#they don’t ever question it and don’t want to know anything else

[strnilolover]

⌗ . . . RIBBONS

WARNINGS : SMUT. PNV. BEING TIED UP. PRAISING. DEGRADING. DUMBIFICATION (?).

matt’s room was quiet except for the sound of skin slapping against skin when his hips met the flesh of your ass—and the broken gasps that spilled from your lips every time matt bottomed out inside your gummy walls.

he had you on your hands and knees, your back arched and hands grabbing at the sheets below you—his favorite position to have you in. your thighs were shaking as his cock dragged along your walls, pressing against all the right spots that had you seeing stars.

he’d been fucking you like this for minutes—longer?—you didn’t know. your brain too far gone already to focus on anything else but him. his hands were gripping your hips, holding you in place as he fucked you slowly, pushing in deep enough and hitting spots you don’t even know existed.

“y’feel that?” he murmured from behind you, his gaze locked on the way your cunt tried to suck him back in every time he pulled back. “y’feel how tight you’re squeezing me? so fuckin’ dumb on my cock already baby.” you couldn’t help but moan helplessly, your back arching for him more without thinking. just giving into the feeling even more.

matt always knew how to fuck you—knew exactly what you needed every time he had you in his bed, or yours. there’d be times he’d start out slow before he sped up and would fuck you until you were crying for him. or there’d be times like now—where he’d take his time and fuck you so slow and deep that you couldn’t remember a god damn thing even if you wanted to.

“that little head of your’s s’empty now, huh?” one of his hands left your hip and slid up your back—his palm was warm against your already burning skin. it traveled higher until he tangled his hand gently in the loose part of your hair. his hips rocked into you again in one deep thrust before he suddenly paused.

you whined as he stopped—feeling so full—but it wasn’t enough. you blinked hard, dazed, not sure what he was doing until you felt him carefully pull the ribbon from your hair—letting the strands fall down your back.

you forgot you had worn your favorite pink ribbon today, you didn’t think he had noticed it. but he did. his mind had been fixated on it ever since he got you in the position.

he hummed, dragging his hand slowly back down your back—running the silky ribbon along your skin and you shivered. “you know what I’m gonna do with this sweetheart?” he asked, leaning his body forward to place kisses along your spine.

you whimpered, shaking your head at his question. if you thought hard enough you’d probably know—but god you couldn’t think with how deep his cock was inside you, pressing up against your cervix, the tip kissing it with every little shift of his body.

matt couldn’t help but smirk at the way you reacted, trying your hardest to use your pretty little head, but failing. his other hand tapped against your thigh, getting your attention when he noticed the way you began to rock your hips. “hands behind your back, baby. c’mon, be a good girl for me.” he said, leaning back up.

and you obeyed on instinct, moving your body slowly as you brought your first arm behind you—making sure to make yourself comfortable enough before you brought the other behind to join. the position caused your face to press deeper into the mattress, face smushed. your breath caught as matt took ahold of both your wrists and used the ribbon to tie them together in a little pink bow.

“a little bow.” he whispered once it was secure, giving your wrists a small tug. “my sweet girl. all pretty tied up like this for me.” he admired how the color of the ribbon contrasted with your skin, the sight turning him on even more.

the second he made sure your hands weren’t going anywhere, he pulled back and started fucking into you again—even slower than before—every thrust making you cry.

you gasped when he pressed deeper, body wiggling. “oh god matt!” you cried out, your hips trying to pull away from him with how overwhelming it was. “oh, now you remember how to talk?” he teased as he leaned over you again.

his chest pressing to your back, one hand keeping a hold of your wrists, keeping you right in place. “you’re so fuckin’ pretty like this. can’t touch me. can’t move. just takin’ it like the good girl you are.”

you whined, the silk biting softly into your wrists, the sensation heightening everything. “can’t even hold yourself up now.” he murmured. “god, you’re perfect. letting me use you like this. you like being my dumb little thing, huh?” he mocked. you nodded—your mouth could barely form words anymore.

“thaaaat’s it.” he groaned, fucking into you a little faster, listening to the sound of your sobs every time he hit your sweet spot. “so fuckin’ good for me—fuck.”

and through the haze in your head—listening to the way matt groaned as he fucked you—you knew you’d be wearing the ribbon again and again.

a/n : first fic of my 1 year! things are being moved around on the list since some things weren’t written by the time july 1st came…so enjoy this! i also won’t be consistent with every other day posting so i’m sorry

[incestoru]

can’t stop thinking about satoru who isn’t your big bro but desperately wants to be. to him, it’s seriously a shame you two aren’t blood related. and maybe . . . you start to pick up on these feelings of his.

sometimes, when you’re both watching a show together that has incestuous themes (one he deliberately chose) — he’ll turn his head to you, completely serious and looking you dead in the eye: “would you still love me if i was your brother?” the question startles you and you don’t exactly know how to respond to it. it’s strange, but satoru can be weird like that — so you just laugh it off awkwardly. though, you can still feel his stare burning into the side of your head the rest of the night.

and another instance, where like usual, he is running his fingers through your hair — braiding a few pieces, untangling some strands, right before he says, “wish you had hair like mine…” and when you ask him to clarify, he just smiles as if discussing the weather. “white — like we’re a real family.”

or when he stares, leaning against the kitchen doorframe, arms crossed over his chest while watching you make food or do the dishes. instead of saying something normal, something romantic like: “you’d make a good wife.” — he chooses: “you’d be a good little sister. bet you’d always listen to what i say.”

and when he sighs, leaning his head onto your shoulder one night and tells you about how much he’s always wanted a sister (a younger one specifically), how you make him feel like he already has one bc he takes care of you and you take care of him in your own different ways — even though you’re both boyfriend and girlfriend. how if he ever had one in the next life, he hoped it’d be a reincarnation of you with the same personality, name, and most importantly — body. bc in his words: “no one else can take my cock like you do.”

something inside you is screaming at you, telling you that you can’t just ignore what he’s implying. those words tell you exactly what type of sick thoughts stir in his head. and it’s weird. it makes you feel icky and wrong. especially when he acts so shameless. and he knows you don’t have the guts to say anything about it. bc he isn’t acting on it. bc he doesn’t have a sister . . . yet.

[ysabelmystic]

Due to popular demand, I will now share my personal worst “how are you allowed to go outside” patient story.

Pt limped into the ER with a complaint of a sprained ankle. I went out to the waiting room with my wheelchair and found two women in their early-mid 40s dressed in business clothes. Not to go by appearance, but usually a minor complaint made by a very well-dressed adult is a harbinger of a relatively easy, no-nonsense visit.

What I told myself was a lie

I helped her into the wheelchair and took her to my triage room.

“So, you sprained your ankle, huh?”

“I think so,” she said.

I asked her what she did to it. She said she wasn’t sure. I asked her what her pain level was out of ten, ten being the worst pain ever and zero being none. She thought about it and said, “I don’t know. Maybe… a two?”

I rephrased my question. “What about when you put weight on it?”

She thought about it and said, “I don’t know. Maybe… a three?”

I asked her how long ago she’d sprained her ankle. She said she’d “just noticed” that she’d sprained it today. I asked her if I could look at her ankle. She rolled up her slacks and revealed a very normally-colored, normally-textured, unswollen, and thoroughly unremarkable ankle. I asked her to show me where the swelling was. She crossed her leg over her lap and pointed at a tiny bump with a tinier pinprick of a dot in the center.

I mm hmmd and asked her if this was where her ankle hurt most. She confirmed that this dot was indeed the epicenter of her pain. She informed me that she believed it was a bug bite. I asked her how this related to her sprained ankle. She said that her ankle must’ve been sprained because it was swollen, and last time her ankle had swelled up, it had been because she sprained it. I asked her if she had recently tripped on anything, maybe stepped on her foot wrong, or anything else that might commonly result in a sprained ankle. She confirmed that she had not. I asked if her main evidence for the assumption of a sprained ankle was indeed just the bug bite. She confirmed that it was. I asked her if she was able to bear weight on the alleged sprained ankle. She said that she could.“Without an increase in pain?” “Without an increase in pain”. I asked her why she had limped into the waiting room and required a wheelchair. She said that it was because last time she had sprained her ankle, she’d been told not to put weight on it, as it could damage the joint, and she did not want to damage her joint. Incredulous but armed with my mask and poker face, I summarized her complaint -which I was sorry to ask her to repeat herself, but my triage sheet only allows me a small number of letters and I needed to be as concise as possible, which I hoped she’d understand-: she was concerned her ankle was sprained because of swelling surrounding a bug bite. She confirmed, that yes, that was precisely why she’d came in.

I smiled and nodded, and wrote down exactly that.

I wheeled her into one of my low-acuity rooms and told her the doctor would see her in a moment, that we would likely take some x-rays, and we would go from there, and if she needed me, I’d be right across the hall. She and her friend were agreeable enough. I brought her a blanket, and then went back to my room to stare at my computer in silence before triaging my next patient.

It was a busy night, shenanigans abound and a lobby full, so I couldn’t sit at my desk for long. Mostly, I was running circles around the ER. My desk is directly next to the waiting room doors, which can only be opened by an employee with a badge. If the door is opened without a badge, an alarm goes off. To prevent such incidences, we have several big, yellow signs on the door that say “🛑✋🏻 DO NOT PUSH DOOR”.

Unfortunately, people are stupidly, and they do it anyways.

I was making another loop doing ER nurse things when I heard the door alarm. I went to the hall to see who it was, and perhaps, let them out. To my surprise, the culprits were my patient and her friend. My patient was standing on one foot.

I asked her why she was leaving. After all, we hadn’t discharged her yet. Her x-ray results hadn’t even popped up yet. She said she thought she was good to leave after the x-ray. I informed her that the doctor needed to look at the x-ray and treat any injury she might have. She said, “oh. I thought you guys would email it to me”. I said no we would not, and how would we get her a brace or medication if she had indeed sprained her ankle. She said she assumed we would email that as well. I said we couldn’t email an ankle brace. She asked if we’d mail it to her. I said not on the same day, and asked if she needed a wheelchair to return to her room. She said she did not, and hopped on one foot back to her room.

The x-ray revealed no evidence of a sprained ankle. I don’t know what she said to the doctor upon receiving that information, but the doctor was in there much longer than I expected, and the conversation was vexing enough that the doctor put in a prescription for antibiotics because apparently it was easier to say, “we diagnose you with swollen ankle and you should take an antibiotic for it” than it was to explain to this woman that there was nothing wrong with her ankle except for a small bug bite which is surely something you’ve dealt with before since you are a 40yo who lives in the southern region of the United States of America. At this time, most pharmacies in town were closed, so I was to administer the first dose, and she would get the remainder of the course from the pharmacy in the morning.

I entered the room and asked if she was ready to go home. She said that she was. I explained that I had an antibiotic for her, which she would take now, and that she could get the rest from her pharmacy in the morning. She seemed to understand this well enough. I scanned her wristband, scanned the pill, put the pill in a medicine cup, and handed her the cup. She looked at the pill and then back at me, and asked what time it was. I gave her the time (which was sometime close to midnight). She hmmmd to herself, looked at the pill, and remarked that it was a very good thing we were giving her this pill. Now she wouldn’t have to take her other pills tonight! I asked her why she thought that. She said that if she got a pill at the doctor’s office, it meant she didn’t have to take her regular pills because if it came from the doctor’s office it would cover everything else. I asked her what meds she took. She said she didn’t know (which I should’ve expected). I asked if she took a blood pressure pill. She said yes. I asked if she took a “water pill”. She said yes. And I asked if she took anything for her heart. And she said yes.

I informed the patient that antibiotics would not help her heart or her blood pressure. She seemed confused. She said that whenever a doctor gave her a new pill, she stopped all her other pills until the new pill was finished. I told her that she should take her medications as recommended unless her doctor or pharmacist specifically said not to take them. She said, “Really?” And I said yes, and recommended that she go home and take her other pills. She asked me if that’s why she got headaches whenever doctors gave her new pills. I told her probably so. She took her antibiotic and signed her discharge papers. I asked if she wanted a wheelchair, and she said no.

I went back to my desk.

The door alarm went off.

I looked out to see my former patient and her friend had once again pushed the door. This time, they stopped themselves. I got up from my seat and told them I’d buzz them out, and to get home safe. I scanned my badge, and the doors opened.

But my patient and her friend did not move.

I watched them stand at the threshold, my patient standing on one foot.

The doors hung open. About twenty seconds passed, and then they slowly, slowly closed.

The lock reactivated.

My patient pushed on the door, set off the alarm, and hopped out into the great expanse of the hospital parking lot at night.

…

Third place goes to the woman who checked in because three days ago she’d drank a soda at a sketchy wings place that turned out to have a roach in it. She’d called the restaurant and asked if there could’ve possibly been any more roaches in that soda, and if their roaches had diseases. The lady on the other end had told her no and no (I would’ve paid money to hear this conversation), but my patient wasn’t so sure, because every time she thought about drinking the roach-soda, or was drinking the flavor of soda that had contained the roach, she felt nauseous. After a visit with Dr Google, she’d come to conclusion that she had salmonella. The roach had given her salmonella. I asked her if the nausea went away when she was drinking a different kind of soda or wasn’t thinking about the roach, and she said yes.

It was a very short ER visit.

You’re all very welcome.

I met new contenders for “dumbest patients I’ve ever met” and it ruined my whole damn night

[kxsagi]

hey hey !! 😋

wanted to request this before you don't take requests anymore !! (thank you for your hard work you're my favorite writer (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠))

do u think you could write Sae x reader where reader has to tutor Sae on his academics since it's been stated that Sae literally knows NOTHING besides soccer loll,, you can make them in a relationship or pre-relationship whatever you feel like writing 😋

thanks!!

“𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲(𝐨𝐮)”

a/n: THANK YOU SMMM, SENDING SO MUCH LOVE TO YOU IN RETURN AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY!!! <333

ac goes to katstrife on X!

sae itoshi knows exactly three things. 

one: soccer. 

two: how to give people the cold shoulder. 

three: that this stupid math assignment should be illegal. 

he stares blankly at the worksheet in front of him, dead-eyed like he’s preparing to sue the education system for emotional damages. you, sitting across from him in the school library, press your lips together to stop from laughing. 

"you've been staring at the same question for seven minutes," you say. 

“i’m thinking,” he replies flatly, pencil untouched. 

“thinking? i’m pretty sure your brain logged out the second i said the word ‘exponents.’” 

sae slouches deeper into his seat, arms crossed. “you’re annoying.” 

“you’re failing math.” 

“so? i don’t need this crap to play for real madrid.” 

you sigh and lean forward, tapping his worksheet. “you do need this crap to graduate, and your coach already said you’re off the field until your grades improve.” 

he visibly flinches at the reminder. his jaw clenches, the tip of his pencil finally pressing into the page like it's a battle of wills. he might be arrogant, but he’s not stupid, he knows how much his future depends on this. and that’s probably the only reason he hasn’t left already. 

well. that, and you. 

he won’t say it out loud (ever), but you're the only person in this entire school he can stand talking to for more than thirty seconds. you're also the only one willing to sit with him twice a week and try to make sense of letters pretending to be numbers. 

“i hate this,” he mutters. 

“i know. but look, it’s not so bad.” you reach over, lightly tapping his notebook. “okay, take this one: 4 to the power of 3. do you remember what that means?” 

he glances at you. "... twelve?" 

you pause. “no. i mean, i’m glad you guessed confidently, but no.” 

“so what is it then?” 

“it’s four times four times four. so, sixteen times four. try again.” 

he grumbles under his breath but scribbles it down anyway, then pauses. “… sixty-four?” 

you beam. “yes! see, you’re not totally hopeless.” 

he rolls his eyes, but the tips of his ears go slightly pink. “whatever.” 

you suppress a grin and nudge his eraser toward him. “let’s do the next one.” 

the session drags on like molasses, mostly because sae acts like every equation personally offended him. but to his credit, he’s trying. somewhere between slumped sarcasm and scribbled formulas, you notice he’s leaning in more, muttering numbers under his breath, fingers twitching when he gets one wrong. 

and then, somewhere between problem five and six, he says: “you don’t have to do this, y’know.” 

you glance up. “do what?” 

“waste your time tutoring me.” his voice is quieter now, almost indifferent, but you can tell it’s something else. something less bulletproof than usual. “i’m not… good at this. i won’t magically get smarter overnight.” 

you close your notebook. “sae. i’m not here because i think you’re stupid.” 

he lifts his head, finally meeting your gaze. and his expression, usually so unreadable, softens, just barely. 

“then why?” 

you blink. “because i want to help.” 

he doesn’t reply. doesn’t look away either. for a second, the air shifts. it’s like the library fades into the background, the high ceilings and quiet whispers and dusty fluorescent lights all falling away until it’s just you and him. your knee brushing his under the table. his hand frozen halfway between writing and fidgeting. 

you don’t say anything. neither does he. 

but it hangs there, quiet and loud all at once. 

and maybe it’s not just about math anymore. 

by the fourth tutoring session, you catch him studying before you arrive. 

he’s hunched over a worksheet, pencil in hand, muttering like he’s trying to manifest brain cells. it’s actually kind of cute. he looks up when you sit beside him and immediately says, “i got five answers right. on my own.” 

you raise your brows. “what, no ‘you’re late?’ no ‘i hate this class?’ who are you and what have you done with sae?” 

“shut up,” he mutters, ears turning red again. 

you grin. “i’m proud of you, dumbass.” 

he looks away, but the corner of his mouth twitches. 

eventually, it stops being just tutoring. 

you still go over formulas and grammar worksheets, sure, but there’s more laughter now. more inside jokes. more lingering glances when you explain something, and more quiet watching when he thinks you won’t notice. 

he starts walking you to your class afterwards. offers to carry your bag sometimes, even though you’re pretty sure he just wants an excuse to hold something that belongs to you. one day, he brings you a sports drink with your favorite flavor. doesn’t say anything, just drops it on the table like it’s no big deal. 

you don’t mention the way his hand brushes yours when you take it. 

you don’t mention how he doesn’t pull away. 

one day, while you’re packing up your notebooks, you say: “hey, i know you think you suck at this, but... i like tutoring you.” 

he looks at you. really looks at you. and after a second, he says, voice low: “i like when you do, too.” 

and then, almost shyly– 

“... not just because of the tutoring.” 

your heart skips. you bite back a smile, trying to play it cool. “oh? so, what else is it?” 

he shrugs, eyes flicking down to your hands as you gather your books. 

“… you make it easier to think. even when i’m not good at this, you still... believe i can be.” 

you stop, just for a beat. the words land softer than you expect, all hushed and sincere and awkwardly beautiful coming from someone like him. 

when you look up, he’s already staring – cheeks pink, jaw tense like he wants to say more. 

so you reach over, close his math book gently, and murmur: “you’re getting better. and... you’re not the only one who looks forward to this.” 

he blinks. your fingers brush his, and this time, neither of you pull away. 

maybe he only knew three things before. 

but now? he’s starting to learn a fourth: you. 

and honestly, it’s the best subject yet. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[scary-grace]

Call Me Sometime (Chapter 2) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

You work the dispatch desk at a phone sex line to make ends meet, and you're used to handling some strange calls. But the caller you're babysitting tonight is the strangest by far -- and that's before you find out why he called.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

“Phone for you!” Mizuho hollers from somewhere deep in the recesses of Shiroiwa’s building. It echoes like nothing you’ve ever heard, but somehow it works in her favor.

“I’m not working phones tonight!” You holler back. A client unleashed on you earlier, and in a rare show of compassion, Akiko stuck somebody else in the headset for tonight. “Make somebody else do it. I’m in the mailroom. Boss’s orders.”

“Just come get the headset. You can wear it while you work.” Mizuho waits a second, then shouts again. “Now!”

You groan and straighten up from the pile of packages you’re sorting. The mailroom is a boring job for sure, but it hasn’t been your best week at work, and the idea of getting back on the phone tonight makes your stomach clench. But orders are orders, and since the incident with Tenko two weeks ago, you’ve been very strict with yourself about following the rules.

It’s not like you got in real trouble, or any trouble. Once Akiko calmed down about the whole thing, she actually gave you a bonus for stepping up and handling it, keeping the client occupied and leaving him wanting more. It’s more that the interaction unsettled you a bit, more that you don’t like the line you crossed in yourself, the way you went from treating Tenko like a client to something almost like a friend. You wouldn’t have bantered like that with a client. You wouldn’t have let slip even one detail about yourself. You don’t like the line you crossed. You don’t like how easy it was for you to do it.

You make your way back through Shiroiwa’s maze of corridors to the desk where you usually sit and find Mizuho holding out the spare headest. “Put this on and get out of here,” she orders, scowling. “Pushy, this one. Wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“Details?” you ask out of habit.

“Straight. No problems affording it.” Mizuho answers the last part of your question as you hook the headset over your ear, when it’s already way too late for you to do anything but brace for impact. “Twenty.”

That’s all the warning you get. The next thing you know, Tenko’s voice is in your ear. “I thought you said you just answered phones. Why didn’t you answer when I called?”

“I usually just answer phones. Tonight’s an off night.” You look hopelessly at Mizuho, and she shoos you away, back towards the mailroom. “Tenko, um –”

“What are you doing if you’re not answering phones?”

“I’m in the mailroom.” Or you will be, anyway. You’re suddenly certain you don’t want an audience for this call. “Tenko, you know you’re paying for this, right?”

“I know,” Tenko says impatiently in that raspy voice. “Your boss made you hang up before I was done.”

Before he was done? You feel like you would have known if he was jerking off on the other end of the line. Would a guy really jerk off to you singing happy birthday? Your face twists with discomfort, and as the silence stretches, Tenko clearly catches on to what it sounded like. “I wasn’t done talking. Don’t be disgusting.”

“You’re the one who called a phone sex line.” You get back to the mailroom and the massive pile of packages you were sorting. Hopefully this phone call doesn’t distract you into making any big mistakes. “It’s weird that you weren’t jerking off.”

“Maybe I would have, if I was talking to one of the others instead of you.”

“I offered to transfer you. Two times,” you say, exasperated. “You wouldn’t even let me tell you what I was wearing.”

It’s quiet for a second. There’s a muffled sound on the other end of the line – maybe a snicker. “I knew you were going to say that.”

“Yeah, we’ve got an inside joke. So what?” The first package in the pile is addressed to Akiko – like at least two dozen of the packages you’ve already sorted. You consult your tablet, then start prying it open. “Why did you call us, Tenko?”

“Are you stupid or something? I wasn’t done talking to you,” Tenko says. You feel ten kinds of weird about that. “I asked for Nine when I called. They didn’t know who I was talking about.”

“Did you think I was going to give out my real name?”

“I gave mine,” Tenko says. “What’s your real name?”

“That’s a level ten question. We’re at level two,” you say. “Ask something else.”

“Why didn’t you make up an actual fake name instead of just using a number?”

“I panicked,” you say, which is true. “That’s my character’s name on my D&D campaign. It was the first thing that came to mind.”

“You said you weren’t good except on a team,” Tenko says. You remember that part of the conversation. You were negging yourself on purpose, trying to build him up, like you’ve heard other operators do hundreds of times, but you weren’t exactly lying. “What did you mean?”

“I’m a Life Cleric,” you say. Tenko makes a questioning sound. “Cleric is my character class, Life is the domain I’m attuned to. The reason I said I’m not good when I’m not part of a team is because all my skills are linked to healing – mostly. My character’s name is Nine because the deity she worships will let her do nine complete resurrections. So if the other members of the party die, my character can bring them back to life at full health and power, no questions asked.”

It was a cool character attribute when you picked it, but the DM wouldn’t let you use it unless there was a catch. “What happens after the ninth resurrection?” Tenko asks. “If you had to do it again.”

“The tenth time is a swap. My life for the life of the person I’m trying to resurrect,” you say. “And then my character’s soul goes straight to hell.”

“Why?”

“Because doing the resurrection knowing it’ll kill me is like committing suicide,” you explain. “According to the deity my character worships, suicide’s a sin.”

It’s quiet for a second. “This is a weird game,” Tenko states.”

“You have no idea.” You think back to last weekend’s session. “Right now we’re trying to clear a dungeon so we can get the item hidden at its center, and every time we run into something we can’t kill in one turn, our party’s rogue rolls to seduce it. And she keeps rolling high.”

Tenko laughs at that – actually laughs. His laughter is awkward and rusty. “What happens then?”

“We sit there for a whole turn while she roleplays seducing it.” You cringe at the thought. Yuka from work plays the rogue. She’s one of the phone sex operators, and as a result, she’s way too good at talking dirty. “Last session I rolled to bleach my own brain and it was a critical failure.”

Tenko is still laughing. “You guys are never getting out of there.”

“I know.” You’ve been focusing on the conversation rather than your actual job. You open Akiko’s package, checking it against her list. It checks out, so you tape it up again and drop it into her mail bin. “How are you, Tenko?”

“What?”

“How are you? We talked about me, so I’m asking about you. How are you?” That’s not what you really want to know. You want to know why he’s called you back, and also if Mizuho has him paying the phone sex rate for a decidedly unsexy conversation. “Tenko?”

“Fine. Bored. Work sucked.”

So he’s got a job. “What sucked about it?”

“My – boss.” Tenko pauses oddly mid-sentence. “He has this big project for me. I know what my objective is but I don’t know how to get there and he’s not giving me any hints. He just keep saying I can start over as much as I need to. Like he knows I’m going to fail.”

“Oh.” You wouldn’t like that, if Akiko pulled something like that on you – or if an instructor did. “Is he trying to get you to achieve an objective or trying to get you to learn?”

“Both? I don’t fucking know.” Tenko groans. “If I knew how I’d have done it already, but I don’t.”

“Have you gotten projects like that before?” you ask.

“No.”

So it’s a big responsibility, it’s something he’s never done before, and his boss has made it clear that he’s expecting him to screw up. “It doesn’t seem very fair to you. I mean, from where I’m standing. I don’t know what your job is like, but it seems like you need more help than he’s giving you.”

“Yeah.” Tenko exhales slowly. You can hear that raspy note in his breathing, too. You wonder if he’s okay. “I knew you’d get it.”

Why did he think that? It weirds you out, and so does his next question. “How are you?”

“Uh, fine. I’m just in the mailroom.”

“Escort services have mailrooms?”

“We get mail just like every other business,” you say. “Mostly it’s gifts, though. All the escorts and operators have wish lists, and sometimes their regular clients buy them things.”

“Like what?” Tenko asks, skeptical.

“Uh –” You glance at the package of Akiko’s you just sorted. “For the high-tier workers, it’s stuff like jewelry or clothes. Usually designer. Last week somebody sent my boss a lingerie set with actual gemstones on it. The high-tiers get presents. For everybody else it’s like – toys and stuff. Things the clients want them to use or wear during sessions.”

It’s strange. You don’t know what Tenko looks like, but you can picture his expression twisting with disgust. “And you open all that stuff?”

“I have to make sure it’s actually on the worker’s wish list,” you explain. “If not, we send it back.”

You’ve heard some of the workers say that it’s unusual to do something like that, that most of the time the clients get the final say on everything. Shiroiwa’s different. Fancier. And according to Akane, the high-tier you’re friendliest with, a lot of the clients get off on being bossed around a little bit. “What kind of shit do you send back?” Tenko asks.

“Let’s see.” You select a package from the pile that’s addressed to Noriko – Noriko, who’s wish list is extremely short, and definitely doesn’t include what’s in here. You open it to confirm and wince. “So this one operator doesn’t have anything on her list but lingerie or costumes. Schoolgirl uniforms, maid dresses, things like that. But some client had the bright idea to send her a giant dildo. We’ll be sending that back.”

Tenko makes a weird, choked sound. “How giant?”

You consult the packing slip. “Fourteen inches. Whoever sent this watches way too much hentai. Anatomy-wise, there’s just not that much room in there.” You think about it for a second, a page from your borrowed anatomy textbook popping into your head. “Unless it’s for anal, but that’s also pretty high-risk.”

Tenko still sounds like his airway’s being restricted. “Where do you come up with this stuff?”

“I work at an escort service, and my coworkers are kind of talkative.” You got used to it after a little bit, but you’re pretty sure you spent the first two weeks you worked at Shiroiwa in a constant state of secondhand embarrassment. “And I study anatomy. So there’s that.”

You repackage the dildo, stamp it as return to sender, and drop it into the outgoing mail bin. You’re in the process of opening another package when you realize that Tenko hasn’t said anything in a while, and that your candid info-dump about the feasibility of monster dildos and your slight against people who watch too much hentai might have offended him. “Um – are you still there?”

“Yeah.” Tenko sounds like he’s back to normal. Sort of. “How much room is in there? On average.”

“In a vagina?” You feel like this is the wrong conversation to be having. Akiko would kill you if she heard you going over reproductive anatomy facts on the phone with a client. Sex work is about fantasy. This is – not. “Four to eight inches, max.”

“Oh.” Tenko’s voice gives you absolutely no clue how he feels about this. If you had to guess, you’d say he’s reevaluating own size in relation to how much room there actually is to work with, but you can’t tell if the reevaluation is in his favor or not. There’s absolutely no way you’re going to ask, and you’re pretty sure he’s not going to tell you. “What are you studying anatomy for?”

“That’s a personal question.”

“You just told me how much room there is in – there.”

“I was speaking in general. Not about me.” There’s nothing secondhand about the embarrassment that kicks in. Shriveling up and dying feels like an appropriate response – and so does answering Tenko’s too-personal question in order to get off the subject of how much space there is in your vagina. “I want to be a paramedic. The last time you talked to me I was studying biology for my entrance exam. I won’t need anatomy unless I get in, but I think it’s interesting, so I study that sometimes, too.”

“Why do you care if I ask you personal questions?” Tenko asks. There’s a sulky note in his voice that piques your temper. “You ask me.”

“You’re the client. You want a conversation, so we’re having a conversation.” You check the gift you just opened against Yumiko’s list, then repackage it and drop it in her bin. “It’s not about me. I could be anybody. You shouldn’t ask me questions just to be polite.”

Tenko laughs. There’s something twisted about the sound, something that raises the hairs on the back of your neck. “You’re crazy if you think I do anything just to be polite. I asked because I want to know.”

Tenko needs a lesson in boundaries. There’s shit clients just don’t ask their phone sex operators. What an operator’s wearing? Sure. Whether she likes it rough? Absolutely. Whether she’d let him come inside without a condom if they were having sex instead of just talking about it? Totally aboveboard. Asking what you’re studying and why? So inappropriate it’s not even funny.

And you’re not even an operator. You route calls and you open the mail. Taking calls with clients isn’t part of your job description. What are you even doing on the phone with this guy? “Look, I need to go. If I’m not going to answer the questions you want me to, you shouldn’t waste your money.”

“Hey. Wait. You can’t hang up.” Tenko’s response is instant, insistent, and more desperate than you would have expected. “Don’t hang up. I won’t ask more questions. You can just tell me –”

“What I’m wearing?”

“Shut up,” Tenko says, but you can hear that he’s trying to hold back laughter. It’s a different kind of laughter than a moment ago. ‘What’s in the packages you’re sorting. Whether it’s going back or not. That kind of thing. I don’t care. Just don’t hang up.”

You try to restructure your idea of Tenko in your head. He’s pushy. He’s sort of a dick. His idea of what’s going on between the two of you is deeply messed up. And at the same time, he’s paying a lot to have this conversation. And he’s willing to keep paying for it even if all you do is tell him about the packages you’re going through. Your brain reminds you, like it probably should have a while ago, that you’re dealing with somebody who called a phone sex line on his birthday so he’d have somebody to talk to. Tenko is weird and pushy and sort of a dick. Tenko’s also really lonely. If he wasn’t, he’d be talking to a friend or a girlfriend instead of you.

Sorting packages is boring, even if the stories you get out of it aren’t. Your friends from school don’t know about your job, so you can’t tell them about it, and your coworkers aren’t interested in all the weird things you find. Tenko needs somebody to talk to, and you want somebody to tell about the weird gifts clients send to your coworkers. Looking at it that way, you’re perfect for each other.

“Fine,” you say, and Tenko breathes an audible sigh of relief on the other end of the line. At least you’re hoping it’s relief. You lift the next package off the pile. “So this one is for one of the club workers. It’s really heavy – and it’s covered in like fifty layers of tape, which means the client mailed it himself. That’s commitment.”

“How do they usually send it?”

“Amazon,” you say, and Tenko snorts. You wrestle the package open at last and your jaw drops. “Uh –”

“What is it?”

“The Kama Sutra, but it’s, like – antique.” You don’t know anything about books, but this one looks old, and old stuff is expensive. “This guy must be loaded if he can afford something like this.”

“Is it on the list?”

“It – yes.” You’re pretty sure that Satomi wasn’t asking for this edition of it, but her list does say Kama Sutra on it. “She’s going to flip when she sees this. Club workers almost never get fancy stuff.”

“You can tell me what she says about it,” Tenko says. “The next time I call you.”

You were hoping there wouldn’t be a next time. Your stomach drops, and questions crawl into your mind – about why he’s stable enough to hold down a job but doesn’t have any friends, about why he’s so squeamish about sex when he’s the one calling a phone sex line, about why he’d even want to call you again when your conversations are so awkward. You don’t want to talk to him like this anymore. You’re too close in age, and it’s too easy, too much like talking to a friend. You have enough friends. You don’t need a client thinking he’s one of them.

But this is work. It’s work, and a conversation like this is easy money, money Akiko will tear you up one side and down the other if you leave on the table. “Next time,” you say, and set the book down carefully in Satomi’s bin. “Sounds good.”

<- Chapter 1

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[harringtonstilinski]

Potion - Steve Harrington (Smut)

Author: @harringtonstilinski​ Characters: Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader Word Count: 4,490 Warnings: fluff, angst, reader is referred to as henderson before nicknames are thrown, Requested: no | yes; requested by the amazing @fandom-princess-forevermore !! this request has been sitting in my inbox for months, and i've finally gotten around to it! i hope you enjoy it, bby!! Smut: no | yes, 18+ MINORS DNI; oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v (pls wrap before you tap), missionary, cowgirl, doggy, sitting up(? i no idea what the name of this position is, lol), shower A/N: Hi, friends! I had a time writing this fic, lol. I'm sorry I haven't posted anything in while; I've been more into reading books than I have fics, or writing fics. Let me know what you thought! If you like this, please do not hesitate to reblog and give some feedback, whether it be in the reblogs, comments, or my inbox. As always, read at your own risk and enjoy 😊

Steve Harrington Masterlist

Steve Harrington Playlist

They say that everything happens for a reason, right? Well… that question and thought has been running through your head all day long at the prospect of hearing and seeing the fireworks at the show The Party has invited you to.

Groaning as you flip over in bed, you could feel your anxiety creeping up on you just at the thought alone of being near Lover’s Lake in a few short hours.

Your anxiety increased tenfold as the phone rang, the noise causing you to jump out of your skin. Getting up out of bed, you sauntered over to the phone that was on your dresser, yawning as you picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“You’re coming to pick me up, right?”

“For what?” you asked, trying to play dumb.

“For the fireworks!!”

Pulling the receiver from your ear, you blinked at the loud voice on the other end before putting the earpiece back to your ear. “Yes. I’ll come pick you up. What time is that again?”

“They start at sundown, which is - what, 8:30? So, pick us up at around 6 so that way we can get everything set up.”

“Okay. I’ll see you at six.” You hung up the phone before they could request anything else, like you getting them snacks from the gas station or grocery store.

Jumping out of your skin again, you placed a hand over your heart and made your way to your front door, opening it to peek outside, only to see Steve standing there with a to-go coffee cup in hand.

“Oh, my stars, you’re the best,” you said, opening the door a little more. “Get in here.”

Chuckling, Steve made his way inside, giving your forehead a kiss as he walked by. “Did you just get up or something?” he asked.

“Yeah. The kids called and basically reminded me about picking them up for the firework display tonight,” you replied, closing the door and walking into the kitchen where Steve stood. “It’s giving me anxiety just thinking about going.”

“Why?” 

Looking up at him, you could also see the same anxiety in his eyes that you felt. “Because of the loud noises and the flashes. Steve, we just survived another stint in the Upside Down. I’m having stupid flashbacks again.”

“And what did I tell you about having them?” He walked over to you, rubbing his hands gently up and down your arms. “To call me. No matter the time of day.”

Sighing, you leaned your forehead against his chest. “I know. But with you working, I don’t want to call the video store and get you fired, or have your parents mad because the phone’s ringing in the middle of the night.”

“Hey, don’t worry about Keith or my parents. They don’t matter at that moment. You do.”

Looking up at him, you smiled a little. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re the bestest friend a person could have?”

Smiling back at you, Steve replied, “Every day since the third grade.”

“I mean it, Steve.”

“I know.”

The small smile that grazed your lips into a full fledged smile. Steve made you one of the happiest people on the planet, and you made him the happiest person on the planet.

“How about this?” he said, placing his hands on your shoulders. Rubbing your upper arms, he explained, “Why don’t we just drop the kids off at Lover’s Lake, then we’ll go back to Family Video and rent a couple of feel good movies, go back to my house and have a little Fourth of July celebration of our own.”

Sighing, you said, “That sounds wonderful.”

“What sounds wonderful?” your mom asked.

“Having a quiet night with Steve, celebrating the Fourth with a movie and some popcorn,” you explained. What you didn’t explain or want to say was Steve and I are having a night in because the boom of the fireworks will cause me to go into panic because of our experience in the Upside Down, but you didn’t. Your mom didn’t need to know everything.

“Oh, won’t that be nice?” she smiled. “Steve, it’ll be nice to have you around for the night. Your best friend here has been so lonely.”

“Oh, my goodness, mother,” you sighed, walking into the dining room to lean against your hands, which you placed on the table, your head hanging between your shoulders.

Although your mother didn’t know that you could still hear her when she said to Steve, “Talk to her about her nightmares, Steven. She wakes me up screaming at night.”

Crossing his arms, he looked over at you, replying to your mother, “She’s screaming?” Looking back at your mother, he added, “What is she screaming about?”

Sighing, your mother looked at your back while saying, “You, Steven.” Looking back at Steve, she tacked on, “She screams about you.” Placing a hand on his arm, she gave a sad smile, one that says I hate hearing my daughter scream and cry at night, so fix her, please.

As your mother walked away, you picked your head up with closed eyes and sighed. Why did she have to tell him that? you thought to yourself. Feeling Steve walk up behind you, you slowly turned around to face him, bracing your hands on the table behind you.

“You’re screaming about me at night?” he asked.

Nodding, you looked at a random spot on his shirt. “Yes.”

Steve looked around, seeing if he could spot your mom. When he couldn’t, he took a step closer and quietly asked, “Are they about the Upside Down? The Bats?”

Again, you nodded your head.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Steve asked, “So, are the nightmares also the flashbacks, or are those completely separate?” He wasn’t mad, just curious.

“It’s both, Steve. I can’t read the word thunder without going back into my mind. I can’t see the color red and not think about the lightning, or the blood that poured from you and Eddie after the Bats tried to make meals out of you two.”

Without so much as thinking about it, Steve wrapped his arms around your shoulders, your forehead immediately going to the center of his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

Scoffing to yourself, you muttered, “I haven’t even asked about you. I’m so selfish.”

Resting his chin on the top of your head, he shook his head, sighing. “I’m not worried about me right now. I’m more worried about you.”

Sighing, you let a tear fall from your lash line, a tear you didn’t even feel building. So quietly, you say, “I love you, Stevie,” before looking up at him. Steve took it as a friendly confession, not one you’re actually meaning.

Your love for Steve grew from friends to love interest when thought he was dead meat when he got dragged into the Upside Down at Watergate. When you found him not dead, you sighed with relief.

Steve, on the other hand, has always loved you as more than a friend. Ever since he found out what it meant to love someone else. Sure, he loved Nancy, but not nearly as much as he loves you. Which is why the only response he gives is a kiss to your forehead, your eyes shutting at the feel of his lips on you.

“Hey, Steve?” you whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Can we go run our errands now?”

~~~

“This is going to be so much fun!” Dustin exclaimed from the backseat. “The gang all back together again.”

You looked over at Steve, apprehension on your face. “Yeah, about that, Dusty.”

It was quiet for a moment before Dustin whined, “Noooo. You have to go!”

“Dustin, I’m still having those nightmares and flashbacks. I’m not going to scream my head off at a town event and be talked about like I’m like the town freak.”

“Your sister doesn’t need to be tossed in Pennhurst, okay?” Steve said, coming to your defense.

“I mean, I understand it,” Max said. “I wouldn’t want to go there, either.”

“You don’t wanna be there with Mr. Creel?” Lucas asked.

A quick look in the backseat brought a smile to your face, seeing Max give Lucas the bird, but then cuddle up next to him. “You two are so adorable.”

“So, what are you going to do then if you’re not coming to the firework show?” Dustin asked.

“Steve and I went to Family Video earlier and rented some tapes, so we’ll be sitting at one of our houses watching feel good movies and eating some popcorn,” you answered.

It was silent again for a moment before Dustin mumbled, “You two better have clothes on when I come home.”

That statement alone set your cheeks ablaze, and Steve with some ideas before you two chuckled at your brother.

~~~

“Really?” you asked. “Police Academy? Again?”

Chuckling, Steve said, “You watched me pick it up.”

“No, I didn’t. I walked away!”

The two of you ended up going back to Steve’s house. With the plans that Steve has to distract you from any firework sounds, he thought it best to come back to his house to not scar your sweet, sweet mother… and your little brother Dustin.

“You picked up Sixteen Candles again, so why can’t I pick out Police Academy?” he asked.

Tilting your head and forth, you thought about it for a moment. “You have a point there. Steve - 1, me - none.” Leaning back against the cushions after grabbing a handful of popcorn, you placed a few in your mouth, chewing the salty snack.

“Plus,” you added. “Sixteen Candles only has one boob scene. This movie-” You pointed to the screen. “Has a total of three… with sex!”

“What’s wrong with sex?” Steve asked, not thinking.

Shaking your head slowly, you replied, “Not a damn thing.”

With a soft smile to himself, Steve looked at your profile, happy with your answer.

~~~

“And I can’t believe I gave my panties to a geek,” you recited, putting another handful of popcorn into your mouth. “See, this is why I love this movie. It’s got amazing quotes, and it’s funny, too.” Suddenly sitting up, you twisted to look at Steve, asking, “When this is over, can we go back to Family Video and get Weird Science and The Breakfast Club? Ooh! And maybe Back to the Future, too?”

Steve couldn’t help but smile a little at you, moving his hand from the back of the couch where his arm laid to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “We can do whatever you want.”

A soft pop sounded in the air, your body and mind immediately on alert. You could see the same thing on Steve’s face; alert. While Steve’s alertness was more of a protective alert, yours was more of a scared alert. 

The phone ringing had both your heads turning towards the device, Steve deciding to get up and answer it.

“The fireworks just started. You two okay?”

Sighing, Steve closed his eyes and hung his head a little. “Yeah, Hop. We’re okay. For now. Just on high alert.” Hearing whimpers from the living room, Steve’s protectiveness went up tenfold at hearing another soft pop. “Yeah, no, nevermind.”

“Is–”

“Yeah, she’s here. The popping is scaring her. I’ve got a plan to distract us.”

“Well, put that plan into motion, kid. They’re gonna keep popping them off for at least another 10 minutes.”

“Will do. Thanks, Hop.” Hanging up the phone, Steve called your name, your eyes immediately going to his. “Come here.”

You didn’t have to be told twice! Shooting off the couch like a rocket, you made your way into Steve’s arms, wrapping your own around his middle. “You doing okay?” you asked, voice a little muffled from where your face was pressed into his chest.

Rubbing your back, Steve answered, “I’m fine.”

Another pop of a firework had you both tensing.

“Look at me.”

Looking up at Steve, you didn’t have to ask him what was wrong because his lips pressing against yours shocked you more than anything. It didn’t take you long to sink into the kiss, the action going from testing the waters to hungry and needy.

Steve’s hands went from your back to your hips while yours trailed up from his ribs to his cheeks. Without even thinking, Steve bent to place his hands on the backs of your thighs, your body reacting without much thought as you jumped and wrapped your legs around his waist.

Stopping the kiss very briefly, you breathed, “Steve, take me to bed.”

“Oh, I wholeheartedly planned on it.”

Looking at Steve, you couldn’t help but smile at him, a soft laugh from your lips. “Oh, really?”

“Yup,” he replied, walking you towards the stairs and up to his room, your head resting perfectly in the crook of his neck.

Before you knew it, your back was against the mattress. Looking up at him, you threaded your fingers through his hair. “What did you have planned, Harrington?”

Shaking his head softly, he said, “Just planned to distract you once the fireworks started.”

“And yourself. Don’t forget yourself.”

Steve nodded while smiling, bending his elbows to place his lips on yours, the hungry and needy kisses from moments ago now gone. Soft, sensual, loving kisses are now shared between you two.

Before the two of you knew it, you both were panting messes, Steve slotted between your legs, the both of you without any barriers between you; nothing but skin on skin.

“Steve, are you gonna fuck me now?” you asked, fingers carding through his hair once again. 

Placing kisses on your neck, Steve hummed. “Not yet, baby.” Trailing those kisses down your chest and the valley of your breasts, he looked up at you. “I can still hear them going off. Gotta keep distracting you.”

A giggle escaped you before you said, “Well, you’re doing a mighty fine job.”

He smiled before placing a kiss to your stomach, trailing his tongue over your belly button. You smiled as he did, leaning your head back a little, a satisfied noise sounding from your throat.

When you felt his hands spread your legs even further, your head shot up off the pillow, looking down at Steve as he placed kisses along your inner thighs. Bringing your arms underneath you, you rested against your elbows, every bit of confidence you felt now drifting away. “Steve.”

“Yeah, baby?” he replied, still leaving trails of kisses along your skin.

“Uhm, are you… gonna…?”

“Gonna what?”

After a few beats of silence, he looked up at you, seeing nothing but nervousness dancing in your eyes. “What is it?”

“It’s just that… no one’s ever…–”

“Ate you out?”

You shook your head no, nothing but embarrassment seeping through. “I’ve always given a guy head, but he’s never returned the favor.”

Steve rubbed his thumb along the top of your thigh, trying to sooth you. “You don’t have to return the favor tonight.”

“Wh–” Before you could finish the question, Steve’s tongue on your core shut you up with a slow intake of breath. You could feel him smile as he worked his tongue over you, hands coming to rest on either side of your pussy, spreading you open a little bit more for him. “Steve, wha– fuck!” 

As his tongue worked your clit, Steve smiled to himself as he peeked a look at you, seeing that you moved from resting on your elbows to having laid on your back, hands in your hair.

“Oh, my. That’s–” You cut yourself off from finishing that statement with a chuckle. “Oh, my gosh, keep doing that.”

“You like that?” he asked.

“Fuck yes!”

Steve chuckled, looking down at your most intimate area, his tongue going right back to your core, slowly dragging up. Without warning, he entered two fingers into your wet heat.

“Holy shit, Steve,” you said, picking up your head to look at him, his eyes closed to the pure passion he was feeling. “Steve.” A loud moan escaped you, your hands going to your breasts. “Steve, come here. Ste– fuck.” With your head tilted back, you almost screamed as your first orgasm of the night washed through you without much warning, and once it subsided, you looked back down at Steve, a lazy smile on your lips. “Get the fuck up here and kiss me.”

“Your wish is my command,” he replied, smiling. Hovering over you with your hands coming up to his face, the two of you kissed with such passion, it almost felt like you were having an out of body experience.

A laugh bubbled up out of you, the feeling of Steve’s lips on your teeth almost sending you into overdrive. 

“Why are you laughing?” Steve asked, kissing down your cheek to your neck.

“I-I can f-f-f-feel your cock jabbing me in the th-th-th-thigh,” you laughed. “It’s just a weird feeling.” Looking at the unamused look on his face, it made you laugh even more… then your eyes went wide as another firework shot off, this time a little closer. “Put it inside me now to distract me, Steve, or else I’ll hide in your bathroom with the lights on.”

“I don’t have any condoms near me,” he said. “They’re all in the bathroom.”

Without missing a beat, you replied, “I’m clean, and I’m on the pill. I trust you.”

The telltale sign of a firework shooting into the sky had your eyes widening even more as you reached between the two of you to grab Steve’s hard length and lining him up with your entrance. Another squeal in the sky had you looking back into Steve’s eyes. “Steve, I think if you push in, I’ll moan loud enough to drown out that firework that’s about po– oh my god!” 

Steve pushed into you, that loud moan you promised drowning out the firework pop that sounded through the sky. “Damn, baby. You made good on your promise.”

“Steve, this is no time for jokes,” you said. “We both have PTSD from that unforgiving place. Now, please, just… fuck me until the night passes.”

Chuckling, Steve replied, “I’m not sure I can go that many rounds.”

“Well, you fucking better, Harrington.”

With determination, Steve thrust in and out of you, both of you moaning loudly to drown out the sound of the fireworks going off, one right after the other. Neither of you heard the phone ringing downstairs.

At some point, you had rolled the both of you over, your body straddling his hips as you rode him; moving your hips back and forth, bouncing almost like your life depended on it. 

“Fuck, babe, that’s hot,” Steve breathed out.

Leaning forward, you braced your hands on his chest, your fingers carding through his chest hair, breaths heavy as moisture started to build on your forehead and back. “Steve, we have to switch. My legs are getting tired.”

Without missing a beat, Steve leaned forward and wrapped his arm around your back, lips on yours for a moment before he knelt on his bed, gently turning your body to hopefully get you to pick up what he was putting down.

Thankfully, you did. You removed yourself from his grip, turning around and getting on your hands and knees, where Steve grabbed your hips and thrust into again, both of your moans sounding out throughout the room.

His thrusts this time were unrelenting, his orgasm creeping up on him. “Fuck, I’m not gonna last much longer, baby.”

“Neither am I,” you breathed. “Keep going.”

With every thrust, you could feel his balls slapping at your clit, the feeling stimulating you in ways your fingers never could. It doesn’t feel as good as Steve’s tongue on your clit, but nevertheless, the feeling was amazing. “Oh, my god, Steve. That feels amazing. Don’t stop.”

You could feel Steve holding back from releasing his orgasm as you chased yours. Steve reached forward and placed his hand on your stomach, bringing you to sitting up, your hand immediately going to the nape of his neck, feeling his own perspiration there.

Steve rested his chin on your shoulder the best he could, watching your breasts bounce with every thrust. Without warning, his orgasm washed over him, your own following not long after.

Neither of you moved for a second. Neither of you wanted to. You had a feeling that this would change your relationship forever. Steve, on the other hand, wants this to change your relationship forever. He wants to be with you. 

“Hey, Steve?” you whispered.

“Yeah, Henderson?” 

“I have to pee so bad.”

Chuckling, Steve gently leaned you forward, the both of you hissing at the feel of Steve slowly pulling out. Getting off the bed, you waddled your way over to his bathroom, relieving yourself. When you were done and after you washed your hands, you looked at the glass shower door.

“Hey, Steve?”

“Yeah, Henderson?”

“Can I shower?”

Steve walked over to the bathroom door, opening it just a little, seeing you looking at his shower through the mirror. “Yeah.” He walked in and shut the door behind him. “As long as I can join.”

You turned to face him, seeing a smirk on his face. Not being able to help yourself, you laughed lightly, nodding your head. “Yeah. Yeah you can join.”

Steve walked over to you, gently cupping your cheeks before bringing his lips down on yours, you immediately kissing him back. He walked you backwards a few steps before stopping. The only reason he took his lips off yours was so he could open the shower door to turn the water on. Looking back down at you, he said, “Now, I don’t like my water the temperature of hell.”

You laughed loudly, the sound like music to Steve’s ears. “That’s okay. Warm water is best for my hair type, so is cold water.” At Steve’s puzzled look, you explained, “Warm water for washing and conditioning and rinsing like normal, cold water for that final rinse before getting out. Dustin hates it, Eddie’s getting used to it, and I secretly love it.”

“Will it work on mine?” he asked.

Chuckling, you said, “Of course it will. Keep using your Faberge shampoo and conditioner with that final cold rinse and your hair will look better than ever.” You smiled, reaching up to card your fingers through his hair.

Sticking his hand inside the shower, he deemed the temperature to be where he likes it, stepping in before taking your hand and guiding you under the water with him. Without missing a beat, he put his lips back on yours, a searing kiss that had your knees almost buckling. 

Tongues dancing, the sound of the water hitting the tile floor and yours and Steve’s moans sounding between the two of you, Steve was up and ready for round two.

“Thought you said you couldn’t go all night,” you mused. 

“Yeah, well, I can be wrong sometimes,” he said, smiling. He kissed you again after you smiled, both of your bodies and hair soaked from the shower. When you pulled away from him and started kissing down his body, Steve furrowed his brows, wondering what you were doing. 

Steve threw his head back, hands coming up to the top of his head, smoothing his hair back at the feel of your mouth on him. “Goddamn, Henderson. You really know how to put that smart ass mouth to use.”

You almost choked on his cock from letting out a snort before pulling off of him to laugh. “You can’t say shit like that, Steve. I almost died!”

Lifting you off the floor, he wrapped his arms around your middle, your arms resting on his shoulders, a smile on both of your faces. “You’re so dramatic,” he said, pressing his lips to yours in a soft kiss.

The soft kiss turned into one of hunger and passion. Steve lifted your leg to rest on his hip before swiping the head of his cock between your fold before pushing himself into your sore core, a gasp releasing from you.

“Steve,” you whispered.

“Shhh,” he whispered back. “Just go with it. I’ll be soft, or at least I’ll try to be.”

Nodding, you breathed deep, feeling his soft thrusts. It was almost like the two of you were moving in time, dancing the same steps with the way you were moving in sync with each other. 

Just like before, you both finished together before showering each other off. Before the two of you got out, Steve turned the water on cold for the final rinse for your hair. Steve stepped out first to retrieve towels for the two of you.

Stepping out of the bathroom with the towels wrapped around your bodies, you suddenly remembered that you didn’t have a spare change of clothes, something that Steve also noticed.

Without saying a word, he walked into his closest, grabbing one of his t-shirts and basketball shorts. Looking through his drawers, he grabbed a pair of his boxers for you, handing them to you. 

As he went back into the closet to grab himself some clothes to change into, you went back into the bathroom to change and find a spare toothbrush, which you found under the sink in a storage container.

“Hey, Steve?” you said, voice raised.

“Yeah, Henderson?” he said, standing right next to you.

Jumping, you turned to look at him, hand over your heart. “Oh, my– Shit, I’m sorry. Uhm…–”

“Yes, you can use my toothpaste. I don’t mind. Really.”

Smiling, you whispered your thanks before grabbing the tube off the counter and putting a dollop on your brush after wetting the bristles. You wet the paste before putting it into your mouth, brushing your teeth clean of plaque and food.

Steve did the same, spitting out the foam when necessary. Once done, you both rinsed your mouths out and went back into the bedroom. Sighing, you looked around, not sure of what to do now.

“Uhm…” you said. “We could go finish watching our movies? I’m not supposed to go to bed with wet hair. It’ll flatten my curls.”

“Yeah, of course, whatever you want,” Steve said, smiling. “But before we do, I need to ask you a question.”

“What’s up?”

All of a sudden, he was nervous and embarrassed at the same time, not sure if he could ask the question he wanted to. “How happy do you think Dustin would be if we got together?”

Blinking rapidly, you weren’t expecting the question as you tried to think of an answer. “Uhh… I think he’d be happy. I mean, he fucking adores you. I mean, I adore you, too. You made me come like three times.” You laughed as Steve wrapped you up in his arms, a smile on his face.

“So, is that a yes, Henderson?” he asked.

Cupping his cheeks, you smiled. “Yes, Harrington, that’s a yes.”

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

A/N 2:  hi, friends! i'm so so sorry this took forever to get out. writer's block hit me like a brick! plus, i've been reading books like crazy, and i've gone in and out of depression episodes. thanks for sticking around! let me know what you thought! again, please do not hesitate to reblog and give some feedback, whether it be in the reblogs, comments, or my inbox.

Additional Notes: i'm trying to add the character masterlists and playlists onto all my one-shots from here on out! let me know if it makes it easier for y'all to back and choose!

~~~

Forever / Everything Taglist: @stiles-o-dylan24 @stixnstripesworld @fandom-princess-forevermore @quanticobae @mischiefandi @kellyashcroft @lauren-novak​

If you’re tagged and didn’t want to be, please let me know.

Italics wouldn’t let me tag!

~~~

*Please don’t post my writing anywhere else without my consent. The author of this work will always and forever be @harringtonstilinski​.

All characters, story lines, and plot aside from y/n and her storyline & plot, are all of the work of The Duffer Brothers.

*These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited.

No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

Posted on July 2, 2025

[girllblogging777]

THINKING ABOUT spencer’s best friend being here for him after maeve’s death

౨ৎ⋆˚࿔ spencer reid x bsf!reader (grief, slight angst)

the care packages on the doorstep were practically piling up when you got to his place, all of them having been sent from a different member of the team.

you approached hesitantly, careful not to step on any “condolences” card, and took a deep breath before knocking.

truth is, you had the key to spencer’s apartment. he’d given it to you years ago, in case of emergency. maybe if his plants needed to be watered, or his fish needed to be fed. you’d rarely ever used it, because he couldn’t keep a plant for longer than two days and never forgot about the fish food, but that’s how it was. and he had the key to your flat too.

however, today was different. the type of different that required the emergency key. you hadn’t seen spencer in two weeks. not since maeve had been killed right there, in front of all of you.

“spencer ?” you called worriedly, itching to hear his voice after a fortnight of silence from his side. “spencer, it’s me.”

nothing.

you waited a couple of more seconds, thinking maybe he’d at least answer and tell you to leave, but he didn’t.

“look, spence. i’m gonna open the door. so if you’re in there… i don’t know, naked or something, you’ve got about three seconds to say something”

but he didn’t, so you took it as a sign and pulled out the key before turning the lock and coming in. his place was exactly like you remembered. the dark walls, the leather couch and faint lighting streaming through the drawn curtains, it felt quiet somehow.

it was only after taking a good look that you realised the mess in the apartment. books were thrown all over the floor, contrasting your best friend’s usual neatness and obsession with things being organised.

on the kitchen counter were piled up about a dozen empty cups of coffee, if not more, and the only sign of life in there was the hollow figure of spencer curled up on the armchair.

“hi,” you spoke, taking a couple of tentative steps towards him. his eyes, once glinting with knowledge and excitement when he’d tell you about anything and everything, looked empty.

“hi…” he answered after a couple of seconds, getting up and letting you notice his stained sweatpants, and slightly darker hair due to days of not washing it.

you felt like you could genuinely cry at the sight of him, so vulnerable and ruined, but you couldn’t let him know you pitied him. because unlike anyone else with the baskets and the cards, you knew he didn’t want you to treat him that way.

“i’ve missed you”

three words, but there was so much more you wish you could say to him. the silence in his apartment was loud as you both stood there, but you decided not to assault him with questions for now. step by step, that was the plan.

spencer ran a shaky hand through his messy hair, speaking up in a groggy voice, “i’m… sorry you have to see me like this. you shouldn’t have come in.”

“maybe not, but i wanted to. besides, that’s what emergency keys are for.”

the expression on his face wasn’t exactly a smile, but his gratefulness was evident. you took it as a sign to take a step forward, and tilted your head as a silent question, opening out your arms.

right then, spencer’s arms envelop you into a bone crushing hug, his face burrowing into the crook of your neck in hope to find comfort. you embrace him in return, knowing you could pretty much count the physical contacts you’ve had with him over the years on your hand - but he needs it now.

the feeling of his shaky breath against your collarbone, and the thumping of his heart against your chest is faint, but it’s enough for you to know that he’s here. that he’s alive, and despite the looks, that he’s okay.

“i probably smell like trash,” he mumbles against you, reluctant to pull away.

you smile and shrug, tracing patterns on his back. for sure, it’s clear he hasn’t been able to take care of himself in the past few weeks, but he’d be stupid to think that would stop you from hugging him.

“at least you’re not naked.”

“that would not have stopped you from barging in. you know, the others have been a little more respectful, surprisingly…” he says, referring to the calls he didn’t return, and the care packages he didn’t accept in his time of grieving.

“don’t mind them, they’re just worried about you… and so am i,” you admit, just wanting him to understand how important he is to all of the team.

when he hums, you keep going. “i tried to keep my distance. i know you needed time, at least i did when… i mean, i also know that you need some help now.”

it’s not time for you to trauma dump, you know better than tackling the subject right now. the talk you’re bound to have will come later, but not when he’s so fragile already.

spencer pulls away, looking at you like a deer in the headlights. “i don’t need help. i’ll be fine, i always am, i have to. i just… need…”

“time. i know.”

he sighs, fiddling with his sleeves when you try to lock eyes with him. “how long… how long is it gonna take ?”

this question almost makes you wince, because it’s not exactly one you ever had the answer to. working in the FBI means everyone around has ghosts, and a complicated past. you might’ve known spencer’s like the back of your hand, but so did he with yours.

“it doesn’t go away just like that, it’s not… a drastic change. but slowly, you’ll learn to grow around the grief.”

no statistics or facts are provided from his side, he just nods and sighs, visibly wanting to switch subjects, which you do.

“okay, i’m going to stay here with you for a while as long as you’ll let me. i’ll just clean around first and-“

“no. no, i’ll do that.”

you chuckle, amused by how even in his worst state, he won’t let anyone touch his books. “you are going to take a shower and wash it all off. you know, showers regulates the nervous system and - you know that.”

slowly, he pads through the flat to the bathroom, not having enough energy to fight you on this or anything else. you bring him a towel and some clean clothes, before moving on to cleaning the place.

while spencer is in the shower, you collect all of the books on the floor and put them back on the bookshelf, careful to follow his organisation method - by author, then alphabetically and with the special editions piled next to it.

but the last book that you grab is the exception. you can tell, from the way it fits in your hands, that it carries meaning for your best friend. and the inscription on the first page confirms that to you.

perhaps it’s not exactly over, but it has to signify a fresh start for him. and you decide that’s exactly what it’s going to be. so, you take the book, and carefully set it back with the others, letting out a sigh.

eventually, it’ll be alright. and until then, you’ll be here.

[decayingearf]

Heyyyy! I was wondering whether I could request a message between stack x reader. Maybe y’all have had an argument and you leave the house for some space… he texts you after asking you to come back home- please could I be quite longish?

Hope this is okay to ask. Thank you very much. XO

✗ warnings; none really (sfw), slight use of the n-word (intended blk reader), angst (kinda)

( i misread the request and wrote a whole ass fic 🤦🏽‍♀️. but you got a two for one so 🤷🏽‍♀️. i also wrote this listening to ‘ctrl’ album by sza!)

this hardly ever happened. you and elias almost never argued. especially never over mundane things.

“[𝜗𝜚] you bein’ ridiculous right now” the man spoke his southern drawl more prominent now than ever before, “don’t give me that bullshit, i know im not crazy! no woman wants her so called boyfriend to disappear for days on end without warning or explanation!” you practically shouted.

you were fed up with his macho man act. it was pissing you off that he’d fall off the face of the earth to run off with his brother to god knows where, for god knows how long.

this was your breaking point.

“ain’ nobody sayin’ you crazy, im just sayin’ im i was handlin’ business and i come home to this? you always ridin’ me ‘bout somethin’” he rebutted causing you to scoff “ please don’t insult my intelligence, elias! anybody with half a mind would feel how i feel!” “‘nd how do you feel, [𝜗𝜚]? huh?” he pushed.

“i feel neglected! unprioritized, unloved, whatever the fuck is gonna make you get it! i feel unimportant.” you told with an eyeroll. you were so through.

“you think i’ont love you? that you not important to me? who was there for you when all that shit happened with your family? nobody, just me ‘nd smoke. so trust me, you important.” stack chimed in and for the first time in this conversation, he looks interested.

you scoff frowning up, “ don’t throw that shit in my face, nobody asked you to do that shit, elias. you did all that because you wanted to! i ain’ beg you to do anything for me!” “i didn’t say it because i care [𝜗𝜚], you think if i didn’t care i would’ve did any of that shit? no so—“ you cut him off, “ so what? i should be grateful? because you did what a boyfriend supposed to do?” that was funny.

“i know niggas doing less than that for they baby mamas..we ain’ even got no kids together.” what??

“so because we don’t have kids together you not s’posed to be there for me? please tell me that’s not what you mean.” you finished before crossing your arms over your chest. “im not sayin’ that you gotta be my baby mama to get some respect but you actin’ like..” he paused.

“actin’ like i actually want my boyfriend to care about me rather than leavin’ me in the dark about shit a couple needs to discuss?” “no but you actin’ brand new like you don’t know what i do. you knew from the jump what this was.”.

“ right i knew that when we were ‘talkin’ now we’re together, you’d think you would adjust. that’s my bad for asking for too much, i guess.” you shrugged.

were you being sarcastic and petty? yes. did you care? no, next question.

he sighed in an frustrated manner, “you blowin’ me, baby. you know that i get deals and gotta go, no matter when or where. i can’t put that on hold for you!” he rebutted his voice louder now.

“you say you care and im important yet, you can’t not up and leave without explanation?” you huffed throwing your hands up, “but i get it, we can’t find some common ground? fine.” you shrugged yet again before turning your back to him, finally done with his shit.

“ c’mon baby, you know i ain’ mean it like that” he said approaching you, hand hovering above your shoulder. “well how else am i s’posed to fuckin’ take it, if that’s what you said, elias?” you swiveled around to face him as he jumped slightly.

“you know what, that’s alright. imma stay at my homegirls house tonight.” you voiced walking past him and towards the door. he inevitably caught up with you, just as you closed the door.

only things you had being, your phone, your keys, and the clothes on your back. you didn’t care. you were through with his shit.

you walked for about five minutes before receiving a message.

[twola]

Firewater - Chapter 15

PAIRING: low to mid honor Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader. explicit.

She stood, dusting off her skirts. “I ain’t your enemy. You got any questions, you come find me.”

Then Abigail walked off, quiet as ever, the sun glinting in her dark hair.

taglist: @v3lv3tf0x, @stottlemorgan, @mrsarthurmorgan7, @appalachiancowboy99, @pinescent-and-gingerbread, @blueskies664, @arthurstinmug, @ultraporcelainpig, @emerald-ranch @thedilfdiaries, @heron-feathers,@nalitali, @whiskeyskin, @globetrotter28, @arthurmorganist, @sadieadlersnecktie

➵ AO3 Link ➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ Previous | ➵ Next

You were hauling a bucket of washwater toward the laundry line when you felt someone watching you. Not the usual glance, not Arthur’s quiet admiration. This was sharper. Steadier.

You turned your head and found Abigail standing near the fire, arms crossed, face unreadable.

You froze for a beat, heart skipping. Then forced a smile and kept walking.

“Water’s warm if you wanna get in line,” you said lightly, setting the bucket down with a splash.

Abigail didn’t move. “How far along are you?”

You straightened slowly, hands dripping. “Excuse me?”

She didn’t blink. “I’ve seen enough women get pregnant — been one myself. You’re what, two, three months? You keep fidgeting with your skirt and you look like you’ve been chewin’ on your cheeks for weeks.”

You looked around, throat tightening, but no one else was close enough to hear.

Abigail’s tone softened. “I ain’t tellin’ nobody. I just… thought maybe you’d want someone to talk to.”

For a second you just stood there, stiff with the panic of being seen. But Abigail’s face had no judgment, just calm. Tired understanding.

You let out a slow breath. “Little over three months,” you admitted. “We were tryin’ to keep it quiet. We told Dutch but…ain’t announcing it or anything…”

She nodded. “You know that don’t last long in a camp like this.”

“Yeah. I figured.”

Abigail walked over, took the bucket from you and set it aside. “How’re you feelin’? Really.”

You hesitated. Then: “Tired. Nauseous. Hungry and not hungry at the same time. Moody as hell.”

“Sounds about right.” She gave a small smile. “The nausea gets better around month four. Sort of.”

You snorted and dropped onto the crate by the laundry. “Sort of.”

Abigail sat beside you. “You scared?”

You didn’t answer right away. The fire popped in the distance.

“Yeah,” you said finally. “I mean, I know I’ll do whatever I have to. But yeah. It’s a lot.”

Abigail nodded. “It is. And bein’ with a man like Arthur don’t make it easier.”

You looked at her. “He says he’ll be there.”

She gave you a look that clearly said we’ll see.

“He’s got his own ghosts,” she said. “I ain’t sayin’ he won’t try. Just… make sure he does. You don’t want to be sittin’ up with a fevered baby and no one to fetch wood but yourself.”

You looked down at your hands, the little stain of soap scum on your palm.

She stood, dusting off her skirts. “I ain’t your enemy. You got any questions, you come find me.”

Then Abigail walked off, quiet as ever, the sun glinting in her dark hair.

-

Arthur was squatting by the hitch post later that afternoon, tightening his saddle cinch, when he heard footsteps behind him. Familiar ones. Fast.

He stood just as Abigail came around the wagon, arms crossed, eyes already narrowed.

“…Abigail,” he said cautiously. “Everything alright?”

“You got a minute?”

He sighed, wiping his hands on a rag. “Yeah, I s’pose.”

She didn’t waste time. “I talked to her. She told me.”

Arthur’s back went stiff.

“She tell you to come yell at me?” he muttered, not quite meeting her eyes.

“She didn’t have to.” Abigail stepped closer. “I just thought I’d remind you what bein’ a man looks like, in case you forgot.”

Arthur gave her a hard look. “You think I ain’t gonna take care of her?”

“I think I’ve seen what this life does to men. You get scared, you get quiet, and then you disappear into the nearest excuse. That’s what John did.”

Arthur flinched. “I ain’t John.”

“No,” she agreed. “You’re older. And meaner when you want to be. But if you go runnin’ the minute she starts cryin’ or god forbid the baby gets sick—Arthur, I swear to God, I will drag you back by your ear.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just looked down at the dust, his jaw grinding.

“She’s scared,” Abigail said quietly. “Even if she won’t say it. And she needs you to be more than a man with a good heart and a fast gun.”

Arthur finally looked at her. “I ain’t runnin’,” he said. “Not from this. Not from her.”

Abigail studied him for a moment longer, then nodded once. She raises one finger and points it at him. “Don’t dare you do what John has done to me. You’re a better man than that, Arthur Morgan.”

And with that, she walked away, leaving Arthur in the shadow of the wagon, thinking more about his future than he ever had before.

-

The desert night was cold and quiet, the fire burning low and the stars spread wide overhead. Most of camp had turned in for the night, the flicker of lanterns extinguishing one by one as crickets took over the soundtrack of the evening. Even thought during the day the sun still burned in this arid land, the nights had become cold.

Arthur had been leaning against the side of his tent, watching the embers die, a little more relaxed than usual. You were curled up on a blanket nearby, half-listening to the wind.

He shifted, stretched, and then wandered over to where you sat, crouching beside you.

“You stayin’ out here all night?” he asked, voice rough but soft.

You shook your head. “Just needed some air.”

He watched you for a second. You could already feel the way his eyes skimmed over your figure — not lascivious, but longing. The curve of his mouth twitched.

“You could come lay with me,” he murmured, brushing his knuckles lightly down your arm. “I’ll be good.”

You gave him a tired smile. “You’re never good.”

He smirked. “Alright, mostly good. Gentle, maybe. Slow. Could rub your feet first, if that’s what it takes to sweet-talk you.”

You didn’t respond right away. You looked down at his hand where it rested on your arm — warm, familiar, and now just a little heavy. The kind of touch that used to unravel you in seconds now left you caught between affection and exhaustion.

You sat up slowly. “I’m just tired, Arthur.”

His brow furrowed slightly. “I figured I could help with that.”

You shook your head, careful not to sound cold. “Not that kind of tired. Just… tired.”

His mouth opened like he might argue, but then he hesitated, searching your face. You saw the moment he got it — the tension in your shoulders, the dull ache in your eyes, the quiet way your hand settled on your belly without even thinking.

Arthur exhaled through his nose and leaned back on his heels. “Alright,” he said. Not annoyed, not hurt. Just… letting go.

You pushed yourself to your feet with a small groan, stretching.

“I’m gonna go to my tent.”

He nodded once, then looked back toward the fire. “Sleep well, alright?”

You hesitated. “You too.”

And then you walked away, your steps slow, the fabric of your skirt shifting slightly over the now-unmistakable curve of your belly.

Arthur stayed there by the fire long after the embers dimmed, his hand resting loosely on the spot where you’d touched him, his expression unreadable in the dark.

[obvithe-bestsoph]

Lamine is in love with an assistant girl at the club, but she doesn't know about it and when one of the other boys gets too close to her, Lamine goes crazy with jealousy.Can you do this please? <3

don't let him near you.

masterlist requests word count: 970

a/n: very cutesy genre: fluff. warnings: none.

summary: lamine gets jealous when he sees gavi flirting with you during one of his appointments.

You’re used to footballers getting flirty. It’s kind of baked into the job. When you’re one of the youngest physiotherapists at the club, surrounded by boys with egos as big as their followings, it’s just part of the deal.

What you weren’t expecting was him.

Lamine Yamal.

Golden boy. Game-changer. Media darling. And for the past month and a half, your regular rehab client after he twisted his ankle mid-match.

Seventeen and a rising star, but somehow, when he walks into the physio room with that boyish grin and those huge brown eyes, he doesn’t feel like a million followers and counting. He just feels like Lamine.

And lately, he’s been showing up early. Staying a little longer than necessary. Asking questions that have nothing to do with ankles.

You don’t let yourself read too far into it. You’re smart. Focused. Professional. You don’t crush on clients, even if they do look at you like you hung the stars in the recovery room.

Besides, it’s not like he’s said anything.

Not like the others.

“Careful, Lamine,” Pablo teases as he hops onto the table next to his friend, shirt damp from training. “You hog her too long and I might steal her.”

You roll your eyes and tap his knee with the clipboard. “You’re not even on my list today.”

“That can be fixed.” He grins, cocky as ever, and shoots a wink your way.

You snort. “Keep talking and I’ll add you, to the injury report.”

Lamine doesn’t laugh.

You don’t catch it right away. You’re too focused on checking his range of motion, rotating his ankle gently as he leans back on his palms, muscles tense under your hands.

But when you look up, his jaw’s tight. His gaze isn’t on you. It’s fixed firmly on Gavi.

“Do you mind?” he mutters, eyes narrowed. “We’re in the middle of something.”

Pablo raises a brow. “Relax, hermano. I’m joking.”

“Doesn’t sound like it.”

You blink.

There’s a beat of silence. A charged one. You clear your throat.

“Let’s just get through this set, okay?” you say, shifting the focus. “I want to test some lateral pressure today.”

Lamine obeys. Sort of. He’s cooperative physically, but emotionally, he’s miles away. Cold. Quiet. And when Gavi eventually leaves, tossing one last playful glance your way, Lamine doesn’t say a word for the rest of the session.

You finally exhale when he grabs his things and heads for the door.

But then he turns.

Hand on the frame. Lips parted. Something burning in his expression.

“I don’t like it,” he says.

Your brows knit. “Don’t like what?”

“That.” His voice is low. “The way he looks at you.”

“Lamine…”

“Don’t act like you didn’t notice.”

There’s something unrecognizable in him. Not angry exactly. Just… wound up. Unraveling.

“He was joking,” you say, trying to keep your tone even. “It’s harmless.”

“It’s not harmless if I feel like punching someone.”

You blink again. “Excuse me?”

His eyes finally meet yours, and for the first time, they don’t soften. They ignite.

“I can’t sit there and watch guys flirt with you,” he says, stepping back into the room. “I’ve been trying to be cool. Trying to stay chill. But every time I see someone else touching you, or making you laugh, or even just… being near you when I’m not allowed to say what I want to say-”

He cuts himself off.

You’re not breathing.

He runs a hand through his curls, pacing.

“You think I’ve been coming here every day just for ankle stretches?” he asks, voice rough around the edges. “You think I don’t notice the way you smell like coconut or how you hum when you’re focused or how you never let me leave without saying something sweet, even if I’m being annoying as hell?”

You’re frozen. Absolutely still.

He stops pacing. Looks at you like he’s out of breath.

“I’m not just another player, am I?” he asks.

The question hits you right in the center of your chest.

“No,” you whisper. “You’re not.”

His shoulders drop, like the tension is finally cracking.

“I didn’t want to mess anything up,” he says, stepping closer. “Didn’t want to cross a line. But if someone else tried to get with you, I don’t think I could take it.”

“Lamine…”

“You’re different,” he murmurs, voice softer now. “You see me. Not the player. Not the headlines. Just me.”

You reach for his hand. He takes yours instantly, lacing your fingers like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I do see you,” you say, heart hammering. “You’ve got no idea how much.”

He squeezes your hand.

Then, finally, he smiles.

That familiar Lamine grin, crooked and charming and almost shy.

“So,” he says, “if I asked you out, would you say yes? After I’m back to full fitness, I mean.”

You laugh, a little breathless.

“Lamine, I’ve been waiting for you to ask me out since your second session.”

He beams. “So… that’s a yes?”

You nod, grinning back. “That’s a definite yes.”

And just like that, the tension in the room flips.

Because he’s still seventeen, and he’s still got a thousand cameras watching his every move, but in this moment, it’s just the two of you. Fingers entwined, hearts wide open, and nothing between you but the truth that’s been bubbling under the surface since day one.

Lamine leans in, forehead brushing yours. Not a kiss, not yet, but close.

“Don’t let Gavi near you again,” he whispers, teasing now.

You laugh again. “Possessive much?”

He shrugs. “Only when it comes to you.”

And yeah, he’s still technically a patient. You’re still technically on the clock.

But for once, rules don’t feel so important.

Because love? That’s the real rehab. And the two of you… you’re healing just fine.

[erikawrites13]

“Lesson Learned”

Fernando Alonso x Mark Webber x Virgin!Sebastian Vettel Rating: 18+ NSFW, virginity loss, rough dominance, dark Smut. emotional tension. power dynamics

Sebastian wasn’t supposed to be here.

He’d gone looking for a quiet place to cool off after the post-race press, frustrated, hot, still seething from the way Mark had blocked him in Turn 3. The door was open a bit. He didn’t knock.

And what he walked into stopped him cold.

Mark Webber shirt half off, legs spread wide on the long leather couch. Fernando Alonso between them, head dipped low, one hand pressed hard against Mark’s thigh, mouth moving in a way that made Seb freeze and feel.

His breath hitched, and the sound was enough.

Fernando looked up.

Mark turned.

Silence.

Sebastian went pale, fingers still on the doorframe, too stunned to move.

“Well, well,” Fernando said, standing slowly, licking his lips. “Look who wandered in.”

“Seb,” Mark added, voice thick. “Didn’t know you were into watching.”

“I—I wasn’t— I didn’t mean—”

Fernando stepped toward him, not bothering to fix his shirt. “But you didn’t leave.”

Sebastian flushed scarlet.

“Close the door,” Mark said. “Unless you want someone else to see you standing there, hard as a rock.”

Seb looked down and cursed himself. He was hard. Mark was right.

He closed the door.

They didn’t mean to touch him at first.

Just circling, cornering him with words, making him stammer as they asked questions he couldn’t answer:

“Ever been touched like that, Seb?” “Know what a mouth feels like around you?” “You ever begged for it?”

And then Fernando’s hand grazed his hip. And Mark whispered, “You ever even been with someone?”

Seb didn’t answer.

He didn’t have to.

The silence was thick — broken only by Mark’s dark, amused chuckle. “Well shit.”

Fernando’s eyes gleamed. “You’re a virgin.”

Sebastian’s mouth opened. Closed. Then a soft, “Yeah.”

The air shifted.

Gone was the teasing.

Mark stepped behind him, hands gripping his waist. Fernando’s hand came up to cup his jaw, thumb tracing the corner of his lips.

“You’ve been walking around like you know everything,” Mark murmured. “But you don’t know anything, do you?”

“I—I can—”

“You’re going to learn,” Fernando said, tilting his chin up. “And you’re going to learn from us.”

They didn’t go easy.

Fernando kissed him first hard, deep, taking his breath and giving him nothing but pressure and tongue and heat. Mark’s hands were already beneath his shirt, dragging it off, his mouth leaving hot trails down the back of his neck.

They laid him on the couch like a lesson in surrender.

Fernando guided him through the first touches, slow at first “Feel that? That’s just the beginning.” Mark showed him the edge of control “Don’t come yet. You haven’t earned it.”

They touched him like they owned him.

Every moan he gave, they took.

When Fernando stretched him, fingers slick and patient, Mark kissed his throat and whispered, “Relax. We’ll break you in just right.”

Sebastian trembled, overwhelmed, pleasure coiled so tightly inside him he thought he’d die from it.

And when Mark pushed into him slow, thick, filling him completely Seb gasped like it was too much.

“Breathe,” Fernando said. “You wanted to walk in like a man. Now we’re going to make you feel like one.”

Seb couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Could only feel Mark moving inside him, Fernando stroking him, kissing him, whispering filth into his ear until he shattered between them.

Later, when he lay sprawled and boneless on the couch, panting, his legs still shaking, Fernando smirked down at him.

“You think twice before barging into private rooms again?”

Seb’s cheeks were flushed, eyes glassy. But his voice was stronger than they expected.

“No.”

Mark laughed. “That’s our boy.”

Taglist - @dessashippr @mrvlf1 @oscarpastri @mimisweetz @fangirlmusicbiashoe

[soapysoapysoapysoapy]

Pair: Russel Adler x CIAAgent!Reader

“Eyes up.”

The sharpness of his voice slices through the silence in the safehouse. You’re supposed to be reviewing the op layout, tracing enemy movement patterns on a map Adler just handed you. Instead, your eyes have been locked on his mouth for… God knows how long.

That voice—gritty, deliberate, laced with quiet command. Every syllable he utters crawls under your skin and sets your nerves on fire. You barely hear what he’s saying anymore. Not really. All you can do is picture him saying other things. Things he shouldn't say. Things no mentor should ever say to someone like you.

“Hey,” he says again, a little more forceful this time. “You hearing me?” Your name spills off his tongue like a match struck to flame. You shiver.

“Yeah,” you say, too quickly, too breathless. “Say it again—”

His eyes narrow. Fuck.

“I mean—uh—Sir,” you blurt, straightening so fast your chair creaks. “Sorry. I’m listening. I just spaced.”

He takes a slow step toward you, those steel-blue eyes not missing a goddamn thing. You watch the cigarette shift between his fingers, the flicker of amusement behind the cool mask he wears.

“Say it again?” he repeats, voice low. “You wanna clarify that, soldier?”

Your stomach flips. You swear the air gets hotter. You shake your head, flustered. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

He leans in, just slightly—close enough for you to smell the smoke and gun oil on him. His smirk doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Careful. Daydreaming on my time might get you in trouble.”

“Sorry, sir,” you say quickly, looking away.

He lingers a moment longer, then backs off without another word. But as he turns away, you swear you catch the faintest curve of a smile. And now you're not sure which fantasy is worse: the ones you’ve had before… or the ones he might be having, now.

You try to refocus, really you do, but your mind’s still stuck on how close he got—how his voice dipped, how he didn’t not like it. The silence between you stretches thin, filled only by the rustle of maps and the drag of Adler’s cigarette.

He finally speaks again. Low. Almost bored.

“You ever been in a compromised state during a mission?”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“Distractions. Weaknesses. Temptations,” he says, eyes on the table but voice pointed directly at you. “Something that clouds judgment. Gets people killed.”

You shift in your seat. “No, sir.”

“Mm,” he hums. “You sure about that?”

Your pulse trips. “I said I’m sure.”

“I heard what you said.” He flicks ash off the cigarette without looking at you. “Just not sure I believe you.”

He finally lifts his gaze. Holds yours. “You gonna tell me what had you so dazed earlier? Or am I supposed to pretend it didn’t sound like you were about to beg for something?”

Your mouth goes dry. He’s not teasing. He’s not joking.

You scramble for an excuse. “I was tired. That’s all.”

His stare hardens. “Try again.”

You exhale, frustrated with yourself. “You said my name and I… I got distracted. Just caught me off guard.”

“You always this reactive to the sound of my voice?”

You hesitate. That’s not a question he’d ask unless he already knows the answer.

“Only when you use it like that,” you mutter before you can stop yourself.

And then it’s too quiet.

Adler walks around the table and stops directly behind you. You don’t dare turn around. You can feel his presence, warm and looming, practically burning into the back of your neck.

“You got a mouth on you,” he murmurs, his voice grazing the shell of your ear. “Problem is, I think you want me to do more than talk.”

You swallow thickly, hands tightening on the edge of the table. “What if I do?”

A long pause.

“Then you better learn to keep it together when I give you orders. Because if you slip like that in front of anyone else, it’s not discipline I’ll be handing out. It’s a fucking warning.”

He steps around you now, his face inches from yours, tone dipping into something darker—silk over steel.

“Earn the praise you’re fantasizing about. Make me want to say your name the way you really want it.”

You stare up at him, heat curling low in your belly. You’re breathless. And you hate how much you’d let him ruin you if he really wanted to.

“Understood?” he says.

You nod, quietly, almost reverent. “Yes, Sir.”

He smirks. “Good. Now focus, before I start wondering if your punishment needs to come before the mission.”

TWO DAYS LATER – SAFEHOUSE, NIGHT

The op went clean. Textbook. You were sharp, fast, locked in. But not once did Adler look at you afterward. Not on the exfil, not during the debrief, not even when the others cleared out. He didn’t say a word. And that silence was worse than anything else.

You’re alone now—boots unlaced, bruised, and restless. You should be sleeping. But there’s no peace in you. Not when you know he’s just down the hall. Not when your skin still hums from the sound of his voice two days ago.

Your hand’s on the doorknob before you even realize what you’re doing.

You knock. Once. Twice.

Then his voice, flat and unreadable: “Come in.”

You step inside and shut the door behind you.

Adler’s at the desk. The only light in the room is a half-dead lamp throwing a golden halo across his face. His coat’s off, sleeves rolled up, tie loose around his neck. He doesn’t look surprised to see you. Doesn’t look pleased either.

He just says, “Well?”

“I did everything right,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “You saw it.”

He doesn’t respond.

“I kept it together. I followed every order.”

Adler leans back in the chair, studying you like you’re something on the end of his barrel.

“And you want a reward for that?” “No. I want the truth.” “About what?” “About whether you meant it.”

He stands slowly, eyes never leaving yours as he rounds the desk. You feel small under the weight of his attention, pulse roaring in your ears.

“I meant all of it,” he says. “I meant it when I said you needed discipline. Meant it when I said I could say your name in a way you’d never forget.”

You breathe in, shallow and sharp. “Then do it.”

He stops in front of you, a hand coming up—not touching, just hovering close enough to your throat to make you burn with the need for it.

“You really want that?” he says. “You want me to praise you like a good little soldier? Or do you just want me to break you open until all that smart-mouth defiance melts off your face?”

Your breath catches.

“I want you,” you say, eyes wide, honesty spilling out like blood. “I want whatever you're holding back.”

A beat of silence.

Then Adler finally, finally, touches you—his hand cupping your jaw, thumb dragging across your cheek like he’s trying to memorize what you look like right before you fall apart.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he says, almost a whisper.

“Then show me.”

He kisses you. Hard. Controlled. Like a punishment. And you melt into it like you’ve been waiting your whole life for this exact kind of ruin. His mouth is rough, possessive. When he pulls back, there’s a low, dangerous smile tugging at his lips.

“Don’t call me Adler in here,” he murmurs.

You stare, dazed. “Then what do I call you?”

He leans down, lips at your ear again. “Sir will do just fine.”

[jjkeverlast]

seven days a week | jjk

✦ pairing fwb!jk x fem!reader

✦ rating explicit (+18)

✦ summary jeon jeongguk has always had crazy ideas, but wanting to fuck you every day of the week was the last thing you expected.

✦ warning & tags college AU, smut, pwp, make up sex, jeongguk is jealoussssss, oral (f. receiving), happens in a bathroom in a frat house uh oh, protected sex (wrap it up!)

✦ word count 1.6k

✦ author’s note this is a re-upload, if you’ve seen this before, this is why:)

masterlist | next chapter

“Jeongguk? What are you—“ 

“Who was that?” He asks, locking the bathroom door behind him. You raise an eyebrow in question, turning your phone off to give him your full attention. 

“What?” 

“That guy, from earlier.” You roll your eyes at the comment, remembering how you spoke with Taehyung before going to the bathroom. Taehyung is one of Jimin’s friends, automatically making him a mutual friend and nothing more. You weren’t interested in him, not because he wasn’t attractive but there just wasn’t any form of lingering tension between you. 

Blaming Jeongguk for being incredibly invasive was out of the question, because since he kissed you after you had sex, you had shut him out completely. 

It was out of fear, mostly. Jimin’s words had gotten to your head regarding if Jeongguk liked you and that sudden kiss proved you right. And now this behavior, too. 

“Taehyung’s just a friend.” You don’t even know why you’re explaining yourself. Especially since you don’t owe Jeongguk anything, as there aren’t any strings attached. 

“Oh.” Jeongguk sounds embarrassed, his frustrated expression turning soft. 

“Are you…” You start off, gaining Jeongguk’s attention. “Are you perhaps jealous?” You’re stepping into a dangerous territory, because in reality, he’s not allowed to be jealous when you’re casual and not exclusive. 

“Pff.” Jeongguk throws, crossing his arms and leaning on the counter, avoiding your eyes. Somehow you find it quite comical how he’s not answering the question, yet the answer hangs heavy in the tiny bathroom. Therefore, you decide to push a little, wanting to hear him admit it. You’re uncertain if it’s because you like the idea of Jeongguk being jealous, or if it’s just to feel secure in what he feels for you. Him being jealous would give you the definite truth.

“Jeongguk.” You step closer, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie, searching for his gaze that he’s determined to let stay fixated on the green carpet beneath your feet. 

“I’m not. Why would I be?” You almost believe him, right until his jaw tenses after finishing his sentence and that’s when it clicks for you. He’s trying his hardest not to imagine you with someone else, because that’ll just turn him more angry. 

“Right. So it wouldn’t piss you off if I went home with someone else?” 

Jeongguk hums a definite no, still avoiding you completely by keeping his eyes busy elsewhere. 

“Okay. Then prove it.” You remove yourself from him, giving him access to walk out and prove to you that he isn’t jealous. Jeongguk finally decides to look at you, removing himself from the counter and reaching the door when he stops. 

“Fuck this.” He mumbles under his breath, moving towards you quickly and cradling your face as he kisses you. The kiss is rougher than the usual ones, more needy and precise and you become overwhelmed but quickly filled with heat. 

Jeongguk doesn’t slow down, moving you both towards the bathroom counter, signaling for you to sit on it as he trails his tongue on yours. Jeongguk pushes himself forward, letting you feel his bulge as he presses against you. It causes you to moan slightly against his lips, grasping a bit tighter around him. 

“Gonna show you why I won’t ever get jealous.” He whispers against your lips, sinking down to his knees and kissing your naked thighs. He grips them softly, his tongue dancing and tracing each inch of your exposed skin while you look down with widened eyes. You’ve never seen this side of Jeongguk. Him openly wanting to eat you out in the middle of this tiny bathroom at a frat party, was the last thing you expected from him. 

Not only because he’s a private person when it comes to sex, but he finds the scenery too cliché and in some sense gross. It’s just not a fit place to have sex. Also, Jeongguk isn’t the biggest fan of doing it elsewhere than your dorm. 

So, you’re stunned and have lost all words when his mouth inches closer to your covered core, his eyes moving upwards to catch your reaction when he places a kiss on your clit. You gasp by the contact, his smile growing before he removes your underwear in a hurry, and dives back in without thinking twice. Jeongguk loves going down on you, especially because you become a bit more loud than usual. 

Now, because you’re basically in a public space, you’re gonna have to be quiet and the thought of you biting your lip to prevent a moan, sends a rush through Jeongguk.

Therefore, Jeongguk doesn’t hold back, latching his tongue on your clit and sucking while moving his fingers towards your hole and tracing the edges. Your grasp on the counter tightens, your knuckles straining as you keep yourself as still as possible, even though you’d love to grind your face against Jeongguk’s mouth. Instead, your delicate fingers fiddle with Jeongguk’s curls, running through them smoothly as you throw your head back, panting. 

When Jeongguk enters his fingers inside of you, you hold your hand over your mouth to cover the loud whine, scared someone from outside will hear you and Jeongguk continues, smiling against your core.

Although, he wants to be just a little bit mean.

After all you weren’t the sweetest to him when you openly flirted with Taehyung in front of him. So, Jeongguk takes both of your hands and keeps them locked to the counter while he continues his ministrations. 

“Jeongguk—” You warn, chest heaving.

“Just be quiet.” It almost sounds like a dare, so of course you comply, gathering everything in you to not make too much noise. Or else, you’ll probably end up with a clear cut on your bottom lip from biting it too much. 

You try, you really try but it’s hard not to when Jeongguk fucks his tongue inside of you while his nose rubs against your clit. You almost choke on your own spit, trying to keep it down even though you’re close to orgasm. Jeongguk feels you clench around his tongue, every bone and muscle of yours tensing as you come undone all over his mouth and chin. A high pitched sound roams the room for a split second, one that was hard for you to hold back, but thankfully no one has been in need of the bathroom, saving you from embarrassment. 

“Jeongguk, fuck. Need you.” You mumble, pulling him upwards, growing extremely needy for his cock. Jeongguk grins, pecking your lips once. 

“Tell me.” 

You stop fiddling with the string of his pants, locking your eyes with his. “I need you.” 

“Yeah?” Jeongguk breathes out, his chin shining under the bathroom lights, caused by your slick all over him. 

“Mhm.” You pull him closer, kissing him roughly as you gain a taste of yourself. Jeongguk fetches a condom in his pocket, hurrying this up because sooner or later you’ll gain a knock from someone impatient and then it’s over for the both of you. Mostly Jeongguk. You would probably stifle a laugh while apologizing and run out. Jeongguk, on the other hand would freeze on the spot, embarrassment filling him to the brim while he stutters out an excuse. 

Jeongguk rips the condom with his teeth, while you pull his briefs and pants down, beginning to stroke his cock as you wait patiently for him. Jeongguk removes your hand, replacing it with the latex and easing himself inside of you. The stretch has turned so familiar, that you both smile when it’s fully inside. You’ve missed this, both of you. 

It’s no secret you’ve been avoiding Jeongguk a little bit since the kiss, him catching on quickly. So, therefore it’s a bit of a surprise that this is currently happening between you. 

Jeongguk doesn’t waste any second, placing both of his hands under your ass as he pulls you upwards to hit your g-spot easily. Your head leans against the mirror, both hands grasped onto his naked waist while he thrusts as fast as he can. Jeongguk tries his best not to slam too hard, as it causes noises and then the paranoia will reach his head and this will turn into absolute disaster. So instead, he tries to keep himself inside mostly, thrusting with ease. It’s harder than he ever imagined, but it seems to work. You’re clenching around him, and the noise isn’t thumping through the walls like he feared. 

As the paranoia moves downwards, Jeongguk is more focused on making you both finish. He grabs your face gently, aching for the taste of you while he moves. He loves how you’re unable to kiss him properly, mouth gone completely slack due to pleasure. 

Jeongguk knows you’re close when you clutch yourself tighter on him, face landing in the crook of his neck to suppress any sounds. Jeongguk places his hand on the dirty mirror, reaching his own high as he feels himself about to give out. 

“Fuck!” You gasp, coming undone all over Jeongguk’s cock. He sooner follows, thrusting thrice before he fills up the condom. His cock twitches inside of you, causing a bolt in your body. 

“This is why I don’t get jealous.” Jeongguk says, pecking your lips. “I always end up with you.” 

Your heart starts beating rapidly, overwhelmed by the thought of how he’s right. You do always end up with him, and you want to. Instead of answering, you push him backwards and fetch for your missing underwear. Jeongguk follows your lead instead of throwing another comment. 

The silence overfills the room, both of you too busy to put on your clothes. It finally hits you how Jeongguk silently confirmed he’s jealous by the thought of you with someone else, meaning he likes you.

Fuck.

Jeon Jeongguk likes you. 

You suddenly feel stuffy, grabbing everything you own. “Sorry, I have to go.” You mumble a quick apology, not looking back after opening the door, despite Jeongguk calling your name a few times. 

It’s not the fact that he likes you that freaks you out. It’s the fact your whole heart did a somersault when you realized. 

[bunnybonesstudio]

Something I’ve always found extremely interesting about Mr. Miyagi as a character is how big on change he is.

If you pay attention, he’s very anti tradition. Yes, he follows the Miyagi Way, but that’s because he’s a pacifist who knows being kind and merciful is morally correct. There’s nothing wrong with Miyagi-Do morals.

Where he and Daniel differ is that Miyagi doesn’t follows things because ‘that’s how it’s done.’ He broke Miyagi tradition by teaching Daniel Miyagi-Do in the first place, he encouraged Daniel to find his own way on how to do things, he made a speech about breaking tradition in his country so he could marry Yukie that got him chased out basically.

Mr. Miyagi never let anyone tell him how to do things. He always did what he thought was best and right. He never idolized anything or anyone. He just did the thing he thought were correct.

Daniel idolized Mr. Miyagi and thought his way was always right without questioning how Mr. Miyagi made his choices. I don’t think Daniel ever quite understood that despite being older, Mr. Miyagi wasn’t about upholding tradition. He only upheld a legacy and ideal he thought was actually worth of upholding. If he found a better way to do something, he’d do it.

And that’s true for a lot of the movies; good traditions are kept and bad ones aren’t. A good tradition is having the festival in Karate Kid 2 at the castle. That’s a wonderful and historical tradition to keep. A bad tradition is forced marriage which Mr. Miyagi and Yukie were in the right to fight. Like with everything else, it’s not black and white.

This isn’t Daniel’s fault; he loved Mr. Miyagi and wanted to do right by him. He wanted to uphold what he thought was right and what Mr. Miyagi would have wanted. But you know Daniel, he’s a stubborn hothead, lol.

[faramirsonofgondor]

This but what if instead of Dick firing Alfred and Alfred dying, Alfred retires because he refuses to work with “someone like Dick”. Like now that Bruce is gone, Tim is off looking for him, and Jason is off the rails, there’s no reason for Alfred to stay. So he leaves, but not before telling Dick that it should’ve been Dick who died, and that he’d make a terrible Batman. Now Dick is almost completely alone, struggling to run a company he hardly knows anything about, raising a child who’s been abused most of his life, and donning a mantle he never wanted. The only bright spots in his life are Babs, Steph, and Damian. Steph and Babs are extremely confused as to why Alfred just quit, but Dick makes up some excuse about how Alfred was grieving and such. But then Steph overhears Damian and Dick talking about all the cruel things Alfred would say to them. Maybe Alfred even hit them a few times.

Steph is super confused because while Alfred had been stiff and cold to her when she was Robin, she heard great things about him from literally everyone else. He’d warmed up to her after a while, too. She goes to Babs about it because surely she must be missing something? Except Babs is just as confused, so they go digging through years of cave footage and surveillance videos throughout the manor. What they find is so disturbing that they both cry for hours and then vow to never let Alfred step foot in Gotham ever again. They’re sick to their stomachs that everyone had somehow missed this going on for so long. They also encourage Dick to get therapists for him and Damian because that kind of verbal (and possibly physical) abuse leaves lasting impacts.

When Bruce comes back, Alfred is long gone and Damian and Dick have become more well-adjusted than everyone (besides Babs and Steph) had thought they’d be. Then someone asks where Alfred is, worried that their beloved butler might have died. They don’t believe Dick at first when he says that Alfred left, that he quit, just like that. But Babs and Steph back him up, glaring at anyone who tries to blame Dick or prod for more answers.

It isn’t until Bruce makes his first appearance in public again that Alfred shows back up. He’s so glad Bruce is alive, of course he’ll come back to work for him. But everyone wants to know why Alfred left in the first place. He claims it was grief and old age, but they can all see that there’s more to the puzzle. Eventually, Alfred snaps and says that he simply did not want to work for Dick. Now everyone is like “wtf, what did Dick do to upset Alfred so much?” And of course because they’re all idiots and suck at communication, they ask him that exact question. They expect maybe something along the lines of him and Alfred arguing about their grief or something like that. They don’t expect Dick to burst into tears, frantically apologizing and saying that he didn’t mean to be bad. Before anyone can react, Steph, Babs, and Damian are all there ushering them away from Dick.

The rest of the fam is freaking out because they have no idea what’s going on. They still think that maybe Dick did something that he feels really guilty about, but then it also seems like Babs and Steph are angry at them, not Dick. Their questions overlap as soon as Steph enters the room, but she doesn’t say anything, instead leading them down to the cave. She’s still quiet as she walks towards the computer, pressing play on a compilation of videos. The first video is dated two days after Bruce brought home Dick. The last is dated yesterday.

ok ok i’ve seen a bunch of different bad father Bruce and evil Talia hcs and AUs and i raise y’all: evil/bad grandparent Alfred but only with Dick. Like Alfred is a British guy who was in the SAS and has spent the better part of his time as a butler for the ultra-wealthy Wayne family. Then it’s just him and Bruce for a long time. Then Dick comes along, as Bruce’s ward, and the kid is a little gremlin. He’s constantly throwing tantrums, breaking chandeliers, he never eats the food Alfred makes, he screams a lot, and he’s not very appreciative of where he ended up. In front of Bruce, Alfred is always professional. But when it’s just Alfred and Dick? Alfred constantly tells Dick what a brat he is, threatens that Bruce will throw him out if he doesn’t behave, tells him his parents should be ashamed of how they raised him, and says a bunch of other fucked up shit. He tells Dick that if Dick were to tell Bruce how Alfred treats him, Bruce wouldn’t believe him. It completely fucks up Dick’s emotional regulation because he swings between picking fights with Bruce (to see if he’ll really throw him out) to clinging onto him for long periods of time to hiding away in his room and not talking or eating. It seems like no matter how much Bruce tries to comfort him, nothing works. And all the while, Alfred is subtly suggesting that Bruce be harsher and harsher and harsher with Dick. So Bruce starts to get harsher and meaner, thinking that this is what Dick needs. It doesn’t work, and eventually, by Alfred’s suggestion, he takes Robin away. Dick can’t it anymore and leaves, but he still doesn’t tell anyone about how Alfred treated him.

Then Jason comes along, and Dick is worried that Alfred will treat him the same way. He tries to bring it up subtly in conversation, but it seems like Dick has nothing to worry about. So Dick goes to Alfred to threaten him, but Alfred tells him that it’s not necessary because Jason is “actually a good kid” and that he and Alfred have long talks about literature. Dick leaves feeling hollowed out. Maybe it really was his fault, if Alfred hadn’t treated anyone else like that. After all, the man had raised Bruce and Bruce had never said or done anything that indicated Alfred treated him poorly.

Then Bruce just keeps getting more and more children, and with each child the idea is reinforced in Dick’s head that it’s fault for being such a bad child. He still has poor emotional regulation, and swings between isolating himself and clinging on too tightly to his family. It doesn’t help that Alfred is constantly whispering in his ear that the family is better off without him. Then Damian comes along, and he acts so much like Dick used to that Dick is terrified for him, but he knows there’s not much he can do so he just keeps an eye on the situation.

When Bruce dies, one of the first things Dick does is fire Alfred. Everyone is furious with him, especially since Dick won’t explain his reasoning. All Dick manages to say kind defense of himself is that Bruce’s will states that he’s in charge. Alfred goes back to England and dies shortly after. It splinters the family even more. But Dick doesn’t really care, because one evening after patrol, months after Alfred died, Damian begins to softly recall the harsh words that Alfred spoken to him in private. Dick knows he made the right choice, he just wishes he could’ve spared Damian the pain sooner. Dick begins to open up to Damian about the harshness Alfred bestowed upon him as well.

Then Bruce comes back, and he’s not just furious, he’s enraged. He starts screaming at Dick, about how he could ever do this, about how Alfred was nothing but kind to him, and about how maybe Alfred was right and Dick was a bad kid. Dick is shaking like a leaf, his worst fears being confirmed in front of his entire family, and he still doesn’t know how to defend himself from this. He knows Bruce is grieving and upset, but all he can hear are Alfred’s cruel words, telling him that Bruce hates him, that he’ll kick him out of the family, that he’ll beat the shit out of Dick. So when Bruce takes an angry step forward, Dick flinches back hard, falling to the floor of the cave, trembling and on the verge of hyperventilating. It’s enough to shake Bruce out of his anger and grief, fear and confusion filling him as he takes in the scene in front of him. He had never hit Dick before, though he may have been harsh with him verbally. He doesn’t understand why Dick would be so full of fear, so certain that Bruce would hit him. He doesn’t understand anything about the way Dick is behaving, really. Everyone is looking a bit incredulous at the sight in front of them, which breaks Bruce out of his stupor. He takes a small, softer step forward, reaching out to try and comfort Dick, but before he can, a small katana blocks his path.

Fuck you dude I’m crying and I have a meeting in like 10 mins (I mean this in the best way possible this prompt is absolutely deliciously angsty)

I want to see Damian admitting to Dick in the tiniest, most nervous voice Dick has ever heard from him about how, “Pennyworth said Father would never have kept me if I wasn’t his blood.” I want Dick to damn near have a nervous breakdown, because he’d hoped and prayed that Alfred never treated the other kids like how he was treated. I want him to hug Damian so tight and tell him in hushed whispers that Alfred was wrong, that Bruce loved him, that Dick loves him so so much and would never ever get rid of him no matter what.

I want Dick to be so protective of Damian after he finds out. I want Dick to reassure Damian that Alfred was the problem, that Alfred treated Dick just the same when he was younger, had still treated him the same even when Dick became an adult. I want Damian to cling to Dick because he’s the only one who understands, because the others were all wrapped around Alfred’s finger.

When Bruce comes back and Dick falls to the floor, so sure he’s about to get the shit beaten out of him, I want Damian to stand between them. I want Damian to slip up and say in a strangled, devastated voice that Pennyworth was right, that no one in this family loved him or Dick, but Damian isn’t going to let them hurt his Batman.

I want Dick to sit up so fast and tug Damian away and hug him so tight and whisper no, no, that’s not true, that’s not what was happening, Dick was just startled that’s all but please don’t you remember everything we talked about? It’s alright, Dami, everything’s alright. And everyone is so confused because what are they taking about, why are they both so upset, what’s going on?

But Damian is only 11 and he’s upset and Dick has been trying his best to let Damian know he’s allowed to show his emotions, so even though he’s not actively crying, the tears in his eyes are making Dick’s heart break. Because Damian may as well be sobbing. And he hugs him so tight and just keeps whispering reassurances to him, telling him it’s alright, smoothing back his hair.

“I’m glad he’s dead!” Damian huffs into Dick’s shoulder. And it’s muffled and Damian’s voice is thick, but everyone hears it. They all bristle, but Dick doesn’t react at all.

“I know,” Dick whispers. “I know. It’s alright.”

“Don’t leave me here!” Damian begs. “Don’t leave me with them! They don’t understand!”

“I’m not leaving you,” Dick tells him. “I’m not going anywhere. Do you want to go get ice cream? We can go get ice cream.”

“This discussion is not over!” Bruce barks, because he’s still livid, but now he’s confused on top of it.

“It is for now,” Dick says, his tone firm. “We’re leaving. We’re going to go and calm down. I suggest you all do the same.”

Dick is quick to get Damian away from all of them, but the rest of the family is still in shock.

“What do we not understand?” Tim asks slowly. When everyone turns to look at him, he raises an eyebrow at their baffled expressions. “Damian said we didn’t understand. What is it we don’t understand?”

They all know it has something to do with Alfred, but none of them can figure it out.

Maybe Dick and Damian will explain it to them. Maybe they never will. But it leaves a divide between them for a long time either way.