#so might as well ask the already on edge guy about it in the middle of the night!

[smilesrobotlover]

FD is just tryna make him breakfast 😭

[yanderenightmare]

TW: nsfw, yandere, toxic relationship, friends with benefits, guns, threats of harm and death, name-calling

gn reader

When you open your heart to your fuck-friend, he sighs with rust.

You still have his cum inside your hole as he tears you a new one—telling you he doesn’t have the fucking time or the fucking energy to deal with lovey-dovey confessions right now—he has enough bullshit on his goddamn plate already without having to consider you and your fucking feelings as well.

If you’re not going to shut up and fuck him, you might as well shut up and fuck off.

So you do. The latter, that is.

Part of you knew it was going to end up this way. You with your heart broken and him with the blood on his hands. But part of you had hoped as well—hoped he felt the same way—hoped your words would soften his edges and wash away all the muck in his head enough to let you in.

You’d read a little too much into those gentle touches he sometimes bestowed upon you in his weaker moments—that soft way he cried when holding onto you during the night, wordless and clingy and begging you not to go.

But the more you think about it, the less you understand why your heart aches. It doesn’t really make much sense after all…

In truth, he’s an asshole. Always been. And you deserve better.

He’s always so angry. Always on something mudding up his blood. Never with anything nice to say. It doesn’t really matter how you’d held him in his nightmares or patched him up when he’d stumbled through your door drunk and bloody. 

Scarred boys in need of fixing aren’t good for your health—especially when all they have to offer you in return are callous words of rejection.

He’d always been secretive. He wasn’t a very good lover—but you're not entirely sure if he was ever even a good man. The wounds he’d dreg to your apartment in the middle of the night always left blood on your sheets. He never agreed to go to the hospital—always insisted your first-aid kit was enough, even when he'd come to you with bullets you’d have to dig out with a pair of tweezers.

You realize he’d been using you. You were convenient and stopped being convenient the minute you wanted more—and upon the realization, you move on.

And then he comes crawling back…

Shivering in the rain like a beaten street mutt—looking starved and sick like one, too. There’s blood on his shirt and a grim darkness in his eyes. He tells you to let him in, and you only barely have the guts to tell him to go away. 

He has this tortured look on his face—as though something’s your fault, as though you’ve wronged him in some way, as though you’re the reason he’s out in the cold with nowhere to go.

Barging in and slamming the door behind him—he locks it and pockets the key—ignoring your questions as you ask him what the fuck’s gotten into him. He looks deranged—water dripping from his matted bangs, eyes reddened, and cheeks streaked. You only now notice it isn't because of the rain.

“You said you wanted me, didn’t you?” he huffs. “Here I am.”

You’re tense. You hadn’t felt like that with him before, it takes you a minute to realize it’s because you’re scared. After all, you’d wanted him all those other times—rough or otherwise. And now you didn’t want him at all. 

“You should leave. You’ve been drinking.”

“What? You changed your mind already?” he accused, then scoffed with a not-so-unamused laugh. “I’m not surprised. People like you, who like danger and bad men, are always so fickle-hearted.” He approaches you too fast for you to back away, his scarred hands curling into your sweater—split skin from recent beatings bleed onto the fabric. “Flighty little slut, you’ve probably already found the next guy who gives you a rush. Isn’t that right?” He’s seething as he pulls you forward, looking like a hostile hound.

You lay your hands on his chest to keep him at a distance—feeling his entire body shake like static beneath your touch. You wonder if he’s taken drugs tonight, but looking into his eyes, you don’t think so. They aren’t fidgety but deadset. Actually, upon closer look, you don’t even think he’s drunk.

But anyway, it doesn’t really matter. You still don’t want him here. “I’m serious. Get out, or I’m calling the police.”

“Oh? Are we slinging threats now?” he jeers, showing no signs of letting go or leaving—he only pulls you in closer, so close you could kiss. “What? Don’t tell me you’re scared now.” He breathes out another short excuse for a laugh as you veer away, putting his lips to your ear instead. “You should have been from the start—but no—grinding up on me at the club as though you’d die without my attention. Crying pretty tears when you saw me all beaten and bruised—acting as though you want to save me. Tch—”

He throws you down on the carpeted floor. You wince from the impact, and when you look up again, you see he has a gun pointed at you.

You stop breathing. A dark sinkhole in your gut seems to want to swallow you from the inside, and you think you might just want it to if it means escaping the threat before you.

“I shouldn't have come here…” he mutters—finger resting on the trigger all too calmy. “But I just couldn’t get your face out of my head. Looking up at me with those doe-eyes, wearing my shirt even though it’s got blood on it after I fuck you silly, saying such sweet little nothings as if I’d paid you to.”

He sighs—heavily—as though he’s expelling spirits. His hand remains holding the gun poised and pointed straight down at you even as the other drags down his face, pulling his maw before sliding through his wet locks, raking them away from his face.

“I gotta kill you, you know?” he says, shoulders slumping with the statement. He sniffs—it's almost soft enough to be a sniffle. “That’s the only way to solve this. That’s the only way to get you out of my fucking head.”

He cocks the safety with a click that makes your life flash before your eyes. Faces of your family and friends, people you haven't seen in years, childhood pets long dead, a job interview, the holiday you felt true happiness, the night you went out dancing and met him.

The tears stream silently down your face, and you still don’t breathe. Every part of you, every nerve and muscle, has gone completely still. Unmoving, unblinking as you stare up through the barrel of the gun and wait for the bullet to come through.

His finger curls tighter around the trigger, and you close your eyes with a furl between your brows. And then…

Nothing. There’s a large exhale.

“I can’t do it…” 

You open your eyes to see the gun lowered. The sight brings a fresh rush of air back to your lungs, making you all but wheeze as it fills you, breathing in far too much and much too quickly. You regain some semblance worth of motoric, too—able to scramble backward until there’s no more room to be gained, sitting with your back against the wall. Eyes peeled at him where he’s taken to crouch, holding his head with his free hand and the one still with the gun in it.

He fists his hair and tugs on it frustratedly, muttering to himself. “Dozens of lives on my hands, and I can't kill this one single-” he stopped short.

This time, when he looks at you, there’s something else in his eyes. No malice or scorn, but something sad—pity almost.

“Well… seems like you got what you wanted...”

The pity’s for you.

“This is what having my heart feels like.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shoto, Dabi ��� JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Toji ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[whore4mattsturniolo]

Birthday Girl ♡︎ Chris Sturniolo

@yourmother29's birthday special <3 love you so much pookie

her birthday was actually in january but art takes time idk

As long as you guys had been friends, you were everything to Chris. He'd drop everything for you, no matter how stupid or unimportant it was. He'd buy you whatever you wanted, completely ignoring the cost of it. Saw a cute dress in a store window? He'd have it shipped to your house by the weekend. Hungry in the middle of the night? He's having food delivered to your front door. Anything to make you happy. As long as he got to see that pretty smile of yours he loved so much, he was happy too. You were an angel in his eyes. Someone who could do no wrong. You were perfect.

To him, you were worthy of being celebrating all 365 days of the year. So when it came to your birthday, it might as well have been considered a national holiday. Every year he'd spoil you with the most expensive gifts, dinners, parties, whatever he could think of. But, this year was different. He wanted to give you an extra special gift. One he'd be holding from the moment he first laid eyes on you.

It was late. Your birthday party, held at his house as always, had finally ended after hours of partying, dancing, and drinking. The smell of alcohol, cheap perfumes, and food still lingered in each room, but you were too overwhelmed with positivity to care. It was just the two of you now, just as it always had been. You were sitting on the dining table, eating your 3rd slice of cake as you watched Chris clean up the empty cups and other trash strewn about the house. He had insisted on taking care of everything for your birthday, including the brutal hours clean up that came with it. "You sure you don't want me to help?" You ask for what seemed like the 50th time that night. "You're gonna be up all night at this rate."

Chris walks over to you, lifting your chin up as he stands in front of you. "Told you ma," he smirks, now standing in between your legs. "All y'gotta do is there and look pretty f'me," he clicks his tongue, fixing the birthday crown sitting lopsided on the top of your head. His eyes flicker to your parted, glossy lips, stained pink from the amount of icing you'd consumed that night, before shifting back to your eyes. You always looked beautiful to him, but tonight, you looked particularly radiant.

Chris never failed to fluster you, the way his cold, blue eyes bore into your own, the way his rough hands felt on your soft skin. You'd be lying if you said you weren't attracted to him. Who wouldn't be? He showered you in compliments and gifts, was always there when you needed him no matter what, always put you first. He was everything you looked for in a man. But he was your best friend, and your friendship was more important than some crush.

"Fine, fine, fine!" You smile, scooting back further onto the table, feeling the cold wood against your bare skin as your dress moved up with you. Your dress was already short, and now almost your entire lower half was exposed. Chris' eyes trailed down your body, focusing on your thighs, and his mind starts to wander, shaking his head before he goes to far. Spotting a piece of trash under the table, he kneels down, shaking his head to get the sinful thoughts out of his head. How soft your thighs looked, how'd they feel under his fingers, or even wrapped around his head, suffocating him. As he kneels down, he manages to catch a full view up your dress, including the lacy red panties you were wearing. His favorite color.

His pants immediately began to feel tighter than they did a few minutes ago, his mind starting to wander once again. He needs to get away from you, fast. Choking on his spit in an attempt to move away quickly, he hits his head on the edge of the table. Hard. If the pain of the hard wood hitting the back of his head wasn't enough to break him out of his thoughts, the shame he felt once he looked you in the eyes would be.

"Fuck!" he shouted, rubbing the back of his head, still hunched over.

You giggle, looking down at him as he slowly stands up straight, still soothing the aching pain. "Are you okay?" You press a hand to your mouth in an attempt to hold back your laughter, your other hand pulling your dress back down.

"M'fine," he says flatly, his eyes refusing to meet yours, his cheeks growing more flushed by the second. "Quit laughing."

"Have some cake," you smile, your giggling subsiding as you stick your icing-covered finger out. "You'll feel better."

Chris swallows hard, looking at your hand, his cheeks turning more crimson as he smirks. He pauses for a moment, before leaning in, pulling your index finger into his mouth.

The sight was erotic, his face blushing as his tongue rolls over your finger, his eyes locked on yours as he sucks off the sweet icing. The feeling of his warm mouth sent a chill down your spine, a warmth pooling between your thighs as he finally pulls off, his eyes refusing to leave yours. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, cleaning off the mess. He finally looks away from you, focused on the half-eaten cake to the side of you. "I picked out a good cake huh?" He chuckles.

You nod, clearing your throat. "Yeah. Great cake."

You watched Chris continue to clean up the messes throughout the house, the tension between the two of you palpable. The soft R&B music playing through the speaker added to the ambience of the dimly lit house. You didn't know what happened to you that night, but something about Chris was so alluring. His messy brown hair, his tired, sunken eyes, the stubble he had gotten too lazy to shave. Even his touch, how he held your chin in his hands, how he hugged you at least 20 times that night. Everything about him was driving you absolutely insane.

Some time later, Chris finally finishes cleaning majority of the messes, joining you back in the kitchen. "Y'know, ma," he says, moving to stand in front of you. "There was...one more present...I wanted to give you." He pokes his tongue in his cheek, raising his eyebrows and flashing you a familiar smirk.

You raise your eyebrows back, looking up at him. He had already given you plenty of gifts, but you were curious as to what else he could possibly have to offer. "Yeah? What is it?" He moves impossibly closer to you, and you can feel the warmth radiating off his body as he stared at you with half lidded eyes, the strong scent of his cologne filling your nose.

"I've been waiting to give it to ya. For a long ass time," His hands move to your hips, pulling you closer to him, your thighs now hanging off the edge of the table as your breath hitches. Your eyes flicker down to his lips, before looking back at his eyes, his pupils intensely dilated.

Your gasp as his lips crash onto yours without any form of warning, the kiss feverish and hungry as his grip on your hips tightens. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him deeper into the kiss. He runs his tongue over your bottom lip, begging for entrance, before finally slipping it into your mouth. A soft moan escapes his throat at the feeling of your soft, plump lips on his. He had imagined this thousands of times, but none of them compared to the actual experience. It was better than anything he had ever dreamed of.

Hesitantly, he breaks the kiss, biting on your bottom lip as he pulls back. "How was that?"

You grin, looking back at him with glazed eyes "Good. So good," you laugh breathlessly, your eyes trailing back down to his swollen lips. Before you can lean in for a second kiss, Chris picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and walking you to his room. Your heart pounds in your chest, arousal rushing through your body as Chris' hands move to grab your ass. Once the two of you finally make it to his room, he gently lays you on the bed, swiftly moving to lock the door and walking back over to you.

"Gonna give you the best birthday gift ever," he smirks, climbing onto the bed to lay on top of you. "Gonna make you feel so good, baby."

He leaves sloppy, open-mouthed kisses down your neck and chest, toying with the thin straps of your dress. His touch was electrifying, making every hair on your body sticking up. "Chris..." You moan softly at his touch. "Please..." You tilt your head back, giving him better access to the sensitive part of your neck as he continues to suck, leaving light red marks in his wake.

"I know...I know," he coos. He tugs at your dress, growing desperate to see your naked body as he discards the fabric onto the floor. His breath hitches at the sight of you, his jaw going slack as he admires every inch, a groan leaving his throat at the image in front of him. "Gonna give you what y'want. Just hang on f'me.

Chris' hands trail up and down your body, desperate to feel every part of you under his fingertips, moaning as his soft lips continue their assault on your skin. "So fuckin' pretty," Chris sighs, moving back down, landing in between your legs and looking up with half-lidded eyes. "Been wanting this so long...Wanted to feel you...Taste you..." He mutters, toying at the waistband of your lacy panties, fiddling at the rough material with his fingers. "Gotta get these off...Need to feel that pretty pussy on my tongue...Please..." He looks up at you for approval, the corners of his lips curling as he sees you nod. You're as desperate for this as he is.

He slides your panties down your legs, admiring the trail of arousal that follows as he throws them on the floor near your dress. "Fuck baby," he murmurs, burying his head in between your legs, peppering soft kisses on your inner thighs, trailing his tongue just near where you need it, but not quite. His stubble brushed against your heat, adding sensitivity. "So pretty...So fuckin' pretty...Better than I imagined..." He continued to whisper to himself. He was completely hypnotized, and he hasn't even tasted you yet.

A whine escapes your lips, watching his focus all his attention on your thighs than your achy pussy, which was now dripping onto his blanket. "Chris, stop teasing." Your voice breaks him out of his trance, forcing him to look up at you, his lust-filled eyes peering into yours as he laughs softly. His tongue darts out over his bottom lips, going back to staring at your pretty pussy, collecting the arousal on his fingers.

"So needy for me," he says softly. "Leaking all over the fuckin' blanket and I ain't even touched you yet," he grins. He brings his now-soaked fingers to his mouth, moaning at the sweet flavor. "I knew you tasted good...Fuck, I need more than that."

As soon as the words leave his lips, he dives into your pussy, his tongue licking a long stripe up to your clit, a loud moan escaping your mouth at the sensation. Your hands desperately try to cling to something, gripping the covers until your knuckles turn white as he continues to lick and suck at your clit.

He moans softly, the vibrations shooting straight to your core. You instinctively move to clamp your legs shut at the intense pleasure, squeezing his head tight. He stops just for a moment, your body shivering at the sudden coldness, before grabbing your thighs and holding your legs open in a tight grip. "Stop moving and let me eat in peace," he mutters, continuing his assault on your pussy. His eyes flutter shut as he looses himself in you, the way you taste, the way you sound. He slowly ruts against the mattress, trying to release the friction between his erection and his jeans. "There you go. Keep those legs open f'me. That's a good girl."

Your orgasm was approaching, and fast, feeling a familiar building in your lower abdomen. "Chris—mmm—m'so close!" You whine, your fingers finding their way to his hair, tugging and pulling at his messy brown locs. The roughness earns another grunt from him as he holds your thighs tighter, leaving indents in your flesh. He grins up at you, his lips and chin coated in your slick and his hair messy, before going back down on you. He's completely drunk on you, the sound of wet slurping echoing against the walls of his bedroom as you start to grind against his face, your grip on his hair tightening.

"Cum—gonna cum! M'gonna cum!" You babble, before the coil in your belly finally snaps, your vision going white and starry. Your eyes roll back into your skull as Chris staring at you in awe, still lapping at your pussy, helping you ride out your high. Your legs shake under his arms, twitching at the overstimulation. "Too much! S'too much! Chris, Chris!" You almost shout until he begrudgingly pulls away, staring at the mess you made of his bed, wiping your release off his face.

"You're so lucky it's your birthday and not mine," he whispers breathlessly. "Or else I'd be eating that pussy 'til you cried," his rough voice makes you shudder. His tongue was magic, and you could only imagine how intense it'd feel after more than one round. "Maybe that'll be my birthday gift. Favor for a favor kinda thing, yeah?" he chuckles, sitting up and on his knees and you smile back at him, nodding at his words. The sound of metal clinking distracts you, making you lift your head up.

You find Chris pulling off his jeans in a frenzy, throwing them off the side of the bed and shuffling between your legs. He pulls his boxers down, his rock hard cock springing out and slapping against his stomach, earning a rough groan from him, precum leaking out his slit and down his shaft. He chuckles again, watching your eyes widen as you admire his size. "You like what you see, pretty girl?" He says, spitting into his palm and stroking his thick length. "You like seein' what you do to me?"

A soft whine leaves you lips as he aligns himself with your entrance, rubbing his swollen, red tip over your slick folds, coating it in your release. "You want me to fuck you, baby? Want me to fill this pretty pussy up with my big dick?" He asks gruffly, slapping the head on your puffy clit, earning another soft moan from you. "I know you do, ma. I know how bad you want it. Droolin' all over my sheets...Fuckin' beggin' for it." Lubricated by your arousal, Chris pushes his cock into your pussy, a soft moan leaving his lips at the sight of you sucking him in.

"Fuck!" you cry out, tears pricking your waterline at the burning sensation, feeling his thick cock stretching you out inch by inch, every vein bumping against your tight walls. "Mmph—so big...s'not gonna fit—" You whimper, wanting to feel him bottom out inside you, but the stretch is almost too much to deal.

"Shh," he whispers, caressing your side with a gentle hand. "We'll make it fit, baby...Just...just relax f'me, yeah? Almost there...atta girl..." He finally bottoms out, resting his forehead against yours as he nestles inside you, tip grazing your cervix as you relax around him, adjusting to his size. "Goddamn, shit" Chris grins, watching your eyes flutter shit. "Pussy's cuttin' the fuckin' circulation off—fuck—off my fuckin' dick." Your eyes flutter back open, looking up into his eyes, his pupils blown out. Your throat bobs as you swallow, slowly moving against his dick, silently giving him the OK to move.

His hands move to grab your hips, gently pulling out until just the tip is nestled in your pussy, and pushing himself back in. His movements are painfully slow, holding himself back, keeping himself from going too rough and hurting you. "Faster," you manage to choke out. "Go faster, please."

A wicked grin spreads against Chris' face, his thrusts picking up speed as his hips snap against your pelvis, his grip on you growing tight enough to leave bruises on your soft skin. The squelching sound of his cock ramming into your pussy grows louder, only rivaled by your even louder moans. Suddenly, Chris throws your leg over his shoulder, allowing him to hit that spongy spot deep inside you over and over again at a rapid pace.

"Fuck yeah," he moans out, the change of pace bringing him closer by the second. "This all the birthday girl wanted huh? Wanted to get slut out by her best friend? Get split open by this big dick?" You nod weakly in response, trying to find the words to respond, but your brain is fuzzy from the overwhelming pleasure. You try to speak, but all that comes out are pathetic moans. "Asked you a question didn't I?" He laughs. "Too fucked out to even answer—fuck—Goin' dumb all over my dick already."

You look up at him with lidded eyes, watching his cock get sucked into your tight cunt. "Yes!" You manage to choke out. "S'all I wanted. Just wanted you to fuck me." Chris smirks again, rocking his hips at an intense pace, your velvety walls pulsing against his throbbing cock. Your back starts to arch off the mattress, but he holds you down, one hand on the leg over his shoulder, the other on your lower stomach, keeping you still for him. Your second orgasm was quickly approaching, your legs already beginning to shake.

"Such a slutty fuckin' girl," Chris groans, watching your eyes start to roll back. "Already gonna cum all over my dick...Fuck baby...Can't get enough of you—shiit—you and this perfect fuckin' pussy," You moan at his praise, desperate to hold onto any part of him, gripping the arm pressing on your belly.

"M'gonna—aah!—m'gonna cum! Please, please, please," you cry out, your whines growing more and more needy as Chris slams into you repeatedly. You weren't even sure what you were begging for at that moment. You just knew you never wanted him to stop. He moves his thumb to your swollen clit, rubbing quick, rough circles over it just to make you squirm for him.

"I know baby, I know...m'gonna cum too," he moans out, his hips pistoning at an impossibly fast pace, chasing both of your highs. His cock starts to twitch inside you, the coil inside him ready to snap at any moment. But he's holding on. He refuses to cum before you do. Not until you cum all over his dick. "Gonna let me cum inside, huh? Make you all mine?" He coos, caressing your cheek gently, a contrast to his rough movements at the lower half of your body.

You nod furiously, your moans and whines becoming more strained as you approach your release. "Yes, yes yes...Please, baby—" Your pleads are cut off by a high pitched moan, almost screaming his name as your orgasm crashing over you. Waves of pleasure washing over you as your back arches high off the mattress, your vision going white. Everything around you goes static, only focusing on Chris.

"Good girl, good fuckin' girl..." His thrusts grow faster as he watches you fall apart around him, his ego growing knowing that he was the one that made you feel like this, made you cum this hard. "Gonna cum deep in this pussy...Gonna fill her up.." The feeling of your tight walls throbbing around his cock triggers his own orgasm, ribbons of sticky cum shooting out into your pussy, a guttural moan escaping his throat. "Fuck, fuck fuck!" He cries out, his thrusts staggering as he watches your pussy milk him dry.

Panting hard, he manages out a weak, "happy birthday, beautiful," pressing soft kisses against the leg over his shoulder, before moving it off of him. Still inside you, he leans over you, capturing your lips in a sloppy kiss.

"Mhm," you say in between kisses, wrapping your arms around him. "Best birthday gift ever," you smile, still trying to catch your breath from the most intense orgasm of your life. Chris looks down at you, a smug grin still plastered across his face.

"Who said it was over?"

sorry this took so long bby...i love you !!

tags: @yourmother29 @bowsandsturniolos @sweetshuga @sturns-mermaid @leah-sturniolo @spideylana @dykes4chris @sophsturns @mattsbunnyxx @slut4christopherr @trevorsgodmother @sosasturns @emely9274 @courta13 @mattsbrowser @heartsonlyforchris @chrissweetheart @leoslaboratory @mattybsgroupie @conspiracy-ash @chriss-slutt @secretlocket @sagebutter11 @chrepsi @pr3ttylittleslutt @iloveduckssm @tezzzzzzzz @evansturn @nickgurl4life @izzylovesmatt @mr-wrinkleton @sturn777 @theyluvpeach @chrisslut04 @wildfluer @espressqe

divider creds: @bernardsbendystraws <3

[steviewashere]

Thinking about a fic idea right now where Steve comes out (maybe with a little Steddie...maybe; might be best to start them pre-relationship in this). Walk with me here.

Steve Harrington who has always been a huge Wham! fan. And then eventually a huge George Michael fan. He's got all their albums. Collects magazines with interviews in them (y'know, if there's a U.S. release). So, he's pretty much up to date with all news, music info; that kind of thing. He's always on the money about when interviews are.

George Michael who comes out publicly in 1998 after his arrest. Which, you can watch the clip from the interview here. He's thirty-four at the time, had been private about his sexuality and romantic life up until then.

Steve who's freshly in his thirties.

He's thirty-one. He's had some thoughts in regards to his sexuality for years now. Since Robin came out to him in 1985, he's thought about little things. The way certain guys walked that caught his attention, maybe the plushness of their lips, how they styled their hair. She's introduced him to queer culture at the time—pride parades & protests, some lingo, the handkerchief code, etc. So, he's well aware of a lot of things before the CNN interview airs. He hasn't made any hard connections between his sexuality and the thoughts in his head; maybe he's had a few, soft, questioning moments like: Am I gay? Am I bisexual? Is this what I really think or am I searching for something I don't actually want? Am I just being too observant?

(Okay, thinking about pre-Steddie now. And a lot of platonic soulmates Stobin. Also, I totally (accidentally) half-wrote a fic. Stay with me here.)

Eddie's been a part of Steve's life since 1986. Somehow he survives (don't ask me the fine details, I don't know). And Steve tries his hand at being Eddie's friend because he kind of—no, really—wants a guy friend who's around his age. Cue their shenanigans: the chaos they cause together, the pranks they pull on their other friends, the shit Eddie makes Steve get into (drag racing (cars), stealing scrap from the junkyard, throwing rocks over the quarry to guess the impact they made, other little town shit). Eddie who learns that Steve's a true ally to Robin, so he comes out to Steve, too. They all form a very great, deep bond of solidarity. Become roommates outside of Hawkins, somewhere a little more progressive. They protect each other. Listen to each other.

Cue the day in 1998 when the CNN interview is being aired live, unseen up until then. Steve's already ready to watch, having taken up the middle cushion on the couch. Robin's on his left, criss-cross and making a set of beaded bracelets for the three of them. Eddie's on Steve's right, uncapping a couple bottles of beer to pass over. And they're watching with Steve because Steve likes George Michael and, well, they like Steve and his interests. So they're all there when George Michael comes out. They're all there when the words are said live.

Robin and Eddie are wide-eyed, then laughing something a bit triumphant, high-fiving over Steve's head, maybe chanting something: "One of us! One of us!" Maybe becoming huge George Michael fans as they speak. But, Steve's silent. He's sitting on the edge of his cushion, palms down on his thighs, staring off into nothing. All the celebration stops as the interview continues, words being missed. And Robin and Eddie share an odd glance, a questioning one. Until, finally, Robin asks, "Steve-O? You OD over there?"

Steve blinks back into existence. Mutters, "Did George Michael just come out on live TV?" Eddie answers him truthfully, voice a bit soft and concerned. Steve licks his lips, doesn't move his eyes from his socked feet. "...He knew for a little while," he comments. "Right? He knew for a while."

"Sure, Steve," Eddie answers again. "He probably knew about himself for a long time. Probably...Honestly, probably while he was still in Wham."

Maybe Steve nods at that. Maybe he just stays kind of stoic, thinking too hard. "He's thirty-four," Steve points out.

"That he is," Robin answers this time. "Thirty-four and proudly out."

Steve hums some sort of acknowledgement and then goes back to watching the TV, moment drifting away. He sort of watches in a daze. Up until he turns in for the night. Well after Robin has slumped over on the couch and Eddie's gone to bed earlier—because he has work, or so Eddie's said. And Steve maybe sits in his bedroom, up at his headboard, looking down at his albums. At his Wham! and George Michael albums. Turning the tapes over in his hands, reading the track lists, maybe tracing the edges of the cases with his thumbs. Thinking about how George had said he was telling his life story, even through some of his earlier solo work. He's thinking about how successful George Michael has been. And then he thinks about how George Michael came out later in his life. In his thirties, not in his twenties, not in his teens. Sure, yes, it was definitely more negatively criticized to do so, but it means something to Steve. To be thirty-four and freshly out. And he thinks, too, about being thirty-one and things clicking into shiny clarity—he's into guys, too. He's into women, but he's into guys. That word, "bisexual" looking like the final jigsaw piece. To be thirty-one and proudly out, too.

And he's comforted in that thought, as he drifts off to sleep.

And when he wakes up in the morning, he bustles around Eddie and Robin in the kitchen. They make a shared breakfast of scrambled eggs and sausage and toast with jam. They sit at the dining table, forks against plates, shooting the shit back and forth.

Steve cuts a slice of sausage, puts it in his mouth, eats as usual. And just as the conversation is beginning to drift again, he finally speaks what's on his mind. "I'm bisexual," he's able to proudly state.

Maybe Eddie and Robin cheer, too for that. They ask him for his taste in guys. Maybe they tease him a little. Maybe Eddie realizes he fits the bill a little; maybe he waits a little bit before taking a shot, but he still does eventually.

And right before they head off for their respective, regular lives outside of the comfortable space of their apartment, Robin knocks their shoulders together. "Proud of you," she states. "Thirty-one and proudly out. How does it feel?"

They're in the kitchen, washing and drying the dishes because Eddie left for work already with a promise to bring home pizza for dinner. They're in the kitchen, the lights a little fluorescent like the Starcourt bathroom. They're in the kitchen, in each other's orbits, two friends who've seen it all and will continue to see the world together.

"It feels...I feel good. Excited."

Robin smiles at him, something soft and understanding. And as his focus goes back to the plate he's about to hand off, she snorts. "So, Eddie, huh?" And he scoffs, rolling his eyes. She just laughs to herself. Then, when she's calmed a little bit, she states, "He kind of looks like Rowlf. You and I have a thing for Muppets, Stevie. Muppets."

And after their laughter dies down and they live out the rest of the day, Steve thinks about how he can send a letter of thanks to George Michael. And maybe he cherishes those albums a little closer. And he is confident in himself for the first time in a while, all because the representation he didn't know he was seeking, is finally right in his face.

Sorry that got long. But I'm just thinking about Steve who comes out later in his life. Maybe he couldn't make those connections because he didn't have the safe atmosphere to do so; feared the worst if his parents ever realized he didn't care too much about women sometimes, if his eyes drifted to men a little too much, fearing that they'd catch his contemplation. Maybe he found his safe space through Robin and Eddie, but needed a little more of a push and he just didn't find it yet. Up until now.

[steddieas-shegoes]

never gonna give you up

for @steddiemicrofic "fake" prompt that needed to include the words: and, around, desert, down, give, gonna, let, never, run, up, you

1987 words | rated e | no cw | tags: modern au, flirting, bisexual steve harrington, handjobs, some platonic stobin, ridiculous and unserious

😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎

"This might be the first time someone's deserted me in the middle of a date," Steve said into the phone.

"You aren't counting that one time Sarah left during the movie?" Robin asked.

"She had a family emergency!" Steve exclaimed.

"Right, and I'm definitely going on a date with a dude later."

"You're saying she didn't have a family emergency?"

Steve remembered that date, remembered how she'd even had tears in her eyes when she said her mom called and she had to run home.

"You're gonna unpack that all night, aren't you?" Robin sighed on the other end. "Steve, just go home. Take a week off from trying to get into some poor woman's pants. Leave some of them for me to get into. I beg you."

"What makes you think they'd come running to you?" Steve looked over at a guy standing at the counter of the diner, clearly trying to pick up his order. From the back, he seemed tall, but that could be the black skinny jeans and boots combo.

"Let me talk to them for one minute and I'll have them convinced."

The guy turned as the woman behind the counter walked to the kitchen, his eyes settling on Steve talking on his cell phone at the table in the corner. It's not like there were many people here on a Monday night, nothing else to look at but Steve awkwardly sitting by himself with two glasses on the table.

The guy started to walk over, and Steve recognized him immediately.

"Gotta go, Robs."

"What? How are you done wallowing already?"

He hung up before she could continue, putting his phone face down on the table.

"Well, well, well. Never thought I'd see the day where Steve Harrington shows back up in Hawkins."

Eddie Munson didn't know shit about Steve, never really had. He thought he did, just like everyone else in high school, but the gossip that followed him around never had much truth to it. He really only had two girlfriends for most of high school, and only one of them was serious enough for him to sleep with.

The sleeping around came after his move to Chicago, when he was constantly surrounded by women who would give him all the attention he wanted.

"Never really thought I'd be back," he said with a genuine smile. Kill them with kindness or whatever his grandmother used to say.

It seemed to throw Eddie off at least, his mouth opening and closing around whatever rebuttal he planned.

"So why are you here? Visiting the parents?" Eddie crossed his arms, leaned his hip against the edge of the table.

"Nah, came to visit Dustin Henderson. Staying for a few more days and thought it would be nice to take someone out. I guess she didn't agree," Steve shrugged.

Eddie glanced down at the empty spot across from him, the glass on the table with half of the drink missing. He looked back at Steve's face.

He sat down across from him and smirked.

"So. Come here often, sunshine?"

Steve snorted, shaking his head as he looked up at Eddie.

"Not as often as I would if I was coming to see you," Steve replied, taking a sip of his drink.

Eddie clearly wasn't expecting him to flirt back. He recovered quickly, though.

"I suppose we could fix that, then, huh?"

Steve looked him up and down, taking in the messy bun his curly hair was pulled into, the pen mark on his cheek, tattoos up and down his arm.

"I suppose we could."

Waking up in Eddie Munson's bed was definitely not what he expected when he arrived in Hawkins two days ago, but stranger things had happened.

He opened his eyes to sunlight streaming in through the curtains and Eddie's warm body pressed against his back.

Neither of them had gotten dressed after their shower last night, too tired to do anything more than rinse off the sweat and cum from hours of making each other come undone.

Steve let himself have this. Eddie would kick him out when he woke up, kindly of course, but he'd make it clear to Steve that this was a one night thing. No matter how good it was, Steve wasn't an idiot. He knew Eddie would never actually be interested in a guy like him.

"Mmm. Stop thinkin' s' loud," Eddie's lips brushed against the back of Steve's neck in a half-kiss, sending a shiver down his spine. "'s too early."

Steve smiled to himself, let Eddie's arms tighten around him and hold him close for a bit longer.

"I should probably head back to the Henderson's. Claudia will be worried if I'm not there for lunch," Steve said quietly.

"Just text Dustin, tell him your date went well."

Steve shouldn't get his hopes up. It's not like he was gonna do long distance, and even if he would be willing, there was no way Eddie would.

"I can't lie to him," Steve felt his heart flip flop in his chest at the admission.

Eddie's head lifted and his breath hit the side of Steve's face instead of his shoulder. "Did it not go well? I thought it- well, I thought it went great, actually."

Steve turned in Eddie's arms, facing him, placing his hands on his chest. "It did go well! It did."

"Okay, then…"

"It's just this wasn't exactly a date, was it? You just felt bad for me, probably wanted to see if the rumors were true."

"What rumors?"

"You know. The ones about me sleeping around, being good with my mouth." Steve's eyes searched Eddie's, looking for any hint of recognition. When none came, he continued. "How I let anyone fuck me on the first date?"

Eddie's brows furrowed. "Is that what people say about you?"

"You don't have to act dumb, Eddie. Some of it's true."

Eddie's hands were rubbing up and down his back, making goosebumps appear on his skin. "You are good with your mouth. That one’s true. The rest though? I never believed any of that shit.”

“Really? Why not?”

Eddie’s hand traced along Steve’s only tattoo, a robin placed just under his collarbone. “Because I never gave much thought to rumors. Lord knows most of the ones about me weren’t true.”

Steve thought about all the rumors he’d heard about Eddie in high school.

Back then, he may have believed some of them, but he had firsthand experience with things getting out of hand.

“You can think what you want, but I brought you back here because I genuinely enjoyed talking to you at the diner. I wouldn’t have slept with you if I wanted to get rid of you. Trust me. I’m not really a one and done guy,” Eddie’s hand cupped his cheek, thumb rubbing along his cheekbone. “If you’re in a rush to go, I can’t stop you. But I think staying in bed with you all morning sounds pretty fuckin’ good.”

Steve’s breath hitched, his heart kicked up in his chest. “You know, I’ve actually never bottomed before last night.”

Eddie’s eyes widened. “Seriously? Never?”

Steve shook his head. “Never found anyone I could trust to be gentle.”

“Was I gentle enough? Shit, you should’ve told me. I used spit as lube, Steve! That couldn’t have been comfortable.” Eddie pulled away a few inches, mumbling to himself in a panic.

“Eddie.” Steve tried to get his attention back on him. “Eds.”

Steve shifted forward, his front pressing against Eddie’s, his half-hard cock finding friction against Eddie’s thigh.

They both groaned as Steve rocked against him again.

“Everything was perfect, Eds. Only thing that would make it better is if I get to watch you come again right now," Steve said against his lips, pushing his hips forward so their cocks brushed against each other.

"Fuck, keep doing that and you'll get your wish, sweetheart."

He was sensitive, worked up from the hot breath against his mouth, the tongue brushing against his bottom lip. Steve couldn't remember the last time he'd been this wrapped up in someone, this attentive to the sounds they made, this focused on making sure they both felt good.

The friction was enough on its own to get Steve to the edge, and if Eddie's moans were anything to go off of, he was right there with him.

Steve never felt safe enough to be loud, not until he had Eddie begging him to make noise.

"C'mon, Stevie. Wanna hear how good you feel. Sounds so good when you can't hold it back," Eddie's hand gripped his hip, tugging him closer. They were both leaking precum, dripping down each other's lengths and losing track of where one of them ended and the other began.

Steve couldn't hold it back, didn't want to anyway. Letting Eddie hear how good he felt was a need.

"You gonna come with me, sweetheart?" Eddie gasped out as he wrapped his hand around both of them, slowing his hips to focus on moving his hand, finding the perfect angle and pace to get them both over the edge.

Steve bit his lip and nodded, barely holding back a whimper as Eddie's grip tightened around them.

"Come for me, Stevie."

Eddie's voice had a direct link to Steve's cock, maybe through the hand wrapped around him. Steve came with a shout, curling forward so his forehead fell against Eddie's shoulder.

He was overstimulated, fighting the urge to buck into his hand and pull away at the same time.

Steve pulled his head back to watch as Eddie groaned, cum hitting both of their stomachs as he worked himself through his orgasm.

They both lay there in silence, Eddie's grip loose around them as they both softened. They'd need to clean up before the cum dried in Steve's chest hairs and made them sticky, but moving seemed like an impossible task.

"You live in Chicago now?" Eddie asked suddenly, making Steve jump. He rubbed his cleaner hand on his back in silent apology.

"Yeah," Steve breathed out. "With Robin Buckley. From band?"

"I know Robin. She used to come to my shows before she moved."

"Small world."

Eddie snorted. "Just Hawkins." Eddie sat up, pulling Steve with him. "You know, the guys in my band have been considering moving to Chicago. Think it's a good place for a metal band?"

Steve searched his face for any clues as to what he was really asking. Certainly he didn't expect Steve to know if a metal band would feel at home somewhere.

"I…guess?" Steve answered.

"I'll just text Robin," Eddie wiped his hand on the sheets and reached over to the bedside table to grab his phone.

"Wait. You keep in touch with Robin?" Steve felt like he was being pranked.

"Not as much as I should, but yeah. We caught up last time she visited her parents." Eddie typed on his phone for a moment, then looked up at Steve with a smirk. "Problem with that?"

"No, I'm just kinda shocked she's never really mentioned it." Steve stood up with shaking legs. "I should probably grab a shower and go."

"You normally a runner?" Eddie asked, amused.

"No? Why do you ask?"

"It's just the second time you've been rushing to leave. Thought I told you I wanted you here."

Steve knew what he wanted, and he knew it was too much, too fast, too ridiculous for Eddie to even consider it.

But maybe, if he played his cards right, maybe he could have Eddie for more than today.

"Shower with me?" Steve settled on, pouting his bottom lip out.

"And then?" Eddie pushed.

Steve didn't know what to do, but he knew what he wanted.

"And then we'll go back to the diner and actually eat something together." Eddie nodded, encouraging him to continue. "And then you give me your number."

"For?"

"Planning our next date."

[vhaos-chaotic-writing]

Heyy!! How you doing?~ I wanted to ask who do you think out of TFP's autobots would be most to least husband or boyfriend material 🫣🫣

Yippieee, 1st ask!! ヾ(≧ ▽ ≦)ゝI am the worst person you could have asked for a tier list of whom is good husband material and not so good (shaking TFP Starscream with her tiny hands). /j

WARNING: This all based on myyy own opinion, logic and what I know from the Prime series - so, all fun! Never take seriously what I say! Also, too much text. (EDIT: Added Ultra Magnus! Never forgetting that fine mech again!)

(´艸｀) ~

Transformers Prime - Most to Least husband material

MOST

Bumblebee - Baby boy, would be such a good husband. Soft and protective, good with kids, comprehensive - the list can keep going! Perfection in person. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Optimus Prime - He is good husband material, but I fear his selflessness and will to give his life for the sake of others, specially you, can be a double edged sword... but he is nonetheless a good candidate to be husband. A 9.99 in score.

Soundwave - A genius, intelligent, has sense of humor - can be quite stalkerish if you think about it, but it's loyal and definitely protective. If you don't mind the silence and the pattern of his speech, he is good husband material! Maybe the only thing that rests him points would be that he would give you a death scare if you forget he is there for a second.

Ultra Magnus - Good husband material, the thing that rests him points would be how strict he tends to be, it might get under your nerves. But this mech is good husband material! Calm, thinks before acting, knows when to stand up and fight back if necessary, respects others and will take your emotions and well being always in consideration!

Bulkhead & Breakdown - Same tier, both give me the vibes of 'I am a big guy, strong and ready to protect you' and 'the guy that will make you laugh, listen to you and can be quite naive (at some degree)'. They would be perfect to give you comfort and support, but have their flaws - impulsiveness, might not give the right answers or words in the moment. Nonetheless, good husband material, just be patient and go easy on them! (Of course give them a slap at the back of their helms when needed).

Knock Out & Smokescreen - Same tier and like BH/BD; they can be good husband material, but I fear both can come off sometimes annoying because of their personalities. KO could be annoying because of his quite egocentric personality and Smokes is a yapper and quite impulsive. Buuut they are not the worst, good husband material with its flaws.

Arcee (Yes, I am adding her here - bisexual go brrr) & Cliffjumper - A duo as always, they can be good wife/husband material, buuut with how easy things can get in their nerves (speaking more on Cee's side since... well, we only had Cliff for 1 episode-), you'll need both patience and put your limits/stance if you want the relationship to work. And reassurance on Arcee's side. She has lost many partners already, you will need to show her kindness and softness, keep up with her anger bursts while remaining in place, comfort and support. And she will pay you back the same and protect you dearly, slowly working on her things to become better.

Ratchet - The middle point; I love Ratchet dearly, but I fear with the war and how much he has lost, adding to the fact he has decided to close himself off on some emotional levels in order to not 'keep suffering and focus on his tasks' he can be a 'good husband material but with it's difficulties'. Will need patience, reassurance and perseverance on this, as he may hurt you accidentally emotionally, but will do everything to apologize, to be better - patience and empathy is the key! But this mech better do the same!

Starscream - Like Ratchet, but worse. Starscream can be a double-faced mech that is both a victim of abuse and his own problems (not able to trust others, cowardly, hurting others before he gets hurt and intentionally if it benefits him, doing anything to get his own way) and also the culprit of making other victims. He is a mix of too many things, but we know he is loyal, and I'm sure that with time, too much patience and reassurance, he could become husband material. It's a "I can fix him" and it could work! ... or not.

Wheeljack - Yeah... I like him, but I'll have my doubts. I fear he might not be that a good material husband with how much he is travelling and moving from place to place. And I also fear there is a 50% he won't be that faithful or take your feelings in the matter as something important to evaluate. I love you Jacky, but the 'husband material' might not be quite here. Definitely scared of commitment, will come back to share kisses and such, but not stay for tomorrow... who knows when he will come back.

Megatron - Yeah... it could work, maybe. Protective, self-confident, strong... quite aggressive, could snap or hurt you. If you add the dark energon, could hurt you badly or... offline you. Worst part, I think it could happen intentionally or, if it happnes by accident, will not mourn you. The 'I need someone strong as me, not weak' is playing in my head. (；′⌒`)

Dreadwing - Will be loyal, but with how he is prone to be aggressive and get physical, idolizing Megatron - I fear if the latter orders him to do something with you... might do it. (°ロ°)

Shockwave - Nuh-huh, always puts rational thoughts before feelings, and he might not be thaaat far from hurting you if he wants something for his own gain or use you as an experiment (actively or passive, might not see you 100% as an equal).

Airachnid - Haha. No. I support women rights and wrongs but cheez - doesn't totally see you as an equal and I fear she is ready to offline you if you are no longer something 'usable' for her.

LEAST

I think that's all of them! Just took the main-important ones in my point of view. As you can see, I like to write, I am yapper after all. (。・ω・。) Vhaos out!

[lostintransist]

Fallen Angel | Scorched Earth

AO3

"If you are asking me to choose, my answer is no." The words burn as they pass from the fire in your chest and over your tongue.

"What do you mean no?" John chews the end of his cigar as he and all the guys stare at you.

"I mean no." You glare at all of them, eye contact before moving on. "If you are asking me to choose one of you over the others my answer is no."

"Donne understand lass." Johnny speaks up now.

"What is there to misunderstand?" You fold your arms across your chest, it doesn't stop the feelings raging in your chest reaching the melting point of glass.

They sat in your coffee shop, an hour before the doors opened, all staring at you as if you were supposed to chose which bones to break and which to keep whole.

"Well, the answer of no is not entirely clear, so..." Kyle lets the silence linger after his comment.

Glancing at Gary he shrugs, his way of agreeing with what they have already said.

Tears prick your eyes. You find Simon, seated at the edges of your guys. He held his face impassive. Guess you hadn't moved past the emotional masks.

Unfolding your arms you rub your hands together. The tension in your body clear as you watch your hands, muscles fighting what should be an easy movement.

"I will not choose one of you over the others. If you ask me to choose my choice is to pick myself."

"Explain that." Now Simon decides to speak up.

You stare at your hands, the burns and dry patches from working here giving you a focus point.

"If I pick one of you I hurt the others. If I pick one of you I become a crack in the relationships that keeps you all coming home alive. If I choose one of you I have to cut off the relationships I have with the others. If I have to choose I have to hurt everyone. If I have to hurt everyone I might as well cut and run." A bitter laugh falls from your lips. "It's not like I have much to hold on for here. My shop is three weeks from shutting down unless we get an influx of clients on the regular."

You didn't have to see them to know they were all sharing speaking glances. Wiping your palm across your face you continue.

"It's not like you even know my real name. I could disappear, and I would if you asked me to choose."

"What do you mean about your name?" John's intense question draws your eyes to him without thinking about it.

"The name you have, the name I give out? It's my preferred name but it's not my legal name. Everything I've given any of you about me is what I choose to give. A curated version of me."

The tinge of sadness in John's face is echoed in every shift of your guys; of Johnny leaning forward onto his knees, Kyle scooting forward to stretch out further in his chair, in Gary crossing his arms, and in Simon's utter refusal to look at you.

"You wanna explain that last comment?" John is still taking the lead. It would make you smile if the idea of this whole conversation didn't make you want to peel off your skin and escape into the void.

"Not much to explain, I tend to say what I mean." Standing you try to leave the seating area to head into the kitchen.

None of them are allowed behind the counter. They know it and respect it. You need a bit of space to deal with the nuclear reactor of emotions in your chest.

Simon full names you as your back is turned. First, middle, last. Johnny spells your first name, Kyle your middle, John your last.

Your chin starts to quiver. Gary takes your hand, three quick squeezes. All the guys did that. Three quick squeezes anywhere they could hold onto you. No one would confirm what it meant but you knew.

"I love you all. If I choose one of you I lose all of you. At that point there is no reason to stay."

You move forward, letting them fall behind you as you turn the corner and into the kitchen. Heading for the walk-in fridge you shut the door tight behind you, praying that it is sound proof enough to hold back your sobs.

Fallen Angel Masterlist | Masterlist

[hollowdeath]

some personal n s f w headcanons about harry <3

CW: fem!reader, mentions of rough/aggressive sex, breeding, & public sex

switch. literally the definition of a switch. some days he's completely stressed out and can't seem to catch a break so he takes it out on you. needy, sloppy, rushed kisses leading to aggressive groping and clothes coming off, sometimes ripped off, before roughly using you for his own pleasure. other days he's completely overwhelmed with his responsibilities and just needs to be taken care of. puppy dog eyes and shy gestures leading to soft kisses, breathy moans, and dry humping. harry begging "please, please touch me, need you so bad", whining, pleading, just so so needy and soft with you. loves when you're on top. secretly kinky: being choked, being tied up, anything to give you the control.

oral fixation. i mean, i think we can all agree that harry loves, and i mean loves, eating pussy. you might have to beg him to stop due to the overstimulation, otherwise he would be there for hours if you let him. from soft, firm kisses down your stomach to eager, loving bites on your thighs to full on making out with your pussy, he quite literally lives for the experience. and dont even get him started on face sitting...the way you look down at him and use his mouth for your own pleasure could easily send him over the edge multiple times.

breeding kink!!! this boy loves nothing more than the risk of finishing inside you, it just makes it that much more enjoyable. of course the physical sensation itself feels incredible on its own, but the intimacy it creates between the two of you is what makes it so, so hot. the trust you have in each other makes you only more attracted to the other. whether it's you begging for it or harry telling you to "take it, baby, you take me so well", its almost an unspoken agreement that it's the preferred way to finish things off for both of you. he loves stepping back and watching his cum spill out of you, though most of the time it feels so good he just stays inside of you until he catches his breath.

nudes. oh, how he cherishes his collection of dirty photos of you. like i've said before, i think harry would be really into film photography, and that would include taking photos of you in his favorite poses and positions, developing them, and keeping them in a safe place to look at when he misses you. he keeps his favorite one in his wallet; nothing too vulgar, just something sexy for when he needs a smile. sometimes he stops in the middle of foreplay and politely asks for your consent to get his camera and take a picture of you because, "you just look so lovely from right here". he'll spend the next few minutes taking photos, complimenting you between them as he gets all the right angles. "so, so beautiful. just like that. god, you're amazing."

voyeurism. not a lot of people would think harry is into public displays of affection because he's a bit shy and reserved around other people, but that only makes it more tempting for him. he's always trying to subtly touch you whenever he can get away with it. alone in an aisle of a store? he's already grabbing a handful of your ass. waiting for dinner in a crowded restaurant? his hand's halfway up your skirt. nobody's around in the forbidden forest? he's sure the creatures in there would love to see you put on a show for him. he just can't help himself sometimes, something about letting everyone know that you're his girl and that he isn't afraid of showing them really gets him going.

dirty talk. harry seems like the type of guy to talk you through it, if you know what i mean. he really takes pride in his ability to make you cum just from his words. he knows exactly what turns you on, whether its praise or degradation, and uses it to his advantage often. from "you look so pretty taking me so well, sweetheart" to "just take it like a good little slut" real quick. LOVES nicknames and titles in bed; absolutely loses his mind if you reply "yes, sir" to anything he says. again, he's a switch, so he loves when you take control and talk dirty with him too. he has a particularly soft spot for being praised because all he wants is to be a good boy for you.

[siriaeve]

Riffing on a Guardian Blind Date column; for @sheafrotherdon

If Joe's first instinct hadn't been to laugh, the whole evening might have gone very differently. But he laughed, belly-deep and genuine, and after a startled moment, Nicky laughed too, and whatever awkwardness or prickliness might have been on the verge of springing up between them ebbed away. 

"What are the chances?" Joe said, scooting along the blue velvet banquette to let Nicky join him in the booth. "It's been what, a decade?"

"Nine years," Nicky said, smiling up a quick thank you to the waiter who set a water jug on their table before turning his full attention back to Joe. His eyes were a far more startling, sea-glass colour than they had been in Joe's memory. "It was the first summer I lived in London."

Two years after Joe had moved here himself, then—a newly-minted graduate who'd been determined to see the world beyond Rotterdam but then had liked his first stop so much he'd stayed. 

"Nine years? Wow." Joe found himself fiddling nervously with the edges of his menu and made himself put it down. It wasn't as if he didn't already know what he planned to order—he'd been wryly amused at the fact that out of all the places in the city the newspaper could have sent them for this blind date column, the choice had landed on a Middle Eastern restaurant that Joe came to semi-regularly. He busied himself instead with pouring out water for both of them. "Time flies, I guess."

"Yes, you did not have this…" Nicky gestured towards Joe's face. "... this beautiful beard, when last I knew you."

Joe bit back another laugh because this was flirting, this was definite flirting, there was already a warmth kindling between them, and that wasn't at all what he'd expected in the first moments after the waiter had led Nicky over to the table. They'd gone on two dates back in the day—the second somehow even more awkward than the first—having been gently bullied into it by a coworker. Two dates had been more than enough then. Joe had no recollection of any spark between their younger selves, no instinctive pull towards the new guy on the fourth floor with the bad haircut and the strong Italian accent. 

With a few years of hindsight, Joe had been able to recognise that maybe trying to date a guy who had moved to the U.K. less than a month ago and who had only come out publicly the week before had always been doomed to failure. With a couple of more years' experience under his belt after that, Joe had also understood that his mid-twentysomething self had been self-righteous in a way that made him cringe now to recall. 

"Looking this good takes time," Joe said, with a mock toss of his curls and a flutter of his lashes. Then he grimaced and said, more seriously, "I guess I should apologise for the last time and the, uh, respectability politics stuff." Joe's younger self had had strong views on the only right way to be a gay man and hadn't been shy about telling Nicky what he thought he was doing wrong. 

"Only if you'll let me apologise for my behaviour as well," Nicky said. Joe didn't understand any Italian beyond gelato and ciao, bella, so he had no clue what Nicky had said to him back then, but tone and volume had conveyed enough. They'd come very close to being kicked out of the coffee shop. "I shouldn't have been so…" His broad shoulders rose and fell in a helpless shrug. "I wasn't so long out of the seminary, then. I was very—I was inflexible."

The waiter picked that exact moment to come and ask for their orders, which was deeply frustrating but Joe made a conscious effort to be on his best behaviour. He had no desire to be kicked out of here unnecessarily, not when Nicky was unexpectedly sitting next to him, looking at him with those beautiful, changeable eyes and with that tiny hint of a smile playing around his lips. 

Their drinks came out promptly, the food not long after, and they ate and drank and talked and talked and talked. Joe barely registered the fact that the restaurant was slowly emptying out around them, because how had he not known before that Nicky was fascinating? Conversation flowed between them with an ease and a warmth that would have been remarkable on any first date—a TV show they'd both been watching, their respective experiences visiting Istanbul, their thoughts on urban chicken keeping, where each of them worked now and what they'd been up to the past few years, the time Joe and a cousin visiting from the Netherlands had accidentally ended up at a BAFTA afterparty and Joe's picture had appeared in a tabloid newspaper with the caption 'Mystery Man Woos Soap Star?'

By the time they had finished their bowls of baklava ice cream and pot of mint tea, they were the only diners left and the staff were clearly longing for them to leave.  Joe left them a hefty tip in apology, though he didn't feel too repentant as he followed Nicky out into the London night. 

The weather had turned, and something heavier than mist and lighter than drizzle was falling around them, catching the light from the streetlamps and gilding the tips of Nicky's hair. He'd brought his bike with him, which he unlocked before offering apologetically to walk Joe as far as the tube station with it. 

"It's just that I was not very optimistic when I let Nile talk me into this," Nicky said. "Although I try to bike when I can, anyway."

"I see," Joe said, sticking his hands into his coat pockets and aiming as best as he could for casual. "And  your optimism levels now are?"

Nicky looked at him sideways through his lashes and there was that tiny smile again. "Rewarded, I think."

Under the light of the last streetlamp before the station, Joe and Nicky paused to swap phone numbers and for one tentative, hopeful little kiss. It was one of the most chaste kisses Joe had had in years, but when it was over he felt his breath hitch and he opened his eyes and blurted out, "Are you free for dinner tomorrow night?"

Nicky laughed, but he was—tomorrow night, and so many others after that. 

[swee7dream]

hi vixy! i miss you sm 😞🫶 being here is just not the same when i'm not interacting w/ you (ノ_＜。) and im here in your inbox for a request!

remember when i always gush about your use of endearments? atm, im craving for a hc fic of 7dreamies using their favorite endearment/petname/nickname for reader >< i absolutely think that they have their own ways and the oddest yet the most endearing nicknames for their special ppl and i think about it everytime i read your fics bcuz there is that kind of spice of it in your works (*^-^) and i love it ^^

i hope you're doing well, love! have a great day (人´ｴ`*)♪

xoxo, wynnie.

7dream's nicknames for their partners nct dream x f!reader

genres fluff, established relationship warnings feminine pet names used, quasi-suggestive but not really ( renjun ) author's note omg not the love letter in my inbox !!! love u 5ever wynnie . sorry the bulletpoints are kinda short, i tried to make up for it in the mini-fics ! ty for the request + i hope u like it !

mark lee (ᓀ‸ᓂ)

a very simple, casual guy

babe, dude (romantically), my girl

he can’t even tease you when you tell him it gives you butterflies because he’s the exact same way, giggling into his hand and turning away to hide his silly grin from you

call him dude though? he’ll be sulky until the next day (as if, he melts into a puddle with just one kiss)

“dude,” mark calls out from the hallway, still unsure where everything is still, being your first sleepover. “have you seen my charger? i don’t know where i left it.” “i dunno, man. you should ask your girlfriend.” “wow…” he extends the word in between laughter. he shuffles in his slides back into the bedroom, doubling over your body laying comfortably under sheets. “you are my girlfriend.” “nuh-uh. i’m your dude. your bro. your homeslice.” you over-emphasize the last word, flicking your tongue like a snake. “more like my homewife.” he giggles, reaching up to peck your lips. “that was terrible.” “come on! that’s worth at least half a point.” “negative eight thousand points.”

huang renjun ૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა

my love, darling, sweetheart

in my heart of hearts i view huang renjun as the definition of a romantic

maybe he won’t have diamond necklaces for you every date night, but he always makes sure to show his love in the small, important things

he has your favorite snack for when you get home, changes the bedsheets when you forget to, and refills the soap bottles in the bathroom before you even notice you’re running low

“you took care of the dishes.” renjun jumps in his seat, not even hearing when you came in. “i did.” he turns from his canvas to look at you, smiling as you’re already wrapping your arms around his waist. “how was your day, my love?” “exhausting. you are the sexiest man alive, you know that?” you mumble into his hair. “for washing dishes?” “so hot.” you nod, squeezing him tighter. “gee, thanks,” he chuckles, reaching a hand up to scratch your head. “how about a bath? wash away all that exhaustion.” “join me?” you pout. “of course, darling.”

lee jeno ૮ .◜◡◝ა

doll, baby, babydoll

you are a living, breathing doll to him and everyone needs to know!!!!!

he forgets he’s literally mr. ferragamo sometimes and just stares at you with super heart eyes like:

wow (ෆ人ෆ) that’s my baby

“what about this one?” you spin in to give jeno a 360. “i really liked it in the store but i’m not so sure about it now.” “you’re the prettiest girl ever, doll.” jeno sits with his legs spread, his hands in the middle holding the edge of the chair he sits on. “pretty, pretty, pretty.” “thank you, jen.” you look at him. “but i’m asking about the clothes. i don’t know if this shade suits me! or maybe it’s the texture of the clothes? actually, it might be the material.” “everything suits you. if it doesn’t, it’s because the designer was stupid. you’re the pinnacle of fashion, babydoll.” “you’re silly.” you giggle, walking toward him to dig your fingers into the back of his hair. “you don’t think i should return it?” “absolutely not. you look great in red, baby.” “this is white, jen.” “whatever. gimme a kiss.”

lee donghyuck ʕ˙Ⱉ˙‧:ʔ

baby, sunshine, sweetheart (derogatory)

outsiders looking in eavesdropping on your conversations don’t know if you’re about to bite each other heads off or make out against the wall

what else could you expect from haechan ‘dating is so boring, let's be best friend and act like in a relationship’ lee

you feel a dark energy looming over your shoulder, as you often have since saying yes to your first date with hyuck. you continue to feel it as your card taps on the reader, beeping happily at the successful payment, unaware of the incoming chaos. “oh heck yeah! thanks for the food, sis!” haechan’s hand sneaks around to hold the back of your head, pulling you into a deep kiss. he only squeals like an anime girl as your hands slide up to push him away and turn to the cashier, apologizing profusely and failing to convince them that you’re not, in fact, related. “thanks for treating me, sweetheart.” “hey siri, search shooting ranges near me.” “wait, baby no-”

na jaemin ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭

lovey, princess, my muse

fun fact: he loves being called prince. having matchy matchy names makes his heart full and gives his life purpose (his words)

i put those three down but honestly, it really depends on the day. he’s constantly making new ones every single hour

he sees you in the flowers growing in the cracks in the sidewalk (‘petal’), in the songs of the birds outside (‘birdy’), in that one painting he saw back in a museum in italy (‘angel’)

“oh wait, i like these!” you swipe through some candid photos jaemin took of you of a trip you two took a while back on his phone. “how come you didn’t send me these?” “if i sent you every picture i took of you you would think i’m a crazed stalker.” “i know you are and i still love you.” you smile at him before turning back to the phone screen. “urgh. you’re always changing my name in your contacts. what is it now?” “munchy.” “munchy?” you stare at him with your eyes furrowed, having turned in slow motion as if you heard him wrong. “that was the name of one of the tortoises we saw at the zoo. he was so cute. it reminded me of you when you eat pasta. so you’re munchy.” “…okay, jaem. thanks, i think.”

zhong chenle (ᯟ︿ᯏ)

babe, dollface, beautiful

surprisingly, not a big petname user. not at first at least

but one time he clocked you getting pouty and in your head and learned that you liked being called sweet things other than your name.

“what’s wrong with your name? i like your name, dollface.” you can see something switch inside of his mind. “mmm, okay. i’ll try.”

“i miss you…” even through the phone, chenle can’t help but smile at your voice. “please don’t die.” “i’m at the grocery store for ice cream you asked for, dollface. i’m not gonna die.” “what if you get hit by a car?” you sniffle, hormones overwhelming you. “i’ll survive.” “how do you know?” “i just do. you should know by now i’m superman, babe.” “fly home, le. wanna cuddle.” “don’t threaten me with a good time.” he chuckles, phone pressed between his ear and his shoulder as he places your ice cream—and a couple other things he thought you might appreciate—on the counter to be rung up. “stay put, beautiful. i’m coming.”

park jisung (∩˃o˂∩)

babe, dude, pretty (used EXCLUSIVELY behind closed doors)

bro gets embarrassed just breathing air, you think he’s gonna have the guts to be cheesy with you in public?

even calling you babe in public has him with his voice lowered.

it’s really counteractive considering being so shy about things brings only more attention to him from his friends

“could you pass me my phone?” jisung’s request flies over your head as the group conversation is alive and well around you. “babe,” he mutters, finally getting your attention. “can you pass me my phone?” in good 7dream fashion, all the boys ‘ooh’ at him, haechan and mark fangirling obnoxiously. “baby darling sugarplum angelface!” donghyuck mocks, laughing at jisung holding his head in his hands, being consoled by your rubbing his back. “could you pass me my phone, my darling sweetheart pookiebear cupcake?”

author's note i fear i'm running out of themes for fic headers !!!!! why was i not blessed with the moodboard bone all my other lovely mutuals have D:

[charlieg1rl]

(✮⋆˙‬) ─── high tension

lines blur and tension finally snaps, pulling you and jisung into something reckless, heated, and long overdue. in the thick of smoke and low murmurs, nothing feels uncertain anymore—only inevitable.

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚. charlies note: OKAY this is a long time coming, maybe a months time ? but its finally here !! 4.3k words

warnings : VERY suggestive

back to library | req? yes / no

you never expected to be this familiar with your dealer.

at first, it was just a business arrangement—a text when you needed something, a quick exchange, and then you’d both go on with your lives. han jisung was well-known on campus for two things: having the best weed and being absolutely insufferable. his reputation preceded him. everyone said he was funny, maybe a little too chatty, but reliable. which was all that mattered.

your first deal was simple. a friend had given you his number with nothing but, “jisung’s got the best. just text him.” so, you did.

you: hey. chris gave me your number. jisung: either you’re looking for an existential crisis or some quality bud. which one is it? you: second one. jisung: nice. meet me outside the library in 10.

that was the start of it. nothing special. just a clean transaction. except jisung had a way of making even the most basic interaction feel like an event. “first-time customer discount,” he had said, grinning as he passed you a carefully packed bag. “because i’m generous.” you rolled your eyes but took the deal. and that should’ve been it.

except it wasn’t.

now, somehow, he texts you first.

jisung: yo. got some new stuff. fresh, just for you. discount included, 'cause i'm generous like that. you: are you seriously running a customer loyalty program? jisung: obviously. you’re a vip now.

what started as casual transactions turned into late-night conversations on his beat-up couch, the smell of weed and ramen mixing in the air as he ranted about music and you ranted about life. at first, he was just the guy you went to when you needed to take the edge off. but now? now, he’s showing up at your apartment with food. now, he’s making sure you get home safe from parties. now, he’s your favorite part of the week.

and that’s when you realize: you might be getting addicted. and not to the weed.

it hits you in the middle of a tuesday night when jisung shows up at your door, a plastic bag in one hand and an unlit joint between his lips.

“you look like you need this,” he says by way of greeting, wiggling the bag.

you lean against the doorframe, arms crossed. “what gave it away?”

“the fact that you texted me three times in the past hour.”

you scoff. “i was just asking questions.”

he steps inside without invitation, already making himself at home as he kicks off his sneakers. “questions like ‘are you awake?’ ‘where are you?’ ‘why do you take so long to reply?’”

“you do take forever to reply.”

jisung plops onto your couch, making himself comfortable. “i was rolling.”

you snort, locking the door behind him. “rolling what?”

“guess.”

you shake your head and drop onto the couch next to him. he pulls out a container of takeout, handing it to you like it’s second nature.

“you brought food?”

“yeah. thought you might need something to soak up the smoke,” he says, finally lighting the joint. he takes a slow drag, then holds it out to you. “want?”

you take it, but don’t smoke just yet. instead, you watch him exhale, the soft glow of the cherry illuminating his face in the dim light of your living room. it’s strangely intimate. more than it should be.

“jisung.”

he turns his head to you, lazily raising a brow. “yeah?”

you hesitate, then take a hit. the smoke burns in your lungs before you release it. “never mind.”

he watches you for a second longer, then smirks. “you sure?”

no. not at all.

the air between you shifts after that night.

jisung still shows up unannounced, still texts you about new strains like he’s running a startup, still steals your leftovers when you’re too high to fight him for them. but now, there’s something else. a tension neither of you fully acknowledge but both of you feel.

it’s in the way he lingers when he hands you a joint, fingers brushing yours for a second too long. in the way his gaze drops to your lips when you inhale, watching the way they part, the way your chest rises and falls. it’s in the way he sits just a little closer, his knee knocking into yours like it’s an accident.

one night, you’re both sprawled on his couch, passing a blunt back and forth as some old-school hip-hop plays in the background. you’re not even sure whose playlist is on anymore.

jisung stretches, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of toned stomach. he catches you looking and grins. “like what you see?”

you scoff, taking the blunt from his fingers. “in your dreams.”

his grin widens. “you are in my dreams.”

your heart stumbles. he says it so casually, like it’s not a big deal. like he’s not just admitted something that makes your stomach twist into knots.

you cover it up with a laugh, exhaling smoke in his direction. “sounds like a personal problem.”

jisung doesn’t respond immediately. instead, he watches you, head tilted like he’s deciding something.

then, suddenly, he leans in.

your breath catches. he’s close—closer than he’s ever been. his eyes flicker to your lips, and for a second, you think he’s actually going to do it.

then, at the last moment, he pulls back with a smirk. “you blinked first.”

you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “you’re an idiot.”

“and yet,” he says, plucking the blunt from your fingers, “you keep me around.”

you don’t have an answer for that. or maybe, you do, but you’re not ready to say it out loud.

without warning, he reaches into his hoodie pocket and pulls out a small packet.

“here,” he says, tossing it into your lap.

you pick it up, eyebrows furrowing as you inspect the package. mango-infused rolling papers.

your lips part in surprise. “what—”

“figured you’d like them,” he interrupts, lighting another joint of his own. “said you liked the smell of mangos once.”

you don’t remember saying that. but he does.

something warm blooms in your chest. you trace the edge of the package with your thumb, an unfamiliar feeling creeping in beneath the usual haze of smoke.

jisung exhales, watching you closely. “you gonna roll one, or just stare at it?”

you shake your head, but you can’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. “shut up, han.”

he grins. “make me.”

and just like that, the tension coils tighter.

the next few times jisung comes over, the tension keeps building, but it’s always there in the back of your mind: am i imagining this?

at first, it’s subtle. a lingering touch as he passes you a joint. his gaze a little too long when you laugh at something he said. but you’re probably just reading too much into it. after all, he’s han jisung. the guy who makes a joke out of everything, who treats every moment like it’s a bit for his own personal comedy show.

so, when he texts you one evening, “yo, got something new for you tonight. think you’ll like it,” your heart doesn’t skip a beat. it doesn’t, really. except maybe it does.

he shows up late, as usual, with his usual lazy grin and a bag that smells like something distinctly new. but instead of the quick exchange you’ve grown used to, he lingers a little longer at your door this time, his eyes flickering down to your lips.

you clear your throat, feeling heat creep up your neck. “you’re staring.”

“i’m not staring,” he says, but his voice is low, an edge to it you haven’t quite heard before. “just thinking.”

“about what?”

he shrugs but there’s something unspoken between you, something that hangs thick in the air. something you can’t quite place.

“do you ever wonder,” he starts, his fingers brushing yours as he hands you the joint, “if we’re more than what we pretend to be?”

you frown, heart stuttering in your chest. “what do you mean?”

jisung just gives you that smirk. “you tell me.”

you swallow hard, trying to ignore the feeling curling in your stomach. you’re not sure if he’s joking or being serious, and honestly, you don’t want to know. because the thought that he might actually mean something makes you feel something that’s far too complicated to unpack right now.

instead, you change the subject. “you’re an idiot,” you say, taking the joint from him.

he chuckles, but this time it doesn’t feel like the easy, playful laughter you’re used to. there’s something else there. something that makes you doubt yourself even more.

the next night, you're sitting on your couch, the glow of the tv flickering softly, when jisung knocks on the door again. your stomach tightens before you can stop it, the familiar feeling of his presence throwing you off balance.

he steps inside, holding a bottle of wine and that same lazy grin. “you ever smoked with wine?” he asks, like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

you raise an eyebrow. “that’s a thing?”

“anything’s a thing if you’re willing to try it,” he shrugs, and his eyes are on you—just a little too long.

and just like that, you’re caught in another moment, wondering if you’ve imagined it all.

you keep your focus on the wine, on the rolling papers, on anything other than the way your heart seems to beat just a little too fast every time he looks at you.

but it’s definitely just in your head. right?

when you’re both sitting on the floor, half a bottle of wine gone, rolling yet another joint, something shifts. your fingers brush as you take the paper from him, and this time, neither of you pull away. it’s not an accident.

jisung’s gaze flickers down to your lips again, and this time, he doesn’t look away. “i think i like this,” he says quietly.

you look up at him, confusion swirling in your chest. “the wine or the company?”

he pauses, his eyes locking onto yours. “both.”

the words linger in the air between you two, heavy and loaded with something you can’t quite name. but you know it’s there, just beneath the surface, waiting.

you laugh, more out of nervousness than anything else. “you’re ridiculous.”

but inside, your heart’s pounding, and the only thing you can think of is the question you’ve been too afraid to ask: is he flirting with me? or am i just imagining it?

the wine’s long gone, and so is the joint you’ve been passing between you two, the air thick with smoke and something else you can’t place. jisung’s on his third one, and you’re starting to feel the warmth spreading through your limbs. but in this moment, something’s different.

for the first time in a while, the haze doesn’t make you forget everything—it sharpens things. your thoughts, your awareness. your feelings.

you’re both sitting a little closer than usual, and you can’t help but notice the way his eyes flicker over your face, the way his lips quirk into that teasing grin that’s beginning to feel a little less playful, a little more… personal.

he catches you looking, and for a moment, the space between you feels too small.

you pull the joint back to your lips, your fingers brushing against his again as you do. this time, it’s impossible to pretend it’s an accident.

jisung leans back into the couch, his fingers tapping lightly against his knee. “you ever realize how much clearer everything feels when you’re high?” he asks, looking over at you.

you blink at him, feeling strangely attuned to his presence in the dim light. “clearer?” you repeat, your words coming out a little slower than you intend.

he shrugs, staring up at the ceiling. “yeah. it’s like all the noise in my head clears out, and i can actually think about stuff. like, really think about stuff.” his gaze flickers to you, just briefly. “i guess when you’re high, the sober thoughts don’t seem so hidden anymore.”

you blink again, his words cutting through your own haze. high words and actions are sober thoughts, you realize, the thought hitting you with a strange clarity you hadn’t anticipated.

it’s almost like the high is making the things you both never say, the things you both dance around, impossible to ignore anymore. maybe that’s why the air feels charged, maybe that’s why every time your eyes meet, there’s that pull, like something is about to snap.

“you ever think about stuff, jisung?” you ask, your voice quieter than you intended. you feel almost nervous now, the blunt between your fingers nothing but a prop for the words you can’t seem to stop from spilling out. “i mean… really think about it.”

he turns his head slowly, catching your gaze with a serious look, his voice dropping low. “yeah,” he says softly. “i think about you.”

the words are simple, but they hit harder than they should. you freeze, your heart pounding in your chest. the room feels too warm now, your mind scrambling to process what he’s said. it’s one thing to joke around, but this—this feels different.

you laugh, but it comes out breathless, more to cover the sudden weight of his words than anything else. “you’re such a jerk.”

he smiles, but there’s no teasing in it now. “you think i’m joking?”

the air between you is thick with tension, thick with something that’s become impossible to ignore. the weight of your unspoken thoughts hangs in the air like smoke, swirling and curling around you, suffocating you.

“i don’t know,” you reply honestly, feeling the truth of your own words more than you want to. “i think i might be imagining it.”

jisung doesn’t say anything at first. he just watches you, and for a second, you wonder if maybe he’s reconsidering saying what he just did. but then he leans in slightly, his eyes still locked onto yours, his voice barely a whisper. “i don’t think you are.”

your heart skips a beat, and you look away, suddenly finding the floor incredibly interesting. you wish you could just laugh it off, like you always do with him. but this time, it’s different.

high words and actions are sober thoughts, and right now, you’re both too sober to ignore what’s brewing between you two.

the silence that falls between you both is thick, heavier than any haze that’s filled the room. it’s like the air’s been sucked out, and all that’s left is this palpable tension, the kind that lingers in the space between two people who almost say what they’re really thinking, but don’t quite dare.

jisung shifts on the couch, his body so close to yours now you can feel the warmth radiating off him. it makes the room feel even smaller, more intimate than you’re ready for. you fight the urge to look at him, your eyes glued to the floor, trying to distract yourself with anything that isn’t the way he’s breathing just a little deeper than usual.

“so,” you say, your voice a little higher than it should be, a weak attempt at breaking the silence, “you were saying something about sober thoughts?”

his lips curl into that familiar, cocky grin, the one that usually makes your heart race. but tonight, it’s different. tonight, it feels like he’s just about ready to say something that’ll change everything.

“yeah,” he mutters, eyes still on you, tracing the curve of your cheek with his gaze. “i was thinking… maybe we’re both just too good at pretending we don’t know what’s going on here.”

you’re not sure if it’s the wine, the weed, or maybe just the way his words sink deep into your chest, but you finally meet his gaze. the air crackles between you as his eyes flicker to your lips, then back up to your eyes, an almost imperceptible shift in his posture. your heart skips, and you can’t decide if it’s the anxiety or the adrenaline that’s making your palms sweat.

“pretending?” you repeat, the word hanging in the air like smoke. you know exactly what he’s talking about. the tension—it’s been there for weeks now, building and building with every touch, every glance. but hearing him say it out loud somehow makes it all too real.

“yeah,” jisung says quietly, his voice almost like a confession, “pretending like we don’t know we’re both walking around this whole time pretending we don’t want to… do something about it.”

your pulse quickens, and you can feel the heat rising to your face. you want to respond, but your mind’s a tangled mess of thoughts that don’t seem to make sense. you’re high, but you’ve never felt so aware of everything happening around you—of every little shift in his expression, every tiny change in the way he’s looking at you.

and then, without thinking, without even realizing you’re doing it, you close the space between you. one hand moves to his chest—tentative, unsure—and the other touches his shoulder. your breath hitches in your throat as his gaze drops to your lips again, and just like that, the world seems to slow down.

you’re about to kiss him.

no, you tell yourself, but your body doesn’t listen. you can’t stop it. you don’t want to stop it.

jisung’s breath comes a little faster now, his eyes searching yours, like he’s looking for some kind of permission, some kind of answer to the question neither of you has asked out loud. he leans in just a fraction more, and then he stops, waiting for you to make the move.

you can’t breathe. the tension is unbearable, and you know this could change everything. this could be the moment where everything shifts from playful teasing to something much deeper.

but instead of kissing him, you pull back, just enough to catch your breath. “are we really doing this right now?” your voice cracks, betraying the mix of nerves and excitement swirling inside you.

jisung’s lips twitch in the beginning of a smile, and he leans back against the couch, crossing his arms over his chest. “no. we’re just talking about it.”

you blink in confusion. “talking about it?”

“yeah,” he says, his grin widening. “you’re not ready for that, huh?”

your chest tightens, heart racing. you stare at him, trying to figure out if he’s teasing or serious. but the way he’s looking at you now—it’s not the usual cocky, playful look. it’s something deeper. something that makes you feel like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to fall but unsure if you should.

“why are you doing this, jisung?” you ask, the question escaping before you can stop it. you need to understand—because you don’t know what’s real anymore, and what’s just the high talking.

he doesn’t answer immediately. instead, he leans forward again, his voice low. “maybe i’m doing this because i can’t stop thinking about you.”

the words hit harder than you expect, a weight settling deep in your chest.

the room is silent again. the weight of the unspoken words hangs in the air, heavy and pregnant with possibility.

and suddenly, it feels like the only thing you can do is lean in again.

this time, you don’t stop.

you kiss him.

it’s tentative at first, a slow, almost unsure press of lips. but then, just like the way the tension between you two has been building for weeks, the kiss deepens. it’s more than just an answer—it’s the release of everything you’ve both been holding back. his hand moves to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, as if trying to close the gap that’s been lingering between you both for far too long.

the warmth of his lips sends a jolt through your body, your heart pounding in your chest. you taste the remnants of the wine on his breath, the faint sweetness mingling with the earthy flavor of the weed. the combination is dizzying, a mix of flavors and sensations that blur everything around you.

and it’s all so natural. it feels right.

you pull away for a second, breathless, to catch your bearings. you’re not sure how to process this, how to make sense of the rush of emotions flooding your chest. but jisung doesn’t give you time to think.

his lips are on yours again, more urgent this time, his hand moving to your waist, pulling you even closer. you let him, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. the way he holds you, the way he kisses you—it’s like he’s been waiting for this just as much as you have.

and when he pulls away again, there’s a fire in his eyes, one you haven’t seen before, not like this. his breathing is shallow, and his fingers are grazing the side of your face like he’s still processing the fact that this is real.

“don’t make me regret this,” he murmurs, voice low and thick with desire. there’s a vulnerability in his tone that catches you off guard, a rawness you hadn’t expected from him.

you look up at him, heart in your throat. “i don’t want to regret this either.”

and for a second, it’s like the world stops moving. the weight of everything—of the flirting, the late-night conversations, the stolen moments—crashes down on you. this is the moment where everything changes. where you stop pretending. where you stop running from it.

jisung leans in one more time, and this time, there’s no hesitation. no second thoughts. just the feeling of his lips pressing against yours again, urgent and hungry. it’s a kiss that tells you everything you need to know. that tells you he’s not just playing around anymore.

he’s in this.

and maybe, just maybe, you are too.

the kiss lasts longer this time, slow and deep, the kind that makes everything else fade into the background. the buzzing from the weed, the lingering taste of the wine, the tension that’s been building for weeks—all of it disappears in the space between you two, until there’s nothing left but him and you, tangled together in the moment.

when you finally pull away, both of you gasping for air, you don’t know what comes next. but you know one thing for sure.

this is only the beginning.

the moment his lips meet yours again, it’s not slow anymore. it’s fast, hungry, desperate, as if you’ve both been waiting for this moment for too long and now that it’s here, neither of you can hold back.

his hands are on you—everywhere. one hand moves to the back of your neck, pulling you in closer, while the other slips around your waist, pressing your body into his. the heat between you intensifies with each passing second, the softest moan escaping you when his lips find that sweet spot on your neck.

jisung doesn’t let you catch your breath. his lips are insistent against yours, each kiss deeper than the last, until you’re both breathless, the room spinning around you. his tongue brushes against your lips, asking for permission, and you give it, parting your lips for him. the kiss turns hotter, the world shrinking until there’s only him and the feel of his hands roaming your body.

your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, trying to deepen the kiss as much as you can. it’s messy and frantic, but neither of you seem to care. his lips move with purpose, taking the kiss from soft and slow to urgent and fierce. you feel the heat rise in your chest, your body pressed so tightly against his that you can feel every inch of him, every muscle tensing as he pulls you impossibly closer.

jisung groans into your mouth, fingers tightening in your hair as he pulls you onto his lap without hesitation. your knees settle on either side of his hips, the warmth of his body seeping into yours. the joint—forgotten—smolders in the ashtray beside you, the scent of weed and roses lingering in the thick air between you.

his hands roam, slow and teasing, fingertips grazing the bare skin beneath your hoodie. you shiver, a breathy sigh slipping past your lips when he presses his palms flat against your back, pulling you closer. his lips move against yours, unhurried but deliberate, as if savoring every second.

“you’re high,” you murmur against his mouth, though you don’t pull away.

jisung exhales a laugh, his breath warm against your lips. “and?”

“high words and actions are sober thoughts,” you remind him, voice barely above a whisper.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide, dark and heavy with something you can’t name. his thumb brushes over your cheek, then lower, tracing the curve of your lips.

“exactly.”

your breath catches.

the weight of his words settles between you, thick and undeniable. he’s not hiding behind the haze of smoke. not playing it off like a joke. he means it.

and you’re fucked.

because you believe him.

because you want this—sober, high, or anything in between.

his hands slide down your back, settling at your waist as he leans in again, this time slower, deeper, letting the moment stretch, letting the tension snap and coil until all that’s left is you, him, and the quiet hum of something inevitable.

your fingers tangle in his hoodie, gripping tight as you meet him halfway, lips parting, bodies pressing closer, heat pooling between you like a slow burn waiting to ignite.

and this time, neither of you stop.

© charlieg1rl ⋅

perm 🏷️ : @devilsdiabrete @jeonginsbaee @omgsecretsecret @amarecerasus @estella-novella @phannyone

if you wanna be added or removed to/from the permanent taglist, please dm or send in an ask!

[mischiefmaker615]

Literature Lurking

Summary: Loki knows about your writing hobby, but never really looked into what you wrote ABOUT. One day he snuck onto your computer and discovered your smut secret. However, you've never done all these kinks with him, so he gets the idea that you must have been cheating on him! 

Rating: PG14

Note: I might as well have called our ass out Lol

Loki never judged you for what you were into. Even when you told him you were a fan fic writer, he assured you that if anything made you happy, he was happy. You didn’t push the subject after that because you knew you’d die if he even read any of your content. Just the mere knowledge of him knowing you did it at all was enough to feel like you told him everything and left it at that.

Whenever he heard you typing until there might be smoke coming from the keyboard, he knew not to bother you. Youd come to him eventually, and he did make a note in his head that whenever you seemed to have finished your little writing moods- or stopped in the middle of it sometimes, you’d both have sex. It was by far never unwanted, but he often did think of if whatever reason, writing seemed to make you horny.

Curiosity seemed to prod the cat one day enough to finally get up and investigate.

You had a work meeting, so your laptop was left behind and granted Loki the perfect opportunity to take a peek. He wasn’t to educated when it came to navigating the internet, but he did know enough to go to your ‘history’ and click on the most popped up word on the list.

Tumblr.

He wasn’t sure what you wrote about, just that you.. wrote. Half the time he assumed it was perhaps making up some grand make believe plots of dragons or singing people you often enjoyed watching on the television. That’s what fan fiction was right? You had explained it was something where people wrote within the realm of the fandom they enjoyed, but sort of made the existing characters your puppet. Loki was confused enough to just shake it off and just tell you ‘You being happy is all I care about’ but now he wished he asked more questions.

Taking a bit of time to try to figure things out, he saw ‘Account’ and clicked on it. He almost felt guilty sneaking about on this when you weren’t home, but he figured you were already open about this, there should be no shame in him actually reading what you spent sometimes hours working on.

That’s when his eyes grew wide when he saw his name. a lot. Everywhere. On a page that followed with a lewd word and topics, his cheeks instantly grew red. After having a small debate in his head on if he really wanted to know, he clicked on a link that said ‘Masterlist’.

‘’Norns to grace..’’ he breathed, seeing the various titles that ran down for a mile on an endless page. ‘’did she write all of this?” he thought out loud, finding the devoted time to have built all this quite impressive.. it’s the content that had him hesitating.

Until he finally began clicking links. All of them..

Biting. Slapping. Begging. Edging. Fingering. Oral. Daddy. Brats. Doms. Public. Sucking. Threesomes. Masturbation. Cucking. CNC. Ra-

Loki quickly pushed the roller chair back and he slide halfway across the room backwards, his eyes wide while all this information swam in his head. He read them all. He. Read. Them. All.. his heart raced while his hands white knuckled the arms of the chair.

‘Where was she getting her inspiration from.. she hardly talks of her dating life before me.. she and I most certainly haven’t tried even half of these.. is this what she’s into- no.. we would have talked of this.. we would have tried most of this..’

His eyes widened as he stared at the screen across the room. His mind went to if you were cheating on him.. he most certainly haven’t picked up on another man’s scent on you.. and your time is always spent on him if you weren’t at work- work! A coworker? A backroom? You work with men- not just amongst the Avengers.. who were these guys? What were you doing? Loki’s mind was going practically a thousand miles a minute, he felt like he was going insane before he found himself slamming the lap top shut.

This just won’t do..

You exhaled a sigh of relief when you finally shut the door behind you and let your purse fall from your shoulder and land on the ground. Your height dropped about two inches when you slipped off your heels and let the jacket fall next while you continued to walk further into the living room. There was nothing more relaxing than to finally get home after work- almost nothing.

You immediately sought out your boyfriend, looking around to find him nowhere in sight while you furrowed your brows. ‘’Loki?” you called, walking into the bedroom and looked around before the door shut behind you, making you jump and turn around to see his hand flat against it, having closed it firmly.

‘’Loki- how was your day?” You smiled, obviously oblivious to his stare while you scampered over to hug him, but his free hand met you halfway and gripped your chin, stopping you in place.

‘’who is he?”

Your face immediately fell to confusion. ‘’who?”

‘’him. the one you’ve been apparently fulfilling your fantasies with.’’ Loki hissed, stepping forward towards you and his hand gripped your hip from stepping away, immediately pulling you forward so he could bury his face in your hair. With the way he was inhaling, you could tell he was searching for a scent and you immediately pushed against his chest with a mild irritated look.

‘’I’m not cheating on you.’’

‘’of course you’d say that, everyone says that to deny the truth. Jut as you had denied me of all your.. erotic.. nonsense’’ he waved a hand, trying to find words while you raised a brow and scoffed.

‘’nonsense?’’ you stopped yourself from laughing and looked at him to await the joke, the punchline, the ‘got you’ moment while he stared at you with nothing but seriousness. Your face fell and immediately took a step back. ‘’what are you playing at?”

Loki huffed at your denial. ‘’do not play me for a fool darling, in all our years as a couple, you have not once presented yourself to me in such a way you do to others. Are you in love with someone else? Is that it? Or perhaps you’ve grown bored at what I offer you because apparently it’s not enough!’’ he nearly spat and caught your wrist just as it had moved to slap him. ‘’please,’’ he looked mockingly amused. ‘’you’d probably get off on that.’’

‘’Loki..’’ you said through a careful breath while you searched his face to try to figure out what he was talking about. He claims you to have cheated on him? on him?? the god of pleasure! Erotic he had mentioned.. there was nothing you’ve done in your life in the realms of erotic.. all that kinky shit and-

Your eyes grew wide while Loki continued to demand with his eyes, still having his hand on your wrist while his other hand moved over your shoulder to rest against the door, ensuring your place while your eyes looked over towards your computer. No.. nononononono-

‘’you looked? …”

Loki narrowed his eyes. ‘’yes of course I looked- I have every right to look, and I’ve clearly seen all of your apparent experiences you’ve so thoroughly have kept away from me.’’

‘’Loki..’’ you started and looked back at him with red cheeks of embarrassment and your heart began to race ‘’-none of that is real..’’

‘’oh please,’’ he huffed and turned away from you finally. ‘’the description was as accurate as taking a breath. Every detail, every step, it was a vision upon paper. The only concerning moment is that you’ve lacked to share this knowledge with me.. unless you are trying to protect him..’’

‘’there is no one to protect!” you threw your hands in the air before you took a step forward and grabbed his shoulder, turning him to face you. ‘’that is what being a writer is! To be able to create.. anything in such detail, readers believe it to be true- none of that was real, obviously- because those stories are with you..’’ your face became redder by the second, wishing you could curl up in a hole with the very face that he had read your smut blogs.

Gods.. how many..

‘’obviously you and I haven’t participated in not even half the list- you must have replaced the name with mine or something-‘’

‘’oh for heaven fake-‘’ you sigh and cup his face, standing as tall as you could while you pulled him down a little to be better nose to nose with you. ‘’you’re the damn god of lies- look at me right now and tell me I’m lying! Those. Stories. Are. Made. Up! No one has done any of that with me, it’s just the.. sick thoughts that come somewhere far deep in my mind where my body apparently feels the need to write and share it..’’ your voice got a little quieter, having to take a few deep breaths while you forced yourself to confess and your eyes immediately dropped down to the ground.

‘’the dark thoughts.. I don’t know where they come from.. but I know much of the.. topics that are upon that account is things that perhaps I wish to try with you- but I’m to embarrassed to try or bring it up.. writing in a way makes me feel like I sort of done it and gets that itch away..’’

Loki’s brows were furrowed, gazing upon you like he was trying to study, to pick up on something like a lie but found none. He blinked several times, his own feeling of embarrassment through assumption twisted into now feeling terrible by his approach on things, making his eyes widen and his body took a step back.

‘’Y/N..’’ he started, his lips searching for words that only came out in a whisper. ‘’I’m sorry..’’

‘’no, I’m sorry..’’ you sighed and looked up at him. ‘’you knew I wrote, but I should have been more specific on what.. it’s just a little embarrassing talking about any of that stuff in real life..’’

‘’then.. why write it if you are unable to talk about it?” Loki asked.

You looked at him sheepishly and rubbed your arm. ‘’it’s easier to do embarrassing stuff you really want to do behind a screen where no one can judge you.. which is why I dreaded to day anyone I know in real life would come across it..’’

Loki raised a brow and chuckled. ‘’you think doing such things is embarrassing?”

You blushed. ‘’well.. it feels out of my character.. how people see me, and then perhaps doing the complete opposite behind closed doors.. and angel in the streets and a demon in the sheets, type deal..’’

This had Loki laugh and move forward to wrap his arms around you in a tight hug, your cheeks pressing against his chest while a hand cradled the back of your head while an arm wrapped around your middle. ‘’so.. these are things you secretly want to do- or at least try.. but your to shy to ask me.’’

You squeezed your eyes shut and buried your face more in his chest. ‘’yes..’’ though writing as a whole is fun anyway.. ‘’but I don’t want you to do things you’re not comfortable with and suck it up for my sake- nor do I wish you to do things just because I had to mention it..’’

Loki laughed and kissed the top of your head. ‘’despite my many powers darling, I cannot read your mind. If you wish to try something, that is where we are going to have to communicate.’’ He said gently and pulled back enough to place a finger under your chin and tilt your head up to look at him. ‘’it may be embarrassing of sorts, but I promise I will not judge you or think of you any differently. I promise.’’

Despite your red cheeks, you smiled up at him and tilted your head down to kiss your hand. ‘’I’ll work on my communication, I promise.’’

‘’in all regards, your writing skills are quite impressive and much of your stories and ideas intrigued me.’’ Loki lightly shrugged with a smile while his hands then began to travel down to your waist before going to grip your ass, his ‘missing you’ state coming back since you did just come home from work and was always a ‘to long apart from each other’ state.

‘’but I do wonder.. how did you know to write particular things if you’ve never even done them yourself before?”

You looked at him sheepishly while your hands rose to rest on his shoulders. ‘’the list where I have all the books I read is far longer than the list where I write..’’

‘’well then,’’ Loki smirked and leaned down a little just enough to curve his hands before he had you jump up and wrap your legs around his waist, your arms wrapping around his neck and caught the lustful look in his eyes.

‘’which one of your topics should we try first?”

Biting. Slapping. Begging. Edging. Fingering. Oral. Daddy. Brats. Doms. Public. Sucking. Threesomes. Masturbation. Cucking. CNC. Ra-

Tag List: @foxherder13 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @fire-in-her-veinz @nervouseden @kathren1sky-blog @eleniblue @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @queenofstarsign85 @slytherinqueen4life @soulpiercing @westwindrhapsody @lulubelle814 @katelinp @cueloki @hailey-laufeyson

[vermilionsun]

Since we’re doing part twos👀 Could you write more nsfw hcs for leander and ais? <3

Yes I can Yes I will Yes I did 💃

Ais

Aka choose one hair colour challenge failed

✩ Topping from the bottom

Self-explanatory. “Gives it almost as well as he takes it,” but he’s in charge babe, you stand no chance. He’ll treat you good though, don’t worry—

✩ Facefucking

YOUR FACE OR HIS, he doesn’t really mind. He knows to appreciate a good blowjob and loves having his mouth stuffed full of you. Man doesn’t ask for much. Plus he thinks it hot watching you manhandle him.

✩ 69

I see this man having an oral fixation—I can’t explain it. Sit on his face and suck him. As tiring as it is rewarding.

✩ M I R R O R S

He’ll be sitting on the edge of the bed, you on his lap, your back facing him. His veiny hands keep your thighs open as he makes you watch yourself bounce on him in the mirror and struggle to keep your balance and pace. Delicious.

✩ Pillow Prince(ss)

Let him treat you, okay?

✩ Comfort Sex

hEAR ME OUT WAIT— This man will never fuck you while he’s angry. That goes against a couple hundred of his moral codes, plus he would never want to hurt you. But, after some time, if things are getting heated, he will be slow, sensual, careful. He’ll apologise if he’s at fault. He’ll hold your hand and leave soft murmurs on the crook of your neck, kiss away any tears that might leave your eyes. Same goes if he knows you had had a rough day, accompanied by enough praises to make you see stars.

✩ S H O W E R

✩ Seasping

ON THAT NOTE— If he’s lying inside the waters of the Seaspring, presumably looking at the wall, and you climb in alongside him, well… He won’t bother to hide the gigantic smirk on his face that rivals the size of his boobs as he pulls you on his lap. It also serves as an amazing opportunity for a not-so-subtle fuck you to to Ocudeus.

✩ Exhibitionism–ish

He’d fuck you happily infront of a crowd to prove a point (with your consent of course). He’d take any chance thrown his way to brag about how amazing his partner is.

✩ Remote Control Vibrators

There has to be an alternative to that in the Touchstarved universe, right? Oh, that bastard’s smirk when he suddenly presses it to the highest setting from across the room while you’re in the middle of a conversation.

✩ Against the Table

✩ Spontaneous Sex

He’s definitely the type to randomly return home/come find you “because he’s horny.”

✩ Caught

He won’t stop his actions, just look at the person who walked in on you with a “what do you want?” look. Could easily pick up a conversation while fucking his partner’s brains out, 100%

✩ Up Skirt/Panties to the side

✩ Car

RIP Ais, you’d love late night car rides and car sex afterwards.

Leander

Aka the Nile is a river in Egypt

🗡  Nipple Play

This man’s tits are MASSIVE. Treat them well. Suck on them, twist and pull on them, make him cry.

🗡  Masochism

Self-explanatory.

🗡  Anal Toys

Previously mentioned he’s an ass guy, so make everyone a favour and ruin his ass (literally). B̶e̶a̶d̶s̶ w̶i̶l̶l̶ d̶o̶ t̶h̶e̶ j̶o̶b̶ j̶u̶s̶t̶ f̶i̶n̶e̶

🗡  RIDE HIM &

🗡  PULL HIS HAIR

Sit on his lap, pull his hair and force him to look at you while you ride his soul out of his dick. He’ll thank you once he’ll be able to speak again—give him a couple w̶e̶e̶k̶s̶ days though.

🗡  Magic

Of course, I will elaborate. If he can make flowers of light out of thin air, he most definitely can use his magic for other things, even to a small degree. A restraint, a shock of pleasure, and he most definitely will comply if asked (̶s̶h̶o̶w̶-̶o̶f̶f̶)̶.

🗡  Sleepy

Wake him up with a blowjob once, and you’ll have to continue that routine for the rest of both your lives. He’ll be completely bewitched, still groggy as me moans lowly and oh damn that deep morning voice…

🗡  Gag

It’s both hilarious and incredibly turning on. Try that with your panties, and the man has already cummed.

🗡  Lingerie

Talking about panties… The moment he lays his eyes on you and your fancy little outfit, he swallows dryly. His eyes go dark, and he has to reposition himself because he’s so hard. You’d expect him to rip them off of you immediately, but instead, he guides you to stand in front of his spread–out legs, his hands slowly trailing up your thighs to your ass and waist, feeling the way your skin transitions to the material, his chin resting against your stomach as you pet his hair.

“May I?”

“May you, what?”

“May I take these off?” He tugs at the fabric to make his point. “Please?”

M̶o̶n̶t̶h̶s̶ u̶n̶t̶i̶l̶ y̶o̶u̶ w̶a̶l̶k̶ n̶o̶r̶m̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ a̶g̶a̶i̶n̶.

🗡  Cumming Untouched

Too easy to achieve with this man.

🗡  Under the desk

The bar, specifically. It’s beyond amusing watching him try to keep his composure in front of the patrons while you’re sucking him off so beautifully.

🗡  G̶l̶o̶r̶y�� H̶o̶l̶e̶

He̶ w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶, o̶k̶a̶y̶?̶!̶ D̶o̶n̶'t̶ c̶o̶m̶e̶ a̶t̶ m̶e̶

🗡  Candle/Wax Play

He had set them up to make a “romantic atmosphere” but the second your eyes darted to the candle closest to you while you were on top of him… yeah, he might have slightly regretted his decision (s̶p̶o̶i̶l̶e̶r̶s̶:̶ h̶e̶ d̶i̶d̶n̶'t̶ a̶c̶t̶u̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ a̶n̶d̶ y̶o̶u̶ d̶i̶d̶ i̶t̶ a̶g̶a̶i̶n̶).

🗡  Public Humiliation

It’s literally canon.

🗡  Caught Masturbating

“Come on darling, won’t you help me a little?”

[bellaxgiornata]

Want to Know You Better 2:|Warnings

Pairing: Jax Teller x Fem!Reader Word Count: 5.9k [Series Masterlist] [Jax Teller Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+; investigative journalist!Reader, bodyguard!Jax, enemies to lovers, canon typical violence, canon divergence, eventual smut, slow burn, angst

a/n: Part two has finally arrived for this series, and is that anger or secret sexual tension I'm feeling? Feedback and reblogs are appreciated!

tag list: @kmc1989

The evening sun hung low in the sky casting long shadows on the group of men standing just beside the dirt road. The later it grew, the more Jax was itching to get back to Charming already, never wanting to risk an ambush on the Sons riding back to town at night. It was far too easy for them to be tailed in the cover of darkness, the thought always lingering in the back of his mind whenever they were out on long nighttime rides.

“Alright, so that’s settled then?” Jax asked, running a hand through the scruff along his jaw. “On the next shipment of guns we'll get your men squared away. We’ve even got some new shit you might be interested in taking a look at.”

He focused on Tyler in front of him, watching the way the man paused before eventually nodding. Throughout this entire meeting, Jax noticed how he’d seemed a bit on edge, something completely out of character for Tyler when they were just discussing an upcoming exchange. And considering how well things had been going between the Sons and Niners lately, it had set Jax a little on edge, too. Something wasn’t right here, he just had a gut feeling about it, and Jax was determined to figure it out before this meeting concluded.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tyler replied. “We’re all good, man.”

Jax caught the way Tyler hesitated though, as if something more was weighing on his mind. Eyeing him closely as the handful of Niners and Sons stood grouped together beside the dirt back road in the middle of nowhere, Jax knew damn well there was something he wasn’t saying. Tilting his head curiously to the side, Jax studied the man closely for a moment through narrowed eyes.

“There something else we need to discuss, man?” he pushed. “Cause you’re lookin’ like you’ve got something on your mind. You have been this whole time. If we got a problem, just tell me.”

After a brief pause at Jax’s bluntness, Tyler glanced back at his men behind him. He exhaled a breath, running a hand across his mouth before he focused on Jax again. “Yeah, alright,” he relented. “There’s somethin’ I wanted to bring up with you.”

Jax’s brows furrowed together, not sure where the hell this was going even though he’d picked up on something being off. “Okay, what's goin’ on?”

“Someone’s been poking around Oakland–around my territory specifically,” Tyler continued, a serious look on his face. “It had me a little suspicious, wondering if some fuckin’ cop or fed was snooping around my shit, y’know?”

Jax’s eyes narrowed even further at the information, his expression hardening as he listened to Tyler. Who the fuck would be looking into the Niners? Just the thought of a fed sniffing around already had Jax tense, his hand clenching into a fist at his side. That was the last fucking thing anyone needed right now. Things were just finally calming down for once.

“Any idea who the hell it was?” Jax asked him.

Tyler made a face, a look of disbelief and uncertainty tugging at his features. “Some bitch asking about missing sex workers or some shit,” he replied before gesturing to one of his men behind him. “Had her followed afterwards and my guys said she went straight to some motel in Charming. That had me wondering if you knew anythin’ about this, Teller? She’s gettin’ cozy on your turf and all.”

Jax's blood instantly ran cold at Tyler’s words. A woman in Charming who was looking into missing sex workers? Clearly that was you because no one else in their right goddamn mind would be stupid enough to go around blatantly looking into that. Christ, what the hell were you even thinking just walking into Niner territory like that and asking questions? It was like you wanted to get shot. Where the hell was your head at?

“Think I ran into her the other night,” Jax replied casually, trying not to make a big deal out of the entire situation. He didn't know you personally, but that didn't mean he wanted you getting yourself into trouble by doing something fucking stupid or by him drawing too much attention to you. “She's just some wannabe big shot journalist or some shit chasing a story, man. She’s not a threat. Ignore her.”

“Threat or not, I don’t like that she’s in my space asking questions,” Tyler shot back. “Shit like that is gonna lead her to go missing.” He grinned as his men behind him chuckled darkly at the comment. “You know what I mean, man?”

Jax’s hand tightened even further into a fist at his side at the obvious threat. For some reason the thought of you getting yourself killed chasing this ridiculous story bothered him. Frustrating as you were the other night at the bar when he’d met you, you'd wound up more interesting than he'd expected–even if that meant he'd lost the bet and still hadn't heard the end of it from the guys. But still, you were some innocent woman–who appeared annoyingly senseless–that didn't need to die while trying to play hero.

“Yeah, I hear you,” Jax answered. “But look, this chick is in Charming, right? So that makes her the Sons’ problem, doesn't it? Let me handle it. I'm sure I can get some nosey broad to stop sticking her damn nose in places it shouldn't be.”

There was a long pause where Tyler’s hardened gaze studied Jax, as if he was looking for something more in what he’d said before he finally spoke again. “Yeah, alright,” he agreed hesitantly. “But if I hear about her again, no promises about what’ll happen to her, man.”

A muscle ticked in Jax’s jaw before he nodded solemnly. “Yeah,” he replied, fully understanding the weight of his words. “I hear you. I’ll make sure she gets the message.”

Tyler gave a brief nod before stepping forward, shaking hands with Jax and finally ending the meeting. As the Niners began to make their way back to their cars, Jax couldn't help but notice the curious glances his own men were giving him after that conversation. He'd told the Sons about you after he'd lost the bet, trying to explain why his charm hadn't worked–because you'd thrown him off by being some journalist working a story in their town. A story that involved you knowing far too much about them, which hadn’t left the guys too thrilled about your presence in Charming, either. But for the time being, he’d convinced them that you weren’t a threat–something Jax still wasn’t entirely too sure about himself.

The Sons all headed back over to their bikes as the Niners started their cars, the roar of the engines breaking through the otherwise silent area. Jax could see the way Bobby, Opie, Chibs, and Happy were still eyeing him closely after the last thing he’d said to Tyler. It wasn't until the Niners had driven off, a trail of dust in their wake, that Bobby finally broke the growing tension.

“Nosey journalist in Charming, huh?” he mused. “Thinking that's your bitter girl from the bar?”

“The one ya couldn’t seem to charm?” Chibs teased.

Jax shot them both a flat look in response, not in the mood for jokes. “Clearly it’s her,” he answered. “And I told you assholes, I could’ve charmed her fine if she hadn’t thrown me off. But that’s not the point. Now I need to go find her and tell her to back the hell off her story before she gets her ass shot.”

All four of the men exchanged a look at his comment, each of them standing beside their bikes. Jax ran a hand through his hair, already lost in thought about you as he paced in front of the line of bikes for a minute. You'd barely been here in Northern California chasing your fucking story for a few days and already you'd put a target on your back. And you claimed you were supposed to be good at what you did? 

“What's going through your mind, Jax?” Opie asked, eyes watching his agitated movements back and forth. “Why do we gotta go deal with the girl?”

“Cause we have to, don't we?” he shot back more harshly than he intended as he ceased his pacing, his eyes landing on his best friend. “If we don't, she's gonna end up doing something really moronic that gets her ass killed. She clearly doesn’t know what the fuck she’s doing out here.”

“How is that our problem?” Happy questioned.

Jax’s stern gaze switched to him next, a look on his face that clearly said Happy had just chosen the wrong response. The corner of Opie's lips curled upwards in amusement at his friend’s reaction while Chibs and Bobby sent each other sidelong glances. Jax's shoulders tensed, catching the reaction between the guys. 

“What?” he demanded, eyes darting between all of them. “What's with the goddamn looks?”

“Just seem pretty worried about that lass, Jackie,” Chibs responded, crossing his arms over his chest. “That's all.”

“Kinda odd for you, brother,” Bobby pointed out. “Protecting some girl you barely know who has far too much information on us.”

“She's an innocent woman, guys,” he snapped in response. “Who's clearly in way over her goddamned head. Just because she’s nosey doesn't mean she deserves a bullet between the eyes.”

A slow sigh passed between Bobby’s lips at the weight of Jax’s words, some of the tension easing between all of the men. Jax was right and they all knew it. 

“Alright, you got a point there, Jax,” Bobby agreed. “She clearly doesn't know the shit she just stepped in. Least we can do is clear it up for her. Tell her to back off.”

“But we aren’t journalist babysitters,” Chibs clarified, leaning back against his bike. “Not our job to make sure the girl stays safe. Got enough we're already dealing with.”

Jax’s jaw ticked at the comment, but he knew the guys were right. It wasn’t the Sons’ place to watch over you, and they certainly had enough to focus on already. Though, if you’d been correct in assuming that Petrova was going to target the women at their businesses, maybe it might become their problem in the end. Something he hadn’t really explained too in depth with the guys the other night because he’d written you off after you’d stormed out of the bar. But maybe he needed to take that into consideration.

“Well, if she's staying in Charming, there's only one shithole that's better than all the others,” Opie mused, breaking through Jax’s thoughts. “The Restful Lodger Motel.”

A burst of laughter erupted from the men at the mention of that place. Even the corner of Jax’s lips twitched at the idea of where you were staying for the briefest moment. But his amusement immediately faded when he realized you probably were staying in that unsafe shithole. 

“Aye, living in luxury she is,” Chibs joked.

The group of Sons shared another laugh at the comment, but Jax’s mind wandered back to Tyler’s threat. Rolling his eyes in annoyance at the guys and how little they clearly cared about your safety, he headed back towards his bike before swinging a leg over it and settling down onto the seat. His own irritation flared at himself as he sat there pulling his helmet on because why did he care so damn much about some goddamn journalist anyway?  

“Then I guess we're heading back to Charming to pay her a visit,” Jax stated sharply. “I'm gonna deliver Tyler’s threat to her personally. Make sure she backs off.”

Sitting in the center of your motel bed, your back ached as you hunched over your laptop on the hard, uncomfortable mattress. As you typed up a handful of new notes from today's investigation, you kept your focus on the bright screen in the poorly lit motel room, but the contrast in lighting made your eyes burn. 

This had easily been one of the worst places you'd ever stayed at while working a story, but unfortunately for you, there hadn’t been too many options to choose from in Charming. And you needed to be here in particular because it was directly in the middle of where the string of missing women had been occuring. Plus, initially it had been convenient that the Sons of Anarchy were also located here, but after your meeting with their President a few nights ago at the bar, along with the fact that you'd been the butt of some absurd bet, you were dreading even attempting to work with them now.

Working with the questionable members of society was not something you were a stranger to after your years in investigative journalism. You’d learned over time how to befriend the right people to get the information you needed, how to navigate the seedy parts of California where most were too uncomfortable to venture. Though starting off what you'd hoped to have grow into a useful partnership with Jax Teller trying to pick you up from a bar just for a bit of cash wasn't exactly what you had in mind when it came to working with the Sons. You had no respect for Jax or the Sons after their little game, and clearly they’d never started off with any for you after how they’d acted. Trying to build a partnership with them seemed futile at this point.

Pausing from your typing, you picked up the bottle of water lying on the motel bed beside your crossed legs and unscrewed the cap to take a long drink. It had been an exhausting day. You’d spent your time visiting a handful of different police stations around the general area, trying your best to coax out any officers willing to talk to you about the missing women. Of course you were aware of how dangerous that would be if Petrova got wind about a journalist harassing multiple police departments about the women considering you knew he had some of the officers in his back pocket, but you hoped most of these individuals had a healthy enough fear of the mobster himself to avoid contacting him and sharing that information. You hoped the ones who’d seemed a bit too tight lipped today would just write you off and forget about you.

Just as you’d swallowed down the room temperature liquid, screwing the lid back onto your bottle of water, an increasingly loud noise began to grow in the distance. Tilting your head curiously to the side, you set the bottle of water back down on the bed as your attention shifted towards the motel window. You’d drawn the curtains once you’d come back to your room earlier, wanting to have at least some semblance of privacy even though there were only two other cars parked in front of other rooms. And while you had a good feeling that the people in those other rooms would be far too preoccupied to care about what you were up to, keeping those curtains shut made you feel a little better. 

It was another minute before you realized the noise you were hearing was the sound of a handful of motorcycles, and with how thunderously loud the noise was, you realized they were pulling into the motel lot. Fear shot through you at that realization, because you had a strong feeling whoever was out there wasn’t looking for some rooms to settle into for the night. Not wanting to take any chances, your hand darted out and quickly closed your laptop before you slipped off of the bed. Padding over to the nightstand in your socked feet, you grabbed your gun from off of the surface and flipped the safety off. For a moment you contemplated throwing the room into darkness and turning off the bedside lamp, but you figured whoever was out there would’ve already seen the light on by now. Turning it off would only put you further at a disadvantage if they were here to hurt you. 

Mouth feeling like it was going dry, you remained standing beside the nightstand with your gun in your hand. Your eyes were fixed on the motel door, listening as the bikes’ engines all cut off almost simultaneously. Heart pounding in your throat, you strained your ears to hear what was happening just outside of your room. But you didn’t have to wait long before three rough knocks came at your door, the noise causing you to jump. 

“Open up, darlin’,” a familiar voice that grated on your nerves called from the other side. “I know you’re in there. I can see the damn light on and your car out front.”

Your entire body tensed at the sound of Jax Teller. When you’d heard the motorcycles, you’d thought it might be the Sons outside since you were in Charming, but just because you’d encountered them the other night didn’t mean this was a friendly visit. In fact, you were pretty damn uncomfortable with them showing up unannounced and uninvited to your motel room–a room you hadn’t told Jax you were even staying at. 

“What do you want?” you called back.

A laugh came from the otherside, the sound drawing a frown further across your face. God, he was annoying as hell.

“Just open the damn door, sweetheart,” he replied, voice muffled behind it. “I just wanna talk. It’s important.”

Standing there beside the motel bed, eyes still on the locked door with your gun in hand, you contemplated the situation you found yourself in. You didn’t want to talk to him, but you also figured if he was determined enough for a conversation with you, that flimsy lock on the door wouldn’t stop him from getting into your room. With your stomach sinking to the dirty, carpeted floor, you realized that one way or another, you were going to have to talk to him. 

With a frustrated sigh, you crossed the room and stopped in front of the door, pausing just long enough to brace yourself for this confrontation. Reaching up with your free hand, you unlocked the door while your other hand raised the gun and held it at the ready. You weren’t going to just blindly trust that he only wanted to talk with you. Pulling the door open, you watched as Jax’s easy grin immediately faltered at the sight of the gun already trained on his chest. He clearly hadn’t expected it judging by the brief flash of surprise which passed over his features. But once his eyes returned to your face, a cocky grin once more returned to his lips.  

“That’s cute, sweetheart,” he teased, gesturing his head at the gun. “Now put it away before you hurt yourself.”

Irritated at the way he was talking down to you, your expression only hardened. “Trust me, I know damn well how to use this,” you replied, not moving the gun an inch.

One of Jax’s brows arched up onto his forehead at your statement, amusement dancing in his eyes. He shifted just slightly to the side, giving you a view of the handful of men behind him in the motel parking lot, all of which were now reaching into their kuttes to presumably retrieve their own guns.

“Let’s pretend you do, darlin’,” Jax continued in his confident drawl. “Pretty sure you wouldn’t live long to celebrate after shootin’ me. So why don’t you put the gun down already so we can get to the point.”

“Not until you give me a good reason as to why you’re here and how you knew where to find me,” you replied.

Jax waved a hand behind him at the other Sons, all of them pausing for a moment before stopping what they’d been doing. All the while Jax had never taken his eyes off of you, though he didn’t seem remotely bothered by the gun still pointed at his chest. Almost as if he was confident you’d never intentionally pull the trigger.

“If you just let me in to talk, sweetheart,” he continued, “I can answer both of those questions.”

Hesitating for a moment, you already knew this was a losing battle. You were outgunned and outmanned. And if you were being honest with yourself, you knew you couldn’t take down Jax by yourself. But the way he looked so damn smug about that only pissed you off further. You were quickly realizing that you didn’t like this man–which you attributed to your already negative view of him from the other night.

“Fine,” you grumbled, reluctantly stepping to the side. “But your guys stay outside and I’m not putting the gun away yet.”

Amusement once more danced behind his blue eyes as they shifted to your motel bed in the room behind you before they returned to your face. “Already trying to get me alone?” he teased suggestively. “I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be,” you countered firmly. “I’m clearly still standing here pointing a gun at you.”

Rolling his eyes, Jax stepped into your motel room and slipped past you. He moved slowly as if he didn’t want to scare you, though the way in which he’d casually thrown his hands up in a gesture meaning he meant no harm seemed to be more mocking than anything.

“I’d really rather you put it away,” he said, the amusement on his face slowly fading, gradually shifting into something like annoyance. “I'm more concerned that you might pull the trigger and shoot one of us by accident.”

The frown on your face deepened further as you shut the motel door after him, not even bothering to lock it. There was no point to the flimsy lock on it now, not with all those men outside your room.

“Start talking, Mr. Teller,” you prompted, ignoring his comment.

His eyes narrowed back at you when you’d once more referred to him so formally. A scowl steadily made its way onto his face as Jax leaned his back against the peeling wallpaper of your motel room, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You need to drop your fucking story and disappear back to wherever the hell you came from,” Jax began, cutting straight to the point. “You’re in over your head, just like I told you the other night. You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

“I’m not dropping the story, I’ve already told you that,” you firmly reminded him. “Someone needs to give a shit about these missing women. Someone needs to stop Petrova from continuing to do the shit he’s been doing.”

“Oh, and you think that someone is you, darlin’?” Jax shot back, his brows raising in challenge. “Think you’re gonna just start asking questions wherever you want? Without putting a target on your back and pissing people off?”

Brows furrowing together, you wondered what the hell he was getting at. You’d only been in Charming for about a week now, you shouldn’t have managed to accomplish falling onto Petrova’s radar that quickly, but you had a feeling whatever he was talking about had something to do with why Jax was even here in the first place. Noticing your confusion, his expression grew even more severe as he stood there leaning against the wall and ignoring the gun directed at him.

“You are gonna get yourself killed if you don’t stop, you do realize that, right?” he nearly growled. 

“Oh, please,” you said with a roll of your eyes. “You keep saying that but–”

“You were in Oakland a few days ago, weren’t you?” he snapped, cutting you clean off.

Your words died in your throat as you wondered how he’d known that. “Yeah,” you answered carefully, your eyes suspiciously scanning his face now. “Why?”

A humorless chuckle fell out of Jax next, the noise grating on your nerves. Your hand readjusted the grip on your gun, but the more he spoke, the more ridiculous it was beginning to feel keeping it fixed on him. He clearly wasn’t remotely bothered by it.

“You’re already asking questions in the wrong places, sweetheart,” Jax informed you. “That’s why. You pissed off the Niners. You know what’s gonna happen if you go poking too closely around there again?” He paused, his expression serious as he pushed off of the wall and took a step towards you, his chest now just a few inches from the barrel of your gun. “They’re probably gonna kill you.”

Heart hammering a little faster in your chest, you shook your head at what he’d said. You’d been in Oakland a few days ago asking questions, sure, but you didn’t think you’d stepped into any particular territory while questioning some of the homeless there–people who usually saw plenty and were willing to talk for a meal and some cash. How had that upset the Niners?

“Why’re they even pissed?” you asked him, still eyeing him suspiciously. “I spoke with a few of the individuals living on the streets in the area. I didn’t discuss anything about drugs or the Niners. I wasn’t remotely asking about them.”

Jax made a face, shrugging a shoulder in response. “Doesn’t fucking matter,” he answered. “You were on their turf and asking questions. So the Niners tailed you. Found out that you’re staying in a motel out here in Charming.”

Hand slowly lowering the gun, your gaze shifted to the stained and discolored motel carpet. Someone had followed you from Oakland back to Charming? They’d followed you back here to this motel and knew where you were staying? Your blood ran cold at the thought. You’d only just started the investigation out here, how had it gone so wrong so quickly?

“You’re in my territory now, darlin’,” Jax continued, drawing your attention back up to him. “Which means I’m the one here to deal with you, and you’re goddamn lucky for that. Because unlike the Niners, I’m not interested in you winding up dead. I just want you gone.”

Immediately you shook your head at what he said, the gun completely lowered to your side finally. “I’m not letting this go,” you sharply stated. “I can’t just…walk away from this.”

“Are you serious?” he shot back, his eyes narrowing at you. “You heard me, didn’t you? You’re gonna piss off the wrong person doing what you’re doing and you’re gonna wind up dead.” He gestured a hand in the direction of the motel parking lot where your car was parked outside. “You need to pack up that car of yours and go back to wherever the fuck your ass came from, darlin’. You’re in over your head.”

“No.”

The word came out fierce between gritted teeth, your expression once more hardening as you glared back at him. Your grip tightened on the gun at your side as your defiance only grew. Clearly not expecting such a tenacious refusal, Jax momentarily looked taken aback, but you didn’t give him a chance to react before you continued.

“These women who’re going missing are innocent people,” you nearly snarled out at him. “I don’t give a shit whether they’re accountants, cashiers, or a hooker working the corner. They’re people, Jax. People who are being ripped from their lives and carted off to God knows where for God only knows what horrors. It’s not right. And I for one cannot turn my damn back on them, not knowing what I know. I can’t.” Pausing, you could feel the tension in your muscles as you  held his stare with your own. “So you do what you’ve got to do, Jax. Because I’m not walking away from this story. Someone needs to do the right fucking thing here, damn the fucking risks. If that means you’re going to shoot me, then fucking go ahead.”

There was a heat in your glare as you stood there barely two feet in front of him, your breath coming in sharper. A silence filled your motel room, the weight of it deafening after your passionate outburst. Before you, Jax stood with a completely impossible to decipher expression that had washed over his features with every word you’d spoken. But the longer he remained quiet, his eyes scanning over your face as if he was searching for something, the more suffocating the tension in the room felt.

“You telling me you’re really willing to die for this?” he finally asked, his voice suddenly soft. “For people you don’t even know?”

Lips pressing into a thin line on your face, you rolled your shoulders back and looked him dead in the eye. “Yes,” you answered. 

With how closely you were watching him in return, you caught the way the corner of his eye twitched at just that one word. His hand rose up afterwards, running across his mouth in something that appeared to be a mix of frustration and resignation as his fingertips ran across his facial hair. 

“And there’s not a goddamn thing I can say to change your mind, is there?” he questioned.

Firmly shaking your head at his question, you held your ground. The sight of your obstinate refusal had a long, drawn out exhale leaving Jax’s lips as he almost visibly deflated. He muttered a curse under his breath before he turned and paced across the small motel room. As he ran a hand through his hair in silent contemplation, your eyes followed his movements.

“You said Petrova is likely to hit the Sons’ businesses, yeah?” Jax asked after a moment, pausing his pacing as his eyes fixed back on you across the room. 

“It’s quite likely, yes,” you slowly answered, uneasy at the abrupt topic shift.

He turned, focusing on you completely with his own stubbornness written plain across his features–the hard set of his jaw, the tightness around his eyes, the thin line of his lips. Whatever he was about to say, you had a feeling it was about to piss you off.

“Then I’m gonna work this with you,” he stated. “Make sure your ass stays outta trouble and the Sons’ businesses don’t get hit.”

Eyes widening in surprise, your mouth opened and closed a few times as you gaped at him. He wasn’t serious, was he? You’d expected him to make more threats, insult you some more, not suddenly offer his assistance. 

He pointed at you from the other side of the bed, his voice sharp as he continued. “But you’re gonna do what I tell you to, understood? You don’t get to just wander around sticking your nose into everyone’s business anymore.”

“Absolutely not,” you instantly disagreed, shaking your head vehemently. “No. I’m not going to just let you waltz into my investigation and take everything over like you somehow know what the hell you’re looking for or how to even gather evidence on all of this. This is too important for you to ruin it on me!”

“Darlin’, I know the people controlling the areas you’re looking into far better than you ever could,” Jax countered. “You need me to keep you from pissing anyone off any further. And on top of that,” he continued heatedly, “you need someone to watch your sweet ass, because that gun alone isn’t going to keep you safe. Not like I could.”

Bristling at the way he was speaking to you, you felt your own temper flaring. “Right, because you care so much now, do you?”

Before you even knew what was happening, Jax crossed the motel room in a few quick strides before his hands darted out, ripping the gun from your own hands and disarming you. A soft, surprised gasp slipped out of you before he held the gun up in the space between the pair of you, a dead serious look in his eyes as he turned the safety back on.

“I don’t need some goddamn journalist getting killed in my town and drawing attention to it,” he snapped. “So yeah, for now I give a shit what happens to you. And since it affects the girls working for me, I’ll give a shit about catching your Russian mobster. But only if you agree to work with me and not against me.”

Jaw clenching at the sight of him so casually flaunting the way he’d disarmed you with your gun held up in the air, your arms crossed themselves over your chest. Shooting him a glare, you quite literally bit your tongue to refrain from shouting a plethora of choice words back at him. He was so arrogant and irritating and controlling. It made you want to smack that self-satisfied look right off of his face. But you knew you couldn’t, because deep down you knew he was right. You’d only benefit from his assistance, you’d known that before you’d even ran into him the other night. It didn’t matter what his motivating factor was as long as his end goal lined up with yours–stopping Petrova and keeping more women from going missing.

With a heavy sigh, you sunk down on the end of your motel bed. “Fine,” you muttered reluctantly. “If you’re offering assistance, as much as I’d rather not work with you, I’m aware it’s more beneficial to these women if I do.” Your jaw tensed at having to admit that, hating how pleased he appeared at your admission. “But we’re equal partners on this, you’re not going to be bossing me around.”

There was a smug grin that had slipped onto his face when you’d been speaking as he leaned forward to set your gun down beside you on the bed. “Whatever helps you sleep at night in this shithole, sweetheart,” he teased, eyes taking in the room. “And it is a shithole, by the way.”

“Well it’s in your town,” you shot back, glaring at him.

His smirk slipped off his lips, a flicker of annoyance at you insulting Charming flashing behind his eyes. He looked like he wanted to argue further, but he oddly refrained.

“You should stay somewhere safer at least, outside of Charming,” he told you. “Anyone can break right into your room here. It's not exactly secure.”

You shot him a pointed look from where you'd sat on the end of the bed. “It's easier for me to stay in Charming,” you retorted. “And helping me on this story doesn't include you getting to comment on where I'm staying. Or commenting on anything unrelated to the story for that matter. Got it?”

His eyes narrowed at you, a surly expression overtaking his features. “Fine, darlin’. Hope the roaches keep you company tonight then.” 

Watching as he made his way back to your motel door, you were grateful your interaction with him had finally ended for the evening. Jax Teller was an arrogant, bossy, womanizing asshole and you weren’t looking forward to spending more time with him–but you’d do it for those women.

“We'll be in touch, darlin’,” he said, not even bothering to look back at you as he opened the door. “Stay outta trouble if you know what's good for you.”

Sitting on the motel bed, you winced at the harsh noise the door made as he closed it behind himself. Moments later, the deafening roar of multiple bikes filled the air as Jax and the Sons mounted their bikes and pulled out of the parking lot. Not long after that, you were thrown into silence and alone once again.

[buckley-diaztruther]

tiny little buddle drabble that maybe will go into something bigger idk:

There had been a moment, right after Tommy had left following that first kiss, where Buck found himself sitting at his kitchen table and looking back. Looking over all of his past friendships (so few as they were) and wondering 'oh, was I into him?'. Or recalling flashes of something when looking at another man and dismissing it before he could look too closely. He thinks about that one threesome he had in college, where he'd maybe been a little too involved with the guy than was strictly heterosexual.

Buck just sits and he analyzes it all. Did he have a crush on Chimney when he first joined the team? Did he follow Connor to LA in a friend way or was it because he can't say no to a face that pretty? Was he actually flirting with TK that one time?

All of these little past moments begin to arrange themselves into something new, or maybe Buck is just really seeing them for the first time and recognizing the pattern, the giant queer constellation that they all make when lined up all together. And Buck feels kind of really stupid for not seeing it sooner.

He looks at everything, recontextualizes it all, and very blatantly ignores the giant gaps somewhere in the middle that he refuses to consider at all.

He doesn't think about Eddie. There was almost a moment, looking back at Eddie's first day and the HotAngryJealousyFear that had coursed through him, and started to ask himself if maybe there was a flash of arousal somewhere in there as well. But then, just as quickly as the question had come, Buck shuts it back down.

It's a forbidden area that he pretends he isn't even ignoring, pretends it's not even there to avoid. Because, whatever those first few hours might have been don't matter in the face of everything else they've spent the last six years building.

What Buck has with Eddie is so much more than anything that could be... polluted by something as harmful and pathetic as misplaced lust. That sort of feeling has ruined so much for Buck up until now, and even comparing that to his bond with Eddie feels wrong and dangerous. Feels to much like putting a lit match to the edge of a beautiful tapestry and asking it not to burn.

Instead, it gets packed away and everything that is his maybe insane but incredibly platonic love for Eddie gets set up on a high shelf that nothing and no one can touch.

And then he reminds himself that none if it matters anyways, because Tommy just kissed him and maybe that could be something. Maybe this is what Buck has been missing this whole time. It's new and it's scary, but isn't that how you can tell that it's important?

When the date gets ruined and Buck is inevitably left on the side of the road, he reconsiders. Okay, maybe Tommy isn't what's been missing. But it's a step in the right direction. If only he could feel good about it, if only lying to Eddie didn't feel like admitting something even bigger.

Thank god for Eddie pushing Buck to try again with Tommy, because it really helps put those uncertain feelings to bed.

Fast forward seven months and some change, and suddenly the uncertainty is back. Tommy is gone, then Eddie is gone, and then Tommy is back and chucking dynamite at Buck's carefully constructed 'Eddie Shelf' as if Buck wasn't already fucking haunted by it.

By the time Eddie gets back to LA, Buck has already spent weeks sifting through the rubble. Trying so hard to put it all back together without actually looking at any of the pieces. In walks Eddie, and then Buck looks down at the mess around him to see that the pieces are all shards of this giant broken mirror reflecting back at him everything he never wanted to know.

"You're in love with Eddie Diaz," his reflection says to him, like it's no big deal. "You're in love with Eddie Diaz and it's the easiest thing you've ever done. So easy that you didn't even realize you were doing it even though your eyes were wide open and you were stepping into it with such deliberate intent. You're in love with Eddie Diaz and it's the only thing you've ever done that's worth something and he will never love you back the same way but you will keep loving him with every breath, every smile, every step that takes you closer and closer to ruin and it will be so worth it to drop yourself into oblivion because all of it is for him. You are in love with Eddie Diaz and it hurts but you are in love with the hurt just as well because it is the greatest thing you will ever do. To bleed for him, to die for him, to live for him is the greatest privilege and you love him you love him you love him."

And Buck looks at Eddie, so vibrant and beautiful and joyful because he's home, he's with Chris, and it's everything he'd never dared to hope for over the last few months. But it's everything. And Buck is standing in the rubble, broken glass cutting into flesh and tearing him asunder but its nothing compared to the blinding, vaporizing power of Eddie's smile and it's everything.

Buck is bleeding out, and it is the most alive he's ever felt.

"Welcome home," Buck says, and it sounds like he's screaming 'I love you!'.

"Glad to be home," Eddie says, and it sounds like he's whispering 'I love you,' if only Buck could stop screaming long enough to hear it.

'I love you,' they don't say, as loud as they've ever been.

[narcolini]

white room - pt. 1

johnny davis (the bikeriders) x reader, 18+, canon typical themes and language, 2.8k words, 1 of ? johnny as a miserable bisexual divorcee and reader as someone too chilled and lonely to give a fuck a/n: it's written to be gender neutral, but there are a few references implying they may be afab (not overkill its just a very gendered landscape)

“Go fuck your good self, then.”

The door slams behind you and the window pane shakes with it, piece of shit car that it is, with an equally large turd of a guy running the thing. 

“Crazy bitch,” is the cab driver’s goodbye call, and yeah, maybe. But he’s the one dumping you in the wrong end of town—and after dark, no less. All you’d done was get a cab after a party, knowing you left all your cash in one of the boots under your bed, with the mad hope that the guy behind the wheel might just be kind enough to let you ride along on a promise. You had every intention of running upstairs to get him his fee, while he kept the engine running, mind you, but that uptight jack didn’t wanna hear a thing about it. Even had the nerve to ask you to comp him 'with those pretty lips o’ yours’, which is round about where you started calling him a filthy no-good perv, and he started pulling over in the middle of nowhere. 

Now you’re standing in the dark in nothin but your too-cheap denim jacket, that you never should’ve bought ‘cause you got shirts thicker than this, staring at a corner side bar that’s almost definitely filled with a hundred more of those cab driver types. Not in the driving sense, but in the fuck anyone that isn’t a man like us sense, you know? 

But what can you do? It’s in there, or out here, and you’re not in the shoes for walking, never mind running, so it’s not much of a choice at all.

You go up in a way like you been here before, like you know the name of the place even though the paint’s chipped off and the light ain’t lighting anymore, and in the time it takes to cross the street, you see three guys go in, three come out, and not a single woman or anyone else, so much as look at the place. It’d be a lie to say your heartbeat was going a speed anywhere near close to normal. Which is another thing you try and hide as you push through the door into the chaos of it all. 

It’s not a bar, it’s a God damn wolf den. 

You make it two steps and already you seen enough beer, and enough skin, and heard enough dogwhistles to consider just how bad it could really be to run barefoot across town. Your feet would only hurt a little bit, right? They seen you now though, and with the amount of bikes they got lined up outside, you wouldn’t even make it to the next block before one of them caught up to you. And then what? Might as well try talking wolf while you’re in here, better that than squaring up with one of them in some stinking alleyway.  

“You got a phone, big guy?” you ask, to the first one that really looks at you. He’s a head taller than you but it seems like that head’s spinning, so you figure he needs a little more explanation to get going. “Behind the bar or something? A payphone?”

He takes a while to reply, like you’re speaking some other language, then he says, “I got something you can ride, honey.”

And now you’re back in the cab all over again, and you’re still going fuckin' nowhere.

“Forget about it.”

You shove past him, and another two men smelling of liquor, until you can plant both hands on the edge of the bar and speak to the owner directly. At least, you think it’s the owner. Cause he’s stood back there, with a towel slung over his shoulder, and he’s the only one giving all of these animals their liquid feed for the night. 

“Hey," you start, “do you got a phone? One I could use?”

Instead of answering, he looks right over your head. Imagine that, like you ain’t there at all, right over and into the space behind. It takes a second, but then you realise it’s not just bad manners, it’s only that there’s someone else coming up to the back of you who’s much more important, to him anyway. 

And now, that’s a guy you look twice at.

He’s not tall, but he’s not short neither, something in the middle that suits you just right, if it mattered. Face like he’s seen some things too, but his hair’s combed all neat like he hasn’t seen nothin. If it weren’t for the bent pinky on his one hand and the scar on his knuckles across the other, you might think he was some sort of regular guy. But he got a walk like he owns the place, more than the barman, that's for sure, and the shirt he’s wearing is plastered with the same exact name as the rest of all these guys: VANDALS. Doesn’t take much to figure that he’s top dog of them. Vandal of the Vandals.

He slides right up to you like you asked him to, sitting his forearms on the edge—next to where your hands are. 

“Nah,” he says. Just like that. Nah.

You feel like laughing. “No?”

“Nah,” his head shakes, “you don’t wanna be in here.”

If it’s advice, it kinda feels like a threat and, well, if it’s a threat, it sorta feels like advice. A decent bit of it at that, cause he is right. You don’t wanna be in here. 

“Don’t want doesn’t make up for need,” you tell him. “And I need to use a phone, if you got one.”

“What for?”

“A cab?” Then you do laugh. “What? You worried I’ll ring your bill up by calling international?”

He makes a strange, sorta dismissive noise as he’s pushing off from the bar. “Worried you’d call some little boyfriend of yours,” he mumbles, then he walks round to the serving side and pulls a phone from under the lip of it.

“No boyfriend, sir. Just a mighty need to get home.” And the fuck outta this place.

He picks the handset up, spinning the dial without asking you for nothin, his eyes sitting on something you can’t see right in front of him. A number maybe. “Not many drivers will pick you up from here,” he says. "This one…yeah, well, you can try it.”

Any hope you had is fast disappearing on you. “That bad, huh?”

He passes you the phone, the twisty cord going all the way straight just to reach you. 

It connects as you put it up to your ear, and some lady with a voice all too quiet for telephones greets you on the other side, rushing you to the point before you can even try and warm her up a little.

"Hi, yeah, so I need a cab but I won’t be able to pay the guy until we get there, is that something your—hello? Hello?” You tut. The empty tone in your ear is a stinging slap to the face, right there, right across the cheekbone. “Motherfucker,” you say, but she’s already all the way gone. She didn’t even hear you out.

And this guy? Well he’s smiling when you look back at him, doing an awful bad job at pretending like he ain’t been listening. “Yeah," he clears his throat to hide a laugh he won’t laugh, “you should’a said you had no money. No cab’s gonna—”

“I know,” you snap. “Still had to ask though, didn’t I?”

He shrugs, nodding at sorta the same time like he agrees with you, even though his face is fixed like he don’t agree at all. Like you’re awful naive for thinking they might even listen to you in the first place.

“Guess I’m walkin’ then,” you decide. You pass him the handset, but he’s too slow to take it, so you go on your toes to lean over and put it back yourself. Hard and pissy with it. Shitty taxi service. Shitty phone. Shitty bar.

“You want a drink?”

Your heels hit the floor again. “What?"

He puts his hand out like he works here now, pointing to all the dingy bottles waiting behind him. “A beer…or?”

“Yeah," you test, “what’s the or?”

“Or,” he says, slow with it, "you sit round drinking nothin’ and wait until I can take you home.”

Your brows shoot up like he’s told a lie bigger than any you’ve ever heard. “You gonna take me home?” you ask, thinking yeah, he’s gonna take you home, and you’re gonna be the next big Santy Claus. 

He nods and it keeps going, like his head gets away from him. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I can give you a ride.”

For a second, you find yourself worrying about it. “That code for something else?”

He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his jeans and sets one in-between his lips. “No. S’just a ride.”

You watch the lighter flip, the cigarette catch. Watch him take a drag and blow it out again. He isn’t acting drunk, and he don’t seem like he cares either way, whether you take a ride from him or not. All he seems bothered about is finding the end of that smoke, and popping the cap off another beer. 

If these are wolves, then he’s the oldest of them. The most tired and nicked with battle scars. From where you’re standing, that makes him the least threatening too, cause you come with a whole load of baggage, and he looks like he’s got even more than that. And anyone with all that shit on their shoulders? Yeah, they’re not gonna be no sort of trouble at all. They just wanna get home at night with their head pinned on straight still.

"Well alright,” you say. “I’ll take a beer and the ride, too.”

“Beer and a ride,” he grumbles back, not moving the cigarette and losing his words because of it. “I’m Johnny."

“Johnny?”

He nods, handing you the beer he just readied for himself. 

“Thanks.” You give him your name the same way he gave you his, and he says it back to you, the way you did with him, though you know you didn’t mumble it the first time. He heard you just right. “This the part where I tell you how far away I live, and you say actually, I don’t got the gas for that, right?”

“How far d’you live?”

“Other side of town.”

He shrugs. “I got gas enough.”

And that’s how you end up on the back of his bike, clinging on like some sort of koala bear thing, with the town going past like it’s made of nothing but air, cold, loud, air. Flooding your ears and the collar of your jacket, even the ends of your pants are filling up with it. Going so fast nothing feels like anything, only that, everything feels of everything. Way too much. By the time you’re pulling up to the house, your head’s spinning like you had ten beers, not two, and he has to offer his hand just to get you off in one piece.

“God,” you say, “does it feel that crazy every time?”

He looks like he wants to smile, but something inside don’t let him. “Guess so.”

“Well, you got bigger balls than me, that’s for sure.”

Then he really wants to smile, you can see it in the little crinkles by his eyes. “Night, kid.”

“Not a kid,” you tell him, cause you lived through too many years of shit to not get the respect an adult deserves, plus, you ain’t even that much younger than he is. Anyone without a stack of lines down his forehead must look like a kid to him. “Thanks for the ride. You really saved my ass.”

He waves it off, like it really was nothin, though actually it was a pretty big something, a real good favour. “Ah. Wasn’t gonna let nothin’ happen to you.”

“Oh yeah? Saw me walking in like some sort of square and the alarm bells went ringing?” 

“Yeah. Like that.”

You hum a little, shrugging while you think on it. “I could’a handled myself,” you tell him. Which isn’t all the way the truth, but it’s not too far from it neither. You can get mean when you have to.  

“Maybe, but you didn’t have to, did you?” He kicks the bike to life again, and there goes that engine, so loud his ears must be working half as good as they should be. “See you around,” he says.

You nod. As far as last words go, those are some pretty boring ones, but it’s later than late now, and you’re not feeling like standing outside any longer until one of you comes up with something better. So he gets a “see-ya” and that’s the last thing either of you will ever say to each other, cause when are you ever gonna find yourself in the middle of some roughed up, leather wearing, bike club, ever again? 

____

Well. Turns out you got a whole lot wrong when it came to figuring Johnny out. Not even a full day goes by, and you’re hearing that rumble, that big bru-bru-bru, clattering noise coming right back down your street. And Mrs Saccone, who’s normally deafer than deaf, is banging a broom on your wall telling you to get rid of it. To get rid of him. Can you imagine? Old lady, never done nothin wrong in her life, as far as your Pops ever knew, and suddenly, big mean man on a bike, sitting outside and ruining her TV dinner. 

You couldn’t get out there fast enough. Half-dressed, you know, you were ready to settle down for the night. Work stuff off and replaced with those big, old man type boxer shorts. If it weren’t for the bathrobe, wrapped all up round yourself, you’d have blushed so hard it’d burst a blood vessel.

“You forget something?” you ask, parking your feet and slippers right onto the concrete next to him. “I got neighbours, you know.”

He frowns, pursing his lips as he looks you over. “I wake you up?”

“No. But I’d be lying if I said you weren’t disturbing my peace.”

He nods, still running that engine, one foot on the ground to keep him in one place there. It goes so long without him saying nothin that you start thinking maybe it’s your turn, and you forgot which one of you spoke last or something.

“Can I help you, Johnny?”

“Let me take you out,” he says. Not a question, but not bossy with it neither, just ‘let me’. If he’d said it like an order, you would’ve told him to stick it where you told the cab driver to stick it last night, but he seems to know better than that.

You pull the robe tighter, right up to your neck. “I’m not going back to that bar,” you tell him.

“No, not there.” He flicks a gloved hand over the bars of the bike, imagining some fancy, high-class sort of place, right there in front of him. “Somewhere nice. You and me.”

It’s a good thing your mother is on a whole other continent, because without thinking much about it at all, you say, “Alright, sure. You can take me out.” 

He smiles, and it might not be, but it feels like it’s the first one he’s shown you, all real and bunched up in that stubble of his. “You should go get dressed then.”

You feel the life drain right out of you. “We’re going now?”

“I’m here." He shrugs. "So, yeah, why not?”

“You know most people would hate you for that,” you say, “giving a person no warning.”

The bike goes quiet then, and he swaps the keys for a pack of smokes in his pocket, leaning back like he got all the time in the world. “D’you hate me?” he asks.

“I might.”

“Oh, might.” He says it back like you don’t mean it, and won’t mean it, with another one of those funny throwaway noises following on after it. “I’ll take my luck with might.”

And what d’you say to that? Nothin, you say nothin, all you can say is, “Give me ten minutes.” 

Then you’re trotting back up the porch steps, hoping Mrs Saccone isn’t peeping through the curtains, and wondering what the Hell you’re gonna put on that’s any kind of suitable to go to a nice place with a Vandal on your arm. 

If it weren’t your life already, you wouldn’t believe any of it. This time just yesterday, you were at some square neck, office party, saying goodbye to some upper-level fucker—who never learned your name, and didn’t even thank-you for the half serious farewell note you left in the communal goodbye card—and tonight? God, if you weren’t so used to shit going unusually, you’d be pinching yourself. Real hard, too. 

Some man called Johnny, who you don’t know from Adam, swinging by to pick you up on his motorcycle. Yeah, ‘crazy bitch’ really is starting to feel like an appropriate title for you to have. Who would’a known?

........................

part two here

tagging: @drabbles-mc @garbinge