off the deck on your fridge and scribbles something down on it. 

He returns to you, kneeling down and pushing the square of paper into your hand. “Here,” he says, looking you in the eye. “If you need anything. Anything.”

You engulf the note in your palm, nodding sincerely. His eyes flicker across your face, like he’s thinking about something. He hesitates for a moment, turning towards you, away from you, then towards you again. He holds the back of your head tenderly before pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead.

You look at each other up close for a second with nothing short of starry eyes before he turns away and ducks out the window.

You open up your palm and look down at the paper, at the ten digits scrawled across it.

Huh.

Must be official. 

🧨 reblog or die (this is a threat) 🧨

[solarmorrigan]

The Witch and The Carpenter

For the @steddie-spooktober day 23 prompt: Witch Rated: T | Words: 2862 | CW: None | Tags: fantasy AU, witch!Eddie Munson, carpenter!Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington gets migraines, Eddie Munson needs a hug, Steve Harrington needs a hug, they're perfect for each other hugs all around Divider credit: @saradika

Eddie hears about the new carpenter within hours of his rolling into town – of course he does; any witch worth their salt knows exactly what’s going on in their town at all times (it’s hard not to, when you’re the one providing the potions and charms that help everyone else keep their secrets).

His name is Steve, and he’s come with hopes of filling the hole left when Benny, the previous town carpenter, had died without an heir to his business. People say that he seems hardworking and capable, that he’s strong and handsome, that he’s friendly enough, but that there’s something a little distant about him – a little lonely (though the older ladies who give Eddie gossip do tend to romanticize at times).

Eddie doesn’t expect to meet him as soon as he does, but before even his first week in town is out, Steve turns up on Eddie’s doorstep, looking at once earnest and wary, and just as handsome as the gossip had said.

(Not that that last bit has any bearing on anything.)

“People in town say you’re the one to see for remedies,” Steve says when Eddie gets the door open.

“People in town say a lot of things,” Eddie replies. “But in this case, they’re right. Come on in.”

Inside, Eddie finds out that Steve is seeking a remedy for headaches. But not just any headaches; these seem to be full-body affairs that can keep Steve down for days at a time. He gets dizzy, nauseous, is bothered by any noise, and even candlelight can be too bright for his eyes.

Eddie mixes him up something strong, gives him strict instructions on how it’s to be taken, and then moves on to the matter of payment.

At that, Steve begins to look sheepish.

“I’ve only just set up my business. I… don’t have much money yet,” he admits. “I was hoping you might be willing to do a trade.”

Eddie cocks an eyebrow at him. “And what do you have to trade that you think might interest me?”

“Your door?” Steve offers.

“…what about my door?” Eddie asks after a long moment of confused silence.

“It sticks. You were having trouble getting it closed earlier. I could fix that,” Steve says.

And it’s true – Eddie’s front door does stick. So does the back door. The shutters often refuse to open or shut properly, and the porch sags a little, and there’s a leak in the roof when it rains hard enough. While Eddie is the best in the business when it comes to working magic, he’s not so handy with home repairs.

(It doesn’t particularly help that witches exist in an odd sort of social limbo. Every town needs one—this is generally acknowledged as truth—but no one particularly wants them around. Eddie lives a little ways away from town, up against the forest line, where it’s easy to ignore him and his shabby house unless someone needs something from him. No one has ever exactly been chomping at the bit to come help him fix the place up.)

Eddie shouldn’t say yes. He often trades goods and services, but he doesn’t know this man. He doesn’t know if he’s reliable, doesn’t even know if his work is any good – but something in him wants to agree, anyway.

Maybe it’s the earnestness of his offer, or the hope in his expression that he’s clearly trying to quash, or maybe Eddie’s just a sucker for a pretty face, but eventually he finds he can’t say anything but, “Okay, sure.”

“Thank you,” Steve sighs as he accepts the potion. “How would tomorrow work for you?”

Still not entirely sure he expects Steve to show up, Eddie says that tomorrow is fine. If he doesn’t show, if he thinks he can fleece a witch and continue living peacefully in town, he’ll quickly find out otherwise. And if he does come back – well, it would be nice to have a door that doesn’t stick anymore.

“What’s your favorite color?” Steve asks before he leaves.

“Red,” Eddie answers, one brow raised in a question that Steve doesn’t answer.

“Red.” Steve nods. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The next day, Steve is back bright and early with a bag of tools and a pot of paint. He tells Eddie not to mind him, he’ll just get to work and try to stay out of Eddie’s way, but Eddie can’t help but watch as Steve inspects the door hinges, the frame, and then not only trims the door down, but sands and paints it, too.

Red: Eddie’s favorite color.

Anyway, it isn’t Eddie’s fault for getting distracted. There’s an unfairly attractive man doing manual labor in front of his house, what’s he supposed to do?

Eventually, though, Eddie does force himself to look away. He shouldn’t get attached to things he knows he can’t have. He’s the witch; he’s in the background of everyone else’s story, he doesn’t get to have one of his own – especially not with someone like Steve.

And that’s fine, Eddie had accepted that long ago. He likes being able to help people, and it’s sort of the only thing he’s any good at. He won’t deny that it stings sometimes, the way people talk about witches—about him—but what should he care about what other people think?

In any case, it doesn’t matter, because once Steve finishes with the door, it’s unlikely the two of them will cross paths again any time soon.

Steve finishes the door (it now opens and closes smooth as butter) and goes home.

And comes back the next week.

“Finished what I gave you already?” Eddie asks.

Steve shrugs. “Stress always makes the headaches worse, and with travelling and setting up shop…”

Eddie nods, pursing his lips in thought. “I could make you a bigger batch, but it would cost you more.”

“I can fix those shutters.” Steve nods towards the windows. “And you mentioned something about the back door?”

“You’re going to neglect your real customers, spending all your time fixing up my house,” Eddie teases.

“I can make the time,” Steve says, smiling at Eddie. “I think it’s worth it.”

Eddie has to turn away again, reminding himself that Steve is talking about the medicine, not him.

He fixes up a bigger batch of that same strong potion he’d made the previous week (“I’ve never had anything work so well,” Steve had practically gushed. “It was more than worth my work.”) and Steve comes back the next afternoon to start work on the back door.

They talk more this time, when Steve takes breaks, when Eddie is between tasks and brings him cool water to drink, and Eddie finds that Steve is funny and sweet, and catty and sharp, and a bigger gossip than even Eddie himself. And he reminds himself, again and again, that Steve is not for him. This isn’t how the story goes.

Witches don’t get nice things.

(And that’s fine. Eddie is fine with it. He’s fine.)

They do, however, get increasingly nice houses, apparently. Or at least Eddie does. Steve paints the back door red, too, and then gets to work fixing the shutters. Those, to Eddie’s bemusement, he paints a buttery, golden yellow.

“They don’t exactly scream ‘witch’s cottage’,” Eddie points out.

Steve only shrugs. “It’s my favorite color,” he says, flashing a grin at Eddie. “Besides, I think they go with the doors.”

Eddie doesn’t argue.

It goes on like this. Eddie brews medicine for Steve’s headaches, and Steve finds things around the house to work on. He fixes the leak in the roof, the creaky porch steps, the drawer in the kitchen that will never stay closed; his business picks up in town, but he always makes time for Eddie.

As much as he can, at least.

“I’ve got a few big orders built up,” he says apologetically one afternoon as he collects his medicine from Eddie. “I’m not sure when I’ll have time to get to the cabinets like I said I would, but I can pay you–”

“Nah.” Eddie waves Steve’s offer away before he can pull out any coins. “I’ll just put it on your tab.”

Eddie doesn’t do tabs.

Steve looks skeptical. “If you’re sure…”

“Of course I am. And if, for some reason, you welch on our deal,” Eddie gives Steve a sharp grin, “I do know where you live.”

“You should come visit, then,” Steve says.

Eddie falters. “What?”

“If you want to, I mean.” Steve shrugs, avoiding Eddie’s gaze. “Just– if I can’t make it out here, maybe you could come see me, instead.”

And again, he’s so earnest, trying so hard not to look too hopeful, that Eddie can’t say anything but, “Alright, I will.”

The way Steve lights up at that is worth just about anything he could have Eddie do.

Eddie tries to remind himself of this as he ventures into town the next week.

He doesn’t go into the town proper very often; he grows a lot of what he needs and trades for a lot of the rest of it with customers; he’s a rare enough sight that some people stare, and whisper, and Eddie does his best to hold his head up high and walk without a care.

And if he pulls faces at some of the more egregious offenders, causing them to gasp and scurry away, scandalized, well – Eddie is allowed his simple pleasures.

Anyway, Steve is all smiles when he finds Eddie at his door, and that’s the most important thing. He ushers him through the shop (a large, warm space that smells of wood shavings and sweet smoke, just as Eddie’s come to associate with Steve) and into the living space above. He serves Eddie tea and cake with a studied nonchalance that says he doesn’t want Eddie to realize how excited he is.

How excited he is to see Eddie.

Eddie searches for anything else to focus on before he does something ridiculous, like act on the rising warm feeling in his chest. He finds it, oddly, in Steve’s eyes.

“Have you been sleeping?” Eddie asks him; the shadows beneath his eyes look almost like bruises.

Steve shrugs. “I’ve been busy.”

His hands are shaking, Eddie realizes, as he pours the tea for the both of them. Steve must notice Eddie noticing, because he folds his hands back into his lap with a little huff.

“Happens sometimes,” he says brusquely. “More annoying than anything. Carpenters are supposed to have steady hands.”

(Eddie wonders sometimes what must have happened to Steve, but he’s seen some of the scars that adorn his body, has seen the faraway look that gets into his eyes from time to time, and he thinks he knows. Steve has the bearing of a soldier, and the eyes of a man too kind to have ever been made to fight for a king who doesn’t give a damn about him.)

Taking the hint, Eddie changes the subject, but the thought of Steve’s shaking hands follows him home. All those tools, all those sharp things he works with – maybe Steve isn’t his, not his to worry over or to care of, but Eddie decides he’s damn well going to do it anyway.

The next time Steve comes by, Eddie slips him an extra packet along with his usual potion.

“You brew it like tea,” Eddie says to Steve’s confused glance. “Should help steady your hands, when you need it.”

Steve stares down at the packet for several silent seconds. “You didn’t have to–”

“But I wanted to.”

Shaking his head, Steve looks back up at Eddie. “How can I–”

Eddie waves him off before the question is fully formed. “Let’s say it’s on the house, for my best customer.”

“I’m not sure that’s a compliment,” Steve says, not without amusement.

“Then how about my favorite customer?” Eddie offers.

Steve is smiling now. “Are you allowed to have favorites?”

“I’m the witch,” Eddie reminds him with a smirk. “I can do whatever I want.”

And so it goes.

And so it might have continued going, if it hadn’t been for the night Steve turns up at Eddie’s door well after dark, looking grey and haggard and haunted.

Eddie ushers him in, sits him down, makes him some tea, and tries to get some words out of him.

“Do you make anything to help people sleep?” is what Steve finally asks.

“I can,” Eddie says slowly, watching Steve carefully.

Steve drops his face into his hands, rubbing harshly at his eyes. “I just– I just want to sleep. I don’t want to dream, just for one night,” he says, so low that Eddie has to strain to catch all the words. “Just once.”

Eddie weighs his options. He knows how to make an elixir for a deep, dreamless sleep; he won’t deny that he’s used it himself, when certain memories had become too much, but that’s exactly how he knows that it hits hard and fast. It can be disorienting – maybe even a little dangerous, if you don’t know what you’re doing.

“I can make something for you,” Eddie says, “but only if you stay here tonight. I don’t want you walking back home in the dark, it isn’t safe.”

“I don’t… I don’t want to impose,” Steve says, as if he could ever be an imposition to Eddie.

“I’d feel better knowing you’re here,” Eddie says, and that seems to break Steve’s resolve.

By the time Eddie finishes the elixir, Steve is barely awake in his seat. He doesn’t even argue when Eddie leads him to his own bed, lays him down, and tells him to drink.

He’s out like a light in minutes.

Eddie closes the bedroom door and sets himself up in a chair by the fire, but he doesn’t sleep for a long time.

He wakes in the morning to the sound of someone moving around in the kitchen. He follows the smell and coffee and sizzling bacon to find Steve there, flitting around the room, cooking.

“Hey.” Steve smiles, broad and true, when he sees Eddie in the doorway. “I was going to come wake you soon, breakfast is almost ready.”

Eddie blinks at him, wondering if maybe he’s the one who took the sleeping elixir, because he can’t quite fathom what he’s seeing: Steve, happy and sleep-rumpled, using his kitchen to cook breakfast like it’s familiar to him, like it’s something he does every day, smiling at Eddie like he’s the final piece missing from the morning.

“I don’t know how I’m going to repay you for what you did last night,” Steve says, determinedly poking at the bacon in the pan. “I can’t– I can’t tell you how much I needed that. How much it helped. But I figured I could at least start by making you breakfast.”

Eddie watches him cook, and feels like his heart is about to crack, because for some reason he’s getting this taste of what life could be like, but he doesn’t get to keep it.

This isn’t for him.

(And Eddie wants to be fine, but he isn’t. He isn’t.)

Something must show on his face, because when Steve looks up at him, his own expression falls into a concerned frown. He forgets all about the bacon and moves over to Eddie, arms outstretched to place his hands on Eddie’s shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, so invested, so concerned, that Eddie feels like he might lose his mind.

“This isn’t right,” Eddie manages, and Steve only looks more upset.

“Should I– should I not have done this? Did you want me to go, or–”

“I never want you to go!” Eddie blurts. “I always want you here, but this—this morning, breakfast, you—I don’t get to have this. It’s – it’s not right.”

Steve’s expression softens, eyes warming with understanding. “You can have it, if you want,” he says softly. “You can have me. You always could have. Since the beginning.”

Eddie shakes his head. “This isn’t… this isn’t how the story goes.”

“Then let’s write a new one,” Steve says.

There isn’t anything Eddie can think to say to that, but that’s alright, because that means his mouth is unoccupied when Steve leans in to kiss him.

Steve never has to trade anything for his medicine ever again, after that, nor does he have to come over to fetch it – he’s already there. Eddie’s house becomes the nicest in town, what with his live-in carpenter, and all. It’s painted in bright colors, and it draws people in, and makes them want to stay just a little longer, exchange pleasantries just a little more, and get to know Eddie just a little bit better.

Steve keeps his workshop in town, goes there every morning, and returns to Eddie at night. They start their days with breakfast together, and they end them in bed, pressed together like spoons in a drawer, and with every day that passes by, Eddie believes, more and more, that maybe this is something he gets to have.

Maybe this is something he gets to keep.

[amethystwrytes]

Safe (Part Seven)

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin X Fem. Reader X Lee Minho

Summary: A broke ER Nurse offers up her services to a large crime organization in exchange for much higher pay and benefits that are unconventional, but lucrative. The life proves to be questionable at best, and downright isolating at worst which leaves her feeling unsure, unstable and dangerous. 

Warnings: Explicit language. Explicit depictions of sex (some chapters will be more explicit than others sexually). Violence. Blood. Trauma injuries. (Organized) Crime. Emotional manipulation. Discussion of murder and physical assault. Medical inaccuracy galore. Smoking. Past addiction. 18+ Only MDNI.

Chapter WC: 3.5K

~ Part Seven ~ (Series M. List Here)

Two vibrant, undeniably visible pink lines scream at you from the bathroom countertop. 

“What does it say?” Seungmin hobbles up behind you. 

“Get out! God, you fucking leech! I’m literally staring at a plastic stick dripping with my piss here, can I get a minute to myself?!” you scream and shove him out the door, he stumbles back and hits the opposite wall with a thud as you slam and lock the bathroom door. 

“I guess I’ll take that as a positive then!” he yells, “Hormonal asshole! I’ve just been shot in the leg today, no big deal!” you hear him hobble back down the hallway. 

Actually it’s a double positive, since you’ve taken two tests. One might be a dud, right? It happens. It’s possible. You, as a nurse, had personally never seen a false positive on a pregnancy test, but you hear things, right? It’s happened. So you squeezed out a little more pee for test #2, after all, that’s probably why they give you two in a box anyhow. Yet even with barely enough urine to soak the stupid scratchy tip of the test, the lines were so clearly there that you had no choice but to believe them. 

“Fuck.” 

The word comes out in a choked sob as you sit back down on the toilet, your face in your hands. 

How? You are a fucking nurse. How did you let this happen? 

Working at the hospital had always had its perks, like how you could just drop into gynecology, sign a paper, and have the nurse give you your shot, most of the time it was someone you knew and were friendly with. It was convenient, it was easy, you were able to do it on your breaks for goodness sake. You never made an appointment or anything, so there wouldn’t be any kind of reminder from the office to come back to stay on schedule. Evidently you were the type of person who needed them though, because here you sit on a toilet, in a house that doesn’t belong to you, pregnant with…

With whose fucking child? You laugh, audibly laugh, and it slowly turns into sobs. You don’t even know who the father is. Hyunjin? Minho? One of them, obviously. You’ve been fucking them both longer than six weeks, which is what you put yourself at if you’re getting nauseous and vomiting. Of course you can’t know for certain, that will have to be confirmed at an obstetrics appointment, which you will now have to go to, routinely. 

The words abortion, adoption flash in your mind. You did not plan this, you did not want this. Yet even as you sit here, drops of pee all over the place, sobbing into your hands, you can’t quite seem to change the “did not want” to “do not want” in your head. 

“I do not want this,” you say it out loud, because maybe you just need to audibly hear yourself say it, but it comes out as a complete and utter lie. You feel in your very heart that it’s a lie. 

“I want this,” you whisper, the ghost of a smile spreading across your lips, and suddenly the scared and ugly tears are replaced with a sense of overwhelming excitement. “I want this.” 

You clean up the bathroom and roll up the pregnancy tests in a paper towel, you have no idea why you feel like saving them, but you roll them up anyway. 

When you walk back into the kitchen Seungmin is sitting at the table, his bandaged leg propped up on a chair, “Well?” 

“I’m pregnant,” you state, shocked at your own calmness, picking up your supplies from patching him up earlier to put them back where they belong. 

“Shit,” he whistles low, “Well what are you going to do?” he asks. 

“Have a baby, Seungmin, that’s what I’m going to do.” 

“Do you really think-...”

“What I really think is you should shut your mouth, because you have absolutely zero fucking opinions that matter regarding this, do you want to try me Kim Seungmin? I dare you.” 

“No ma’am.” 

“Good then.” 

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

When Minho, Hyunjin and Jisung walk through your door later that evening your very blood turns to ice; an indescribable feeling of excitement, fear, elation and dread consuming your every fiber. 

“How’s the leg?” Hyunjin asks Seungmin, smacking the back of his shoulder. 

“It’s uh,” he looks at you nervously which causes the other three men to look at you as well, “It’s fine. Doc here stitched me up.” Smooth Seungmin, smooth as silk you fucking twat. 

“Did you all get into a wrestling match or something? What’s with the vibes?” Jisung teases. 

“Nothing,” Seungmin answers too fast, “take me home Han, can I get some pain meds or something?” he looks in your general direction but refuses to make eye contact with you. 

“Already sorted them out,” you say pointedly, sliding a little bag across the table, “don’t take them all at once, that would be a pity.”

He sneers at you then stands up, hobbling towards the door, “Han. Now.” 

Jisung closes the refrigerator he was about to descend upon and scurries over, “Shit, okay.” 

You watch as the two of them disappear and close the door. You can feel Minho and Hyunjin staring you down. 

“Did he say something to you again? Because if so we can drag his ass back in here and set it straight,” Minho asks. 

“No,” you shake your head and sit down, “No, he just knows something that you don’t,” you look up at him, terrified of how the next few minutes will play out. Wondering if you shouldn’t bring it up right now, but knowing you’ve said too much not to at this point. 

“What would that be?” Minho frowns. 

“I found out today…” your voice waivers which only seems to concern both men more. 

“Found what out, sweetheart?” Hyunjin sits next to you, his fingers caressing your forearm. 

You pick a spot on the table to look at, because you can’t bring yourself to look at either of them, “I’m pregnant.” 

Silence. Well, the only sound is Minho pulling out the other dining chair for himself, probably so he doesn’t collapse where he stands. 

The three of you sit there for several moments in just total and complete silence. The hum of the ceiling fan sounding more and more like nails on a chalkboard with every passing second. 

“What do you want to do, baby?” it’s Hyunjin that speaks first, and you can tell that he is trying to keep any emotion from his expression, but you can’t tell if he’s hiding a reaction that’s good or bad. 

“I want,” you exhale slowly, “I am going to be a mother, I will not abort this pregnancy, I do not want to talk about adoption. I will not discuss either, and I don’t want to hear it.” 

At this Minho stiffens, his face contorting into something between disgust and hurt, “___, baby, I would never ask you to do something you didn’t want…we…Hyunjin and I…” he stops talking and chuckles. 

“How do we want to do this?” he looks at you and Hyunjin. You know what he’s really asking is  what the fuck is the plan on raising a baby with three parents? but you also don’t have an answer to that. 

“Let’s please not worry or talk about that right now,” you laugh painfully, “I can’t deal with that part right now. Obviously one of you…you know…impregnated me,” you clear your throat, “but there’s no way for me to know who at this point, not without a DNA test and honestly…I love both of you so I just don’t think I want to know, does that make sense?” 

“Makes sense to me,” Hyunjin smiles and effectively ends that part of the discussion, “We’re having a baby?” his voice drips with elation and every muscle in your body relaxes. 

You nod, happy tears brimming your lids, “Yes.” 

“We’re having a baby,” Minho laughs, and you’re surprised to see tears in his eyes as well.

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

“You know,” you sit at the bathroom vanity applying your moisturizer when Minho steps out of the shower, “I was terrified to tell you.” 

“Me specifically?” he points to his naked chest. 

“Honestly? Yes…” 

Minho nods and gnaws at his lip, “I guess I deserve that, but I promised you I’d never give you another reason to be scared of me, and I meant it - you never have to be scared of me baby.” 

“I wasn’t scared that you’d be mad at me, I don’t think, I guess I just thought you’d be upset at the idea of having a child. We are not a traditional couple in any way shape or form, so we’ve not really talked about traditional things, like marriage or babies or futures. I didn’t know what you wanted for your life, I still don’t I suppose,” you explain. 

He sits next to you on the bench, “Seola…” his voice cracks at the mention of his late wife's name, “she wanted children, she wanted to be a mother,” he covers his mouth with his hand and squeezes his eyes shut, tears roll down his cheeks and you throw your arms around him. 

“I am so sorry,” you sob with him, “I’m so sorry you lost her, lost your life with her, a future with her. Minho, I’m so sorry.”  

He cries into the small of your neck for a moment before taking a deep breath and righting himself. 

“When the words first came out of your mouth, I felt so guilty, because all I could think about was how she was robbed of that moment, that moment she would get to tell me she was pregnant, but I was so happy anyway, happy without her - it doesn’t seem fair, or right.” 

“It’s not,” you cup his face, “It is not fair.” 

“I was always undecided,” he sniffs, “Part of me, of course, adores the thought of having a son or daughter to raise, to love, someone who can become my whole world and someone to leave a legacy to but then I look around, at the guns, at the murder - is that really what I want to leave anyone with, let alone someone I love so much? Which actually,” he sighs,  “Actually that brings me to something I’ve been thinking about the past couple hours.” 

“What?” 

“I own lots of properties, here in the city and surrounding areas primarily, some are safe houses, some are renters for additional income, but there’s one property, one that absolutely no other soul on Earth knows I own, it’s a last resort - my ‘absolutely have exhausted all options and efforts’ backup - located in Applecross, Scotland,-” 

“Scotland?” you snort, “That is the most random thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth. I don’t think I’ve ever once heard you utter the word Scotland,” you chuckle. 

“There’s a reason for that, and now you’re the only other person who knows I own a house there,” he says, an uneasy expression on his face. 

“Why are you telling me?” 

“Because I want you to go there, you can take Hyunjin with you if you want, and when all this shit is over I’ll come join you - we can have the baby there, and someday when the dust settles we can come back here, but you’ll be safer-” 

“No,” you shake your head. 

“You won’t even hear me out?” he argues. 

“No, I won’t, I’m not going anywhere, not without you, I won’t,” you look at him, fighting back tears. 

“But you’ll be safe there,” he continues. 

“Physically? Maybe, but my heart will break if I can’t see you, if I don’t know what’s happening here, happening to you. I will spend every moment miserable and I don’t want it,” you tell him seriously. “No. I will not go.” 

“Fine, okay,” he nods, pushing his wet hair back out of his face. “I’m not going to argue with the mother of my child,” he smirks, “but promise me that you’ll think about it, it really is a lovely location - a little foggy - but if things get too heated here, please remember what I’ve said.” 

“I will keep it in the back of my mind, but I’m not going anywhere without you,” you lean over and kiss his lips. 

“I love you,” he whispers against your mouth, “I love you so much.” His hand finds purchase on your stomach, his fingers fanning out across, “I’m so happy for us.” 

Hyunjin is relaxed on a chair, doodling in his sketchbook when you and Minho emerge from the master bath. 

You frown, “Why are you not in your pajamas? Are you working tonight…again?” 

Hyunjin sets the book down, “I am. Changbin, Felix and I have a meeting with one of Parks guys, they have some intel on the storehouse Jeongin and Seungmin scouted. Park has dabbled in Taehyungs heroin deals in the past, he’s had guys in the building, we’re going to try and map it out so we know exactly where we’re going  the night it all goes down,” he explains with a yawn. 

“You’re all so tired,” you shake your head, “I worry about your clarity.” 

“Don’t worry baby,” he scoots to the edge of the chair, nuzzling his nose against your belly, “Tonight will be friendly, we’ll play cards and smoke and talk, I’ll try to draw out a map based on the information, no danger, promise.” 

“When do you have to leave?” you ask, glancing at the wall clock, just after 10:30pm. 

“Hmm, probably around midnight, that’s usually when they all meet up at their little club house,” he chuckles, “Why?” 

You grin, biting at your lip as you pull the ribbon on your bathrobe, slowly exposing your nudity underneath. 

“I have been insatiably horny the past few days, I guess I know why now,” you giggle, “unfortunately the horniness seems to be constantly competing with unimaginable nausea, but as of this moment, guess who isn’t nauseous?” 

Minho licks his lips and stands behind you, tugging at the opening of the robe, helping it fall gently down your shoulders and arms. 

Hyunjin smiles, dropping to his knees and lifting one of your legs up to rest on the chair he was previously sat on, “I can’t imagine what you’re going through baby,” he whispers, his lips ghosting over the flesh of your inner thigh, leaving goosebumps. 

“Let’s take special care of our girl,” Minho says, his lips on the shell of your ear, his delicate fingers gently massaging your breasts. 

“I like the sound of that,” you chuckle. 

Hyunjin uses his fingers to spread you open, placing a gentle kiss against your clit and your head rolls back, resting on Minhos shoulder as you let out a soft breath. 

“Fuck,” Minhos voice is raspy and dark in your ear, “I love watching him eat you out, it’s so fucking hot.”

“Mmm,” is all you can muster as an agreement. 

Hyunjin is being soft tonight, delicate, savoring. You can feel yourself practically dripping around his tongue, his lips. Your eyes close, the sound of his soft kisses and wet licks consuming you, your need to orgasm so heavy that it aches. It’s his little whimper into your pussy that pushes you over the edge, poor Minho takes the brunt of your full weight as you dig your fingers into Hyunjins scalp, riding out your high on his face. 

Hyunjin stands, pressing himself, with his hard erection against your front, capturing your mouth with his sopping wet lips. You can feel Minho stroking your hair, his cock pressed against your backside. You turn around to face him, gently pushing him back onto the bed behind. 

He shimmies out of his pants before scooting back onto the pillows as you crawl over him, dipping your head down to kiss trails up his thighs. His hard length throbbing, tip dark and waiting eagerly for relief. You spit, his eyes widening as he watches your saliva drip down his shaft before you take it into your fist and pump, causing his head to fall back onto the pillows while you work him slowly. 

Meanwhile, you feel Hyunjin behind you, his hips rutting against your backside, seeking permission to fill you from behind, which you’re more than happy to give. 

“Hard or soft baby?” Hyunjin rasps, straining against you. 

“Soft and slow, and deep,” you reply. You sink your mouth onto Minhos cock as Hyunjin pushes into you, inciting a collective moan from each of you simultaneously. 

If someone had asked you where you thought you’d end up when you agreed to work for Lee Minho, you could’ve given so many answers. I’ll end up rich. I’ll end up in jail. I’ll end up living comfortably for the first time in my life. I’ll end up dead. The list of possible answers was long. However, I’ll end up in a state of complete euphoric pleasure, wedged between two men I love, one of which being the biological father to my unborn child, was never, ever something you’d think of, or even dream up for that matter. 

You barely register Hyunjin groggily getting out of the bed to retreat to the bathroom for a quick wash before venturing off to map out drug houses and smoke cigarettes over cards. The warmth of Minhos body has you cocooned in a heavy blanket of peacefulness, his fingers gently scratching against your scalp. Your eyes are so heavy you don’t even attempt to open them. If you could bottle this moment, retreat back to it anytime you feel afraid or anxious, you would do it in a heartbeat. 

“Love you guys,” you hear Hyunjin whisper as he heads out the bedroom door. 

“Love you too,” Minho responds for the both of you, you’re too tired to speak, but you drift off with a smile on your lips. 

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

You sleep late and wake up feeling better than you have in several days, though the nausea is there, bubbling under the surface. You decide to make some lemon ginger tea, and get up to do just that. You’ve got things to do today, like try and find an OBGYN who doesn’t know who you are for starters. You plan to set up a space in the kitchen to do some investigating over your tea.

In your kitchen however, sits Hyunjin, Minho, Felix and Changbin, all looking smug and happy with themselves. 

“Did I miss something?” you wonder as you retrieve the items you need for the tea. 

“Parks guy was more than helpful,” Hyunjin smiles, “He had pictures of the warehouse on his phone, we’ve got everything. Room by room.” 

“That’s good?”

Minho grins, “It’s great baby. Not only are we going to get my fucking guns back, but I’m going to burn his shit to the ground, every ounce of Heroin he’s got is going to go up in flames. Let’s try and watch him replace that.” 

“What happens after that?” you ask, a nervous feeling in your stomach. 

“What happens after that is this shit between Kim Taehyung and I ends, for good.”

Endnotes:

This is an extremely trying and scary time for women right now, and I want to make it very clear that I am 100% Pro-Choice 100% of the time. For the sake of this story, my OC is choosing to continue her pregnancy, but there is no deeper meaning or message that I'm trying to send by writing it that way, and given the current state of things, I personally needed people reading this to know that.

This is a shorter chapter because for me this is a very transitional chapter as we prepare to dive a little deeper into the heavier criminal aspects of the story. I wanted to obvs confirm OC's pregnancy since I left Ch. 6 off with a very "is she/isn't she?" type deal. I also wanted to establish Minho and Hyunjins attitude about it all. Some of you may have anticipated our Minho to go completely off the deep end, but in the end, I just didn't want him to be like that. Anyway, now that I've rambled, as usual here's your virtual smooch and I'll tag my beautiful taglist besties in the replies bc that is so much easier for me. Thanks for being kind and patient while I went through my little dark period. 🫂💜

[sl-vega]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪MY FIRST (GENUINE) LOVE

pairing: Otoya Eita x [FEM!] Reader

genre: fluff, oneshot/drabble, partial chat/text fic, crack/comedy (?), mild Otoya character study, school/no bluelock au

synopsis: Otoya and your's date went well, a little too well. 'Cuz now all he can think about is you, your laugh, your smile, your voice, it's driving him crazy. Which results in him patiently awaiting to any and all of your texts. (Or, in which a certain playboy finally falls in love for real)

CW: brief/mild language, implied suggestive content, ooc Otoya (?)

The second Otoya arrived home, he made a bee line directly towards his room, and threw himself onto his bed, the soft mattress enveloping him in it's plush comfort.

Normally whenever Otoya did this, it meant that he went on a less than good date an hour prior that left him exhausted. Usually the girl would've been too clingy, or tried to move too fast, and he usually didn't mind it, but some women just didn't know when enough was enough.

But neither of the reasons were the cause of his need to lie down. The date wasn't bad, it went super well actually. If anything, it went too well.

Earlier, he was on a date with you. The two of you met via Karasu, Otoya noticed that you were waiting for the latter after one of their games, and he had absentmindedly called you cute, not expecting anything to come out of it since his subconscious had already assumed that you and Karasu were an item.

Otoya had already braced himself for some kind of response along the lines of "Yeah she is" or the worse (and more likely) response of "Buzz off, she's taken". What Otoya didn't expect however, was Karasu's nonchalant offer of;

"Why don't I set the two of ya' up?"

And who was he to turn him down? A date with a cute girl where he didn't have to go through hell and back for a quick one-night-stand?

Fuck yeah, you should set us up.

You seemed nice enough from your initial meeting, you had a cute smile, nice voice, and you managed to be impressive enough for Karasu's standards, something that none of his previous flings achieved.

But what stood out the most to him was how genuine you were.

Most of the time when he went out with girls, they were only there for a quick hook up, or on the opposite end of the spectrum, were the completely clueless girls, the kind that legitimately thought that he would stick around in the long run, only to be disappointed by his inevitable infidelity, which usually resulted in a bunch of tears, and a slap, both of which that Otoya would always be on the receiving end of.

You on the other hand, were neither of these types of troublesome women. You clearly weren't using him for a quick night of pleasure, but you weren't in the dark about his previous antics either.

If anything, you knew a little too much about his previous sexual escapades. Probably because of Karasu's big mouth, or maybe he wanted to make sure Eita still had to put effort into his potential relationship with you.

The two of you went out to some semi-fancy restaurant for dinner together. You and Eita had made some small talk, the conversation ventured into deeper, more in depth topics occasionally (not that Otoya minded, but he'd digress), but you seemed to have fun, even though it was pretty surface level.

The date had ended on a nice note, Otoya had called you beautiful, not pretty, or cute, or sexy (or the other usual less than two syllable words he usually dropped on most of his throwaways), he had actually made a point to say it because he really did mean it.

He didn't know why you had left such a good impression on him, why you clearly meant more than some mere plaything that he would've discarded the following morning. Nor does he know why the thought of bringing another girl into his bed other than you makes his heart feel heavy and makes him feel nauseous.

He rolled over in his bed so he was facing the ceiling instead of of having his head stuffed into his plush pillows.

Why was he like this?

Why did you make him feel like this?

He lifted up one of the pillows by his side and brought it to his chest, maybe the soft stuffing would muffle the sound of his racing heartbeat.

Suddenly, his once silent phone buzzes with a notification. He takes a quick break from his sudden crisis of feelings, and quickly snatched his device from his nightstand. It was a message from an unknown number

[UNKNOWN]-(sent 10:52 pm)

hi! otoya right? This is (l/n) btw, karasu just gave me ur number

Eita's eyes widened, part of him felt a pang of jealousy.

So you and Karasu must be pretty close if you were texting him that late to get his number.

Wait, why did he care? His other girlfriends had guy friends before, and it never made him feel jealous like how you and Karasu's relationship did.

God, what's the matter with me?

Before he wasted too much time, he turned his phone back on, to respond to you, while making sure to change your contact name before he forgot.

[L/N <3]-(sent 10:54 pm)

otoya? you there? istg if karasu gave me the wrong number-

[You]-(sent 10:55 pm)

dw karasu wouldn't lie abt smth like that

[L/N <3]-(sent 10:57 pm)

dang, that reply was faster than I thought it would be, ig ur not as much as a red flag as I pegged you as

[You]-(sent 10:59 pm)

stfu, what did karasu say abt me?

[L/N <3]-(sent 11:00 pm)

nothin' I just figured you out on my own, i'm just smart like that >:3

[L/N <3]-(sent 11:01 pm)

'k i'm partially kidding, he warned me a bit abt you, but you're pretty good company, for an f boy at least

[You]-(sent 11:03 pm)

for an f boy? i'm hurt

[L/N <3]-(11:04 pm)

lol jk, I actually had a lot of fun tonight, we should do it again!

[L/N <3]-(sent 11:05 pm)

srry I gtg, ttyl?

Otoya's heart sinks at the realization that your short, yet sweet, conversation had already come to an end. He was already missing the comfort of your words, not they he would ever admit how much your little messages made his heart flutter.

[You]-(sent 11:07 pm)

yeah, gn

[L/N]-(sent 11:08 pm)

wow, dry much? gn, sweet dreams!

He mentally berates himself for his dry response, but a few seconds after, he starts grinning like some lovesick school girl.

Is this how some of his past flings felt about him?

No, he wanted you to be way more than a fling, maybe this would be the first time he tried, the first time he actually wanted to get serious about a girl, about a relationship.

Maybe this would be the first time that this would end with a ring around his finger rather than a slap on his face.

He hears his phone buzz again, he lunges towards it, hoping that it was another text from you.

[crow bastard]-(sent 11:19 pm)

i'm assuming the date went well since l/n hasn't told me that ur such a jerk yet

[crow bastard]-(sent 11:20 pm)

jk (kinda) i'm glad that you might finally have a shot at a real relationship

[You]-(sent 11:22 pm)

stfu you stupid crow

[crow bastard]-(sent 11:23 pm)

ilyt eita :3

[crow bastard]-(sent 11:27 pm)

cmon, no thanks for setting you up with your future wife?

[crow bastard]-(sent 11:28 pm)

i expect to be your best man at the wedding

[You]-(sent 11:30 pm)

nah i'll give it to yuki if you kept pestering me abt this

[crow bastard]-(sent 11:31 pm)

THAT'S NOT A NO TO THE WEDDING THO

[crow bastard]-(sent 11:33 pm)

GOTTEM

[crow bastard]-(sent 11:34 pm)

SO YOU DO LIKE HER

[You]-(sent 11:35 pm)

maybe I do, maybe I don't

Eita briefly set his phone down, thanking the gods that Karasu couldn't see his bright red face.

He definitely did...

[bonny-kookoo]

Bonny if possible I'd love to know how the Stereotypes couple will face the new bond situation. Does it change anything else apart from being able to reach the O? Are they both happy and comfortable with it despite not having talked about the possibility beforehand (so was my impression at least)?

After Yoongi had taken a good look at your now shared bond, it's pretty clear that it's a proper one. A permanent one- because even now, after days, the scar still remains none of your body's usually fast healing affecting it whatsoever.

And another thing that's happened, is that it stopped.

No longer are you both being perceived as nothing but prey- no one dares to go after you no more, scent having mixed to a new one that clearly tells the fact of a mated couple, rather than two mingling omegas. But even that is not all.

Jungkook had gone on a trip with friends, despite Yoongi's warning to not go by himself. You didn't feel too great having Jungkook gone, but you managed, somewhat- not wanting to ruin his fun just because he's now mated.

But it's obvious that when Jungkook returns, that he now knows exactly what Yoongi was warning him about.

He had fun, he really did- but he couldn't sleep well if at all, he constantly felt an odd constricting feeling in his throat that just worsened the longer he was gone, mind constantly coming up with new reasons to worry about you back home, constant messages increasing towards you, anxiety growing if you didn't respond right away.

And now that he's back home, he's clingy, constantly attached to you, seeking any affection you can offer him.

Jimin laughs as he watches the young omega sleepily scent you yet again, moving around to properly hold you, both of you occupying the newly bonded couple's home. Yoongi has offered to let you stay with him and Jimin during the last day of Jungkook's trip- your side effects from not having your freshly bonded mate close having caused you great distress you don't want to admit to Jungkook.

You don't want him to feel bad- but you've been absolutely miserable, especially during the last day- crying until you felt nauseous, hidden away under blankets and Jungkook's clothes.

So now, earlier, when Jungkook came over to technically pick you up, you both fell into a different mindset- clinging onto one another to make up for lost time. You literally are touch-starved, and since you're both omegas, neither of you are currently really conscious enough to be left alone. Or at least, that's what Yoongi said- Jimin is convinced the alpha just feels protective with both of your distressed scents around.

And, since you're considered part of his 'pack', he feels almost obligated to offer help.

"How are the two?" The alpha wonders, entering the living room after having finished some stuff in his office, watching how Jimin puts a blanket over Jungkook and you who are finally able to find proper sleep. "I told him to take her with him.." Yoongi shakes his head.

"He has to learn, like you said." His mate offers. "He can't replace an alpha, neither can she. They have to figure things out themselves, and that's by trial and error." He shrugs.

"Still." Yoongi huffs, though he decides to no longer push the subject. "You gonna come to bed?" He asks, eyes still on you and Jungkook.

"I think we'll sleep downstairs here too, no?" Jimin purrs teasingly, hugging Yoongi. "I know for a fact you won't be able to sleep properly if you can't watch over them." He jokes, and Yoongi rolls his eyes-

though he does walk up to get some blankets and a sleeping mat for the living room.

[figgrrr0]

oh my lord, thinking abt kaveh who comes home and sees his beloved s/o in his oversized shirt and he suddenly gets so possessive at the sight and just rails you all while youre wearing only his shirt 😩 idk im just head over heels over this pretty man and him being dominant is just muah 👌🏻 ndjwndkskks bonus: i imagine kaveh losing it if it’s alhaitham’s shirt you’re wearing one day instead of his and all hell loose

I will admit rn that I know absolutely nothing about this man, but omggg... he's so gorgeous I can't–

This is longer than I planned but that just shows how much I love this idea. Ty for sharing 🩷

I've never done angst so pls ignore if it's clumsy

Jealous Kaveh

Reader: Bottom!Gn // Genre: Smut, angst

Cw: angst (he thinks you're cheating), rough/emotional sex, slight choking, slight degradation, it gets resolved I promise

Due to your recent antics, Kaveh is wholly unsurprised by what he finds when walking through the door to his room: you, leaning against the wall in a clearly provocative manner, clad in only a shirt so huge on you that the sleeves almost reach your mid thigh.

Rolling his eyes, but unable to hide the affectionate smile that breaks through, Kaveh makes his way over to you. His hand takes its usual place on your hip, though when he pulls you nearer, he can't help but notice that something feels... off. Different.

The odd feeling settles low in his stomach, making him feel almost nauseous, but he pushes it to the back of his mind quickly. He wouldn't want to push you away, especially not when you're looking this good, and obviously trying to rile him up – again.

Kaveh draws you into a kiss, then. It's slower than usual, passing for overly loving, when in reality, his mind is filing through the new information that has so rudely made itself welcome in his mind.

You smell like Al Haitham; or, more so – he notices as he leans down to kiss your neck – the shirt you're wearing does.

Ah, it all makes sense now.

He'd registered that something was out of place as soon as he'd seen you: the shirt itself was of a similar fashion as his own, so while he didn't immediately recognise it, it was a common enough fit that he wouldn't be surprised to see it in his closet. But, even so, the mischievous smile you'd failed so miserably to hide certainly gave away that you were hiding something.

Kaveh wasn't sure he wanted to know what that was.

With a frustrated groan, Kaveh pushes you against the wall, taking care to cushion the back of your head with his hand. He breaks the kiss then, looking deep into your eyes, and the intensity that swirls in his own makes you almost nervous.

He was angry. But, what made you really realise your mistake with this little prank, was the watery glaze of tears that covered his eyes.

Just as you're about to apologise, reach out your hand to encase his cheek in your loving warmth before the situation gets out of hand, he beats you to it.

His hand shoots up to encase your neck, cutting off your words as he presses his lips to yours once again, messy and unco-ordinated – nothing like the kisses you usually share. The barest hint of pressure against the sides of your throat coax you to gasp against him, grabbing onto his shoulders at the threat. But it's not needed, really. Kaveh can make you light-headed with a single look; so how's it going to be this time, when his control has already unravelled, just barely hanging on by a thread that's ready to snap?

Minutes go by like this. You, pressed to the wall and squirming beneath Kaveh's rough handling; and Kaveh, one hand roaming your body in a hurry, the other pinning your tongue down so that you can't try to explain, collecting your drool before it spills.

Finally having enough, Kaveh grips onto the collar of the shirt that drapes over your body, his hand tensing before it jerks with a quick movement– the offensive fabric falling to the floor in two pieces soon after. As if seeing and feeling it weren't enough, the distinct "Riiipp" that sounded far louder than it should have in your ears was certainly enough to glue you in to what Kaveh had just done.

You'd both be in trouble once Al Haitham found out. But first, you'd have to hope you can get through the wrath of your jealous boyfriend before even starting to worry about that.

Now that you'd separated, you could finally see the full effect of the situation in Kaveh's face and erratic actions. He's keeping you as close to him as possible while also keeping you pressed flat against the wall, the fingers that are coated with your spit coming down to press directly into your exposed hole. As impatient as he's feeling, his movements are still sound and practical, making you feel good and forcing moans from your mouth at how different than usual it all feels.

Even though you feel bad for making him feel this way (you really should have thought this through more beforehand), you can't help but enjoy the roughness of his actions. His fingers move fast and hard, scraping deliciously against your walls as they curl inside of you, coaxing you to open up for him. It leaves you clinging onto him to support your balance, your legs growing shaky from the sudden onslaught of pleasure.

But then, it's over far too quickly. Kaveh pulls away before you can reach your peak, hoisting you up until your legs are locked together behind his back. And then, with no other warning, he's pushing into you.

It's instantly overwhelming, the pace he sets from the start a complete 180 from what you're used to with him.

On any other night, you'd describe the sex between you and Kaveh to be making love. Gentle touches and whispered praises, kisses full of passion and reciprocated "I love you"s.

Tonight, he's gripping you hard enough to form bruises, harsh breaths being hissed against your skin, bites of desperation and broken "I love you"s. Except this time, his hand covers your mouth, forcing you to listen as he pours his heart out. Tonight, he's well and truly fucking you.

And it's all because he thinks he's losing you.

As much as you want to take him into your arms and wrap him into a hug so tight that he can't move, so that he has to listen to you as you explain about how stupid you'd been... you know there'd be no getting through to him as he is now.

Of course, if you'd truly wanted him to stop, if he was hurting you rather than sending bursts of white-hot pleasure coursing through your entire being with every rough thrust that smacks against your ass – then he would. As far gone as he is in his own mind, taking out his confusion and anger on you – Kaveh would never do anything to make you uncomfortable. Even now, he's looking into your eyes every few moments, a silent check-in to make sure you still want this. To make sure you still want him.

He's high-strung on emotions, nerves running wild and caught up in the pleasure. The truth is, in this situation, the best thing to do is let him work through it however he needs.

...

A while passes like this, his hands glued to your hips, hard cock slamming as deep into you as possible. Eventually, Kaveh's mind finally starts to come back to him, as he takes in the utter mess he's made of you: eyes rolled back, mouth parted around the moans that are punched out of you with every push of his hips, and nails digging into his shoulders and slicing down to his chest when you're jostled too far.

He's slowing down his erratic thrusts then, worried it's too much for you, that he's overdone it. He's about to pull out, ready to take care of you so that you can have a proper conversation once you're both in the right headspace, when he's completely taken back by your response:

You slam yourself back down onto his cock, begging him not to stop and to be rougher.

And only then does Kaveh realise that this was your plan all along.

No longer is he worried about the security of your relationship or the validity of your feelings for him. You were just being a needy little whore, begging for attention and playing on his frustration with his room-mate.

Now, as he picks his thrusts back up to the blinding speed they'd been before, insults and degradation spills from his lips, mixed with the grounding kisses that you'd started to miss. Now, it was the perfect mix of gentle and rough, old and new.

And when the night is over, cum dripping from your hole, Kaveh will pick up the discarded shirt that got you into this mess in the first place, using it as a cloth to wipe up the sticky mess that drips down your thighs.

Want to send a request/brainrot with me? Check my rules!

Thank you for reading! 🩷

[tinietaehyun]

Forsaken [XII]

[Sorcerer!Taehyun x Royal!Reader] [Series] [Chapter Twelve]

Pairing: Sorcerer!Taehyun x Royal!Reader

Genres: Romance, royal!au, fantasy, enemies to lovers, fluff, action, thriller.

Contains: Profanity, description of injury, mentions of blood, suggestive themes, dialogue-heavy.

Links: Forsaken Masterlist || Masterlist

Summary: Having teleported successfully out of Prince Beomgyu’s palace, you were left with Taehyun bleeding out. You had to save him at all costs! Thankfully for you, you haphazardly manage to bandage his wound and can only hope he will wake up soon!

Though when he does, you find your time with him going quite a bit different than you expected. Not that you would ever complain of course. Not when it felt so right to have his lips against yours.

Your gaze pierces Taehyun’s unconscious figure who you have managed to sit up against the wall. With nimble fingers, you unbutton his shirt as you analyse the extent of his injuries. Fortunately, you managed to find the bandage wrap, disinfectant and some other useful items.

With widened eyes, you spot the medium size slice into the side of his torso just under the ribs. His smooth expanse of skin now marred with a soon to be scar, not that it mattered, his physique spoke for itself.

Blood had soaked into his shirt and cloak; it was a clean slice clearly done with a blade; most likely Beomgyu’s doing. A gruesome mixture of fresh blood dribbles down his side dripping onto his trousers and the floor with flakes of dried blood now forming around the wound. You wince feeling slightly nauseous at the sight of the wound.

You weren’t an expert healer, but you had quite the many falls as a child and watched how he would bandage up your wounds or the wounds of Fortuna’s soldiers; particularly Kai’s. Biting your lip in hesitation, you crouch down beside him. You’d try your best. You had to.

With a wet towel you clean the surrounding blood. You clearly see the clear laceration making you wince at the thought of receiving such a wound. With the disinfectant, you begin sanitising the wound, to which you were extremely thankful he was unconscious, you knew it would hurt terribly. You continue to use pressure to stop anymore excess bleeding.

Haphazardly, you lean over and wrap the bandages around his torso. You weren’t sure if the way you were doing it was correct, but you didn’t care. All that mattered to you currently was Taehyun’s well-being. You wanted him alive.

With a fatigued sigh, you finish up your pitiful bandaging attempt as you sit back resting on your hands peering at your handiwork. You rejoice at the colour rushing back to his cheeks; his paleness seeming to dissipate as the minutes pass. Relief floods your system, noticing his breathing was more stable.

You hope he will wake up soon. A frown graces your face; he risked his life for you. He made you go first. What if he didn’t make it in time? Goodness, you couldn’t even imagine the possibility. You scan his unconscious body as your eyes glaze over, “Taehyun,” you mutter shakily.

“Please wake up soon,” you whimper. You hoped that you did something to help. Taehyun had done so much for you, he comforted you. He himself had been wronged, yet he helped you, a royal. You wanted to return the favour. Give him back his rightful position as the true Royal Sorcerer of Fortuna. To recall his exile. To let him be by your side.

Your gaze drifts to the string with which your ring hangs. Your heart flutters; he truly kept it safe. You found this fact ever so endearing. A shaky chuckle escapes your lips as you wipe away the tears. Oh, Kang Taehyun…

To think that bratty, uptight sorcerer you met would be the one to risk his life for you. The person who you had grown to love being around, to bicker and tease with, with whom you felt like you could truly be yourself. He didn’t treat you like a noble, no, he treated you like a normal individual. Albeit, it first irritated you, now you cherished it deeply. You yearned for it even.

Standing up, you yawn loudly. Coincidentally, your stomach grumbles. You take in your surroundings as unease settles in. It was rather dark as the sunset was near its end. You scramble to light up the candles outside the door and within the rooms.

With the flickering candlelight, you felt much better. Your mind flickers back to Taehyun’s tidbit about Bloodmoths; a reminiscent smile lingers on your lips. You were hungry, and you definitely needed something to energise Taehyun whenever he woke up.

Deep in thought, you finally remember the first soup Taehyun made. It was the easiest meal he had made and you remembered making it so visibly since you grumbled and whined about the chopping, stirring and boiling. The soup would do then! This was the least you could do.

You remembered that Taehyun kept extra vegetables in some glazed crocks soaked in vinegar and wrapped in some leather to keep them from spoiling. With a grimace, you begin making the soup. You were sure it would taste rather grim due to using the preserved vegetables instead of fresh ones but also the fact you have barely cooked throughout your life. You just hope what you were making would at least be edible.

As the soup simmers, you sprinkle some pepper in. A grunt resounds out as you peer over seeing Taehyun’s head twisting and turning as he writhes waking up. A low hiss leaves his lips as he realises he was still injured.

“Taehyun!” You call out as you rush over and crouch right beside him. He squints briefly, his eyes adjusting to the environment before meeting your gaze. He croaks out, “Mm, we made it.”

Your eyes begin to water, “We did. All because of you, Taehyun! Goodness, I’m so thankful you’re alive!” He scoffs weakly, “As if that pitiful wound would kill me,” he coughs.

Glaring, you respond, “Oh shut it, sorcerer. You scared the living soul out of me! Don’t be cocky, you may have sorcery, but a wound is a wound! Especially if you can’t heal yourself afterwards!”

Taehyun groans, raising his hand frailly dismissing your whining, “Yes, yes, princess, I get it. I overexerted myself, used too much mana, and put myself at risk.” You huff, “Indeed. But…” you resume with a pout, “But it was necessary, I was just…”

“Scared?” He murmurs with an amused twinkle in his eyes. You nod, “Mhm.” Taehyun’s lips form a lazy smirk, “Poor sweetheart, worried about little old me? Who would have thought, hm?” You refrain from smacking him (just this once!) and huff, “Just keep quiet, save your energy.”

He merely smiles at you as you stand back up keeping an eye on the steaming soup. He sniffs the air and his brows furrow, “Wait, you’re cooking? Shit, how have you not burned down my home yet? What have I told you about cooking without my supervision?”

Crossing your arms, you glare, “What was I supposed to do, ask you whilst you were unconscious?” Taehyun snorts weakly, peering away with a smirk, “Mm, fair point. Anyway, you’re making, ah, it seems to be vegetable soup. You still remember it? Impressive.”

You huff stirring the pot, “Don’t underestimate me, Taehyun. Of course I do,” you resume with a snarky smile, “I remember how you tirelessly nagged me through every step.”

Taehyun merely smirks, saying nothing as he peers down at his bandaging. He muses dryly, “You did all this? Huh, not bad. It certainly feels better this way.” Taehyun’s gaze meets yours with a mischievous glint, “It would be unfortunate if your soup would poison me after you worked so hard to heal me up, no?”

You huff, glaring at him, “You ungrateful imbecile! Here I was worried to pieces about you and yet you’re talking away and teasing me as if nothing happened! Oh, what a fool I was!” To think, your soup could not be that bad right?

A snicker escapes his lips at your dramatic response. He coughs feeling a shot of pain bolt through him. Taehyun loved teasing you like this; for some odd reason it made him feel warm inside whenever you’d cutely berate him back. He missed it dearly.

He was talking to you to take his mind off the discomfort of the wound and the extreme exhaustion from the overuse of mana. Taehyun’s eyes continue to observe you as you mediocrely make your way around his kitchen finishing up the soup. The way candlelight illuminates your face and your body, makes his heart flutter. The crease between your brows as you put your all into such a simple meal made him feel whole, even enthralled by your endearing behaviour.

Taehyun was indeed captivated by you nonchalantly cooking away. A scene oddly domestic, if it was not for the blood soaked clothes he had on and the bandages he wore. It made him incredibly happy inside that you looked after him. You were compassionate, caring, willing to try even if you didn’t know what you were doing. This fact alone separated you distinctly from any other nobles he recalled.

A heaviness appears in his heart as his thoughts become captured by you. You notice his intense gaze. “Are you scrutinising my technique? Don’t worry, I am sure it will be edible.” Taehyun dryly muses, “Good to know, sweetheart.”

After a few minutes, you pour the soup into a bowl and grab a spoon. Sitting beside him you hold out the spoon, “Here.”

“You’re going to feed me?” He asks slightly surprised. You glare, “Surely it will hurt if you raise your arm each time?” You had a point, he was also not going to complain about you feeding him. In fact he’d relish this moment of vulnerability.

With each spoonful, both your eyes meet. His gaze feels electric, looking at you with a new fiery intensity that leaves you breathless. This tender gesture of you feeding him made you feel warm inside. You had countless maids who catered to your every whim. You always had others to do things for you. This time, you did something for someone else. It felt good. It felt human.

Finishing up the soup, he hums, breaking the silence, “You know, if you added a little more pepper and a pinch more salt, it would have been perfect. But for a first attempt, it was rather delightful, good job.” You smile at him, “Thank you, Taehyun.” He muses, “Also it was indeed edible.” Rolling your eyes, you try to hold back a grin, “Yes, yes quite the feat, I know.”

You both chuckle before settling into a comfortable silence. The crickets and other insects chirp and buzz outside accompanied with the rustling of the trees and brush of the breeze. His rustic cabin groans and creaks.

The silence is broken as Taehyun murmurs, “Thank you,” he peers at you with genuine sincerity, “For getting me patched up, I mean. For believing in my sorcery,” he pauses for a moment, “Believing in me.”

For a second, you’re taken aback by his rawness and you return a sincere smile, “Why? I don’t need to be thanked. What you did for me, far surpasses my haphazard handiwork?” You avert your gaze, “In fact, I should be thanking you, Taehyun. Your skill, your power. The fact you risked yourself so boldly.”

Taehyun’s gaze never once leaves you as you speak with pure honesty. His heart raises upon hearing the praise leaving your sweet lips.

“Thank you for putting up with me, staying beside me. For…for not betraying me like so many others. I hope I’m not too unbearable to be around,” you awkwardly laugh.

Another moment of silence passes and your gaze meets his, leaving you breathless. He smirks, “I always knew you were the sappy type.” You groan as he shatters the sentimental atmosphere. “Oh come on, I am being honest,” you whine.

Taehyun hums, “Oh I know, I appreciate it.” His gaze softens as his lips morph back into a smile, “I really do. It’s just…endearing, seeing you not bickering with me for once. Being so sincere.” You clear your throat embarrassed, “A-Anyway, just don’t let the praise go to your head.”

“Oh princess, it’s far too late for that,” he grins. You huff placing the bowl and spoon in the sink not being bothered to wash it as you sink yourself back down onto the floor beside Taehyun.

You peer back down at his torso at the bandages now slightly stained pink with the remainder of the blood which had oozed out.

“Mm, admiring me so brazenly? Goodness, princess, how crude to place your gaze upon a topless man.” You glare, “Hold your tongue, you vain sorcerer. I was looking at your bandages, you fool.”

Taehyun snickers at your outburst of indignation. He wouldn’t mind if your pretty eyes eyed him for a bit. Not that he’d ever admit such a crude notion out loud. He’s also has his fair share of admiring your features, subtly of course. You were indeed a sight for sore eyes, particularly tonight under the candlelight where your skin glows golden and your hair glistens.

For some reason, he felt content away from the palace, just you and him. It was a strange feeling; he was someone who enjoyed his solitude and initially rebuked any hint of company. Though, the minuscule thought of being alone again in these woods hurt his so-called icy heart deeply. What was this feeling? No, he was denying the obvious. He didn’t want to cave in and make things awkward.

You were a royal, he was a mere sorcerer. So why was his heart still fluttering at your close proximity, your words, your mannerisms. Why were you so nonchalant, did you not see him in such a manner?

“Taehyun? Are you listening?” Your voice drones back in as he leaves his headspace, “Huh?” He asks, confused.

Groaning, you repeat, “I said are you listening? I asked whether the bandages hurt, are they too tight? I need to change them before morning, no?” Taehyun peers at you for a moment before replying, “No, no, you did a good job. They feel secure.” You sigh in relief, “Okay, I’m not exactly a healer so…”

He muses, “Well from your technique I figured. But, I suppose for a life or death situation you did a decent job.” Your expression becomes deadpan. What a brat!

You scoff, “Despite being injured and fatigued, you still remain irritating, a skill indeed. Not a good one, but a skill nonetheless.” Taehyun hums amused, “Why, thank you sweetheart. You still remain as fun to irritate as usual.”

Your mind begins to churn its gears as you think about everything that has happened. You ponder, what was the current situation in Luna? Beomgyu must be beyond infuriated. He had lost and he had no diplomatic grounds to enter Fortuna angrily unless he wanted to initiate a war, which would break the treaty. Ironically, you were safer in Fortuna, even more ironic, in the Woods of Mors.

“What’s your pretty head thinking about, hm?” He breaks your train of thought. “Mm? Oh, just Luna. Beomgyu, everything really.”

“Forget about that bastard, focus on what to do next. We’ve already made humongous progress by even being back here,” he reassures. “Don’t worry, I’m sure he’s not willing to start a war or dispute.” You nod slowly, “Yes…well I hope not for the sake of the people.”

Taehyun gives you a small smile, “You’ll get your crown back, then you’ll really be untouchable.” His remark and smile causes your heart to jump around in your chest. He had said it so cutely, that anyone would find themselves grinning like a fool. Your cheeks begin to hurt from smiling so frequently; you hadn’t felt this relaxed in a long time. Being here together felt like your own pocket of time and space.

Your eyes gaze back at the dried blood on his trousers, unbuttoned shirt. “You should probably change clothes,” you suggest. He peers down and grunts, “Yes, it is rather grotesque, isn’t it?”

You muse, “Stay, I’ll grab a shirt for you.” You scramble around in his large wooden trunk amongst the clothes and select one.

“You have an awful selection of clothes. They’re pretty but they’re all different shades of black or brown,” you grumble settling back beside him. He snorts, “What about it? A muted colour palette never harmed anyone. Furthermore, it helps me blend better here in the woods.”

Rolling your eyes, you hand him the white shirt with ruffles near the collar, “I found this at the bottom,” you murmur. He scoffs, “Of course you’d choose that old thing.”

You glare, “Put it on, sorcerer.” With a groan he grabs the shirt and you notice for a moment a flash of a pained expression crosses his visage. You lean forward, “Wait- wait let me help.”

He is slightly startled by your proximity and the offer before he concedes handing you back the shirt. With shaky hands you slide down the arms of his stained black shirt carefully pulling the shirt off him revealing his strong built shoulders.

With shaky hands you guide his arms through the sleeves as he grunts in slight discomfort. Clearing your throat from being flustered, you mumble, “There. You can button up your shirt, I’m sure.”

Taehyun’s eyes twinkle as his lips twitch momentarily before speaking, “But, my wound hurts from moving it around just now.”

“You barely moved it, I did most of the guid-“ He interrupts, “What if I make it worse? The top button too, I’d have to raise my right arm and well, who knows how much that would hurt?” You glare unimpressed with his explanation but you decide not to argue back purely on the basis that he saved the both of you.

Leaning forward, you begin buttoning the buttons one by one. Your heart races at the closeness as he gazes intensely at your hands and back at your concentrated face. You didn’t want to meet his gaze; or look at his chest. Rather, you focus on the tiny button alone. Goodness! Why were your hands suddenly so clumsy?

Your hands begin to feel clammy as you clumsily put on the buttons. Why did you feel nervous? His breath lightly brushes against your ear and then your neck as you work your way down. The silence gave way to a tension between the two of you which had built up over a long while; seeming to now reach the brim.

You were nervous; so was he. You briefly raise your gaze to his and a shaky breath escapes your parted lips at the sheer intensity of his stare. His pupils had dilated and were trained on you. Both of you were locked in an intimate staring contest as your hand hovers over the last two buttons of his shirt over his belt.

“You stopped, why’s that?” His voice startles you; it takes on a rougher, lower edge - almost restrained in a way.

“I-“ you stammer, “Sorry, I’ll continue,” you fluster buttoning another button. He suddenly grabs your wrist making your heart reach your throat.

“Do I make you nervous?” He asks. You can’t meet his gaze. Truly, this once you can’t; you feel a warmth inside you - one you’ve never felt before. He did make you feel nervous, he made you giddy. Something about his presence, you yearned for it.

“Answer me sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Yes, yes you do,” you whisper. “Hm,” he airs back. You can’t bring yourself to face him; this was just too embarrassing. You didn’t even know what could be used to describe this moment.

His voice takes on an amused tone, still raspier than usual, “Can’t look me in the eye? Not going to bite back at me? I’m teasing you, no?” No, it was different this time. How could you bicker with him when you feel your cheeks grow so hot?

Feeling overwhelmed, you go to get up abruptly but you’re stopped as he pulls you down by the wrist and you yelp as you brush against him; he hisses in pain as you press against his wound.

You begin to assert, “See- this is why…” you falter upon seeing how close his face was to yours. Oh, how he was so incredibly pretty. Charming, ethereal, chiseled features which would make even the reluctant damsels faint.

“This is why- what? Finish your sentence,” he muses. Taehyun wished to ascertain your reaction. You tempted him for far too long, he wanted to control himself, keep his delusions at bay as usual, but something about you tenderly caring for him, being so close to him where he could see you up close, feel your body heat, your soft hands brushing against his body. It was intoxicating.

“You’re being crude, having a noble lady so close to you like this, what’s g-gotten into you?” You breathlessly stammer. Taehyun’s lips form a coy smirk. Perhaps, this was a dream. It felt unreal, of course.

“You’re right, my apologies. You’re free to stand then,” he peers at you challengingly. Your heart pounds in your chest; why weren’t you rushing to get up? Why were you taking the time to hesitate?

The tension between you two was palpable, on the verge of breaking over the brim. Neither of you wanted to cave in, gaging each other’s reactions simultaneously, afraid of the consequences but far too gone to stop now and come to your senses.

“Y/n,” he calls out. Your name, he said your name for the first time; it felt intimate, making your lips tremble. “Get up,” he shakily warns, “I…I think we both know what’ll happen otherwise.”

As much as he wanted to, he had to hold himself back from kissing your sinfully tempting lips right here and now.

“What if I want it to happen?” Your voice breaks momentarily at your sudden remark. Taehyun stiffens letting go of your wrist; did he think of you as undignified? Instant regret floods your senses. This was far too crude for a noble lady of your standing. How could you give into instinct so easily?

A breathy chuckle escapes his lips as he leans slightly forward, “You never fail to surprise me,” his hand tentatively brushes against the side of your neck before sliding his fingers to the back of your neck pulling your face closer to his.

The tip of his nose brushes against yours as his breath caresses your lips making you shiver. He gages your reaction, noting you’re not pulling away, rather you’re peering at his lips. He smiles for a second before finally pressing his lips against yours.

The kiss is brief, clumsy even. After all, you haven’t ever kissed anyone. Taehyun didn’t mind at all, neither did he. Being exiled certainly didn’t help, though reading his mother’s romance books that he shouldn’t have and garnering a few novels from the occasional merchant, gave him sufficient knowledge.

Well, the most useful was human instinct, carnal desire itself. A dangerously tempting guide. A breathless laugh escapes his lips, “Wait, wait, tilt your head a little more,” he tilts your head upwards slightly and to the right before leaning in; you feel incredibly embarrassed.

“Mm, your lips are soft,” he chuckles, “Don’t worry; I’m not an expert if it helps,” he leans in further once again brushing his lips against yours, “All I know is I want to do it again.” So did you. Your lips ache to meet with his soft ones.

You shakily grip his forearm as you close your eyes once more. With that, he pushes his lips against yours and he breathes out, “Move them with me, not against me, with me, sweetheart,” you nod, beginning to move your lips with his.

You had read an enormous array of romance novels; even some of the more erotic nature (not that anyone should know of course), but this, this was something you could truly never be prepared for.

As initially clumsy as the first kiss was, this one was far better. It is longer, you both find yourselves settling into a comfortable rhythm as your lips dance delicately with each other. The world around you was but a blur as Taehyun’s lips moved with yours tugging and pressing against them sending sparks through you.

Your hands slide up to his shoulders as you push yourself closer, finding yourself chasing his addicting lips. You would never admit it, you wanted this, just as much- no, more than he did.

Both of you part from each other, breathless, hot, it was a mere heated kiss, nothing too major yet it left the both of you desiring more.

“Fuck,” he sighs, leaning his head back against the wall with a dazed expression and shut eyes. Your fingers brush against your lips processing what had happened. You kissed him- he kissed you.

If this left you all hot and bothered, then what if you both- you shake your head abruptly getting up. No, no.

Taehyun peers up at you with a pitiful expression, almost as though he were a scolded puppy, “Y/n- princess, wait.” You regard him flustered; here he was acting as if he didn’t just press his lips to yours so salaciously. “You’re leaving?”

“I-“ you begin. Taehyun frowns, “Do you regret it? Please tell me you don’t.” It wasn’t an in the moment kind of thing was it? He wasn’t that type. Not a scoundrel to brush it aside?

You find yourself smiling at this; this hint of panic on his expression. You find the urge to tease him but refrain, “I don’t, Taehyun.”

His shoulders ease in relief and rather a subtle hue of red dusts his cheeks. Taehyun murmurs, “Well, that’s good to hear. I don’t either.” His words send your heart spiralling further. You didn’t know what this would develop into. It seemed that neither of you would admit to your feelings.

Taehyun muses, “Mind helping me up? I’ve been sitting here for over an hour. With a shake of your head, you walk over helping him up towards his bed and lying him down.

“Where will you sleep?” He asks. After all, he had let you sleep on the bed during your brief time here, last month.

“The floor,” you mumble awkwardly. You’ve never slept on the floor; how dreadful the idea was to you, but you were not willing to be selfish. Taehyun was injured, after all.

“No, you can sleep on the bed,” he insists. “You’re in pain, Taehyun,” you huff. He pushes himself to the other side of the single bed just before the edge with a pained grunt. “Goodness, what are you doing?” You groan exasperated.

“Making room,” he hums. Your heart races. For you. “That’s absurd, a man and woman in the same bed-“

He looks at you bewildered for a moment before cackling. “You are so…” he muses, “Why? Afraid you cannot resist me?” You snap, “Mind your words, sorcerer.”

He grins lazily, “Don’t be a brat, get in here. You won’t last even a minute on the floor. Be realistic.” You bite your lip as your brows furrow. How irritating; he was right! Crossing your arms, you huff, “Well- I just have to manage-“

“Okay, well, take the floor then,” he relinquishes insistence, quickly making you gawk at him. That quickly?

You peer down at the grim wooden floor. You spot a few nails bent out of the floor. A grimace paints itself onto your face. How did he sleep on this whilst you were here before? You frown.

You mumble pathetically, “Mm…Taehyun.” A smirk laces his lips with his eyes shut, “Mm?”Awkwardly, you mutter, “I’ll sleep on the bed. With…you.”

He opens one eyes peeking at you with a coy smile, “You want to sleep with me, sweetheart?”You gasp mortified, “You-! Heathen! That’s not what-“ Why did he phrase it like that?

“-You meant? Yes, yes, I know,” he grins, ���Come here.” You couldn’t believe him. No, you couldn’t believe this was actually happening. This felt unbelievable.

You lie down beside him stiffly; his body heat resonates. “You’re going to fall off the bed at this rate,” he muses. “Move closer,” he hums. “That’s just-“ You splutter.

“If you can kiss me, mouth to mouth, you can’t sleep beside me?” He hums amused. With a glare you shift closer with embarrassment flooding you.

“Don’t get cocky, I’m merely humouring your insistence,” you mutter. Taehyun muses, “I’m sure you are, why thank you, princess.”

You scoff at his sarcasm. You feel the weight of his arm on your waist from behind, “Just so you don’t fall, of course. It’s a small bed.”

A smile plays on your lips; thankfully you were facing away from him, “…I see.”

You wonder when the both of you will get the courage to face your intertwined hearts?

However, for now, you were content.

Taglist: [open]

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[thestartax]

Armin Arlert x Reader

Synopsis: you’ve been in Marley for a couple months now , you’re finally seeing Armin again

Tropes: long hug, eye contact, pre-existing relationships, yes the lowercase is intentional, first person pronouns because it’s you

i’ve been in marley for a couple of months now. i’ve only risked contact with eren once. he made me promise to not ruin this mission, he said he had everything in place to make it work. still, i didn’t love the idea that he was bringing everyone here to, very suddenly, bring ruination upon this town.

i’ve seen children running around. families, friends, relationships. the eldians have formed a community, everyone on the eldian side of the gate knows one another. they’re a family. to think that eren intends to destroy this town of eldians—not even the marleyans—even if they will be there these are still eldian homes he will destroy. it makes me nauseous to think about it.

reiner is here. he has a cousin who he treats more like a sister. she has a band of friends. they all want nothing more than to prove they’re good eldians and kill everyone back on paradis which, i’ll admit, makes me more than a little violent when i think about it for too long. but i always remind myself that this is all they’ve been taught, it’s all they know. i remember my boyfriend is back on paradis and the feelings of violence come back but then i see this girl and her own personal blonde and i have to remind myself once again. it’s an endless cycle.

i haven’t been able to come into contact with eren again—it’s too much of a risk, as he continuously reminds me. but i’ve been watching, very closely, from the sides. he’s been talking to that little blonde reiner’s cousin/sister is going to be stuck to for the rest of her life—assuming they both survive this. it makes me nervous seeing eren with him but i don’t think he’d go out of his way to hurt the boy so i’ve yet to intervene.

on the day i know eren intends to ruin these people’s lives—worse than they have already been ruined—i’m anxious beyond repair, i’ll just have to sit with it. even if this goes perfectly we’re still sure to lose some of our own and kill entire families on this mission. i’m nauseous again.

eren convinces the boy—falco to bring reiner to him. i sit just out of range of the explosion eren will surely set off when he transforms. i can’t hear them but i know what’s being said. eren’s revealing himself, reiner is scared out of his mind, and falco is shocked. i just hope that when he does transform that falco will be okay. he’s a good kid.

some long haired blonde man who’s very clearly important to all of these people is giving some speech about killing the island devils on paradis when eren finally transforms, decimates half of the people gathered together, and then eats said man. this, of course, causes the actual war hammer titan to make herself known. there is something of a fight between them but really eren just gets his ass handed to him by being skewered a few times. but that doesn’t stop reinforcements from coming.

i can hear the odm gear zipping by. i know my friends are here. it makes me smile but then it makes me nervous. i would prefer they all be out of harm's way—eren hasn’t allowed that. so we’re all fighting for our lives in unknown territory. the goal is to spare as many of our own lives as possible, capture zeke, and get eren out of here alive.

honestly, we look like we’re going to lose. they have the war hammer titan, the jaw titan, the beast titan, and the cart titan. if zeke were actually against us we’d surely be dead. but still, it looks mildly bleak. but i know what our power play is. i know what eren will have forced them to do. forced him to do. even though knows he hates it. even though he knows it goes against everything he believes in.

i see it in the distance. i hear it everywhere. i can almost feel it in the air. the explosion. i know what it is. i know who it is.

without thinking, i take off running towards the blast. i’m zipping around on my odm gear, reaching maximum speeds. i’m weaving through and around all the buildings and straight to the port.

by the time i get there, everything is decimated. things still shine with the light of a burned-out fire. these people were scorched and all of the land in a five-mile radius is crushed. there will be no survivors. no one will live through this if they’re not dead already. no one but the boy who caused it.

he’s just ripped himself from the nape of his titan's neck when my feet hit the ground. i stand before his titan, the size of a small bug from where he sits atop it. i look up at him, overcome with emotion and frozen in place.

when he looks down and spots me i can feel his eyes. i can feel his gaze upon me. it warms me everywhere his eyes travel. he’s slowly registering it’s me, he doesn’t believe it yet. he doesn’t want to get his hopes up if it’s not me and instead someone who’s about to shoot at him.

i smile despite myself, feeling my eyes pool with tears. i don’t try to blink them back like i usually would. he knows me then.

he inhales sharply and in the next moment he’s zipping down from his titans body and towards me. “y/n!”

i laugh helplessly and dart towards him. we’re running at each other with all we have, really. i’ve never run faster. this is the new record. i thought i was fast getting here. this beats that by a long shot. i can see him. he’s 100 feet away from me. 80 feet. 50. he’s so close, how could i not run as fast as i possibly can? 20 feet. then 10.

as soon as i can see every cut and bruise on his face, his titan marks, the blue of his eyes—it’s like as soon as i see him it’s like i leave battle mode. it doesn’t matter that we’ve both been fighting for our lives out here. we’ve nearly won now. we’re going to leave with only a few casualties of our own, eren, & the war hammer titan. it will be successful as long as we continue as we have been. my resolve dies and we’re just so close now. i’m jumping over charred corpses & rubble from the destroyed town. i’m running as fast i can to my favorite blonde. “armin!” i choke out, suddenly so close to sobbing i can feel the tears falling.

i’m sure it’s jarring to see me like this. usually so stoic and unmoved in the fast of terror or tragedy, reduced to a puddle of tears at the sight of a boy i’ve loved all my life.

his breath hitches again and when we embrace it’s with such equal force we stand completely still, absorbing each other's energy. we’re panting and holding each other like the contact is the only thing that allows us to breathe. one of my arms is wrapped around his neck, hooking it in the bend of my elbow while my other hand is pushed into the hair at the back of his head. he’s holding me so tightly around the waist that he’s nearly lifting me off the ground—i’m on my tiptoes.

i squeeze my eyes shut and take shaky breaths to stop myself from crying. i’m surely shaking in his arms, not to say that he’s not shaking too—because he is. i just can’t stop.

“armin, armin, armin,” i whisper it again and again like a chant and a promise.

i can feel his heart beat against my own chest. our hearts are working to match the other's pace. our breathing synchronizes, our hearts beat as one, it’s like we’re one being.

he pulls back just enough to look me in the eyes before wiping away my tears. his own eyes are filled with so much emotion it almost brings my tears back. he closes his eyes and leans our foreheads together.

i reach up and cup his face in my hands. he opens his eyes and does the same to me. when our eyes meet and hold contact i can’t help but let out a weak, wet laugh. my thumbs gently trace over his titan marks with a feather-like touch. the only sound is of our breath & the ocean behind us at the port. “hi,” i say without thinking.

he laughs quietly, “hi.”

for a long moment, we stay like that. wrapped up in each other and the moment. i’ve gone soft around the edges, i’m no longer alert and sharp. i don’t know exactly where the sound comes from when i hear it—and that makes me nervous.

it’s a voice that calls for us. it makes me pull armin to me, holding him tightly, shielding him. i look around to pinpoint where this voice is coming from. it makes me uneasy to be on a battlefield but feel so at home just because i’m in his presence. it makes me nervous to not be so sharp, so prepared, so ready.

finally, i spot jean. he’s off in the distance. we can’t quite hear him but it’s easy to make out the waving arm that tells us to get to him quickly. he’s not very calm about it.

i relax a little, happy it’s a friend who requires an answer to their call versus someone with a gun. my hold on armin doesn’t loosen much. he sighs against my neck, he’s relieved too.

“i think it’s about time to catch our ride home,” armin says softly.

i nod against his shoulder where i rest my forehead. i smile a little. “i’ve been missing home… missing you.”

he slides his hand up from its place on my back to the back of my neck. “you won’t have to miss me again. we won’t be apart again.”

“that’s wishful thinking,” i joke sadly.

he doesn’t say anything because he knows i’m right. he just pulls away and takes my hand. when he starts to lead us over to jean i quickly use our joined hands to pull him back to me. i put my hand on the back of his neck—mostly to steady myself and then lean on my tiptoes to kiss him. it’s long and emotional but really that’s all it is—emotional. there’s no deeper meaning behind it, no lust. it’s just something that says, “i’m so happy to have you back. never leave me again. i love you more than anything. let me keep loving you.”

when i pull away i simply take the lead in walking and pull him along behind me—he’s still a little dazed for the time being but he snaps out of it quickly enough. we walk together to jean. i’m sure we’re supposed to be in a hurry, i know this airship will leave without us, but we can’t seem to make ourselves run.

when we get to our friend he shoots armin a look i don’t quite understand but he says nothing of our joined hands, which i appreciate. he doesn’t hesitate to remind us that if we don’t make it to the rooftop rendezvous spot we will not be going home. on that very blunt note, the three of us book it to the roof.

armin’s hand is soft and warm in mine. he’s like home for me. he’s safety and happiness personified. he’s always been there. he’s been the love of my life since the moment i laid eyes on him and i don’t ever intend to take my eyes off of him now. not again. he and i are in it for the long haul… assuming we all survive this.

[reallyromealone]

Based off an idea @demonicpansexual came up with

♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

(Name) laid on the couch grumpy, he was craving snacks but all the snacks in the house were usually the ones Mikey enjoyed ((name) did too before the pregnancy) but now that he was VERY pregnant, all the foods made him nauseous.

"Jiro... Please don't eat that by me" (name) mumbled already feeling queasy at the smell of Mikey's parfait and the Alpha looked annoyed before standing and just before he got an ear shot (name) heard him mumble the last dumbest shit he could ever utter.

"Can't stand the smell of good food...is that even my kid?"

And like that (name)s fairly calm and content scent turned the foulest Mikey bad ever smelt it "what did you say?" (Name) mumbled to Mikey who though realized he fucked up, couldn't keep his foot out of his mouth as he continued "it doesn't like Taiyaki or anything!"

"You did not just refer to our PUP AS AN IT! HOW DARE YOU SAY THIS SHIT!" (Name) roared out as he shakily stood up "to even consider that!"

Mikey watched as (name) began crying but when he stepped closer (name) stepped back.

(Name) hid in the main bathroom for three hours before bedtime, staring at Mikey who lay on the bed almost expectantly at his mate.

Only to look shocked when his Omega turned around and stomped off to the guest room, the sound of the door locking could be heard.

(Name) sighed as he did the laundry the next morning, sorting the clothes to put in the washing machine when he smelt something.... off about Mikey's clothes.

It smelt like an Omega.

But not him.

(Name) proceeded to sniff nearly two weeks of Mikey's clothes (he's behind on laundry, sue him) and began hyperventilating when more than half smelt of this Omega.

Mikeys cheating on him?

Did he even want the pup?

Is that why he tried saying it wasn't his? For an out?

(Name) slipped on his shoes and left the penthouse, the guards not sure if they should stop him as he left without any jacket teary eyed and clearly distressed.

Draken was surprised to see his brother, well not really as his brother visits often but surprised to see him shaking and crying.

(Name) was hyperventilating when he finished telling Draken everything and the Alpha was ready to throttle Mikey, his brother devoted everything to him since they were young teens and this is what he does?

Draken thinks he may have to clean the storage room out.

"Ken..." (Name) mumbled, looking down to see a wet spot on the floor "no no! It's too early!" (Name) practically screamed and Draken was already calling the paramedics while comforting his brother.

Mikey came home to an empty house.

He looked high and low before demanding a guard tell him where he went "and you just LET HIM!"

Mikey unloaded half a clip onto him before gripping his hair stressed "my pregnant mate is out there with my pup! FIND HIM!"

his pup.

Mikey halted as a lump in his throat began forming, he really did that to (name)? Accused him of cheating when Mikey had let an Omegan whore get close to him at one of Bontens's many clubs.

God he was the worst.

Bzzzt

Bzzzt

"Speak"

"Hi, is this Manjiro Sano?" A voice spoke out and Mikey was suspicious "why do you ask?"

"This number is on the emergency contact sheet for (name) Sano, he is currently in labor"

Mikey hung up the phone as he bolted out.

Draken stood as Mikey stormed in, the shorter man looking frantic and hissed when Draken got in his way "do you really think he wants to see you?! You fucking sack of shit!"

Security pushed them apart with the threat of being removed from the hospital and Draken glared "I would be amazed if he wanted to see you after this"

It took four hours but (sons name) was born, (name) being moved to a room with the incubator so he could feed him better.

Mikey came into the room as (name) slept to see his squirmy son who had pitch black eyes like himself.

Despite being premature the baby looked identical to him.

This was his son.

Mikey slept beside (name) the entire night as he recovered, holding his hand gently.

(Name) woke hours later and just stared at Mikey with rage, slightly pulling his hand away and waking Mikey "baby--"

"Don't"

"Please I'm so fucking sorry"

"You fucking hurt me Mikey"

No jiro or even Manjiro.

Just Mikey.

That was basically calling him by his formal name.

"Please... Let me make this right"

"I will give you this chance but I'm staying at my brother's with our son"

[diazsdimples]

"It makes my stomach churn!"+ Buddie

"It makes my stomach churn," Buck whines as he and Eddie wait in line for Space Mountain.

It's their first time at Disney together, and Buck had been a ball of excitement all day. They'd started off the day with some of the smaller rides, easing their way into it. Buck's never been particularly great with motion sickness - part of the reason why Eddie was skeptical about bringing him in the first place - but he'd sworn up and down that he would be fine.

Clearly, he was not fine.

Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose as he sighs.

"If it makes you feel sick then maybe we shouldn't ride it?" he suggests, perfectly aware of the answer that awaits him.

"But look how fun it looks!" Buck exclaims. The line shuffles forwards, bringing the two closer to the front and further away from the relative safety of the sidewalk.

Eddie runs a hand soothingly over the back of Buck's neck.

"Cleaning up your puke isn't fun, though," he points out. "And it's going to be even less fun if you throw up on me."

"Then I shall aim somewhere else,"

Eddie rolls his eyes but he can't hide the smile that is quirking at his lips. Buck's survived thus far, and there's a reason they've been hitting the rides before eating, but he's not exactly sure he wants to chance it.

"Alternatively, we could just call time of death on this one and go to It's a Small World instead?"

Buck quirks an eyebrow. Eddie has expressed his distaste for that song on a number of occasions, and had even banned it from the house when Buck taught Christopher all the words and terrorised the poor man with never-ending renditions. For him to suggest that as a plan of action, he must be desperate.

"Eddie, baby, I promise I'll be fine," he reassures, turning so they're facing one another and rubbing his hands over Eddie's lower arms. "Just this one ride, and then we can go do some tamer things,"

Eddie searches Buck's face for any sign that the other man is lying. He seems earnest enough, and while the nauseous look is still prominent, there is a certain determination in his eyes.

"Please," Buck adds. He leans in close to Eddie, their noses brushing, and lowers his voice to a whisper. "I'll let you fuck me in the shower when we get home,"

A thrill goes through Eddie at the thought, and he pulls Buck in for a brief, chaste kiss.

"Well why didn't you lead with that?"

Buck insists on sitting up the front, because of course he does, and Eddie's very glad he bought some of those plastic ponchos. The benches are wet, so they're going to have to change their pants as it is, but they're saved from being affected by the constant tidal waves of water that spill over the front of the log.

It's actually quite a nice ride, and Buck seems to be enjoying himself well enough. His knuckles aren't white as he holds onto the bar in front of them, and he's even got a smile on his face as he points out all the vaguely creepy animatrons on the side.

Unfortunately, it's the final big drop that proves to be his undoing.

Buck hates freefalls. Any kind of stomach drop and he's gone. It's part of the reason Eddie's never manged to convince him to go skydiving.

Buck is pale faced and tight lipped as they get off the ride, and he makes a fast beeline for the exit, Eddie losing sight of him for a moment.

He finds his boyfriend sitting on a bench not too far from the ride, lips pressed firmly together and breathing heavily through his nose.

"You good there, pal?" Eddie asks with probably a bit too much glee as he settles himself next to Buck.

Buck's jaw clenches as he swallows, and his face is so pinched and tight that it's a wonder the blood is still getting through to his cheeks.

"Just peachy,"

Eddie rubs his back in what he hopes is a soothing manner.

"You want some water or something?"

"No," Buck's answer is short and clipped. "I want to sit here and not move for a minute,"

"Okay,"

Eddie's happy to wait, really. The sun's out, it's warm and pleasant, and the park is full of interesting characters milling about. It's a good opportunity for people watching. He fishes a container of mint's out of the front of their backpack and hands it to Buck, who quickly opens it and shoves his whole nose in, deeply breathing in the minty smell.

"You know, most people eat them, rather than sniff them," Eddie comments with amusement.

"Shut up or I'll throw up on you," comes Buck's muffled response.

Eddie holds up his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Sniff away."

It takes another couple of minutes for Buck's stomach to calm down, during which time Eddie counts 5 annoyed looking husbands in matching tracksuits, 7 harried mothers with large broods of unruly children, and an endless stream of excited children running around like madmen.

"Feeling better?" Eddie asks as Buck stretches out, popping a mint in his mouth.

"Much. Shall we continue?"

Eddie looks at his watch. It's getting late and honestly, both his and Buck's energy is waning. He imagines Buck will only be able to stomach one more ride before things actually go pear shaped.

He rests his hand on Buck's arm, thumb moving back and forth in soothing motions. "How about we go pick up some dinner and go home. We've still got a few more hours until Christopher gets back from Pepa's, we could watch a movie or play a game or something,."

Buck visibly relaxes at the suggestion. "That sounds like a great idea," he agrees, resting his head on Eddie's shoulder. The relief is palpable in his voice, but Eddie knows Buck would never have been the one to say enough is enough. He wouldn't want to feel as though he was subtracting from Eddie's fun.

"Come on," Eddie says as he stands, offering his hand out to Buck. "Let's go find ourselves some dinner and go home."

Buck takes the offered hand and hauls himself to his feet, leaning against Eddie's side.

"Sounds like a plan."

[sirowsky-stories]

The Regulars

Summary: Marcus and Missy befriend a waitress at their favorite diner.

Requested by @yourstrulylightstar283

Rating: General/Everyone Warnings: Marcus Moreno x OFC named Evey, father/daughter banter, mention of stressful working environment, otherwise just fluff and cuteness. Word Count: 1175

   ”Again, dad?” Missy asks when he puts the menu down, already knowing what he’s picked, even though he hasn’t said anything.

   “What?” he lovingly gripes in return, smiling as he knows where this is going.

   “There’s so much delicious food in this diner, and yet, every time we come here you order the same thing: the cheeseburger with fries. Are you scared of stepping out of your food comfort zone, or something?”

   “I’m not scared,” he huffs, “this is just the best burger in town.”

   “Alright, I didn’t wanna do this, but you’ve left me no choice,” she counters, and her tone clearly suggests she’s about to change his mind, whether he likes it or not.

   He loves when she gets all smart like this, so he leans back and feels a smile grow behind his cheeks as he watches her close her menu deliberately slowly before clasping her hands together and leaning her forearms on the table.

   “Dad, you’re a public figure,” she begins, very seriously, “which means that people pay attention to you. And what they’re seeing every time we come here, is that not only does Marcus Moreno support the meat-industry, which we all know is fubar, but that he’s also entirely unconcerned with his own health.”

   Suddenly, he doesn’t feel the smile in his cheeks anymore. Instead, he feels mildly nauseous, especially after he hears the next part of her reasoning.

   “Now, if you were a member of the public, which the Heroics are tasked with protecting, would you feel safe knowing that your supposed guardian doesn’t even take good care of himself?”

   He knows that she’s being deliberately manipulating, testing herself in how good she is at persuading others, but she’s also not wrong about anything she’s saying, and it’s surprisingly jarring to hear.    Before he’s had a chance to recover, however, the waitress comes to take their orders, and he feels a creeping panic at the back of his neck, realizing he doesn’t know what to do.

   “Hello, my name is Evey, I’ll be taking your orders today,” she says with a prize-winning smile which isn’t fake or overdone or disingenuous at all, and he’s momentarily distracted by the fact that he hasn’t seen this woman before.

   “Hi, I’m Missy, and this is my dad, Marcus,” his daughter responds, saving him from having to speak through the befuddled mess that is his brain right now.

   “Nice to meet you both,” Evey nods politely at them in turn, “what will it be today?”

   His daughter confidently asks for an omelet with a side of salad instead of potato fries, and then immediately turns the attention back to him, fully aware he hasn’t made up his mind yet.

   “Uh…” is all he says, before ripping the folded two-page menu open once again and scanning the options way too fast to actually make out what they are.

   He glances at Missy over the top of the pages, hoping she’ll start talking and give him a moment to think, but she just smiles knowingly at him while she calmly waits for him to make a fool of himself.

   “I can give you some options, if you prefer, sir,” the waitress suddenly offers him a lifeline, and he dives at it like he’s drowning.

   “Please, do. I’m sorry, I’m a bit distracted today,” he tries to explain, hoping not to look like a complete moron, although that ship has probably already sailed.

   “No problem, that’s why I’m here,” she smiles again, and then proceeds to list the entire dinner menu from memory, highlighting the nutritional benefits of each dish, as well as giving him a general idea of the flavor sensation associated with the various options.

   Marcus has been at five-star restaurants with lesser service than this, leaving him staring dumbly at Evey once she’s finished, trying to comprehend what such a talented server is doing in such a simple establishment.

   “You’re new here, aren’t you?” Missy pipes up after a moment of stunned silence.

   “Yes, it’s my first week,” the waitress confirms, and the Moreno’s exchange a look of impressed bewilderment before both turn back to stare at her.

   “I’m guessing you’ve been somewhere a bit more… demanding than this place before,” Marcus suggests, finally freed of the confusion his daughter had inflicted on him.

   “Demanding is the right word for it, indeed, sir,” she replies, and while the smile is still warm and genuine, there’s a hint of something heavy in her eyes for a moment as she says it.

   He knows that many prestigious restaurants can be hell to work at, no matter how skilled or experienced a person might be, so if she’s been at a place like that, he could understand if she needed to seek out a less stressful environment.    A small corner diner might not seem like a desired workplace for someone used to the glamour of the top tier in her field, but there are benefits to be found in the simplicity and quaintness of smaller businesses.

   “Well, I hope you’ll like it here,” he smiles back at her. “It’s not too crowded most of the time, and the regulars are pretty decent.”

   Missy rolls her eyes at him in embarrassment over the last part, which Evey notices, and an adorable giggle crosses her lips.

   “I take it you’re the regulars in question, then?”

   “Oh, he’s a regular alright. A regular cheeseburger abuser,” his daughter shoots, paying him back for her embarrassment by making him look like an idiot in front of this lovely woman.

   “Am not!” he desperately fires back, succeeding only in sounding childish on top of stupid.

   “Am too! And apparently also dishonest, since you won’t even own up to it,” she counters, and he doesn’t have a good comeback for that, so he ends up just sitting there scowling for a beat, before finally closing the menu and setting it down on the table.

   “Fine. I’ll have the damned burger.”

   He expects the waitress to politely excuse herself then, as this little tiff has probably left her feeling uncomfortable.    But when she’s still by the table after a few seconds, he looks up to find out what she’s doing, only to discover her grinning at him with her head cocked to the side, looking as sweet as a labrador waiting for ear-scritches.

   “Good choice,” she says with a wink. “It’s the best burger in town.”

   Missy’s head hits the tabletop with an audible bonk, followed by her exacerbated groan of disapproval, now directed at both the adults, as her masterful plan to manipulate her father has been ruined.    Marcus, on the other hand, can’t help but laugh, and when Evey joins in even though she has both their orders and doesn’t need to stay there any longer, he feels like a friendship has just begun, and it sends a nice warmth through his abdomen.

   “I’ll be right back with your dinners,” she giggles, and then right before she turns away, she adds: “I think I’m gonna like the regulars here.”

THE END

[pumpkinhrat]

     Martin has always had issues with taking pictures of himself. It probably comes as no surprise that he’s more than a little insecure about his looks; he knows he’s heavyset and pale and his hair is an awkward mix of red and brown that his mother told him washes him out. So, of course, taking photos of himself is always a challenge. And choosing photos of himself to put on an online dating profile is even harder.

     The photo he does settle on for his profile picture is more blurry than not, but he likes the way his smile looks in it and it’s the only photo that doesn’t make him nauseous to upload. The rest of the photos he includes conveniently leave his (round, soft jawed, uneven) face out of view, focusing instead on things like his hands and his jumpers. He doesn’t have any group photos with people, either, that he’s particularly keen on putting up. There’s one from a night out with the archival staff that he thinks he looks halfway decent in, but he’s stuffed under Tim’s shoulder. Greek god, jawline that could cut diamond, endlessly charming Tim, so he decidedly leaves that photo out.

     What he ends up with is an awkward profile devoid of clear photos of him but overflowing with personality in the written sections. Which, he decides, is a good representation of him as a person, anyway, so he hits save and doesn’t look back. If nothing comes of it then so be it, but at least he’s tried.

     Yeah.

––

     Jonathan Sims is not a ‘dating app’ sort of man. In fact, he’s turned his nose up at friends who’ve used the ridiculous applications in the past, not-so-silently judging them for their borderline desperation. It just seems like a bit of a farce; you put up pictures that are supposed to entice people into wanting to talk to you, but half the time the only thing they’re interested in is sex. And even if they’re not immediately opening with thinly-veiled innuendo, the conversations are awkward and stilted at best. Tim has loudly shared enough of his messages in the archives break room for Jon to be more than sure that he wants no part of this dating app nonsense.

     And yet, Jonathan Sims has a dating profile. He didn’t know he had one, not before Georgie had texted him a screenshot of his profile on Tinder with just the caption “?!?!?!?!?!” and a slew of uninterpretable letters and symbols. The revelation comes as quite a shock to him, as does the fact that he’s apparently a Tinder+ member. He quickly checks his bank account online to make sure his funds aren’t being used for this ridiculous endeavor, but it seems whoever set up this account is using their own money.

     The fact that his profile photo is a sloppily edited picture of his Magnus ID badge and the rest of the pictures have clearly been taken within the archives itself gives him a good idea of who the culprit is, though. 

––

     “Ooh, Sash! We’ve got another match! And whoo boy does this one look promising.”

     Sasha perks her head up from where she was curled over her computer, brushing errant braids away from her face, to make a face at Tim.

     “Are you sure? Because last time you said that they opened with ‘if you were a fruit you’d be a fineapple’ and then a bunch of pineapple and eggplant emojis. So, like, I’ve sort of lost my confidence in your definition of promising.”

     “Aww c’mon, eggplant emoji users deserve love too! Besides, this one seems perfectly respectable. His profile is about poetry.” Tim waves her over and Sasha crosses with a sigh to read the profile over his shoulder, flopping her arms around his neck.

     “Martin, 29, likes tea, poetry, and cows…” She squints at the profile and leans in further to see, ignoring Tim’s squawk when they nearly overbalance. “What’s with that profile picture? You can barely see his face!”

     “Yes, well,” Tim says, righting his chair so they’re no longer leaning dangerously. “Jon doesn’t seem particularly concerned with looks anyway, so I’m sure it doesn’t matter.” Sasha shoots him a look and Tim shrugs. “What? He said he wasn’t ‘as invested as all that’ when I was probing about his dating life, so I’m sure he’ll like this Martin no matter what they look like.”

     “Tim, he’s ace not blind. What other photos does the profile have up?”

     The two of them click through the profile, skimming the long paragraphs of text and swiping through the few photos. Sasha pulls back, her hands on her hips.

     “Y’know, I’d say this seems suspiciously similar to another Martin we know.” She tips her head to the breakroom where their Martin is currently eating his lunch. “But the ages don’t match and he doesn’t seem the type to lie about that sort of thing on a dating app.”

      “Ooh, do you think someone’s catfishing as him and just got the age wrong? I mean, our Martin doesn’t look 33, I can see how someone would mess that up. Plus all the photos are intentionally vague! Maybe he’s being–”

     “Tim.”

     “What?”

     “No one’s catfishing as Martin.”

     “We’re catfishing as Jon,” he points out. This earns him a glare.

     “No, we’re setting up a profile for Jon. There’s a difference.”

     “Is there really, because–”

     “Just swipe right on the profile and get on with it, will you? Jon can decide for himself if he likes him when we hand over the account.”

     Tim pouts as Sasha returns to her desk and blows him a kiss.

     “Whatever. I still totally think this ‘Martin’ is a catfish.”

ANON, I LOVE THIS SO MUCH

And i love the idea of Martin having a cute pic with Tim. Had such a hard time sketching it out cuz my hands were shaking so much out of excitement - THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR WRITING IT! [second part here!]

UPDATE: You can read the whole story by JJanuaryRain on AO3! Go give them lots of love -> "all's fair in love & tinder"

(And i'm totally keeping the "likes tea, poetry, and cows", so cute)

[Image ID: Picture of Tim embracing Martin with one arm over his shoulder. They are both smiling, though Martin in a bit shy manner. End ID]

[limomi]

adults only, minors don't interact

we all know that Reo is at the very least ok/good in everything he does, so i'm just literally physically unable to stop thinking how he'd be singing this song for ya...

imagine how yall have sorta singing competition while studying in uni n Reo never gave a damn about it but

so u 2 r really close friends both in love with each other but still not dating cause each of you's afraid to confess. most likely u don't wanna be "one of all that ppl" confessed to him n get rejected n even he'd say yes, he'd definitely do that just not to make u sad? moroever, u 'know' his family won't ever accept u as his partner.

the same time Reo can't believe that you as perfect as you are to him can love someone like him, cause let's be honest, his self-esteem is so much lower than should be

so time goes by n u 2 fall more n more in love n it causes a lot of fights between u, u 2 just can't stand seeing each other being so nice n friendly to someone else, smiling to someone else, spend time enjoying someone's company but yall can't honestly explain what r the reasons of that 'weird' behavior so u fight even more. neither of u wanna lose this connection between u, but both of you are sure that it'll surely happen if either of you reveals the truth about ur feelings to the other

one day Mikage got way too overheated with jealousy, observing u going to lunch with some random guy n letting him to touch u when he helps u clean ur face cause u have sauce n crumbs allover it, when that guy has a nerve to hug u, to make u smile n laugh so sincerely

Reo confronts u, u immediately get defensive n angry with such tone he talks to u with, the fight is just dreadful, he says n screams a lot but nothing he actually should, the same do u

now u don't talk for weeks, even months n none of u can get over it, get over ur feelings but also fear to lose each other. so stupid n ironic of both of u to be that afraid of loosing each other n still doing everything what's leads to it

the day of singing competition Reo didn't even know about it, he just didn't care at all, but than some of his friends invited him cause one of contestants was the crush of this pure guy but he was to shy n embarrassed to go alone, so being nice person as he is, Reo agrees to keep his poor friend's company. n there he sees u with that guy he confronted u about.

Reo's mad n broken at the same time, he couldn't be sure if something's going on between u or not but he thought about the worst scenario possible n immediately got nauseous so he excused himself, saying he needed to go, n ended up spending most of the competition in the restroom, picturing u in the arms of that guy

'no thoughts, head empty' he run without any clear plans, irritated and defeated, to the concert hall, backstage area, and literally ordered to put a minus of this song next, he'd been listening to it on repeat for a long time, back when you gave it to him to listen to over a year ago.

ofc, they tried to turn him down, saying he wasn't on the list of contestants, but a few words were enough to make the organizers worry about their future well-being so they did what he wanted

Mikage ordered all the footlights to go out before he appeared on stage, n the hall was completely dark, at first no one could understand what was going on, but suddenly Reo's voice came on, filling the void with pain and love that was clearly audible in his singing, n u couldn't help but recognize that beloved voice, so tears began to roll down your cheeks in unstoppable rivers, even though u couldn't see him, you knew that was him.

song comes to the end, Reo screams 'see? I said that u have power over me' n that exact moment as he burst into tears he feels ur hand holding his one as u say with trembling voice 'let's go out of here, I don't wanna our first kiss be this public"

P.S. sorry but sometimes my brain just needs scenarios like in stupid romantic tv-shows for teens

[steddieas-shegoes]

I come bearing a request! I need some wish fulfilment in my life, so Robin & Steve still meeting and becoming platonic soulmates even without all the Upside Down? Feel free to combine this with others or go wild with it in any direction you want. I love your writing, and I’m really looking forward to seeing all of these when they come out, I’m sure people have had so many good ideas!

THANK YOU!!!! I loved this idea. I love their friendship so much, it reminds me sooooo much of me and my person. Even though you said I could mix it in with another one, this felt like something I wanted to make the main focus. They're platonic soulmates, so they find each other no matter the circumstances or universe. I hope you like what I came up with! - Mickala ❤️

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

Steve was so lost. He followed the map, or tried to at least, but still ended up by the music building instead of the library.

He was certain there was a joke there about jocks not being able to find the library, but his head hurt, and he was hungry, and he was exhausted.

His first few days of classes had been overwhelming to say the least. He’d only registered for three classes, already knowing his work schedule would keep him too busy to handle more.

It would mean graduating later, but it would also mean more freedom from his parents.

That was more important.

But he carved out an entire afternoon to go to the library this week and so far, he’d wasted an hour walking to the wrong library, back to his car to get the campus map, and then, apparently, the wrong direction.

He was about two seconds away from crying.

He inhaled. He exhaled.

He leaned back against the wall of the music building and slid down until he was sitting on the ground.

It was his day off so nothing was stopping him from just sitting here until he found the energy to walk back to his car.

Except for the person currently tripping over his legs.

“Shit! Who sits on the ground outside? Who does that?”

The girl looked at him, eyes squinting as she took in his visibly pitiful appearance.

“Dingus! Why are you on the ground?”

She sounded annoyed, but also a little amused?

“Sorry. I’m just lost and tired.”

She searched his face, probably trying to figure out how someone like him could be this lost.

“Where are you trying to be?”

“Library.”

“That’s on the other side of campus.”

“I know that now, thanks.”

He really wasn’t in the mood to deal with people, especially not someone who already seemed to not like him because he was in the way.

But she wouldn’t go away, despite the fact that she was clearly in a rush before.

“Weren’t going inside?” He couldn’t help asking, hoping she’d forget about him and leave him to mope for a bit longer.

“I was. But you’re kind of depressing and I think it can wait.”

That’s awesome to hear. He kind of felt like the tears he’d been holding back on for ten minutes now were going to fall and he’d make a bigger fool out of himself and this girl would probably call campus security thinking he’s nuts.

“Dude. You’re kind of losing it. It’s only the first week.”

Yeah, well.

“I’ll be fine. Just go to class. You’re obviously running late.”

“First of all, it’s practice, not class. I’m in the marching band. Scholarship duties or whatever. Second of all, I’m not leaving you here. You look like you’re gonna throw up and die.”

Steve rolled his eyes. This girl was incredibly dramatic.

It was definitely entertaining at least.

“I’m not gonna die.”

“But you might throw up?” The girl looked disgusted. “Do it behind the building at least.”

He was a little nauseous, but that was probably just the anxiety and exhaustion mixed with not eating in a while.

Did he even have breakfast today?

Shit. He didn’t have breakfast.

“Okay. Here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m gonna go inside and tell them there’s an emergency and I can’t stay. The director is cool, he won’t even ask questions.” The girl was waving her hands around like that would help explain her plan. It didn’t. “Then, I walk you to the library. You buy me a snack at the cafe next to it so I can make the walk back here. We never see each other again, I pretend you’re not as pitiful as you look, and you learn where the library is.”

In theory, that sounded fine. But in practice, he wasn’t gonna waste her time.

The library closed in two hours and he wouldn’t have nearly enough time to do what he needed to by the time he got there, so why waste the energy walking all that way? Especially if it caused someone else to waste their time?

“It’s alright. Go to practice. I’m just gonna walk back to my car and head to the dorm.”

“You live on campus? Which dorm?”

“Grayson Hall. Why?”

There was only one co-ed dorm on campus, so the odds of her living in the same building as him were slim to none.

“Me too! Dude, do you think you could wait for me to be done with practice and drive us both back? It’s dark when I leave and my usual ride is sick.”

Steve should’ve said no. He didn’t even know this girl’s name. She seemed kind of crazy. Like, who asked a stranger for a ride and told them where they lived?

“You don’t have much stranger danger knowledge do you?”

“I think I can take you if I have to. You’re pale and you have bags under your eyes the size of the moon. I took a self defense class before I came here. My parents insisted.”

“Uh.” Well, he couldn’t really think of a reason not to at this point. “Okay.”

“Great! I’m Robin. You are…?”

“Steve.”

“Cool. See you in two hours dingus!”

He didn’t get a chance to respond before she was in the building.

Alright then.

————————-

Robin was kind of insane. But in the best way.

Steve hadn’t really had friends since the first two years of high school.

He’d gotten the shit kicked out of him twice in a row and “fell from grace” by junior year.

He couldn’t even find a place with the nerds. He wasn’t enough of anything. Not enough of a jock. Not enough of a smart kid. Not enough of a nerd. Not enough of a bad boy.

Not enough.

But the more time he spent with Robin, the more he felt like he could be.

She teased him relentlessly, sure, but she let him tease her back.

She was patient with him when he didn’t understand something, taking time to explain an assignment that confused him.

She was a sophomore, didn’t have to take a gap year like he did. She got a scholarship right out of high school.

He cut himself off from his parents right out of high school. The moment he did, he was completely on his own.

He had very little savings, just enough to rent a room in a house with a few people he didn’t know outside of town. He worked two jobs for a while, making sure he was putting away anything extra, living “slim” as one of his roommates used to say.

He didn’t have time to make friends.

And when he got accepted into college, he knew it would be the same.

He was paying for school himself, and he wasn’t smart enough to get an academic scholarship, or good enough at any of the sports he played in high school to get a sports scholarship. That meant he had to work at least one full time job while he took classes.

But that didn’t deter Robin.

She showed up at his door every morning with a smile and some crazy story about what happened at band practice the day before.

Band kids were kind of crazy. Robin was a little crazy.

He loved her.

She brought so much to his life, so much he didn’t realize he’d been missing.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d swear he was in love.

But he did know better.

Before she even came out to him, he knew she was different. Not a bad different, just the kind that he wasn’t wanting to be involved with romantically. Something was telling him she wasn’t interested in him either.

So one month into the semester, while they were studying together on Steve’s lunch break at work, she told him.

“I’m gonna say something that will either make you hate me or make us closer than ever.”

“Okay?”

“Just promise me no matter how you take it, you won’t tell anyone else. It would be dangerous for me.”

Dangerous? Was she in the mafia or something?

“I won’t tell anyone.”

He wouldn’t. But he was a little scared he’d end up in a ditch somewhere.

“I’m. Okay so. You know how you’re into women?”

This is not what Steve expected.

“…yeah?”

“Okay. I’m. Also into women?”

Steve sat silently. Waiting for her to say more.

Robin just stared at him, nervously biting her nails.

“And?” Steve asked when she didn’t continue on her own.

“And…that’s it? I’m a lesbian.”

“Oh.”

Oh, that’s it? Nothing mafia related? Cool.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I mean I expected something bad.”

“You don’t think that’s bad?”

“No? Should I?”

Robin looked like she was going to cry and that couldn’t happen because they were in public and Steve still didn’t know what to do to comfort people when they cried.

“Don’t cry. Please. I think you’re amazing, Robin. It doesn’t matter if you like women. I like women so, like, I get it.”

“You do?”

“Of course I do! I mean, boobs. Am I right?”

Robin let out a bark of a laugh.

“Yeah, boobs. Hard to resist.”

They smiled at each other, then looked back at their books.

He got lucky with Robin.

He got lucky that she’d found him when he was lost and kept him going the right way since.

[knoxvillesjackass]

Hi! So I had an idea for a young johnny x fem reader smut after listening to the song "save that shit" by lil peep basically I imagined the reader and johnny are dating but his stunts are getting progressively more and more dangerous and she can't take it anymore and the last straw for her is when he does a stupid stunt (maybe like jumping off of something) and gets hurt again and they have a massive argument and she says she's going to leave him and at some point during the argument he says "Do I make you scared? Baby, won't you take me back?" Maybe she even says she wishes she had a "normal" boyfriend and johnny says "Im nothin' like them other motherfuckers, I can make you rich." And the argument leads to angry sex but then they make up and fluff in the end(?)

Sorry if this is all over the place or too complicated to do, I totally understand

I love your writing btw, especially your latest johnny fic!

Thanks :)

𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭 - 𝐣.𝐤

i wrote this when i was sleep-deprived following a nervous breakdown because uni starts next week, so i'm sorry for how this turned out, but i hope it's somewhat readable?

warnings! degrading dirty talk, angry sex, choking, missionary, thigh riding!

words; 2.430

You couldn't even call this a stunt. No, this was merely shits and giggles, and you were having none of it.

"Jeff, please tell him to quit this shit, now."

Johnny wouldn't listen to you, you were sure of it, but maybe he'd listen to Tremaine, but who were you kidding? Tremaine was just as insane as everyone else in the crew.

You watched as Johnny climbed a fifty-foot crane with the intent of jumping from it, with nothing but a flimsy parachute to protect his fall.

You were repulsed by the stunt, but even more by how your boyfriend had neglected your feelings and put this stunt before anything- and anyone.

"Y/N, this is Johnny we're talking about. He's not gonna fucking listen to me," Jeff chuckled to which you rolled your eyes.

Johnny was an adrenaline junkie to the core, and you'd accepted that when you started dating him three years ago. What you hadn't been prepared for was the absolute hell, the man was willing to put himself through in order of getting good footage.

Countless arguments erupted because of that. You'd scold him for putting his life on the line and he'd ignore everything you'd say.

But what was about to happen was some next-level bullshit, and you'd just about had enough.

"Let's start with twenty feet!" Johnny yelled as he stopped climbing and looked down at the crowd gathered below him. Medics and the cast waited on the sideline, and you stood, nervously fidgeting next to Ryan Dunn.

"Whenever you're ready!" Tremaine yelled back and without as much as a warning, Johnny leapt from the crane and activated the smallest parachute, you'd ever seen in your life.

You turned your back just in time to miss the moment when Johnny hit the ground, thankfully. You could hear the thump though, and it made your heart beat so fast, to the point of feeling nauseous.

"Dunn?" You asked and Ryan looked at you, quickly wiping the worried expression from his face when he saw your panicked state.

You turned around slowly. Johnny had stood up. He was laughing with Steve-O and Bam as if nothing had ever happened.

This fucking guy, you thought and pursed your lips. This fucking guy just had a near-death experience and now he was laughing and joking around. You were repulsed but more than anything; you were fucking furious.

Johnny scanned the area around him and eventually, his sight landed on you. You were biting your cheek and shaking your head.

Johnny approached you, clearly aware of what you were feeling, but a glimpse in his eyes told you, that he really didn't give a shit.

"Starting with twenty feet? Are you fucking shitting me?" You hissed and pushed him away when Johnny tried to embrace you.

"I'm not fucking shitting you, and will you please keep your voice down? I don't wanna do this right now," Johnny sneered quietly and you yelped at his question. "No, I'd rather do it now, actually, considering you'll probably be dead within the next twenty minutes," you said and raised your voice to which Johnny shushed you loudly and looked around to ensure that you weren't attracting too much attention.

"Y/N, get in your car and leave," Johnny said, stepping closer to you and towering over your much shorter frame. You looked up at Johnny and stomped on the ground, a loud whine following.

"Now, Y/N."

You watched as his eyes darkened and decided that you actually didn't even want to stick around him and his shitshow any longer.

You shook your head and chuckled in dismay, turning your back to Johnny and leaving without looking back once.

It wasn't the fact, that Johnny did stunts or enjoyed high-speed activities. It was the fact that he couldn't seem to keep it together once he'd started. A simple idea would turn into a life-threatening stunt, and that was what you hated.

You drove home with such anger radiating through your veins, that you could hardly handle it.

He was gonna get himself killed one day, and you were going to be left with pain greater than what he'd ever experienced.

-

A couple hours had passed by, and with no Johnny home, or even a phone call, you were starting to get worried.

Lord knows how far they'd gone. Thirty feet, forty feet, maybe even fifty? The injuries a fall like that could cause. Urgh, you didn't even want to think about it.

You didn't have to, because the sound of the door opening and closing snapped you out of your wandering thoughts.

You'd spent the whole afternoon in a pissy mood, bitching over how Johnny had treated you like crap earlier that day. But you'd also spent the afternoon thinking ahead. How would a future with Johnny look? Was he going to be a punch-drunk husband with a brain like scrambled eggs? He'd suffered too many concussions to even count, and the number of broken bones? You didn't even want to think about it. Was that what you wanted?

You loved Johnny, but at that moment, he was the last person you wanted to see, and the sound of his voice from the corridor made you roll your eyes.

"Y/N, can you come to the kitchen?" He yelled and you sighed. You couldn't avoid him forever. After all, you did live together and it was probably better to just get it over with.

Entering the kitchen, you spotted Johnny, a spiteful chuckle leaving your mouth as your eyes landed on the horrific bruises on Johnny's bare upper body.

He'd taken a trip to the hospital after his parachute failed at forty feet in the air.

"How many ribs did you break this time?" You asked and Johnny sighed, "three."

Honestly, you'd thought it would be worse but then again; the man was fucking invincible, it seemed.

His shirt was off and his muscular upper body was on full display, although you tried your absolute best to not get distracted.

"I really didn't fucking appreciate the way you acted at my job today, Y/N," Johnny said and chugged a glass of water.

You huffed and laughed sarcastically. "Well, Johnny, I really didn't fucking appreciate how selfish you were today," you said and curled your fists into tight balls.

"Selfish? I'm not fucking selfish," Johnny said, completely oblivious to the insane way he'd acted earlier that day.

"Johnny, you could've died! And you know what, I've fucking had it up to here," you said and reached up your arm to signal how much you'd suffered through his ideas.

"It's my job, Y/N! Fuck!" Johnny yelled and threw his hands in the air.

"Baby, you live for this shit. You can't get enough of it, can you? I'd like to watch you go find another dude, that can tame you like I can," Johnny smirked and you huffed. Johnny tried to hide it but yelling really hurt with broken ribs, and he winced quietly.

"You can't even fucking talk to me without getting hurt! Gosh, sometimes I think it would be better if I just left," you chuckled under your breath but flinched when Johnny let out just about one of the loudest roars you'd ever heard from him. "What!"

"Is that really what you want to do? Leave?" He asked. He didn't seem hurt. If anything, he just seemed angry that you'd even say that.

"No, of course, it's not what I want! But it's what this is driving me towards," you admitted.

"You're real bold to be talking to me like that."

Johnny's voice was dark and quiet, but in no way was it soft. It was harsh and cold.

He took some steps closer to you, and you couldn't do anything but back off until you eventually hit the wall behind you.

Johnny was so close to you, that you could hear his heart beating. He moved his hand to your throat and you gasped at the sensation.

The hand around your throat didn't push or squeeze. You both just stood there and looked into each other's eyes. The tension was so thick, you could almost cut it with a knife.

"You're scared, aren't you?" He asked you and flashed you a wicked smile. "Do I scare you, babe?"

You scoffed and shook your head, clearly lying. You were intimidated by him. He was taller and much stronger than you. Johnny saw right through you and he tightened the grip around your throat, but only ever so slightly.

"You said you wanted a normal boyfriend, didn't you?" Johnny asked and you swallowed thickly and nodded.

"Do you still mean that?" Johnny asked you, and you hummed a sly yes.

He moved his hand from your throat and grabbed your face rather harshly. "Look around, love. Haven't I given you everything you've ever dreamed of? Haven't I given you everything any other guy never gave you?" Johnny asked and you nodded slowly.

"So, princess; what's the fucking problem?"

Urgh, the man was dangerously attractive. By now, you'd completely forgotten about the whole argument and its cause. Now, all you seemed to be doing was adding fuel to the fire, because you could tell exactly where this was heading and it made your stomach tingle.

"You make me so fucking mad sometimes," you hissed but yelped loudly when Johnny jerked his knee up between your legs so that your toes were barely touching the ground. Certainly, he could feel the dampness of your arousal on his clothes thigh and the thought of it made you blush slightly.

Johnny grabbed your arms and pinned them on either side of your head against the wall.

"Keep that pretty little mouth of yours shut until I tell you otherwise, okay, doll?" Johnny cut you off and you followed his order, immediately shutting up.

You didn’t mind as you leaned forward, driving your lips together with Johnny's, in a dazed and desperate attempt at dominance. An attempt that was quickly shut down by Johnny, as he tightened his grip on your wrists, moving his lips with yours in a fast, smouldering kiss. 

In a sudden act of rebellion, you bit down on Johnny's bottom lip and watched with fascination as he jerked back and lifted a hand to his mouth, checking for blood. 

"The fuck?" His eyes flashed. You narrowed yours in response.

"You're fucking in for it," Johnny growled before leaning in hard and fast again.

Your toes curled and Johnny moved his knee back and forth against your wet cunt. You arched your back, pressing your chest against Johnny's.

Johnny moved his mouth from your lips to your neck, sucking and biting.

Your panties were thoroughly soaked at this point, and you could feel yourself getting more eager by the second

Johnny moved his hands from your wrists, and immediately, you wrapped your arms around his body, pulling him as close as possible.

You ground against his thigh, feeling that familiar clench between your legs, and you whimpered. “K-Keep going.”

Johnny grabbed your hips - continuing to suck marks onto your neck and chest - and he moved you faster against his thigh, his cock throbbing in his pants. You thrust your fingers into his hair, pulling hard as the fluttering between your thighs turned into hard quakes.

Johnny suddenly bounced his leg a few times and it sent you over the edge, completely.

You threw your head against Johnny's shoulder and hid your face in the crook of his neck, letting out loud moans and whimpers of pleasure. Johnny kept his tight grip on your hips, helping you ride out your orgasm.

You only had a few moments to relax before Johnny lifted you up and began walking towards the living room, placing you on the couch, and hovering over you.

Only now did you realise how bad the bruises on his chest and side really were and you pouted softly, running your fingers over them, which caused Johnny to hiss quietly. You quickly retracted your fingers from his bruises and watched with excitement as Johnny dropped his trousers.

He climbed on the couch and rested over you, looking at you with lusty eyes, growling under his breath.

"Let's see how quiet you can be now," Johnny smirked and slid his hands up your thighs and pulled down your jeans, your lacy underwear following shortly.

You were already soaking wet and Johnny was hard. His tip was an angry red colour, desperate to be embraced.

He smirked as his cock painfully slowly disappeared into your tight cunt, cursing under his breath. His cock was spasming inside of you, your cunt clenching and sucking him in for all it's worth.

A particularly hard thrust made you a moaning mess, grasping and clasping at Johnny's back, probably leaving all kinds of marks.

"Look at you," Johnny smirked in a humiliating manner. "You got yourself into this mess," he said and you bit your lip harshly. "You just couldn't keep your mouth shut, could you?" Johnny asked and you nodded, agreeing with him as a moan escaped from your lips.

Your second orgasm was around the corner, but you were overstimulated- and overwhelmed.

You tapped Johnny's shoulder three times, which was a sign for him to slow down. "Already tapping out, are you?" He asked as you squirmed underneath him, unable to control your body.

"I-I'm go-"

"Already?" Johnny chuckled. Okay, now he was really taking the piss.

You screamed loudly and let your eyes roll to the back of your head as your whole body flexed beneath Johnny as he delivered a final thrust before pulling out quickly and stroking himself, emptying his loud on your thighs.

His moans quieted down as he snapped back from his climax and looked at you. He grabbed your hips and lifted you up, taking the space where you were laying, so that you could lay on top of him.

You were both out of breath and a few silent moments went by before you got tired of the painful silence.

"I'm sorry for what I said. I don't want a normal boyfriend, I want you," you sighed against Johnny's chest and placed a kiss on it.

"I know. I'm sorry too, and you're right; I'm one selfish bastard," Johnny admitted and you looked up at him. "I'm not gonna stop the stunts, but for now, there'll be no forty feet cranes," he said and you smiled.

"I'm glad to hear it."