#this happened at work and it hasn’t left my brain in WEEKS

[wolfblood-of-anubis]

KT, calling Eddie’s wrestling video game gay for the last five minutes.

Eddie, exhausted from school and quiet: I don’t call your shows gay, why do you call this gay?

KT: My shows are gay. They’re all gay. You have no power over me.

Eddie:

Eddie: I hope they get straight.

[buckymorelikefuckme]

what a wicked thing to do

vampire wanda maximoff x fem reader

words: 4.2k

warnings & tags: **18+ ONLY** lesbian vampires yes GAWD, fantasy au, inaccurate historical au, smut, fingering, implied soulmates (?? kinda i guess), biting 👀, mention of blood, does this count as hurt/comfort? we shall see!! and uhhh it's kinda spooky ooky vibes but it's not really dark? i think. pls let me know if i missed anything!

a/n: listen..... i've already got spooky season in the brain and i really wanted to reshare this fic. i've edited it a little but i've also left the link to where i orphaned it on ao3 in the title if you prefer reading there~ any and all mistakes are my own! feedback is greatly appreciated and heavily encouraged pls and thank ♡ xoxo

wanda maximoff masterlist || main masterlist

It’s that time of year in between autumn and winter where it’s only getting colder and colder, no reprieve even during the sun’s highest point of the day. Part of you worries it’s a mistake to wander through the woods like this, especially so close to sunset.

But then you remember the briefest moment when you saw her, when your eyes met hers; it happened so quickly, but also felt as if time stopped. Something flashed in her gaze before she looked away and disappeared in the busy crowds of the village.

That moment, as brief as it was, leads you here. You hug your arms tighter to your torso, cursing the bitter wind whipping around you. Your dress had been a bright idea when you’d first thought of it. Now, you’re wondering why you thought such a plunging neckline would be smart, considering the seasonable chill in the air.

Although, you think with a flutter in your stomach, that’s not exactly true. You know exactly why you chose this dress.

There’s hardly any light left in the sky by now. You’re kicking yourself for getting lost in the woods, wondering if anyone would notice, or care, whether or not you return to the village. You have no family, no money, nothing tying you to anyone or anything. You work odd jobs to be able to make ends meet. The people knew of you, but you are sure they hardly concerned themselves with your well-being.

But then, when your gaze had met her own, you’d felt seen for the first time in ages. It was like she could see everything inside your mind, every ounce of longing and every bit of loneliness, even in the split second she held your stare. You haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since then. Nearly two weeks have passed, and you’d finally decided to find out if the stories that follow her hold any truth. They are quite colorful, full of fantasy and myth, surely decorated to sound more elaborate as the years go on. Fantasy and myth, perhaps, but one particular piece of information continues to remain the same.

She hasn’t seemed to age in the fifteen years she’s spent living near your village. Not one line or wrinkle to be seen on her pale skin. Not one gray hair on her head. Some of the elders even swear they'd seen her when they were children.

Her home is a mystery, one that stays that way out of fear. There is something about her eyes, some say, something off, not quite right. Because of this, no one has felt compelled enough to try finding her home.

At least, not until you.

You’re beginning to think you are truly lost, feeling hopeless, when you finally spot something in the distance. But just as relief washes through you, the rain starts. Each drop feels like sharp, stabbing pieces of ice landing on your exposed flesh, soaking into the thin fabric of your dress. It takes mere minutes for you to become drenched. Your dress is now clinging to your body uncomfortably, the cold even more biting than it already had been.

It comes into view, what you’d spotted several meters back, easier to make out. A looming castle breaks through the trees, windows lit with candles.

Your arms and feet are going numb, but you push through, stumbling your way to a cobblestone path that leads to tall, wooden doors. With a trembling hand, you raise the door knocker and bang it against the door as loud as you can manage, praying whoever is inside will hear.

Your wait is short lived, thankfully. The door creaks open loudly to reveal the very woman you’d been searching for. If she’s shocked to see you, she hides it well. She looks as regal as ever. A black dress hugs her lithe body, her hair perfectly brushed and styled. This close to her, you can see what the people mean. She looks ageless.

“E-excuse me, madam,” you begin, trying your best to keep your teeth from chattering. “I-I’m terribly lost and I d-don’t think I can find my w-way back to the village.”

The woman lets her eyes roam your shivering frame, lingering on your glistening chest for a second, then meets your pleading gaze.

“Of course. Please, do come in. I’m sure you’re cold.”

“Th-thank you,” you reply earnestly.

She steps aside, leaving just enough space for you to squeeze by.

“Think nothing of it,” she assures you. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you need, at least until the storm passes.”

As the door closes behind her, you take in as much of the space as possible. With it being nighttime, the candles can only do so much. For a castle, it is rather large, but it’s not quite as foreboding as you would have imagined. Though, you surmise, you hadn’t really known what to expect at all.

“Would you like something dry to change into?”

You whirl around, almost tripping over your feet as her voice registers, so close to your ear.

She smiles, amusement tickling the corners of her mouth. “Perhaps a cup of tea?”

Swallowing roughly, you nod, offering a smile of thanks in return.

“Very good. You should go sit by the fire to warm up while I get everything sorted.”

She points toward a room where you can see flickering light dancing off the walls. You nod again, letting your tired feet follow the promise of warmth. The closer you get to the large fireplace, the harder you shiver, goosebumps rising along your skin. You stand as close as you deem safe, hands held out to thaw them. For the second time, she sneaks up behind you.

“This is all I could manage to find.”

You gasp as you turn to face her. She’s still smiling as she holds up the proffered item of dry clothing.

“You frightened me,” you state dumbly, huffing a quiet laugh.

“I did not mean to,” she replies.

“It’s okay.” You glance at the clothes in her hand, a frown forming on your face. “A… dressing gown?”

She makes a sympathetic face. “It was all I could find,” she repeats.

Her eyes dip down to your chest again. They flash, just like in the village, but you’re sure it could have just been the fire reflecting in them. You look down to see what she’s staring at and heat rushes up your neck. Your nipples are clearly outlined against the wet fabric of your dress.

“Oh,” you murmur as you lift your arms to cover yourself.

She clears her throat delicately. “Take this. You’ll get sick if you keep your wet clothes on.” She pointedly holds the dressing gown out to you again until you gingerly take it. “I’ll go get the kettle started while you change.”

“Thank you,” you return quietly.

When you’re sure she’s gone, you undress as quickly as you can, more shivers wracking your frame as you stand naked in her drawing room for a few seconds before pulling on the silk dressing gown, tying it securely around your waist.

While you wait you decide to get a better look of the room. A few paintings hang on the dark walls, but mostly they’re covered with floor to ceiling shelves and stuffed to the brim with books. You take notice of a few spots where the dust hasn’t seemed to settle in front of them, figuring those must be her favorites. A plush chaise sits in the center of the room with two chairs on either side, atop an ornate rug that rests on most of the floor. There are a couple small tables between the chaise and chairs with candelabras on them, and a wide, lower table in front of them. You spot a desk by the only window in the room.

There’s nothing particularly personal about the space. It almost feels as if she’s newly moved in. But you know that can’t be true, especially since so many people in the village have seen her visit town for years now.

A piece of parchment on the desk catches your eye. You debate over whether or not you should let your curiosity get the better of you, your feet slowly carrying you over to where the paper lay. There’s writing on the top piece, and you get as far as the addressed “Brother,” but then hear her round the corner and quickly back away.

“I wasn’t sure if you took cream and sugar, so I brought them just in case,” she tells you, setting a silver tray on the low-lying table that held the teapot and teacups.

You walk over as she pours the tea into both cups. You pick one up and carefully drop two lumps of sugar into yours, stirring it with your teaspoon until you’re satisfied it’s melted. A careful sip as you sit down and you hum happily.

“Better?” she asks, smiling and taking a sip of her own tea, sitting beside you.

It occurs to you suddenly that you hadn’t asked for introductions. You scold yourself internally, knowing you had better etiquette than that.

“I must apologize, I seem to have forgotten my manners. I never introduced myself,” you say, then offer your name. “And what is yours, madam?”

“You may call me Wanda,” she replies.

“Well, I owe you a great deal for helping me, Wanda. I cannot thank you enough.”

She waves a dismissive hand. “Please, there is no need. I’m glad I was here and that you aren’t in danger of freezing to death.”

“As am I,” you respond, laughing lightly.

Silence settles between you. Your mind whirls with hundreds of questions, but you don’t know where to begin. Your plan to find her only consisted of just that— finding her. Now that you’re here, you aren’t quite sure what to do. Or say, for that matter.

You can feel her eyes observing you like a caress. You struggle not to squirm or shiver, though you are no longer cold. No, there is no chill clinging to your bones anymore. Her stare alone provides enough heat. You chance a glimpse of her from the corner of your eye, but she catches it. She purses her lips to keep from smiling in amusement.

“So,” you blurt, cheeks pinking, “have you lived here long?”

You bite the inside of your cheek as soon as the words leave your mouth. Stupid, stupid girl.

Thankfully, Wanda laughs.

“Quite,” she says teasingly, like she’s letting you in on a joke.

You nod. “I see. Is it a family home?”

She tilts her head consideringly. “Of a sort.”

What is that supposed to mean? Miraculously, you don’t ask that question aloud.

“Do you… Do you live alone?”

You’re not sure why you ask. Perhaps it’s that you haven’t heard any other movement throughout the castle that indicated a waiting staff of some sort. Afterall, she was the one to fetch the tea.

“I do,” she says.

You don’t want to examine it too closely, but you’re positive you note a hint of longing in her tone.

“S’a lot of space for one person,” you muse in acknowledgment.

She nods. “Indeed. However, I’m sure I’ll find the right companion soon.”

You take another sip of your tea to avoid replying, but are not able to avoid meeting her gaze. The look in her eyes is something you’ve never seen directed at you. You’re hesitant to think it could be want, open desire. Not from a woman like her.

—

Wanda still cannot believe that you’d shown up at her door.

She’s spent months watching you from a distance, never allowing herself to be seen by you—not until she felt it was time. From the very first moment she caught sight of you, she knew. You are hers. Her mouth watered when the wind brought your scent to her. There was not a doubt in her mind about whether she would have you; she simply would.

She had waited, ever so patiently, watching you as you roamed the streets of the village. You didn’t seem to have very many acquaintances, if any at all, and you were always alone. Wanda quickly figured out that you were without a family as well.

Selfishly, she’d been happy about these facts.

Finally, Wanda allowed herself to meet your gaze. It was quick, but she knew her eyes flashed, knew that she piqued your curiosity. It would only be a matter of time.

After nearly two weeks had gone by, however, she had started to think it hadn’t worked. She’d planned on returning to town to purposefully cross your path again, but as luck would have it, you came to her. As soon as she heard the knock on her door, she smiled.

Now, as she sits next to you on the chaise, your skin glowing in the firelight, she finds it harder to maintain her control. This close, your scent is even more intoxicating. Wanda can tell that you’re curious about her. The questions you want to ask are swirling behind your eyes. And now that you’re here, she decides she’ll answer whatever you ask, give you anything you want.

You’ve gone quiet, though, so she does some prodding of her own.

“What were you doing out in the woods?” Dressed like that, blessedly, goes unsaid.

You shyly glance down at your lap. “I, uh, I like to take walks,” you mutter into your teacup as you go to take another sip.

Wanda hums. A plausible excuse, indeed. You carefully lean forward to set your cup and saucer on the table and when you sit back you move your hair over to one shoulder. Wanda’s eyes zero in on the pulsepoint of your neck. If she focuses hard enough, she can see your heartbeat throbbing beneath your skin. It makes her teeth itch, makes her control waver even more.

When she drags her gaze away from your neck, she finds you already observing her. Her desire is clearly reflected in your eyes and the feeling is heady.

—

“Are you warm now?” she wonders.

“Yes,” you whisper, your breathing picking up, making your breasts heave alluringly.

You’d go as far as saying you are overheating. The dressing gown, where you’d been unsure and embarrassed of being nude underneath it before, is now a blessing. Your body feels alight with an unseen, growing fire. Shifting on the chaise, you don’t notice the sleeve slip down your shoulder, only registering the air skimming across your collarbones. You let out a surprised gasp when you feel something cold on your bare arm.

Peering down reveals it to be Wanda’s hand carefully sliding the sleeve back up into place. Your brows pull together in a frown.

“Your hand…” you mumble, trailing off.

She lets it linger on your shoulder for a moment, then slowly traces down your arm, her thumb grazing the side of your breast. Your nipples tighten, thighs clenching together as you watch her fingers stop at your wrist. Though her touch is cold, it feels like a relief against the searing heat of your flesh. You peek at her through your lashes and find her expression to be one of complete hunger.

Feeling emboldened, you hold her stare as you shift to pull the sleeve down again.

Her lips lift on one side, her teeth glinting dangerously. “Are you sure of what you’re doing?” she asks.

You blink, faux innocence shifting behind your eyes. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

Wanda takes a deep, steadying breath, though it only helps in inhaling your scent more. She says your name. “Why do you think you are here?” The question catches you off guard. Wanda shifts even closer to you, watching your throat bob as you swallow. “We both know it isn’t because you accidentally got lost in the woods. You were out there with a purpose. What was it?”

You lick your lips, noticing her gaze immediately drop to them. It makes your heart pound in your chest.

“I don’t know,” you reply, unsure.

She leans in, her nose nearly touching yours. “You do,” she whispers, without doubt. “Why are you here?”

Your eyes flutter closed, head tilting back without you being aware of it, exposing your neck. You feel her presence mere centimeters away from you, her breath puffing out along the column of your throat.

“I… I felt drawn here. It feels like I was meant to be here,” you say, quiet, almost hoping she doesn’t hear you.

It feels ridiculous to say it out loud. It’s one thing to have that thought sit in the back of your mind where you could pretend it didn’t exist, but to admit it aloud is entirely different.

“With me?”

You shiver at her words, her lips having softly dragged across your skin. Helplessly, you nod.

“Are you afraid?”

That makes you frown, but you adamantly reply, “No.”

“Open your eyes,” she pleads.

You follow her instruction, wary, but gasp at what you see. Sharp fangs peek out from Wanda’s lips, her eyes so pale they’re almost white now. Though your heart continues to race, it’s not out of fear. It should scare you, it should send you running, but you find your hand slowly rising to carefully trace a finger down one of her fangs, amazed that she even lets you.

“You’re…” You start, meeting her patient gaze once more. “Beautiful,” you finish in a whisper, because she is. You go to reach for her face to stroke her cheek, but she lurches backward. In a blink, Wanda’s on the other side of the chaise. Disbelief paints her features.

“You think I’m… beautiful?”

“Of course,” you state plainly, brows furrowing. Wanda continues staring at you in wonder. “You said I was here for a reason.” Ironically, she’s now wary of you as you shuffle closer to her. “I know what that reason is now.”

“Which is?” she asks apprehensively.

“You,” you murmur, cupping her cheek. “I’m here for you.”

Wanda looks as if she’s scared to accept this, to hope for it to be real. You steal away those worries by leaning in to place a soft kiss to her lips. She inhales sharply, eyes squeezing shut, her cold hands gripping your wrist almost painfully. You give her a moment, kissing her forehead as she gathers her emotions, keeping her gaze down.

“Are you sure?”

Her voice cracks softly, but her grip on your wrist loosens as you move it. You lift her chin so she’s looking at you.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

She stares at your lips for a few seconds, and then, as your words sink in, they seem to send her into action. She surges forward and captures your lips, more sure, more eager than before. You respond in kind, pulling her as close as possible, sighing into her mouth.

You quickly find yourself on your back on the chaise, Wanda above you, bodies slotting perfectly into each other like lost puzzle pieces. You feel her hand slide down from where it was in your hair to graze along your sternum. Then her hand cups your breast, thumb swiping across your nipple, and you gasp. It’s the perfect opportunity to deepen the kiss and Wanda takes it.

Her tongue slides against yours and you whine, clutching at her like she’s the only thing tethering you to this earth. It becomes so easy to let her settle between your thighs, to arch into her touch and slide your tongue in her mouth, delicately tracing over her fangs. Wanda shudders, grunting inelegantly before wrenching herself away, panting heavily into the space between you. You blindly chase after her, opening your eyes in confusion.

Wanda’s gaze is intent on your neck, full of desire. The weight of the moment hits you, then. What exactly it would mean if you give in to her. So, with full faith in your decision, you tilt your head ever so slightly and she goes perfectly still.

“Go ahead,” you encourage.

She shakes her head. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

You huff. “I do. I want you to do this.” You know she won’t look at you just yet, so you lace both your and her fingers together and squeeze hers as you continue. “I need you to do this.”

“If I do,” she starts, swallowing thickly, “I won’t be able to stop. You’ll end up like me.”

You duck your head to catch her stare. “And what’s wrong with that?”

She closes her eyes and falls silent for a moment. The weight of your words fall over the two of you like a winter blanket.

“I’ve waited so long,” she confesses, voice quiet, shaking and timid.

“For me?” you ask. She nods. “I’ve been looking for something, or someone, to make me feel whole all my life.” You use your free hand to stroke her cheek. Even with her eyes closed, she leans into you. “I’ve waited for you, too.”

When she finally looks at you, you know there’s no going back for either of you.

“It’s going to hurt,” she warns.

“That’s okay. It will only be temporary.”

She smiles then, slow and teasing. “I can ease the pain, you know.”

Her free hand tugs lightly on the ties holding your dressing gown closed, raising her eyebrows in silent question. You bite your lip and nod, shivering in anticipation. She undoes the careful bow you’d tied, easing it open and exposing your body to her hungry gaze.

If you felt heated before, you’re an inferno now. Her hands reverently map out every curve of your body. She leans down and plants a kiss above your belly button. It makes your stomach clench in want, but you make yourself lie there and take whatever she plans on giving you. Her kisses lead up your torso, until she’s eye level with your breasts, and before you can comprehend her movement, she’s taking one of your nipples into her mouth.

“God,” you whimper, head thrown back as you push your chest into her face.

“No,” Wanda giggles, “just me.”

You try to laugh, but it turns into a gasping moan when she pinches your other nipple between cold fingers. Your thighs attempt to close around her, yet it’s futile. Her free hand begins its descent down to the warm heat between your legs. Your hips buck into her touch, crying out when her fingers make contact with your clit.

“I’m going to do everything I can to make this feel good, okay? Let me take care of you.”

You nod quickly, your mouth going dry. When a single finger enters you, you forget how to breathe for a second, but then she’s sliding it out and back in, setting a steady rhythm, and you’re back to panting and whining. Only a few minutes later, though, you’re wriggling around, begging for more. She adds another finger and picks up the pace.

“Oh,” you gasp, your legs falling open wider.

Wanda buries her face in your neck, inhaling loudly, groaning. She licks across the skin there, nipping at you.

“Wanda,” you whimper.

“I know, my love,” she rasps. “You’re so close.”

Your hands have drifted above you, clutching at the pillows on the chaise, your hips moving in tandem with her fingers. Her thumb meets your clit, adding to the building warmth in your belly. It swells and swells, until finally, it has nowhere else to go and explodes within you.

You feel her teeth sink into your neck at the very same moment, and you can only yell brokenly into the air. Pain and pleasure war inside you, both white hot and searing, marrying themselves into a delicious and lethal combination. You can feel blood trickle down your throat, the same way you can still feel her fingers thrusting into you. It seems to never end and you grow limp beneath her, unable to handle the sensations flowing through you.

She finally slows, removing her teeth and licking over the wound. As her fingers slide free, she brushes your sweaty hair off your forehead with her clean hand.

“Sleep now,” she instructs, kissing you softly.

You can’t even attempt to argue, your body listening to her and promptly sending you into a deep slumber.

—

When you wake, before you even open your eyes, you’re aware of a few things.

To start, you’re no longer on the chaise. You’re on a luxurious bed, which is presumably Wanda’s. Your hearing is significantly better, as is your sense of smell. There’s a low thrum of energy coursing through your veins, like you’re on edge but don’t know why. But the more important thing you’re aware of is the feeling of eyes on you.

“I know you’re awake now.”

You crack open one eye and see Wanda smirking at you from the other end of the bed. You smile and sigh happily.

“How do you feel?” she asks.

You carefully sit up and stretch. You notice her ogling your still naked body and give her a smirk of your own. Shifting onto your knees, you crawl over the bed until you reach her and straddle her lap.

“Hungry,” you answer before grasping her face in your hands and attaching your mouth to hers.

With a force she hadn’t used before, she tosses you backward and is on top of you in a flash, a devilish smile on her tragically beautiful face.

“Good.”

[baby-yongbok]

Ex : Part II

Hwang Hyunjin x Fem!Reader

⇝ Genre: Angst then Smut then angst again. Dirty Drama.

⇝ Summary: There's only one thing on your mind after 'welcoming' Hyunjin back into your life.

⇝ Warnings: Themes of Cheating, Arguing, Oral sex, Hyunjin is toxic - the manipulative type - and he seriously thinks he did nothing wrong. (I think that's all, let me know if I missed anything!)

⇝ Word Count: 3.2k

⇝ A/N: SO MANY of you wanted a part 2 to this so I tried my best + reader is depicted as chubby/plus size and is a POC ♡ I hope that you enjoy the drama! 💕

✧ Part One ✧ Masterlist ✧

It took you a week. A week of crying and screaming, a week of avoiding your friends, a week of him ignoring your calls for you to realize that Hyunjin has you fucked up if he thinks that you’re going to let him get away with what he put you through. At first you just wanted to talk to him, you thought that maybe you could convince him to cut Yara off. You thought that you could change him - how cliche. You called him for three days and when you got sick of getting his voicemail you called his best friend, Jeongin. He was surprised to hear from you but he was even more surprised when you told him everything that happened. 

“Are you fucking serious?” For the first time since Hyunjin left you crying on your bedroom floor you let it all out. You told Jeongin every dirty detail of the encounter. You cried and he was there for you, he did what Hyunjin hasn’t done for months. “Is there anything that I can do? Anything you need?” 

The line fell silent as you processed his question. Your brain is telling you one thing while your heart is telling you another. You sigh as the two battle for dominance over what comes out of your mouth next. You’ve let your heart make all of the moves for the past three days. You’ve cried and you’ve screamed all in favor of lifting the crushing pain off of your chest for an hour or two. Now it’s your brain's turn to decide and it only wants one thing. 

“Ya know there is something that you can help me with.” Your heart pleads for you to choose something less drastic, less dramatic but your brain yells for it to shut up. Why should we let Hyunjin have all the fun? “Anything, you name it.”

“Revenge.”

Hyunjin came to your place four days after you spoke to Jeongin. He had cherry red roses in his hand and an apology plastered on his face. His eyes were pleading with you before he could even open his mouth but to his surprise you hugged him. You held him tight and smiled, taking the flowers and making a home for them in your favorite vase. He was stunned to say the least but he didn’t comment. He needed you. His ex did exactly what you knew she would, she took all that she wanted from him and the second that she started to get attention from somewhere else she acted like he didn’t exist. 

He tried to be the boyfriend that you’ve been wanting him to be over the next couple of weeks but he couldn’t seem to get a hold of you. Each and every time that he’d plan a date or show up to surprise you, you were already out or you were leaving to meet with your friends. You barely answered his texts and he’s more than positive that you’ve been sending him to voicemail for the past week. It’s been a month of him putting up with you blowing him off and he’s sick of it.

He decided to show up at your place two hours before your plans to talk to you, maybe he can get you to stay home and spend some time with him tonight. He misses you more than you could even imagine and he thought that you’ve been missing him too. Shouldn’t you be dying to spend time with him? 

His face drops when he gets to your front door and his key doesn’t fit into the lock, did you change it? He rings the bell, tapping his foot anxiously as he waits for you to open the door. His eyes meet yours when it swings open and you smile at him, welcoming him in. 

“My key didn’t work.” He comments as he kicks his shoes off.

“Really? That’s odd.” You shrug as you make your way to your bathroom. “I’m gonna shower.” You call to him as the bathroom door closes behind you. The click of the lock draws a sigh from Hyunjin. Not even a kiss or a hug? Just a friendly hello like you’re not even dating. He drags himself to your bedroom and throws himself on your perfectly made bed. His thoughts project onto the ceiling as he stares at it. He feels like he’s going crazy, why are you acting so weird? No affection, barely talking, barely hanging out and you’re always on… Oh no. He sits up quickly, his eyes dart around the room until it finally lands on what he’s looking for on your bedside table.

Your Phone.

He glances over at your bedroom door before grabbing it. The screen lights up and a picture of you and your friends presents itself to him. That’s funny, wasn’t your wallpaper that picture of you two from when you went to the aquarium for your second date. You always said that that was your favorite picture. When did you change it?

He glances towards the door again and swipes your screen, his brain is busy thinking of possible password combinations but there is no password. His brows pinch together in confusion, you always have a pin on your phone. He decides to worry about that later and quickly starts searching all of your apps. He goes from your instagram to your snapchat but there’s nothing. Just a bunch of reels being sent between you and Jeongin, the last person you sent a picture to on snapchat was also Jeongin. How can his best friend have time to talk to you but he doesn’t have time to text him back? He’s called him an unimaginable amount of times over the past month but he hasn’t heard a single thing back. His finger hovers over your text messages for a second too long. What if he doesn’t like what he finds? What if you’re cheating on him? How could he handle a betrayal like that? With one more quick glance towards the door he taps the app and it opens up to a conversation. Hyunjin’s heart drops when he reads the name at the top. 

“What?” An incredulous sigh escapes him as he starts scrolling to the top of the conversation. Pet names are being thrown left and right, plans are being made every single day and there are back to back facetime calls in the dark hours of the night. 

Hyunjin’s heart is pounding in his ears and his fingers are moving so fast that he didn’t even realize that he went into your shared media. He freezes and his heart drops to his ass as he takes it all in. Nudes, videos, everything that he could imagine, all of you and his best friend. All of you and Jeongin. He opens a video and his mouth goes dry at the lewd sounds that fill the room. He’s fucking you from behind with a fist full of your hair to keep your head up. You’re drooling and moaning and Jeongin is smiling, he’s fucking smiling at the camera. His shirt - wait a minute - that’s not his. Hyunjin’s eyes go wide as he studies the fabric, his best friend is wearing his clothes while he fucks his girlfriend? Unbelievable, this can’t be real.

He quickly exits the video and scrolls through your pictures. You and Jeongin in the car, in your bedroom, your living, you on your knees and him on his. Hyunjin doesn’t even bother to look at the door to make sure you aren’t coming. He can’t hear anything but the thoughts racing through his head. His finger slips and another video opens. The sound of skin against skin echoes through his ears as the video plays. Jeongin is shirtless, fucking you in front of your bathroom mirror. Actually, he’s naked, did you two shower together? Hyunjin balls a fist in the blanket under him as he watches the video.

“Say it again, baby, say it to the camera.” A broken moan escapes you as you try to follow Jeongin’s order. “Y-you’re so much better than him, fuck me so good, Innie.” Hyunjin swears that his heart broke at the sound of you. Why would you say that? You don’t mean it do you? What did he do to deserve this?

He pauses the video and drops your phone against the mattress, your texts stare back at him and he can’t help but to scroll. “That’s not yours.” He jumps at the sound of your voice and you laugh. You wander over to lazily flip through your closet with a towel wrapped around your hair and your rob loosely tied around your body.

“What the fuck is all of this?” His voice is small, much smaller than he meant for it to be but you can hear the heartbreak laced in it. You almost feel bad for him. But that’s your heart speaking, she’s not in control right now. “You’re fucking Jeongin?”

You pick out a dress and move to your mirror, you tilt your head as you hold it against your body. “Think this is too much for a dinner date?” Hyunjin scoffs, moving to stand from your bed.

“Answer me, tell me that everything that I just found is fake. Tell me that you didn’t betray me.” He has some nerve talking about betrayal. You face him, staring back at him with faux sympathy. “I was lonely when you left, what was I supposed to do?” 

“Wait for me to get back.” You turn your attention back to your closet but he calls your name before you can pick out another dress. “You haven’t been going out with your friends have you? You’ve been with him. What in your right mind possessed you to fuck my best friend?”

“Do you really care, Hyunjin? Do you really want me to tell you? Cause I’ll tell you everything but that’s not what you want to hear, is it?” He watches as you slowly step towards him, like a vixen with her eyes set on a prize. “You wanna hear me say that I love you. You want me to say that I’ll stop seeing him because I need you.” 

He’s stuck in place as he watches you, heavy breaths passing his parted lips as you read him like a book. That’s exactly what he wants, he wants you, that’s all he’s wanted for the past month. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes.” His voice is a mere whisper once you reach him, like he’d scare you away if he talks too loudly. “That’s what I want.” He shudders when you bring your hand up to cup his cheek. 

“Are you touch starved, baby?” His soft gaze pours into yours but he doesn’t recognize the look in your eyes. It’s not what he wants but he’ll gladly take it. At least you’re looking at him. “Didn’t your ex touch you while you were away?”

His heart sinks and a smile creeps onto your lips. “She - she did but -” You tsk, cutting him off before he could stumble over his words further. 

“She didn’t make you feel like I do, did she?” He shakes his head, guilty eyes staring back into yours as you reach down to palm him over his sweats. “Is that why you’re back? She didn’t take care of my Hyune?”

“She’s not you.” His breath is heavy and his eyes roll back as he answers with a thick groan. You run your fingers over him with expert precision. You’ve always known what to do to get him going. “I want you, not her. Always you.”

“Untie my robe.” You whisper and he quickly obeys, fumbling with the loose knot until the fuzzy fabric falls open and reveals your naked body to him. “Wanna show me how much you want me?” He leans forward to catch your lips in a kiss but you dodge him before he can. A disapproving whimper escapes him and you puff out your lip in a fake pout. 

“Gotta be patient, my baby. Can you do that?” He nods, whimpering out a pathetic ‘yes’. His eyes follow your frame as you sit on the edge of your bed. Your eyes wander from his down to the floor in front of you and back up again. He quickly follows your unspoken instruction, falling to his knees in front of you and drooling when you part your legs before him. “Show me.”

Hyunjin latches onto your core like a desperate puppy. His tongue wastes no time exploring every inch of you that he’s missed. Hums and moans vibrate through him as he tastes you and you match each sound with your head thrown back and your fingers laced in his hair. At least he remembers how to eat your pussy the way that you like it, though you must admit that you’ve gotten used to Jeongin’s mouth on you. 

Your bed creaks as his hips buck against it in a desperate attempt to feel half as good as you do. “Fuck, come on, Hyune. Don’t tell me your best friend eats my pussy better than you.” He groans in protest, hooking his arms around your thighs to keep you open while he works against you. You gasp in pleasure, so he’s competitive? He swirls his tongue in imaginary patterns, sliding it between your folds as he takes turns sucking on your clit and fucking your pulsing hole. His hips grind restlessly against the edge of your mattress and desperate grunts fill the air once they vibrate through your core. 

“You missed me didn’t you?” You pull him back with your fist in his hair, his swollen lips glisten in the low lamp light and his eyes are glazed with fuckout desperation. “Yeah, missed you.”  He’s too deep into the brain fog to hear just how pathetic he sounds but you’re more than happy to take it all in for him. A strangled moan escapes you as Hyunjin's tongue explores deeper. You grip his hair tighter as he laps up your juices, and you arch your back to meet him. 

His thrusts against your mattress become more desperate as laps at you, The mess of your drooling cunt makes a mess all over his chin as he works desperately to get you to the edge but that’s not the part that gets you close. It’s the thought of him hoping and praying that hi tongue is fucking you better than Jeongin ever did and as you get closer to coming undone you find yourself clenching at the thought that his best friend does it better. “Shit, Jeongin, I’m gonna cum.” 

 Your orgasm rips through you with a loud moan and your body shudders in pleasure. You hold Hyunjin's head in place against your core as his tongue continues to work diligently in an attempt to help you ride out your orgasm. Once you’ve come down from your high he pulls back slowly, a single string of spit still connecting him to your cunt.

“What did you call me?” He mumbles, not even bothering to wipe his mouth clean. You stare down at him with not an ounce of care in your eyes. 

“Don’t remember.” You pull your robe closed and slide from in front of him to pull yourself up to your feet. “And I don’t care.” Hyunjin’s heart dissolves as he watches you shrug and wander back over to your closet.

“What are you doing?” He mumbles and you scoff.

“Will you stop with the pitiful tone?” He scrambles up from his knees quickly, a surge of anger running through him. 

“Come on.” He stalks over and wraps his arms around you, leaning in to kiss your neck but you push him away before he can. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“I have a date to get ready for.” You flip through your clothes and it’s only now that he notices the empty space in your closet. “Where are my clothes?” 

“I told you to take all of your shit last month.” You shrug, pulling out a dress and holding it against your body in the mirror. “You didn’t take it so I gave most of it to Jeongin. Thought about burning the rest but I donated it instead.”

He watches you silently, jaw hung slack in a frozen state of disbelief. “Are there fucking cameras in here?” He looks around, half desperate for that to be the case. “Is this a joke?”

“The only joke here is you. Did you think that you could come back here and I’d act like nothing happened?” A venomous laugh erupts from your chest. “Be fucking forreal.”

“But we just fucked, I just ate you out why would you let that happen if you’re still going to see Jeongin?” 

“You got a phone call last time. You owe me, remember?” Hyunjin can’t decide if he should be livid or desperate. He wants to yell and curse you out for being so ridiculous but at the same time he wants to drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness. He had hoped that you understood what happened a month ago. He thought that he could count on you to see that he only did what he had to do. Yeah he cheated but if you really loved him you could move past that. 

“You’re excused. I need to get ready.” You push past him, bumping your shoulder with his but he grabs you by the waist before you can get too far, pulling you against his chest. “Don’t be like that, angel.”

 His hands run smoothly up your side, taking in every curve of you. “I know I upset you but you can’t act like you don’t want me. What happened to you forgiving me?”

His lips brush over yours slowly as he whispers. “I want you so badly, I wanna be with you tonight. Stay here with me.” You smile against him as the towel containing your hair slips off of your head and your damp curls curtain around the two of you. You run your hands up his chest, taking in each and every toned dip before you whisper back. “Get out.” You peck his lips and push him away from you with a smile.

“You’re making a mistake.” He pleads with wide eyes blown with anguish. “He doesn’t make you feel like I do, you know that.” Your ringtone bounces off of the walls before you get a chance to answer him. You reach across your mattress and smile when you see Jeongin’s name.

“You’re right.” You shrug, swiping to answer the call. “He makes me feel so much better.” Hyunjin’s jaw clenches as you press the phone to your ear with a smile. You greet his best friend with a sweet tone that used to be exclusively for him. Hyunjin is practically invisible to you as you buzz around your room grabbing accessories and planning your outfit. It isn’t until he grabs your wrist on your way to your vanity that you look at him again.

“Please don’t do this.” Jeongin’s voice is heard from the receiver before you can answer the man in front of you.

“Who’s that, baby?” He asks, and you smile as Hyunjin deflates.

 “No one.” You shrug off Hyunjin’s hold and he deflates as you passively wave him away. “That’s no one.”

Tag List: @dessianna1, @foxytoxxic, @snxfall (If you asked to be tagged and you weren't it's because you did not have your age in your bio. You MUST have your age in your bio to be tagged )

[ghoststyles]

You Should Probably Leave

This one shot is inspired by You Should Probably Leave by Chris Stapleton! Hope you enjoy.

3.4K. Smut. Fingering, oral sex, vaginal sex, degradation, the works. hehehe.

The feeling of the pair of lips gently ghosting down your collar bone sends you back in time. A simpler time. Two college students madly in love, unsure where their lives would take them. 

You smile gently, drinking in the scene around you; a warm fire lit, a nearly empty bottle of red wine, and a pair of strong hands dancing around your post-baby curves. Throwing your head back, you gasp when he nips and sucks at the soft part of your neck. Pawing at his lap, his hard prick creates a noticeable tent in his pants. 

You had a long day. The baby is teething, your nipples are dry and cracked, and you haven’t had an adult conversation in what feels like weeks. It’s been Miss Rachel and Cocomelon until your ears bleed. You’re not sure if it was the wine, but it’s like you’ve been brought back to life. It helps that your husband, an esteemed surgeon, is on his 3rd 24-hour call shift in a two-week span, giving you plenty of time to occupy yourself.

It started off innocent, your friendship with Harry. Your heart stopped when you realized who moved into the house across the street just 6 months ago. The other moms fawned over the new single bachelor in the neighborhood, not realizing it was Harry. Your Harry. Your college boyfriend who you thought you’d run off into the sunset with and travel the world. 

In an effort to establish that you’re a married woman, you brought a fresh plate of cookies to his door, your husband in tow. Harry’s slightly perplexed and shocked look on his face when he opened the front door that day was quickly wiped away when your husband introduced yourselves to him. 

It wasn’t until a few days later when you got Harry alone. Would he act like he has no idea who you are? Or would it be like a single day hasn’t passed since you left him at your college graduation, not knowing about the ring in his pocket as your parents and grandparents celebrated around you?

You were going on different paths in life, after all. Harry was a risk taker; you, on the other hand, are someone who craves routine and discipline. That’s what you repeat to yourself, trying to convince your brain that he’s not the love of your life. Even 6 years later. 

You approach Harry as he is getting his mail one day. Looking around, making sure the nosy moms weren’t around, or your husband isn’t miraculously home from work. 

“Hi, Sunny,” Harry says, swallowing thickly. 

His words send a punch to your gut. The nickname he called you for over 4 years hits the same, even after all this time. Your husband’s terms of endearment don’t hold a candle to this. 

Hesitantly, you cross the street, your arms crossing over your chest to try and slow your beating heart. 

“Hi, neighbor. How’d that happen?”

“Are you the only one allowed to come back and live in their college town?”

Ice cold. You weren’t prepared for that kind of response. 

“Not at all. Just unexpected, I guess.”

“I think it’s my turn to do something unexpected.”

You nod, pursing your lips in anxiety. You turn to go back in your house, feeling defeated. 

“I don’t have social media. I didn’t know you lived here,” he replies gruffly. “If you want to come over for coffee tomorrow morning, you can. I work from home.”

“Okay,” you reply softly, unsure if this is a real invite. Scurrying into the house, you wipe away a small tear that formed in the corner of your eye. Fucking postpartum emotions. 

Your racing thoughts are brought to an end when Harry snakes his hand over your stomach. He moans at the excess skin and fat, knowing you brought a life into this world. Weekly coffee dates between neighbors turned into wine nights when the baby goes down. All unbeknownst to your husband and neighbors. 

He finally slides his hands in your panties, gently swirling your clit, sending your head back on his shoulder. The stress melts off your body when he inserts his middle finger. 

“Mhm, squeeze me, Sunny. Take what you need,” Harry pants in your ear quietly. The baby monitor rests on the side table next to you. 

High-pitched whines escape your mouth as he massages your g-spot gently. The angle isn’t allowing him to speed up his thrusts. You come, loudly, a few minutes later as Harry sponges more kisses on your neck and temple. 

Shifting to your knees, you simultaneously pull his pants down, his boxers following suit. His prick bobs up, smacking him in the stomach. You nearly keel over, excited to have your mouth on him, as if you haven’t been doing this several nights a week when your husband is at work. 

The ruddy tip is dribbling pre come, the perfect lubricant. Since he knows you’re dirty, you spit on him anyway. Harry lets out a mixture of a sigh and whine, desperate to feel your warm mouth on him. You take the plunge, trying to shove as much of him down as you can. It’s hard, but you manage to slightly swipe your nose on the hair at his base. 

He’s a man now. He was back then, too. But he’s a man now. The slight belly; a contrast from his rock hard abs in college. And his face is aged, but in a good way. His stamina remains unchanged. A few more sucks and pumps of his dick and balls sends him spiraling. Ropes of his come hit the back of your throat. You absolutely keen as he grunts and thrusts one last time.

With a pop, you slide your mouth off, looking at him with hazy eyes. You roll to the side, laying your chin on his meaty thigh, just above his tiger tattoo. 

Harry sighs, knowing what comes next.

I know it ain’t all that late but you should probably leave. And I recognize the look in your eyes, yeah, you should probably leave.

You cover up your bare chest with your sweater, pulling your discarded sleep shorts back on.

“He’ll be home soon, and I want to feed the baby one more time before bed. I hope you understand.”

Harry nods, his face unwilling to let on how much your words hurt. He stands, pulling up his pants and boxers, slipping his sweatshirt overhead. 

Harry understood the first time. And the second. And even the third. But, here you both are, months later, entertaining this completely heinous affair. But, he just can’t fucking let you go.

‘Cause I know you, and you know me. And we both know where this is gonna lead

You excused the lingering; the extra kisses. You’ve even let Harry stay in your bed until the minute your husband pulled into the driveway. It’s gone on too long, and you need to set boundaries. But you can’t fucking let him go.

You want me to say that I want you to stay, so you should probably leave

You know it’s wrong. You’re not naive. It’s not even about hurting your husband. The unmitigated amount of guilt that comes from leading Harry on is more than enough to send you straight to hell. 

It was dumb luck, Harry moving in across the street. He had to hear about your new life through mutual college friends for years as hestruggled in relationship after relationship. You went off and married a future doctor. A sure thing. At graduation, Harry scored a job in tech. Sure, the field was new at the time, but it wasn’t like he was taking a major risk. You got cold feet and fled.

Harry leans down to place one more chaste kiss on your lips before he wordlessly slips out the door toward his own house. You stare out the window after him until a shrill cry rings over the baby monitor, catapulting you into your reality.

And it’s hard to resist, just one kiss, then you should probably leave

~

When Harry knocks on your door around 11PM just two nights after the last encounter with an overnight bag in hand, you’re not sure what to say. The baby went down easier tonight, allowing you to feel more relaxed.

“I talked to him yesterday at the gym. He said he’d be on call at the hospital until tomorrow morning.”

You nod, confirming what he’s saying. Your husband kissed you goodbye after a failed attempt at intimacy this morning. You made up some excuse of feeling off, so he jerked himself in the shower while you laid in fetal position, the guilt eating you alive. 

Harry storms past you, immediately heading to your bedroom. The bedroom you share with your husband. The bedroom just down the hall from your sleeping baby. You sigh, closing the front door gently. 

Harry places his bag on the chair in the corner, taking note of the clothing strewn around the room. He’d hate to leave behind an article of his clothing that would expose their secret. Harry pulls his shirt off by the collar, baring his chest to you. 

It never fails to smack the wind out of you. His toned, tattooed abdomen is illuminated by the lamp in the corner. You place your palms on his pecs, leaning in for a hungry kiss. You can tell he doesn’t want to talk tonight. 

“Strip,” He demands in between kisses.

You meet his gaze, giving your best puppy dog eyes. He doesn’t buy it. You peel off your sleep shirt and shorts, leaving yourself in a pair of white panties.

“Face down, ass up, Sunny.”

A shrill whine escapes your frowning mouth. You put up little protest and situate yourself on the bed. It’s tantalizing, the hold he has on you. The history. The lore. The taboo nature of your relationship. If that’s what you can call it.

You crawl onto the bed, ignoring the framed photo from your wedding day on the bedside table. Harry stands at the foot of the bed, admiring your plump ass, a small wet patch forming in the gusset of the panties. 

Harry lightly palms your ass as you jam your head further into the comforter. He squeezes and pulls at the skin, debating where to start. He starts by rubbing his middle and ring fingers over the wet patch.

Increasing the pressure, he leans over you, his lips tickling the shell of your ear, “I’m gonna eat you out, fuck you, fill you up, and we’re gonna keep these panties on. A little treat for when your husband comes home.”

Fuck. 

“Harry, fuck,” you stutter.

He’s now face to face with your backside. You feel one lewd, long, lick up your folds - through your underwear. It’s so, so good. In between licks, you hear him speak again.

“You know what I can’t figure out?” He asks, almost laughing to himself.

You dare not to respond, instead focus on his assault to your pussy. His grip on your thighs is that of the jaws of life, destined to leave marks.

“I’ve been fucking tearing this pussy up for,” he trails off. “Months, now? And your dumb fuck husband still has no idea? Not a clue about our history? How you were mine first? Does he even pay a crumb of attention to you?”

You cry out after a big swipe, the tickling feeling of the damp fabric on your pussy lips driving you wild. You’re holding back big, fat crocodile tears. You’re in this situation because you want to have your cake and eat it, too. 

“Tell me, Sunny. Does he fuck you with the lights off? Or a quickie in the shower? If he’s the love of your life, then why do you have to get attention from me? Hm?”

Fisting the comforter, the tears are now falling rapidly. You choke out a sob and clench your pussy around nothing. 

Again, you don’t answer his questions. Instead, he picks up the pace of his licks, focusing directly on your clit. He knows the left side is more sensitive than the right, so his tongue stays swirling in that direction. 

You come, quickly and loudly, smacking your hand against the bed. Harry chuckles to himself bitterly. Your head is still spinning, but you feel Harry peel back the gusset of the panties and slide the tip of his cock through the folds. 

He still has his pants on, but the buttons are popped open and his cock is sticking out over the band of his underwear. The edge of the lacy fabric touching the sensitive head makes him grunt out a moan. 

“Always so fucking needy. You need me, don’t you, Sunny? Tell me,” he mocks.

“I need you, Harry,” you whimper, your body ready to collapse to the bed. 

“Mm-mm. Tell me who you need right now, Sunny.”

“You, Daddy. I need you,” your wobbly lip makes you sound pathetic. 

He plunges in at your words, both of you gasping at the same time. You’re made for one another; You’re the lock and he’s the key. Even on the best nights with your husband, he gives you a mediocre performance at best. Your thrusts are never timed, and he refuses to talk dirty in your ear. 

“That’s right, Sunny. Good girl,” he mocks you again, his thrusts sending shockwaves throughout your body. You can feel his thumb trace around the edge of your asshole, making you mewl.

Harry leans over you, enveloping his body over yours. His lips ghost your ear again. The tone of his voice is low and sultry.

“Y’know what I think, Sunny girl?” he asks, sucking your earlobe into his mouth. “I bet you wish that sweet little baby in the other room was mine. Bet you wish it was me you walked down the aisle to.”

You gasp, heart stopping at the mention of your baby. Up until this point, you’ve been able to compartmentalize this part of your life. You start to protest, but he slips his right hand around your throat, squeezing gently. 

“Hm? Based on the way you’re squeezing me, I think I’m right,” the smug tone of voice is glaringly obvious. “Think of the life we could’ve had, Sunny. I think about it every day of my fucking life. Would’ve given you the world.”

Like a devil on my shoulder you keep whisperin’ in my ear. And it’s gettin’ kinda hard for me to do the right thing here. I wanna do the right thing, baby

“I know,” you finally choke out. Your conversations during your romps remain light, usually. But, tonight. Tonight feels different. His grip on your throat tightens as you feel him start to slow his thrusts. "Fuck, Harry. I know."

“Thought I’d hit the lottery when you and your husband knocked on my door that day. Thought I’d been given a second chance. Finally have you forever.” 

He’s fully panting at this point, and you’re unsure how he’s even talking. You clench around him, making him moan again. He kisses your neck, sweat freely dripping all over both of you. Instead of burying deep in you, he pulls out slightly as he comes, coating the inside and outside of your pussy, and dripping into the panties. 

It’s lewd, and disgusting. But, it’s everything. 

Harry’s lifts his body from his place on top of you, the slight breeze his shifting caused making you shiver. Harry moves to a half standing position to grab his phone off the bedside table. He snaps a quick photo of the scene in front of him.

You look ethereal. Your perfect, plump ass is complimented by the underwear now doused in his scent and spunk. The contrast of the dry and wet parts of the panties has him wanting to jerk off again. 

Reluctantly, he pulls out, and uses his thumb to snap the fabric back in place. He doubts your husband will even give you the time of day once he’s home. But, it’d be an epic way for your secret to be exposed. 

It’s nearing 1AM, so Harry stands to go into your ensuite to fetch a towel. Now, you’ve fully collapsed into the bed. He gently wipes just enough cum from around your pussy and thighs. He leaves a majority of it for the treasure hunt.

You finally build up the strength and courage to pick up a discarded T-shirt on the floor. At the same time, he’s putting on a fresh pair of boxers from his bag. You can’t bring yourself to meet his eye as you start reeling over the degrading words that came out of his mouth. You have every right to be disgusted by him, but you can’t bring yourself to be. Because he’s not wrong. 

You’d made a mistake. You knew about 6 months into your marriage. You loved your husband. Or maybe the idea of him. You met him when he was 2 years into his surgical residency. The perks and the bragging rights of dating a doctor got to your head. Every date, every argument and every moment of adversity had you wondering what it’d have been like with Harry. 

Life with Harry was easy. You got the best of both worlds; a hot boyfriend and a fun social life. But, when your sister introduced you to a man with a full 8-year plan carved out, you chose the safe option. What a fuck-up that was. 

Harry climbs into the bed next to you, still not saying a word. That’s the thing. With Harry, you don’t have to. Your energies and emotions just work. He gently pulls you down so you’re laying horizontally on your side, and he slots his legs between yours, nuzzling his face in your neck. 

In this moment, everything feels right. 

~

Harry didn’t sleep much. He tried. But, something deep inside him was gnawing at his soul. His eyes were closed the whole night, but he never quite crossed the threshold into sleep. 

He still had all his five senses; the sliver of light from the lamppost outside; the slight white noise coming from the radiator; the smell of your shampoo mixed with the lewd activities of tonight; the feel of your hot skin touching his; and finally, the residual taste of your pussy on his tongue. 

The sun is rising now, signaling the end of your time together.

The sliver of light on your frame has his heart bursting with adoration. It’s true, what he’d said before. He does think about what your future would’ve been like. Your long eyelashes cast shadows on your slightly cherub cheeks. You would’ve made beautiful children. Gone on memorable family trips. And at the end of the day, fucking love each other.

Sun on your skin, 6AM and I been watchin’ you sleep. And honey, I’m so afraid you’re gonna wake up and say that you should probably leave. 

A year ago, Harry thought you’d leave your husband by now. But, as time goes on, his odds of getting you back are getting less and less. His heart is breaking all over again. 

You feel him stir, so you turn over and smile at him. You run your hands up and down his bare chest, feeling every prickly hair. He smiles back at you, not saying a word.

You finally pipe up, a clear, sad tone, “Y’know how much I hate saying this.”

“I should probably leave.”

You nod sadly, placing a kiss on his chest. It’s honestly a miracle the baby hasn’t woken up yet. Harry kisses you, his thumb grabbing your chin. It lasts a few minutes until you pull away. Your husband is due home in less than 45 minutes.

I want you to stay, but you’ll probably say that you should probably leave.

You should probably leave. 

Harry rises to sit at the side of the bed, grabbing his phone. 6:12 AM. You think he’s fiddling with his phone to prolong his stay. His bag is already packed by the door. You smile to yourself, happy to have your lover by your side. He places one last kiss on your forehead.

Before Harry stands, he sends off an email to his realtor, confirming the sale of his house. $15,000 over asking price. It was a private showing, with an agreement that Harry would be out of the house in two weeks. 

He already purchased a home — Approximately 1,326 miles away from this one. Everything is set. His mind is made up.

Harry stands, grabbing his bag. He takes one last look at you as he stands in the doorframe, an unreadable look on his face.

“Bye, Sunny girl.”

[moominsuki]

12 DAYS and 20 HOURS WITHOUT YOU w/c: 5.1k - ; NAGUMO YOICHI x F!READER

✎ᝰ he’s a nuisance & you should be glad to be rid of him… so why does your heart ache for him so much? OR the part two in which you finally address your feelings for your hanger on ex.

࿄ ! warnings — porn WITH plot, MINORS DNI, piv, very explicit smut, unprotected sex (wrap up ppl), cunnilingus, fingering, female reader, nagumo is sexy and you will fall in love so pls keep that in mind.

/ note. i should be revising for my exams but instead i wrote this for a man who is severely underrated. it’s gonna be a nagumo fall. enjoy this anywho :P (ps. can be read as a standalone fic)!!

13 days. that’s how long it had been since you had seen nagumo. you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t eating you up inside.

after your small spat (if you could even call it that) you wrongfully assumed he’d be somewhere in your bedroom the next day when you hadn’t seen him on your couch. you were just about ready to scold him for having his feet all over your satin pillowcases.

only when you trudged upstairs, your bedroom was exactly how you left it. the door ajar, a small breeze from the window. pillows not askew. your sleepy kitten lounging on the covers.

at first, you considered yourself relieved. “good riddance,” you grumbled to yourself, falling atop the blankets and sighing, hands brushing at your pet. the chirp of the cicadas eats at your eardrums. has your home always been this quiet?

“whatever. knowing that idiot, he’ll be back in a day or two… now what to do…”

unfortunately for you, nagumo’s unprecedented drop ins had become part of your daily routine. you don’t become aware of the fact until it’s been exactly 4 days and he still hasn’t shown his face. it had already struck you as odd on the second day, let alone the fourth.

“why do you even care?” you ask yourself, standing under the hum of a sweltering shower. why do you care that your ex hasn’t come around to lounge in your home and bother you? in fact, isn’t this a good thing? the first few times it happened, you were irritated beyond belief - telling the man to get lost, locking your windows and doors only for nagumo to show up despite your barrage of insults, whether that’d be in your kitchen or on your couch or even in the shower (the image of seeing a naked nagumo after all this time was truly something, though you’d never admit it to his face, instead opting to throw a hard bar of soap at him and to which you then had to tend to his aching back after he so called “wept in pain.”) so why did he now decide to just ghost you?

“typical,” is all you can think, drying your hair off, eyes lingering on the razor he left on top of the toilet.

day five comes around. a good day at work with a cute man asking you out renders nagumo forgettable. you’re glad your brain decides it’s high time to forget about him. day six, seven, eight, nine. it’s extremely bearable. you start to see him in your dreams on the seventh day - exactly a week since he just up and left. “that’s normal,” you muse. you dream about people that aren’t in your life all the time. he’s no different.

the night of day ten falls. you’re incredibly exhausted, and you’re regretting making plans on saturday with that somewhat attractive man who works across the street. “it’s no biggie. it’s just one day till the weekend and i can cancel.”

you’re nodding off into your dinner. the warm smell of char siu and noodles doesn’t do much to keep you awake.

then you see him. dark brown eyes and a goofy smile to match. it makes you jump so hard you spill half the content of your meal down your shirt. nobody’s there. your cat sits at the leg of your chair, licking the sodden mess off of the ground.

the gravity of the situation dawns on you. you really really miss nagumo.

ᝰ ᝰ ᝰ ᝰ ᝰ

day eleven comes and goes and the twelfth drags, as do most fridays. that guy who asked you out the other day offers to drop you home when you’re standing outside. it’s warm out and you think a walk would be good for your head. you don’t decline his offer.

the man asks about you and confirms the details of your excursion, and you politely affirm, answering all his questions and asking them back just the same. “he’s not much of a talker,” you think. you’re not used to that.

by the time you’re home, you just want to pass out. you look around your kitchen, living room - heck, even the bathroom for safe measure, just in case you-know-who decided to drop by. the sound of metal clattering has you running to your bedroom, ventricles pumped. not that you cared… you’d act super cool and nonchalant if when nagumo drops by again. it’s all in vain, anyway. it was just your cat jumping onto your vanity. you shoo her away. your heart falls like a crescendo from loony tunes.

who exactly were you kidding? you had long dropped the facade that your heart wasn’t yearning for the idiot, and you wonder how he’s doing when you settle into bed. it would be unlike him to die in an unforeseeable accident, and he would never succumb to a death on the job. another looming realisation dawns on you.

he’s ignoring you.

you groan into your pillow. it’s not like you could really call him (you totally could, and it’s not because you noted down the digits of two of his burner phones, definitely not) without outing yourself. don’t forget the phone works two ways. forget it. you have a date tomorrow.

saturday comes. you get up relatively early. (un)fortunately for you, it’s a miserable day out, contrasting the beautiful weekdays that had passed.

your date texts you in teasing and sweet fashion and the pre-typed out message that consists of grovelling, apologies and more grovelling sits at your fingertips. fuck it. you can’t stay wound up over a man who probably didn’t want you in the first place.

you get ready very early, and you stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror, all done up in a silk to do and the accessories to match. it’s been a while since you’ve had a proper date. a few flings here and there, sure, but this seemed real. like a sure thing. similar to when…

!creaakkk!

your cat meowing and dropping things around in your bedroom has you standing up right, casting aside your lipgloss and running to shoo her away.

“honestly, ponyo, you’re such a drama queen-”

the words die on your tongue at the sight before you. nagumo sits at the edge of your bed, kitten fidgeting in his arms. he looks you up and down, and then he sends you an earth shattering smile, eyes crinkled.

“hey stranger. long time no see!”

your mouth opens and closes as he gets up, and ponyo leaps up and away when he places her on the ground.

“do you think she missed me? i think so. with the stuff you feed her, it’s inevitable-”

“are you serious?!” is all you can say, exasperated, gasping. nagumo’s eyes widen, and he sheepishly scratches the back of his head.

“don’t tell me you’re still mad at me? don’t make me get down on my knees and beg because-” the man gets cut off again as you all but throw your arms around his frame, face in his shirt, a little shaky. if nagumo feels the wobble of your body, he doesn’t mention it and a hand comes to rest at the small of your back.

“so can i assume that you’re not mad at me anymore?” you shake your head, and nagumo chuckles, nose pressed into your hair.

“i wasn’t mad at you,” you say, muffled into his shirt.

“oh? tell me more,” and you move your face slightly so your cheek is smushed against his shirt, eyes pointed away from him. though, you can already feel the expectant smile on the corner of his lips and you want to slap him. kiss him? both.

“i was mad at myself. and i was going to apologise for what i said but you basically ghosted me… for almost three weeks.”

it’s quiet for a moment until the man laughs, guffaws even and it emanates through his chest. you huff and step away from him, back turned away.

“ok, it’s not that funny. you can stop laughing now!”

“sorry, sorry. i’m done, i promise.” nagumo walks from behind you to step into your line of sight. “and technically, it’s only been… i wanna say 12 days and 20 hours.”

you deadpan. then you roll your eyes. “you were counting?! you’re unbelievable!” and he just pouts at you. eyes wide and shiny. you don’t admit to him that you’ve also been doing the same. that day’ll come.

“i mean, i would’ve come around sooner buttt! contrary to popular belief, i’m not so socially inept to not give you space. although, i was starting to think you were replacing me with that loser at that law firm. i want to say his name is hajime-”

“okay, not even close-”

“and what kind of idiot takes their woman out to a sushi bar on the first date. and he drives a toyota camri. he’s lame.”

“…first of all, i’m not his woman. how did you know i was going on a date tonight? and how do you even know what car he drives?”

“…let’s not sweat the details. that dress is new, right? haven’t seen it before. looks beautiful on you-”

“so not only were you spying on me but you were ignoring me?!” you fist the man by the collar of his coat and you just loll your head onto his chest. “were you always this crazy when we dated?” you hum and he laughs again. like he knows you’re addicted to the sound and how it makes your tummy ignite into something worse than flames. his hands find their way into his pocket and he shrugs.

“probably. but you liked it.” you don’t bother to contend. nagumo grabs you by the wrists, and takes a good look at you. his deep eyes follow the sliver of gold against your collarbones, all the way down to the hemming of your dress. it makes you feel hot under your heart shaped neckline.

“like the dress. like it a lot. wouldn’t waste it on some shitty sushi and cheap sake, though.”

“well it’s not you taking me out tonight though, is it? it’s…” you think for a second. you can feel the laughter blooming in his chest and you try to fight your way out of his grasp, though it’s in vain. nagumo laughs so hard that the pout on your face starts to pop into a smile and it’s infectious enough that you laugh too.

when the laughter inevitably dies down, you and the dark haired man share a look that you encompasses all the thoughts and emotions that have been swimming in your head the past long few days. he’s still holding you by the wrists, your fingers crinkling against the loose material of his shirt.

nagumo says your name, more so to himself as his tattooed hands stay wrapped from the width of your jewellery clad wrists down to your forearms.

“you’re being awfully touchy to a woman who’s supposed to being out on a date in a few hours,” you say, just above a whisper.

he hums at that, pulling you in further by the elbows. “i guess you’re right. you could always tell me to go away, though. wouldn’t be the first time.”

you groan audibly and he shoots you another grin that climbs its way into the wrinkles of your brain. “what do i have to do for you to not bring that up? and don’t make me get on my knees and beg-”

“damn, that was my first choice too!” you roll your eyes. he’s still holding you. your palms are flat against his chest. “i suppose i could call it even if…” nagumo pretends to ponder for a moment. you try to shove him with as much power as you can on the man.

“if you don’t just come out with it-”

“kiss me.”

the speed at which your eyebrows almost shoot into your hairline is unprecedented. you try to read his face for any sign of playful unfairness, but you’ve known him long enough to read the softness of his eyes.

your hands fist at his shirt again and it’s your turn to laugh at him, head thrown back. he pouts in response.

“you’re unbelievable,” and before he can retort, you lean up on your tip toes to do as he asked. he’s exactly how you remember, all those years ago. warm, sweet, slightly intoxicating. the sigh you release is shaky and he swallows it whole. the width of his palms immediately let go of your arms and find purchase on your waist and your hands travel all the same, resting on the planes of his face and neck.

the kiss is over before it started and you don’t even get a chance to breathe before nagumo is back on you, pulling you in by the hips, tongue slipping in comfortably like you’ve always been this way. and you give in, your body adapting to years old muscle memory. it’s like you’re almost a decade younger all over again, and your brain turns to mush when nagumo gropes you, grabbing all the parts he can to get impossibly closer to you.

you almost don’t notice the way he throws off his coat. and the fact that he’s trying to get you onto the bed. almost.

you protest in a breathy whine, breaking apart from locking lips. “we-i can’t. my date-”

“sucks. he sucks. i’ll take you wherever you want. buy you everything you want. just let me have you.”

you’re too out of it to even give a snarky answer, grabbing nagumo by the neck and pressing your lips to his own once more. he grunts, lightly pushing you both down onto the pillows.

he breaks apart from the kiss to lave more around your jaw, with one heavy hand resting on your cheek while he bruises on your neck, clavicle and the top of your breasts, all heavy and imposing. you writhe in his touch, and you can’t help the fact that your thighs start to rub against each other to soothe the heat arising in your core.

as perceptive as ever, nagumo quickly notices and makes fast work of placing his leg between your own, and you can’t help but breathe out a winded “yoichi.”

he groans, smirking against your collarbone. “missed hearing you say that.”

you huff, pushing his hands down the curves of your body. “don’t push your luck, nagumo.”

he chuckles, unfazed, and smooth, deft fingers climb under the hem of your satiny dress. he hikes your dress high enough to see a flash of damp cotton panties.

he presses a digit against your clothed clit and you can’t control the way your head falls against your pillows, mouth falling open as you whine out his name again.

nagumo halts all movement though, pushing himself backwards to lean further onto his knees off the bed. you practically jump up, confused and stupidly horny.

“strip for me.”

you narrow your eyes. he shoots you a saccharine smile, and you don’t bother to banter with him, getting on your haunches and pulling down a thin strap on either arm, and shimmying out of the garment. you can tell by the elated shock in nagumo’s eyes that he hadn’t expected you to comply but you throw the dress in his face, and he shakes it off faster than you can adjust yourself on top of the bed covers. he’s already crowding over you, face mere centimetres away.

“sorry, you can’t be the only one having your fun,” you tease, leaning up to kiss his nose and it’s his turn to not take your bait, but maybe it’s because he’s too enamoured at the sight of your naked body after all this time. a tattooed hand reaches up to grab a handful of your boob, pinching slightly at your nipple and the other makes it descent down to the hemming of your panties. his fingertips dip into the front, pushing the material to the side and he groans when he can see the way your pussy clenches over nothing.

“you’re so pretty,” he sighs, and you watch the way he touches you, featherlight and it has you writhing, inching closer to feel more of his touch.

“patience, baby.” nagumo throws off his shirt, and you take in the expanse of his never ending tattoos. your hand reaches up to touch the one on his stomach and he smirks, albeit warm and slightly teasing.

“got a few new ones a couple months back,” he all but whispers and you hum.

“i like them,” you state, matter of factly and he pushes your hand away to lay on his stomach between your legs.

nagumo’s face presses into your belly, and you push a few fingers into the dense strands of his hair. he kisses you at the belly button, paving a wet path down to your moist underwear.

he noisily smooches on your panty clad clit and you wordlessly protest in embarrassment, groaning and whining while he smiles against you. though, you’re quick to stop complaining when he pushes your panties to the side and breathes you in, kissing your uncovered pubis. now you’re frantically trying to push him away instead.

“you’re so shameless,” you fuss and nagumo doesn’t say anything. he only pushes your legs further apart to accommodate him.

“can i eat you out?” he asks and you raise a brow, face flushing. he shrugs, “i wanna hear you say it.”

you want to insult him for trying to fluster you in his own weird way but you’re also stupidly, ridiculously turned on right now that you can’t be bothered to play this cat and mouse game.

your hands cover your face and you mumble ever so quietly, verbatim: “please eat me out.”

“can’t hear you, sweetheart. come on, you can’t possibly be acting all shy. my face is literally in your-”

“just please eat me out!” you say, exasperated and incensed by the burning desire to have his mouth on you.

nagumo doesn’t mess with you any further but he can’t help the snicker that escapes him. you’re also ready to call him names and berate him, unfortunately being the hot head that you are, but it’s a useless act because nagumo already has your pants down your legs and strewn across the room somewhere, and he’s immediately pressing a sloppy, wet kiss on your love button.

a strangled “yoichi!” escapes from your throat and you’re already helplessly weaving between the strands of his black hair. it only goads him on further, and your head struggles to keep itself up when he thumbs at the hood of your clit, lifting it up to suck at the bundle of nerves. you become one with the plush pillows beneath you once again.

nagumo’s tongue soothes and pokes around, sucking and kissing at all the sensitive parts of your flower. he lifts one leg up higher to allow him more access, and you lock your fingers on top of his hand that grips ardently at the tender skin of your thigh. you have no time to react when you feel two fingers press into your cunt hole, and you chant his name like a mantra, gasping and almost tearful from the way he feels.

you can feel his dark brown eyes on you, and he stops tasting you to bite your inner thigh. you yelp, and he lulls over where he indented you with his teeth.

“you’re close, right? want you to look at me when you cum,” is all he says, and you don’t get to reply when he’s back sucking your pearl into his mouth, pressing his fingers against a certain spot inside you that has your legs trying to close in on themselves around his head.

“f-fuck, ‘ichi, i’m gonna cum,” you moan, and per his request, your eyes stay on his own, and you tuck your bottom lip between your teeth, the applied pressure stopping you from falling back and losing it.

“say my name like that again,” he groans, and you don’t fail to notice the way he grinds against the bed ever so slightly. “come on, baby, you’re almost there-”

“hnngh, fuck, right there ‘ichi, ‘m cumming-,” you gasp and a flash of white behind your eyes renders you temporarily paralytic, eyebrows furrowed and mouth opened in an ‘o’, and the grip on nagumo’s hair tightens. he keeps a firm hand on your thigh, and your heart would burst at the romantic gesture of him interlocking your fingers together at literally any other time, but he doesn’t stop his assault on the spongey spot inside you until you go limp and you practically have to pry the man off of you.

nagumo’s no sadist (to you, at certain times) so he stops, pulling back and watching the way your chest heaves and the way you glisten between your upper thighs. you don’t register that he’s next to you again until you feel nimble fingers touching on your lower belly. you open your eyes to look at him, and the full blown lust in his eyes makes you choke a little bit.

you grab his hand off your stomach to kiss his fingertips, and then you’re clambering on top of him, palms splayed against his decorated chest. you feel the thickness of his hard cock pressed against your wet core, and you grind against the strained material of his trousers. nagumo grunts, head falling back slightly as he immediately finds purchase on your ass.

“you’re hard,” you assert, and he laughs a little breathlessly and it breaks off into a moan when you press down on him a little harder.

“i guess i am,” he rustles, squeezing your lower curves to push you against his stiffness. “you should let me put it in.”

“oh? is that so?” you say, taunting the man as you slide up and down his neglected cock that’s begging to be released from its confines.

“yeah… wanna fuck you, baby.” nagumo’s all heavy eyelids and suave lips as he gazes up at you, hands all touching all over you. you’re heating up from his languid touches, and you’re cursing yourself for already being so raring to go after he ate you to his heart’s content.

“okay,” is all you say, and you shimmy backwards to undo the man’s bottoms, unbuttoning his pants and helping him kick them off till he’s left in tight gray boxer briefs. your eyes find the damp patch on the front of his shorts, and you softly finger the head of his cock through the cloth. nagumo grunts, sighing your name when you waste no time pulling down his underwear to reveal him in all his glory.

“didn’t that hurt?” you wonder out loud, more to yourself if anything, and nagumo realises you’re referring to the tattoo above his pelvis, only shy of the dark trail that nests above his erection. he places a hand over your wandering one and he chuckles.

“a little. nothing i can’t handle.” you make a noise of something, and you lean down to kiss him very gently and so very close to where he wants. nagumo groans, and he reaches down to pet your hair.

“another time,” you wink, biting your lip. nagumo smiles, raising a brow and he looks like he wants to ask you what you mean but you’re ahead of the curve and you’re settling back up on his lower body, your soaked heat brushing and sliding against his cock. he’s putty after that, head in the clouds as he feels the drench of your lips rub against the hardness of his cock.

“tell me you want it,” you say, and you stop looking down to where you’re almost conjoined to meet nagumo’s eyes; his face contorted to something readable only to you. “or, you know, you could just cum like this.”

nagumo moans at that, and he sets a heavy handed grab on your ass. “don’t remember you being such a tease, baby, sh-shit.”

you croon at his words. you don’t stop the ministrations of your grinding and the raven haired man beneath you barely puts out until the slick of your cunt hole catches the mushroom shaped tip of his cock.

“fuck, i want it, baby, want you to cream on me-” and you don’t let him finish his vulgarity because you grab him at the base of his cock and settle yourself right on top of him, inch by inch.

nagumo hisses, and his iron grip on your hips doesn’t subside until he’s all the way inside you. you both simultaneously moan in relief when he’s by the hilt, and you can practically feel him all the way in your throat.

“fucking missed this so much,” he keens, and you feel him raise his knees to accommodate to you better. you slowly get the rhythm going, grinding and gently bouncing on his dick and you’re delirious at the way his pubic hair brushes against your swollen clit, and how you can feel the slap of his weighted balls against your ass.

nagumo plants his feet on the bed, refusing to loosen his grip on you and you can’t even bring yourself to care about the bruises that’ll stay depressed into your skin. you move one of his number decorated hands to grab at your chest, which he complies with and the other stabilises you against him so that he can thrust into you at a steady pace.

“so, so good,” you whine, almost falling forward by the jolt of nagumo’s body. you plant both arms on either side of his head, tits bouncing in his face, going back and forth against his open mouth that tries to catch a pebbling nipple.

taunting words leave his mouth as he watches you try to keep up. “feel good, baby? shit. tell me how it feels, y-yeah? you like it when i fuck you like this, huh?”

you clench around him tighter. “hnnngh, so fuc-fucking good, ‘ichi.”

you lean down on your elbows, and while he bucks up into you, his eyes don’t stray, and when your lips follow the sharp lines of his jaw and press on his jugular, nagumo angles his head so you can sloppy kiss him on the mouth.

it’s like that for a few moments until he stops to throw you off of him, and you’re ready to whine and complain, but he’s already on you again, this time on top.

“gotta take my time with you,” he breathes, and he finds a new position, this time pulling your left leg over his shoulder and spreading the right one to fit around his hips.

“is that code for you were gonna cum too fast?” you giggle, and nagumo doesn’t grace your playful ribbing because he slips back into you and your once teasing laughter breaks off into a deep moan of pleasure.

“don’t make fun of me,” he says, feeding his cock into you at an achingly slow rate, “hurts my feelings.” and you want to call him embarrassing and silly, you really do, but your heart is on your tongue and nagumo overcrowds every part of your senses.

nagumo leans over you, and grinds himself inside your compact walls. his face is in the crook of your neck and he teethes at the tender skin. you throw a callous hand in hand to satiate the hunger in your belly.

the unrelenting pace in which he fucks you is downright insane: all you can think about is him, all you can smell and taste is him. when you open your eyes, he’s looking down at you, holding and stretching you open, spitting not-so-sweet nothings at you. you worship him all the same, crying out his name, begging him to take you harder and faster, nails raking across the width of his back.

“you’re s-so, hah, shit, you’re so gorgeous,” he moans, “not gonna last, f-fuck.”

you’re almost there, teetering on the finish line, so nagumo ever so slightly adjusts his position, and he presses his cock head against that point inside you. you’re weightless in his hold, writhing when he reaches down to rub taut circles against your puffy pearl. it’s enough to make you sob, gasp and cry out a throaty “‘ichi!”, back arching, toes curling.

nagumo takes a hardened nipple into his mouth, bruising against the creamy flesh of your tits. his speed and movement becomes sloppy, rushing to the edge, the echoes of skin slapping against each other. your tearful face and your short winded begging (“cum inside me, yoichi” and “want you to fill me up”) in the midst of your intra-climatic hue are enough to get him to empty out hot inside of you, his eyebrows furrowed and an o-shape taking over the soft shine of his mouth.

you pull yourself up by the hand on the back of his scruff to kiss him wetly, tongue and all and he takes it, moaning and cursing out your name while pushing his seed deep inside you.

it’s quiet except for mingling, heavy breaths and the creak of your bed when nagumo falls on top of you. you squeak in protest, trying to push the lug of a man off.

“get off me you big idiot!” you squeal, and you feel his body shaking while he’s closed in on you.

“you’re nice and warm,” he sighs, “think i could stay like this for a good, couple of hours.”

you scoff. your hand reaches up to pet at his damp hair. nagumo smiles against your clavicle.

“do you think i still have time to go on that date?” you say, all forlorn and nagumo’s head shoots up, in which you laugh at the way his face contorts. he grumbles, and he eases out of you slowly. you hiss, but the grin on your face stays all the same.

“you think you’re so funny,” nagumo dryly contends and you sit up, kissing him on the nose.

“what can i say? learnt from the best,” you reply, just to the point where only he can hear you.

you think he’s so ridiculously easy (you won’t ever tell him that) when he returns your grin, and grabs your face to kiss you, all over you cheeks and lips.

“damn right, baby, damn right.”

EXTRA, EXTRA - read all about it:

“by the way, what did you mean when you said i owed you one?”

nagumo pulls his head from your chest, tv blaring and illuminating his puzzled, adorable expression, a piece of popcorn dangling from his mouth. his face turns blank as he ponders. then it’s like a lightbulb switches on above his head.

“oh, i fed ponyo and let her out onto the balcony but that old man saw me and i convinced him that he was seeing things so he wouldn’t call the cops… you’re welcome!”

“you did WHAT?!”

࿄ ! — all rights reserved © MOOMINSUKI 2024. please do not copy, translate, repost nor recommend my work outside of tumblr. this is strictly prohibited.

[sinkingnotsoslowly]

Menace

Pairing: Lee Know x Reader (pronouns not mentioned)

Non-idol au, fluff, very little angst

technically is a part 2 of this fic but could be read as a standalone

DO NOT STEAL MY WORK. REBLOGS AND FEEDBACKS ARE APPRECIATED

“Why aren’t you dating anyone Minho?”

Minho stops devouring his pudding to gawk at you. “I’m not questioning your decision to stay single but why are you really not dating?”, you ask.

“Because you haven’t said yes yet”, he goes back to eating his pudding as if he didn’t just say the most outlandish thing.

“Yes to what?”

Minho rolls his eyes in feigned annoyance, “Yes to me asking you to date me, duh”

“Ugh be serious Minho”, you huff.

“What makes you think I’m not serious (yn)?” he looks at you with something in his eyes that you can’t decipher. “I think I should head back now, my break ended ten minutes ago”, with that gets up and walks out of the café.

This was two weeks ago and it still hasn’t left your mind. It is not unlike Minho to randomly ask you out on a date but you never take him seriously. He always jokes about how you two should just marry each other if you were still single at thirty. But that day at the café he did not seem like he was joking about you dating him. Did you hit a nerve by asking him that? But if he was indeed upset, he would tell you about it, you guys always talked things out if either of you were upset. He has been behaving perfectly normally since then.

“I ate pudding today”, you waited for him to continue but only silence followed. “Minho you called me in the middle of the day to say that you ate pudding?”, you asked. “Yeah, and it was so delicious. Buy me more when you come over. Anyways I got to go, bye”, the call ended. Yep, very Minho-like.

You met Minho at a college party and then proceeded to make out with him only stopping when you accidentally moaned your best friend’s name instead. But he never held it against you. You eventually opened up to him enough to tell him that you were in love with your best friend. The said best friend was getting married in a month. And you would be there, as a guest of course. To your surprise you weren’t exactly heartbroken when Seungmin called you, gasping for breath like he had run a marathon. You could almost hear him grinning his puppy grin, “She said yes”.

Just because you were not heartbroken did not mean you were not sad. After all, there were years of pining, wishing that one day he would finally realise that the love of his life was always in front of him. That did not happen. You guys graduated, you got a job, he went for higher studies and found someone there. That night Minho came over with beer and let you ugly sob on his shoulder. Since college, he has always been there with you, your graduation, your first job, bad dates, going out for drinks on Friday nights and talking shit about your bosses. You thought he was good for you; a great friend.

“I’m going on a date tomorrow”, Minho said while setting up his laptop for the movie. It was your weekly movie night at his place, “Thought I should try getting out there”. He was still looking at the laptop avoiding your eyes. For some reason, you felt a pang in your chest. “Is this because of what I said? Minho I didn’t mean to upset you-”

“You didn’t upset me (yn). I’ve just been thinking of settling down”, he started the movie without further explanation. You wanted to press him on but you thought better of it.

You couldn’t concentrate on the movie. Throughout it, you kept thinking about what Minho said. You couldn’t blame him for wanting to settle down but you kept feeling uncomfortable with the image of Minho dating someone and then marrying her.

Minho has always been a menace but he became a little more annoying the next week. He always has this look on his face like he knows something you don’t and it has been eating at your brain. Midweek your composure breaks and you snap, “Ok what is it? Why do you look like you are up to no good?” At that Minho looks at you like you just sprouted two heads, “I don’t know what you’re talking about”

“Oh you know what I’m talking about Minho”

Minho keeps looking at you like a cat who did not just knock off the flower vase, and then he blinked like a lightbulb went off in his head, “Ah right! Come over on Saturday I need help to pick out what I’ll wear for the date.”

The date. Right. He was just excited for the date. You felt your spirits dropping. Maybe in no time, you’ll be attending Minho’s wedding too, as a guest. Wait what? Why would you think that? How else would you want to attend a friend’s wedding if not as a guest?

Oh.

OH.

Oh no.

You stood up abruptly almost knocking over your half-drunk coffee on the table, “I-I have to go, I haven’t even started the new project yet”. Without sparing Minho another glance you grabbed your bag to just get away from him as fast as possible.

“Huh? That was sudden. Well don’t forget about Saturday.”

You faked a smile towards him, “Yes, yes, Saturday, I’ll be there.”

Saturday came faster than you could blink. And it seemed like the universe had a personal vendetta against you this week. Missed deadlines, unnecessary hourlong meetings, spilt coffee, missing the bus- you name it. At this point, only a year-long vacation could give some mental peace. And on top of that, you couldn’t stop thinking about Minho. You didn’t see each other again after that one day when you barely escaped humiliating yourself.

“Should I wear the blue button-down or the black one?”

“Black”

“Hmm, ok blue it is” menace.

“Why am I here Minho? Not like you are listening to me”, you were sitting on his bed munching on the last of honey butter chips Minho had stocked up. You spent the whole day buried in the blanket, wallowing in self-pity, and almost didn’t show up today. You even contemplated going back home while standing in front of Minho’s house. God knows what you were still doing there sitting in Minho’s bedroom while he dressed up for his date.

Minho looked at you through the mirror, scoffing, “For moral support of course”. He went back to styling his hair without another word.

“Well then if am done providing moral support to your honour, I’ll be taking my leave”, it was time for you to go back to the safety of your blankets and cry yourself to sleep since you did not seem fated to have requited love in this life. The only option left was arranged marriage.

Before you could leave Minho’s room you were stopped. “W-wait, don’t you have anything to tell me?” Minho asked. You turned around, brain going into overdrive. Why would he say that? Does he know about my feelings? Is he teasing me? Oh God please no. But what if-

“Like- are you okay with this? Me going on a date?” Ah, so he was just worried. How sweet. “Of course, I’m okay Minho. Why wouldn’t I be? This is completely your decision; you deserve to be happy-”

“Oh my god, you’re so dumb (yn). Why can’t you just say it? Why can’t you just ask me not to go? Why can’t you tell me that you like me?” Minho paused, taking a breath to calm down, “I like you (yn). And I know you like me. There is no other girl. But I do have a reservation for dinner if you’re up for it”.

It would be an understatement to say that you were dumfounded. You had thought of many scenarios while laying awake in bed but not this. “Why didn’t you just confront me if you knew that I liked you?”, you asked, fiddling with the hem of your shirt which looked very interesting suddenly. Minho sighed, “I wasn’t sure at first. So I wanted to see your reaction by saying that I have a date. And it seemed like you weren’t sure about your feelings either. So are you up for it?”

“Huh?”

“The date. Do want to go on this date? Look I understand if you are pissed, and it’s fine if you say no-”

“Just drive me to my place so I can dress up atleast. You’re such a menace Lee Minho”

Minho grinned like a cat, “Yeah but now it’s too late to get rid off me. So this menace is now your responsibility”.

So you were fated to have requited love it seems.

masterlist

Autumn's sighs- little soft thoughts about our favourite boys

[a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual]

Nimona headcanons plus a little bonus at the end

Whenever the trio gets home it's like a switch is flipped off inside their brains and all they want to do is be lazy and relax 

They’ve got very busy and stressful lives and a pretty small home so it’s not uncommon for them to yell when they’re asking a question instead of just getting up

And if they can’t hear each other they’ll just call the other person

One time Ambrosius was yelling asking them what wanted for dinner and was interrupted by Nimona calling him 

He answered the phone and all they said was “What’d you say I couldn't hear you” he didn’t even question it he just kept talking 

Nimona brings dead animals home 

I have this small headcanon that the first time she shifted into her human form was when she met Gloreth 

So before that she was living mostly as different animals and she kind of learned their ways and those ways stuck with her 

So there is a small part of her that sees Bal and Ambrosius as incompetent hunters (can you blame her)

The boys always thank her for her doing a good job and then they wait for her to leave the room before they freak out because MY GOD SHE BROUGHT A FUCKING DEAD RAT IN THE DAMN HOUSE 

There have also been times when she’s brought live animals inside the house the trio spent half an hour trying to get a traumatized bird out of their living room 

I just know for a fact that Bal has a crazy amount of brain damage 

This man has used his head as a weapon and has been hit on the head more times than I can count 

So I feel like he has a really hard time remembering the little details he gets really bad migraines and headaches pretty frequently his eyesight is absolute shit and he has to wear contacts or glasses and he gets really bad vertigo if he doesn’t take care of himself 

This worries the shit out of Ambrosius and Nimona but there isn't much they can do except deal with the symptoms when they show up

So I was thinking about the fact that as far as we know Nimona never told Bal about what went down with Gloreth

But I know that the boys would try and heal the damage that Gloreths legacy left behind  

And in the middle of everything Bal turned to Ambrosius and said “I just wish that fucking eyesore was gone” 

He didn’t have to ask what he meant he knew it was the statue 

So Ambrosius got to work trying to get it torn down 

A lot of people including some distant relatives that he hasn’t heard from in years tried to argue that it was an important monument and that her story touched a lot of people 

To which Ambrosius responded with “I’m her direct descendant if anyone gets to choose what happens to that statue it should be me” 

It was a couple of months into Nimona’s return when the demolition was approved 

The boys had asked him a while after he came back if it was something he wanted 

And all he said was “As long as I get to help” 

It was super therapeutic for both Nimona and Ambrosius 

Like don’t get me wrong the damage she did to Nimona is still there 

And Ambrosius will always have a complicated relationship with his lineage 

But tearing down the “fucking eyesore” heals something inside them

It was supposed to be a month-long process but Nimona and Ambrosius kept going and it was completely gone after two weeks

When all was said and done they collapsed on the couch and went through just about every single emotion you can go through

A little bonus I made my mama watch Nimona with me and here are some of my favorite comments: Mind you when I first put the movie on this woman was acting like I was pulling teeth

“I like the queen she seems nice” (and then she freaked out when she died)

“So they’re nice to him 'cause he’s gold I would just steal the armor what does he have without that?” “Money Mama” “Ah”

“Why are they so mean to him he’s just a baby?” (talking about Bal)

“She’s just like you especially with those freaky eyes” (when Nimona met Bal)

“Oh, so she’s the rhino…. Makes sense”

“Awe she’s cute I can't hate her” (about Nimona again)

“Oh wait she isn’t cute that’s freaky” (when Nimona was the demon baby)

“That’s like you and your sister” (Bal and Nimona interrogating the squire)

“Hey, mama is arm chopping a love language?” “I’m worried that you would even ask me that”

“Oh he’s got issues huh?” (after Ambrosius’ internal freak out)

“Can he die a little quieter… and faster” (after the Director stabbed “Ambrosius”)

“Oh fuck that little blond girl”

We had to pause the movie right before Nimona started her rampage because we were getting tired and I woke up to her in front of the tv with it pulled up on Netflix and she turned to me and said “Can we finish it already?”

“If she sacrificed herself I will never forgive you”

“Do you watch anything with straight people?” “Mama you literally ship them” “That's not an answer” (this is right after Bal and Ambrosius kissed)

“Is there a next part?..... so when’s the next one coming out?” 

Once the movie was over I told her some people thought Ambrosius and Bal were related and she looked me dead in the eyes and said

“You’re joking. No you have no be kidding… He literally said it in the movie!” “Said what Mama?” “oh I love him so much and I lost him whatever will I do” 

And then she kept making fun of Ambrosius for the next three minutes

I asked her who her favorite was and she said Nimona I go “aweee you love me” she looks me dead in my eyes and says “don’t make it awkward”

[willowworkswithwords]

Eddie looks at the empty fridge. Then his laundry. Back to the fridge.

Eddie’s brain’s been swimming in fog all night. The bites have been itchy, the nightmares had kept him up until he’d not bothered trying to sleep at all, and he feels like he’s gonna cry and for what. Just a basket of laundry and a near empty fridge.

It dawns on him that Wayne hasn’t left the factory yet, that Eddie could call him and ask him to get groceries on his way home. But Wayne’ been working longer shifts for a couple months now, to make up for the time he spent with Eddie in the hospital those first two weeks when no one was sure what was going to happen. Eddie’s been trying to do things on his own when Wayne isn’t there, to let him help when he is, to balance physical recovery and mental trauma and school and the bills sitting on the kitchen table.

Eddie won’t call Wayne.

He looks at the phone on the wall, weighs the pros and cons, tries to imagine himself getting into his van and driving all the way to the laundromat and then the grocery store by himself and already feels tired by it.

“Hello?”

“Hey Steve, it’s me.”

“Eddie, you ok?”

Eddie wraps the phone cord around his finger, grimacing at the worry he can practically see emanating from Steve.

“Yeah man, I’m uh, I’m like, fine? But could you help me do some, some errands?”

Eddie holds his breath, pulls the cord tight around his pinky finger.

“I’m on my way, Eddie. See you soon.”

And that’s that. Eddie hangs up, sliding his fingers from the cord and sits down on the couch, knee bouncing, until he hears the Beemer roll up onto the gravel drive. Steve let’s himself in and Eddie’s heart jumps into his throat when he realizes he’s left the door open this whole time and anything could have happened and—

“Hey Eddie,” Steve says, sliding onto the couch right next to Eddie, knee bumping bouncing knee.

“Hey.”

Steve presses his hand, just for a second, to Eddie’s knee. Eddie stills his knees but pulls a lock of hair into his mouth, can’t stop himself from doing it even as the voice that’s always in his head tells him to just stop.

Steve squeezes, then lets go. He stares at Eddie for a second more, then smiles softly and grabs the basket of laundry.

“Ok man, let’s go.”

“Can we, uh, run to the grocery store too?”

“Sure. Anywhere else?”

“No,” Eddie starts to lever himself up off the couch. “Thank you, Steve.”

Steve is already at the door, holding it open for Eddie as he props the basket up against his hip.

“No problem, man.”

His smile is soft, and Eddie feels his own lips curl up and knows Steve can see his eyes crinkle.

The early dawn of the morning is beautiful, promising. Eddie feels the anxiety of the night still gripping onto him, but it’s moved from his chest to his legs, which is better but still not best. Steve doesn’t try to make conversation as he sets the Beemer in motion, letting Eddie watch the passing trees to the tune of Tears for Fears. Maybe it’s because Eddie doesn’t even reach for the dial that Steve keeps quiet, or maybe it’s the gentle morning still making its way over the horizon, still burning off the last dredges of sleep.

Glancing at Steve, Eddie doesn’t think he got much sleep either.

The laundromat is on Eddie’s side of town, close enough to downtown that they’ll probably just walk to get groceries once the clothes are in the dryer. There’s no one else there, though a machine is running in the corner. Steve starts setting up the machine immediately, and Eddie suppresses his surprise behind a lock of hair. He wouldn’t have thought that Steve would know how to work the machine but wonders never cease. It lets Eddie sit down gingerly on chair by the window.

The restlessness in his legs has turned into an ache. Steve glances at him as he put the clothes in, separating lights and darks into two different machines. Eddie starts to push his hand into his pocket for change, but Steve, facing away from him, not even realizing, takes nickels and dime from his own pocket and pops them into both machines, setting them running.

“Here, I grabbed this for you,” Steve says, book in hand. It’s an old, tattered copy of a collection of science fiction Wayne had given him. It’d been sitting next to him on the couch, Eddie realized, and he takes it from Steve’s outstretched hand with a grin he can’t help.

“Thanks, Steve-o.”

Steve’s own grin breaks out. He pulls out his own book, which was in his back pocket, for whatever reason, and Eddie tries (and fails) to hold back the look of utter confusion that crosses his face. He swears Steve did that on purpose.

“Anytime, Ed.”

They sit in the loud-quiet, the clunking machine and soft sound of each other’s breaths, and for a little while, they just are.

[tortillamastersblog]

♕ No Matter What - Part 16 | Lena Luthor ♕

Pairing: Lena Luthor x reader

Warnings: mentions of injuries and slight angst

Summary: Lena is still a no-show. . .

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist

________________________________________________

“Good, you’re doing great. Just one more step,” Dr. Mike encourages, holding my left hand as I walk on unstable legs.

My right hand is wrapped so tightly around the bar mounted to the wall that my knuckles have turned white.

I take the last step before lowering myself into the waiting wheelchair. My hands are shaking and I’m breathing heavily as Doctor Mike crouches down by my side with a beaming smile.

“That was amazing, Y/N,” he says. “If you keep working hard and doing your exercises you’ll be almost as good as new in no time.”

I try my best to smile, but even without the pitiful look on Doctor Mike’s face that follows it I know it wasn’t very convincing.

Ever since we dialed back my pain meds my entire left leg has been tingling and is weak. Sometimes it feels like an electric shock runs through it, all the way from my hip and down to my toes, and Doctor Mike says that even though the weakness will get better, the nerve pain will never truly go away.

Yes, it will also get better, but I won’t ever have physiological sensibility and mobility again.

“Why don’t we get you back to your room, you look tired,” he states rather than asks when I don’t comment on anything that he’s said.

I mumble please and hang my head low when he begins pushing me out of the pt room and back to my own room.

It’s been almost three weeks since what happened and I’ve honestly never felt this empty.

Don’t get me wrong, I was absolutely crushed and numb after Noah was killed, but now there’s just so many things weighing me down that I don’t know if I’ll ever come out on the other side of things again.

To start things off, I’m constantly having nightmares about what happened with Lex. They’re mostly about what actually happened but sometimes they’re also about Lena, Sam, or Ruby getting shot.

Then there’s the whole situation with my dad. He hasn’t visited me since that one time where he tried to apologize, and I’ve been racking my brain ever since if I have it in my heart to forgive him.

There’s also the nerve damage on my lower spine which turned out to be worse than expected. I’m not paralyzed — something I apparently came very close to— but my left leg is basically useless at the moment and the constant physical therapy is painful and exhausting.

And to top it all off, Lena hasn’t visited me even once since I got here. I also can’t get ahold of her on my phone because Lex destroyed it and I have yet to get a new one.

No one’s heard from her. The news outlets are dying for a comment from her about Lex’s and all her friends — Sam obviously included— can’t reach her either.

She’s not at home, apparently, which worries me, but it’s not like I can just walk out of this hospital and go look for her myself.

The only thing that gives me a little peace of mind is the fact that she texted Sam the day I was shot that she had to deal with some stuff and that she wouldn’t be available for some time.

When I first heard about it I was very worried because I know she blames herself for what happened, but then as time went on, I started to hate her for abandoning me.

Now, though, I’m just sad and dejected.

Do I really mean that little to her? I mean, even if she does blame herself, I thought her worry would outweigh her guilt eventually and she’d visit me, but apparently not. . .

Doctor Mike drops me off in my room, making sure I’m comfortable in the bed before leaving with an encouraging smile.

I sigh and close my eyes, only to open them again a couple minutes later when Sam and Ruby stop by.

They’ve been visiting me every day and even though I’m absolutely miserable and can’t wait to get out of here, they’ve been a reliable support system and always managed to cheer me up, even if it’s just a tiny bit.

Sam kisses my cheek in greeting and Ruby hugs me before pulling a deck of UNO cards out of her mom’s purse.

“Can we play?” she asks with a hopeful grin and I pat the space on the bed next to me with a nod.

We’ve been playing this game for a week now and at first ai thought I’d get tired of it, but that has yet to happen. I love playing with the two of them, especially when Ruby giggles after putting down a draw four card.

“Of course, c’mere.”

Sam takes a seat on the chair next to the bed while Ruby settles in next to me. She shuffles the cards and hands them out as Sam tells me about her day at the office.

“. . . and then Marcus has the nerve to burst right into my office,” Sam concludes once Ruby has passed out enough cards. “Can you believe that?!”

I chuckle and shake my head, sorting my cards and fanning them out in my left hand. “I honestly don’t know why you haven’t fired him yet.”

Sam huffs and puts down the first card, a red four. “Yeah, me neither.”

We play a couple of rounds, chatting about God knows what until Ruby decides she’s had enough and that she wants a hot chocolate from the hospital’s cafeteria.

Sam hands her some cash and we both watch her leave before Sam turns back to me with a serious expression.

“Okay, out with it,” she says, moving her chair closer to the bed. “You’ve been awfully quiet lately and I know it’s not just because of Lena.”

Immediately my eyes start stinging with tears and I gulp, trying to force them away. When Sam grabs my hand and squeezes it however, there’s no stopping them anymore and within seconds my cheeks are wet and my chin is wobbling.

“I just— I can’t anymore, Sam,” I admit with a hiccup. “I’m exhausted and-and everything around me reminds me of everything bad that’s ever happened to me.”

I use my free hand to wipe away my tears, but it’s of no use because they just keep coming and there’s nothing I can do about it as everything I’ve been holding back for almost three weeks now bubbles out of me.

“I can’t stand walking past Noah’s favorite coffee shop every morning. I hate seeing my dad’s favorite local beer in bars and I hate all the reporters outside the hospital just waiting for me to talk about Lex,” I whisper, not daring to look at Sam. “It’s too much. . .”

It’s silent for a moment until Sam’s soft touch on my cheek makes my breath hitch. She uses her free hand to wipe away some more of my tears and when I look up to meet her eyes all I can see is sympathy and understanding.

“It’s okay, Y/N,” she says quietly. “I understand what you mean and I think it’s high time you got away from all of this for a while.”

I take a shuddering breath and squeeze her hand. “You’re saying I should leave?”

She nods. “Yes. You could travel and explore the world, or you could just move somewhere else for a couple of years, you know?”

I don’t want to travel. I’ve seen enough of the world for now, having been stationed in a couple of countries while I was in the Army.

The thought of moving, however, makes me pause and think for a second.

It would be a great opportunity to start over, start on a blank slate, and if I ever get homesick I can always just move back to National City.

“But what about you and Ruby?“ I ask. I’ve always been there for them and they’ve always been there for me, too. I can’t just leave them behind and start a new life somewhere.

“We’ll be fine,” Sam assures me with a watery smile. “We’ll always stay in touch, but it’s time for you to start living again, Y/N, rather than just existing.”

“Sammy. . .” I trail off, not exactly knowing what to say. I’m overwhelmed by her understanding and her support, but I’m also sad at the prospect of being away from her and Ruby.

“It’s okay,” she says. “You’ll be okay, and Ruby and I will be okay, too.”

I squeeze her hand again and close my eyes for a second, letting what happened just now sink in.

“I love you, Sammy,” I whisper when I open my eyes again.

Sam sniffles and blinks away some of her own tears. “I love you, too.”

I chuckle and press a kiss to her knuckles right as Ruby returns from the cafeteria. She doesn’t notice our tear stained faces and wordlessly joins me on the bed again, sipping hot chocolate from her paper cup.

She starts babbling about her day at school which makes me smile softly. Every so often Sam’s gaze meets mine and the unrelenting understanding in her eyes puts my mind at ease.

I’m going to be okay, I think, but the question of Lena’s whereabouts and what she’s up to still gnaws at the back of my mind.

It’s been a week since I decided to move and an old friend of Sam’s told her about an apartment he’s just finished remodeling in Metropolis that I can move into at any time.

It’s a big step, moving to the other end of the country, but it will give me the space I so desperately need.

I was released from the hospital two days ago and have since been packing most of my stuff and getting my affairs in order.

I have to take it easy because I’m still recovering, which is why I’m only packing light things like clothes. The rest will be taken care of by a moving company that I’ve hired to start tomorrow.

My left leg is still weak and tingles, but the shooting pains have stopped and all my other injuries have healed nicely.

I have to use a crutch for the time being because I’m still a little unstable on my feet, but Doctor Mike told me that I won’t be needing it soon enough if I continue to do the exercises the physical therapist showed me.

So far the only people who know that I’m moving are Sam and Harper. The latter found out because she was there when Sam called me about the apartment, but she swore not to tell my parents about it.

We’re almost back to where we were before Noah’s death since she, not unlike Sam and Ruby, also visited me in the hospital daily, but it will still take some time for our friendship to be fully restored.

Now, as for my parents, I’ve decided not to tell them about moving until I’m already settled in Metropolis. If I told them now they’d try to stop me from going because they’re both trying to make things right with me, but I can’t start healing if I don’t get some space.

I’ve come to the conclusion that I will never be able to forgive either of them for what they did to me, especially not my dad, but I can see myself being civil with them in time.

A knock on the door makes me pause and drop the stack of clothes I was just about to put into a box onto the bed.

It’s almost dinner time and Sam was planning on coming over with some pizza, so I think nothing of it when I open the door with a lazy smile, but then I freeze when my eyes land on the one person I’ve been yearning to see for almost a month now.

“Lena,” I whisper, taking in her red nose and the snowflakes in her dark hair.

“Hi.” Her voice is just as quiet as mine, if not even quieter, and when her green eyes meet mine in silent question, I step aside and let her into the apartment.

________________________________________________

I’m sorry it’s a bit short, but the next part (probably the final part) will definitely be longer.

*Not proofread yet

Tag list: @nerethos @orange15quote @nuianced-tck-enby @autorasexy @unexpected-character @nothisismax @wandatasha @likeornella @rosea-reginae @aca-biitch @jujuu23

[oldstateofmind]

nobody else can heal it (but you) [part l]

➜ pairing: miguel o’hara x fem!reader ➜ warnings: spoilers from ATSV, a bit of angst cause i’m human, violence, torture, hanahaki disease but make it nightmares instead. english is not my first language. ➜ words: 4.3k ➜ a/n:  I’ve watched this movie 3 times by now because I’m obsessed with Miguel. His character is so interesting and captivating, he’s so grumpy and sad and that just makes me wanna fix him. Ugh, I have a soft spot for anti-heroes. And being voiced by Oscar Isaac is the icing on the cake. This first part sets the tone because I just can’t jump straight to smut, but I promise I’ll compensate next chapter.

chapter l. bad disease

For too long, you've been yearning for Miguel; only to be trapped in an endless nightmare. While awake, you had to live with the fact that he was out of reach – tearing your soul apart. While sleeping, violence and death had his face – tearing your whole being apart. No matter when or where; you were maimed by the same man.

Ao3

l.

It starts with a hiss; then a shadow moving in the corner of your vision.

In the dark, cold envelops your body; chilling to the bone. It’s awfully quiet besides the continuous dripping of water in the distance, the echoes of each drop remind you of a ticking clock; counting the time you’ve left – for what, however, you’re not really sure.

You rub your arms in an attempt to bring a bit of warmth back to your skin, and as always, it’s useless. It seems like a forever winter inside the place you’ve found yourself in for the past 2 weeks. 

What once started as a nightmare that made you wake up in the middle of the night, now plagues your mind every time you close your eyes. There’s no escape from it, no matter how hard you try. You’re more than tired, it’s exhausting not getting more than 3 hours of sleep when your job requires attention and disposition.

Even the pills Lyla gave you last time you were at the HQ didn’t work – actually, they made it even worse. Because then, your body was completely knocked out while your mind was terribly awake, reliving the scene over and over again. You threw them down the drain once you woke up. Never again.

And even though you already know what happens by now, it is still dreadful to wait for the nightmare to unfound. Your senses are hyper-aware of every single tiny sound, every movement in the dark. 

There’s something poetic in the way you can feel him move even with your eyes closed; the way you could recognize the pattern of his breathing in the distance even when fear creeps into your brain. Your spider-sense tingles as his heavy steps are headed toward you, it screams danger. Goosebumps break out across your body, sending a small, cold shiver through your spine. 

Red is the first thing you see. And also the last.

-

“...to Y/N.” Someone is calling you in the distance, but the hazy feeling of the nightmare still lingers within you. It’s hard to focus when your brain still hasn’t turned off properly for weeks, still trapped in whatever curse this is.

“Earth to Y/N, is anyone there?” There’s a snap in front of your eyes, and you suddenly flinch with the unexpected sound. The touch on your shoulder grounds you a bit.

You blink your eyes, rubbing them in an attempt to brush off the dreadful feeling still creeping into the back of your mind. As your eyes adjust to reality, Gwen’s face is filled with concern.

“I’m sorry, guys.” It’s the only thing you manage to say, how could you possibly begin to explain what’s been happening?

“You’ve lost your cue twice now, what’s happening with you today?” The girl presses, still holding onto your shoulder. And for that, you’re grateful. 

Not getting enough sleep has been causing you to lose grip on reality – and that scares you the most. Not being able to tell if the sounds are coming from your head or from somewhere else. Or worse, having to avoid him because it’s unbearable the feeling that eats you from the inside out; the sense of fight or flight kicking in every time you hear his voice. Not tolerating being in his company as shadows follow you around like a ghost, tormenting you into remembering.

And it’s just not fair. 

“Nothing!” You say, adjusting the bass strap on your shoulder. Hesitating on letting you go, Gwen squeezes your arm before retracting her hand. You try to smile, “I’m good. I…I’m good.”

The smile stretched for too long, awkwardly pulling your face into a grin rather than a genuine beam. The avoidance of looking at the member of the band doesn’t really back you up on your lies. You hear Hobie huff in annoyance, while Gwen’s piercing gaze still hasn’t left your face. You feel slightly guilty about keeping your nightmares a secret, but it’s not like they would understand, would they?

After all, Miguel O’Hara was a difficult subject for you to talk about.

“I know that look, I have seen it in the mirror quite a few times,” The girl admits. And you knew it was true.

When Gwen joined the Spider Society just a few months ago, the melancholy gloom that followed her was palpable. The teary eyes whenever someone asked about her life, the avoidance of returning to her world, always crashing at yours or Hobie’s. Her father was a tough subject on which she never really dwelled, too painful to remember.  

However, even if she could relate to the feeling of losing sleep over someone, she wouldn’t understand how it felt to be torn apart by your own brain, to have precious memories distorted in a sick and twisted nightmare that was a culmination of your worst fears. To know it was coming and having no power to stop it. And all the while having the face of the person you cared about the most in the world, in all universes.

No, no one could begin to understand. 

You bit your lips, signing in defeat, “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

“That’s rubbish. Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?” Hobie chimes in, crossing his arms over his chest. He raises his eyebrow, seeing through your facade without breaking a sweat.

“You’re not even glowing like you usually do!” Pavitr shouts from the audience, waving his hand toward you. Sometimes he would come by to watch the band practice, but today you had not even seen him coming, which was a terrible sign because Pavitr always made an entrance when he stopped by.

“I thought you would be grateful for that.” You scoff.

“Hey, you can’t blame me! My eyes are sensitive.”

The typical headache starts to pound in your head like a thousand bells ringing directly in your ear. It’s disorientating the way your senses feel out of place – like a fish out of the water. Not even having superpowers was helping you stay afloat. 

You took pride in being a Spider Woman, doing your job as best as you could so that at the end of the day, Miguel would see you. Your talent, your dedication. But lately, you feel yourself falling further down in his list. And it hurts.

“It’s just that–” You sigh, rubbing your eyes again, foolishly trying to make the pain go away. The ache in your head was bad, but the one in your heart could bring you to your knees. “I’m not getting much sleep these last few weeks.”

Gwen snaps her fingers excitedly, “You should try one of those pills they hand over at the–” 

“No!” You shout before you can stop yourself; memories flood your troubled mind. The blood, the screams. Talons ripping flesh, pain consuming your body and soul. But the worst of all; his words. Gwen stops in her tracks, caught off guard by your sudden outburst. The guilty eat you away. 

“I mean, I–I’ve tried it,” You whisper, the lump forming in your throat makes it hard to say a single word, “but they… didn’t work for me.” 

The trembling of your hands caught everyone’s attention. And It’s just too much.

“I’m sorry.” Whispering, you turn around to hide your face. You take the bass strap from your shoulder and place the instrument in its case. “Let’s just wrap this up, I don’t want to waste anyone’s time.”

“Oi, Y/N,” Hobie calls for you, but you’re already grabbing your coat and heading toward the door. “We are here to help you, it’s what a band is about, innit?” 

You look over your shoulder at them, heart aching at the thought of leaving them with no explanation – as a frightened animal, cornered with nowhere to run, all bite and no apologies.

“Right,” You agree but vanish in thin air seconds later.

ll.

Time becomes its own entity when you lose track of it. It’s another late hour, probably somewhere between 3 AM, and the coffee you got from your favorite spot in town is hot against your cold fingers. You dangle your feet at the edge of a building, admiring the view of a sleepy neighbor – no matter the time, New York is always full of light. 

It’s been a few days since you left the rehearsal in a hurry, the band has been trying to get in touch with you but you’ve been avoiding taking their calls and answering their texts – you’ve been avoiding a lot of things lately. 

Like swinging in the middle of the traffic, as an example. Something that came naturally, but now it has become too dangerous. The notion of space and distance have been lost days ago together with the full awareness of your surroundings. You’ve been trying to do your job, but it has become almost impossible to pay attention to your movements when the heaviness of your limbs begs for you to slow down.

There’s also Lyla, who you've lost count of how many times she chimed in while you were working, telling you about a meeting that you had missed out on. Not that it was totally required to be there, but if once you counted the days to be in the same room as Miguel, just so you could see him, now you avoided it like the plague. 

You haven’t heard from him ever since you disappeared – only stopping by the HQ when extremely necessary – so you might not be in that much trouble. However, it definitely did some heavy damage to your heart noticing how O’Hara didn’t really need or wanted to see you in the first place. Not even a call, not even a message.

And that was devastating. 

For too long, you've been yearning for Miguel; only to be trapped in an endless nightmare. While awake, you had to live with the fact that he was out of reach – tearing your soul apart. While sleeping, violence and death had his face – tearing your whole being apart. No matter when or where; you were maimed by the same man.

Blowing out your coffee, you sigh. The lack of sleep has been taking a toll on you. It started off as simply missing the timing from one building to another, and now you can feel the nasty bruise forming on the side of your hip. Actually, your body now looks like it has been painted black and blue with the number of bruises it’s collecting. 

And you still can’t find the answer, nor any clue on how to make them go away. It will kill you eventually, you’re sure of that. It was just a matter of time now. Maybe then you could finally rest.

The bitter taste of the coffee spreads in your tongue and you welcome the caffeine with open arms. You’ve been trying to stay awake for the most part of the day, only hitting the bed when you’re completely and absolutely worn out. It does give you a few more minutes, but as the sun comes down and another moon appears, you can feel yourself slipping away, getting fewer and fewer hours of sleep, and slowly descending to madness as the nightmares start to feel more vivid, clouding your judgment.

Maybe you should ask for help, after all. 

As a result of a very slow mind, it takes you more than it should to sense a new presence on the rooftop with you. Startled, the hair on the back of your neck stands up. You quickly throw away the coffee, lamenting not being able to finish it. 

You pull your mask down; if it was another one of those villains of the week the guy was fucked because you had run out of patience. “Honestly, I’m in a really bad mood today,” You say to whoever is hiding in the shadows, your senses tingling as the figure slowly walks towards you, “No tricks, please. Let’s do this quickly.” 

The movement stops, and you roll your eyes in annoyance. Another guy who thinks that making a scary little entrance will impress you. You’re about to make a joke when the shadow speaks, making your heart stop for a second.

“Y/N.”

The cold creeps in underneath the flesh, freezing your blood and yourself in place. All the hair in your body stands up as your body tenses with trepidation and fear. There it was again, that voice that haunts you night and day. 

No, please. I’m awake, aren't I?”

It was hard to tell, as your surrounding started to blur; the sound of the street and surroundings go silent, as the only focus of your mind is the man in front of you and the way his eyes glow scarlet against the dark of the night. Your heart hammers your chest so furiously you’re afraid it might break free. 

“Y/N.” 

Miguel calls out for you again, his tone nothing more than a whisper. But you have seen this scene before; a hundred times you’ve heard those same words roll out of his tongue as if it disgusted him – as if you didn’t deserve to be mentioned it.

You flinch as he steps forward, memories of talons ripping your skin apart make you fight against the rising panic; the outcome of the nightmare is inevitable, you’ve tried to change it, but the aftermath was always the same; killed by the man you loved the most.

“Stay away from me,” You warned him. It was useless when fate seemed to have your lines already written, with no chance to change the full stop by a coma. “Please, stay away from me.”

Miguel stops, the glowing of his suit hurts your eyes. You can’t see his expression, there’s a dark shadow covering his face, but the red tint gives his demeanor a haunting feeling – another shiver runs down your spine. Your vision starts to blur; the fine line between reality and dreamland crashes together in your mind. Nothing feels real, the foggy state of mind wraps around you, gradually taking over your sanity.

So you flee. Or at least you try. 

Before you could jump from the building, Miguel’s strong hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you directly in his direction. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, and quickly you are able to untangle yourself from his grip, kicking him in the process. 

“Y/N.” You know it’s his voice, but at the same time, it doesn’t feel like it. It’s disconnected from the man you’ve grown to love. Dread gnawed at your insides as the nightmare turns into another torture section. His mouth is moving but you can’t make up the words; every sound gets lost in the loud rush of blood in your ears.

Not that you need it, anyway. You’ve been living the same dialogue over and over again to know like the back of your hand.

“Don’t hurt me again,” You plea, raw panic in your voice. Your mind is erratic, coming up with ideas on how to escape, but your body doesn’t follow the same line of thinking, “Please, I’m so tired.”

But it’s all in vain; the man bolts in your direction like an animal ready to devour its prey. You find yourself half mad with terror – your throat tightens as anxiety eclipsed your thoughts. 

Before Miguel can get to you, you attack. 

It never works as the man is way above your abilities, but you try – anything to be freed from having another slow, painful death. Gathering the last of your strength, you shoot a web that miraculously lands on his foot and it sticks to the ground. Quickly, you jump from one wall to another, landing a kick on his chest. 

It doesn’t do anything more than startle the man, but it gives you enough time to soar across the night sky, landing on another rooftop. The glowing of your watch catches your attention. Usually, you don’t have it with you, nightmares don’t really give you the option to flee. 

But it seems this one does. 

“Y/N!” Miguel roars. In the slip second your eyes had darted toward the gadget, the man had torn apart the single web holding him in place. He huffs, shoulders hunched forward as tension grows between you both. 

Against your better judgment, you shot him a glance. And like magnets, his eyes find yours in mi the sea of lights that only New York could offer.

You press the bottom, eyes fixed on the man coming towards you like a bolt. His talons cut the air in front of your eyes – almost like a kiss – the petrifying realization makes you fall on your back towards the portal. 

Then everything turns black.

lll.

When you open your eyes again, you’re absolutely and awfully exhausted. The weight of your body holds you down against the cold floor, almost as if it didn’t belong to you anymore. You had lost ownership after not taking care of it. Your eyelids are heavy, and for a moment you consider just going back to sleep, finally giving in to the sweet taste of relief. 

But then, the warnings in the back of your mind start to go off, and you remember why you can’t. Grunting, you take off your mask and pick yourself up. There was no rest for you, not until you find out what the hell happened. And if it was all in your mind, of if Miguel was there. 

Because that definitely didn’t feel like a dream. The phantom feeling of his fingers wrapped around your wrist still lingered, and the intensity of his gaze still made you shrink. A chill runs down your spine in trepidation. If he was really there were the nightmares just a premonition of the future?

No. Miguel would never do that. 

Even though he didn’t… like you as you liked him, the man didn’t have a single motive to want you dead. Miguel was many things, but mostly he was righteous. Dedicated to his job in an unhealthy, and obsessive way? Yes. However, he still had kindness hidden underneath his scowl, and even though his heart was mostly painted black by the loss of his old life, it still beat for the new ones the Spider Society protected. Besides, he still had some humor in him; a completely dated and cringe type of humor, but there.

And every time it made an appearance, you would find it adorable. A tiny smile appears on your lips. How could you not treasure every moment with him when it was all so rare? 

“Y/N?” Someone calls for you in the distance. You are still picking yourself up from the floor, the sudden movement makes you dizzy, and nauseous. You’re pretty sure you hit your head. 

“Oh my god! Are you okay?” Margo comes into view, she quickly puts one of your arms around her neck and helps you get up. “You look terrible.”

“You should see the other guy,” You try joking around. And even though the blue avatar softly huffs, her expression of concern is serious. You must look worse than you thought. 

Margo helps you get into a chair, gently holding you until you’re comfortable in your seat. “I’m sorry for barging in, I honestly didn’t know where I was going.”

“Where you running from something?” She jokingly asks. She grabs a tablet, reads something on the screen, and goes back to work.

“Yeah,” You groan, running your hand through your hair, “You could say that.”

The room was as quiet as it always was, the only sound coming from the girl who was softly humming a song. Looking around, you notice there was no one around, only the machines as a company. You wondered if Margo ever feel lonely here; the place was big enough to fit a few dozen Spiders, however, it was always deserted. The truth was that no one actually liked to be around villains after they were captured, and sending them home was a dreadful job. Margo was definitely a viable asset to the team. 

You can feel your senses start to relax, the darkroom was a perfect invitation for a well-deserved rest. But with the sleepiness came the loss of concentration, and the last time you let your guard down, you fled from a very real Miguel. 

Small talk would be, then. “So… who’s next?”

Margo picks up her tablet, tapping a few things before showing you a picture. “She calls herself 'Torment'. But you’re probably familiar with her. After all, you and Hobie caught her a few weeks ago.”

Wait. A few weeks ago? That's exactly the time when the nightmares started to occur.

Suddenly, a flashback hits you like a bullet. A purple and blue cloud, the touch of a finger. The laugh.

“Margo, I need to talk to her,” You demand, getting up from your chair as if you had been electrified. The pieces fall into place and make a clear picture. How could you have let this fly over your head? Of course, the nightmares weren’t something normal! It had to be a product of something, or someone. 

“Y/N, I need to send her ho–”

“It’s urgent,” Holding the girl’s hand in yours, you squeeze them in a silent plea, “Please, Margo. Just give me 5 minutes.”

Margo presses her lips together; you must look desperate because she sighs, defeated. Then nods, “Make it quick.” 

“Thank you.” 

-

The Send Home Machine had come out of its cocoon, and now sat atop a circular base; waiting for the command to start the process of pulling the strings to weave the portal back home. You always thought the whole mechanism was a bit too much, but if it worked, then who were you to complain?

Margo brings Torment in, and she immediately recognizes you. 

“Oh, I knew I would see you again!” The woman’s face lights up like a Christmas tree – that couldn't be a good sign. She claps her hands, bouncing on her feet. “Looking for answers, darling?”

A cold shiver runs down your spine, but it’s not fear that spreads through your veins. It’s anger. “What did you do to me?”

The woman laughs, throwing her head back. You can clearly see she was having too much fun with you. “Now you’re interested in what I’ve to say? You didn’t seem that excited when I first came to you and your little friend.”

Your blood boils. If she wasn’t already locked up and ready to be sent home, you would definitely teach her a lesson or two. Your knuckles go white as the woman stares, the smile on her face is disturbing. How could she find pleasure in tormenting someone like that?

The sound of the engine turning startles you, Margo sends you an apologetic look as the machine descends from its place atop the base. You’re getting out of time.

“What do you want?” You shout, desperate. You can’t imagine going another week, another day haunted like this. “Tell me!”

Torment’s stare is piercing, a shadow crosses her face when the smile fades into a thin line. The silence was agonizing, and with each tread of the web, you felt your sanity slipping away. This was your last chance.

“I’m so fucking tired!” You cry out, hitting the glass so hard it almost cracks. “Do you know how it feels to not get a single hour of sleep because your nightmares are too fucking real? Do you have a single idea of how torturing it is to have him, of all people–” Margo was listening, but you didn’t care. You wanted answers and you would get them. “Why him?”

“Poor little thing. You haven’t figured it out yet?” she hums, furrowing her eyebrows. And you hate the look of pity she has on her face. It was her that did this in the first place! “That must be tough, to keep all of that to yourself.”

No one knew about your feelings for Miguel. Well, you had a slight hunch that maybe Peter B. Parker might have noticed it. But otherwise, you kept all to yourself. Treasuring little moments as precious jewelry.

He was your boss! And besides, he was still too caught up in his late family. He would never open his heart again after the tragedy bestowed upon him. You couldn't blame him; a man forever stuck in the past, reliving each moment when he was happy.

However, sometimes, you would catch him looking. Exchange glances in a crowded room; during meetings. You would spend time with him alone; in a comfortable silence hard to find, or in an easy-going atmosphere that left you smiling like an idiot. 

But that was what they were, fleeting moments. And even though sometimes you dreamed about a future where you could give him all the love he deserved, they were just that; silly dreams. There was no space for you in his life. You had accepted that long ago.

“You see, my abilities are a gift,” Torment simply says, still unphased at your suffering. “They search deep in your soul for what you seek the most. The nightmares are just an incentive to make you finally take the big step.”

“What?” A memory comes to the forefront of your mind; a finger touching your forehead, the slight shock that sent you back a few steps. Miguel’s face appears right after the electric feeling dissipates. “What do you mean?”

“You know very well,” There’s some sort of twisted kindness when her smile appears again, it irks you profoundly, “Take care, darling. You can thank me later.”

The machine finishes threading the web, encapsulating the woman inside a honey-colored web. The last thing you see is her waving at you before disappearing into nothing.

Outraged, you punch the glass again, and again. No, no, no. This can’t be happening! That woman must be lying, there’s no way the cure to this torment is–

“Calm down, Y/N!” Margo holds your wrist before you can land another hit. She’s saying something but you can’t hear it. Anxiety takes over your body as you crouch on the floor, hiding your face in your arms. 

You will have to tell Miguel. 

And that was worse than any other nightmare. 

[heygirltimeformorning]

still waiting on AO3 but that's okay. Here's something else I'm kicking around.

Title: Mirrorball

Summary: Buck tries on a new article of clothing.

or: Buck has an Inside Out character in his head, and they’re really the cause of all of this.

Note: if you don’t like men in lingerie or very, very light feminization, this ain’t the one for you, boss. (maybe it’s the lesbianism, but I stay putting boys in lingerie.)

Also, as a general content note, there’s some very, very light gender stuff – I mean, it’s a super light feminization fic, so that had to be part of the thought process. If you don’t want to read it, it’s okay! Sail on, soldier. Nobody is trans in this fic, and nobody comes out as trans, but Buck does have a moment of what does this mean. Obviously, as our lord and savior Judith Butler would tell us, gender is a performance and clothes are the costume (I’m paraphrasing), and Buck is just having a Butler moment. But I’m not out to cause anyone gender – anything, so if that’s not what you’re into, that’s a-ok, pal. I still think you’re, like, so cute.

**

It starts when Eddie bursts into Buck’s apartment and Buck is wandering around in boxers because it’s his apartment and if he wants to wander around nude, he has that right. But when Eddie bursts in and sees Buck in his boxers (it’s not the first time he’s ever seen Buck in his boxers, and not even in a vaguely flirtatious way), he gets this look on his face that Buck calls his I’ve been hit over the head look, which is not to be confused with his I’ve been shot look (shudder) and is not to be confused with his Somebody is being an asshole to me but I have enough Catholic guilt that I think I deserve it look, which are all very similar, but not quite the same, and this is definitely his hit over the head look, only (and Buck checked!) nothing has hit Eddie over the head, at least not in the time between him bursting into his apartment and him being in his apartment.

“Hi,” Buck says, because Eddie’s just standing there, in the doorway, staring at Buck like he’s waiting to be activated or something, and maybe he and Christopher have been watching too many sci-fi movies.

Eddie appears to shake himself out of it, and he offers Buck a lopsided grin, recovering quickly – the whole thing lasted maybe 30 seconds – and he closes the door behind him. “Hey. Sorry – I think there’s something in your apartment that wipes my brain or something, and I didn’t expect to see you, you know, tits out in your kitchen.” He gestures when he says it, cups his hands in front of his chest like Buck has double-D’s or something, and Buck looks down at his chest to make sure he hasn’t sprouted breasts overnight, because that would be alarming, and really, if that’s what’s happened, Eddie is coping very, very well. Must be the firefighter training.

But no, it’s just Buck’s regular old chest, no overnight breasts to speak of, and Buck rubs a hand up his chest, just to make double-sure, because tits out hits Buck in a strange place, but he can’t exactly say what did you mean, tits out when it’s very obvious that Eddie was just making a joke. About Buck. About Buck having tits. And Buck can’t help it, and because he can’t say what did you mean, tits out, he says “Oh, yeah, I left my bra hanging in the closet,” even though he’s pretty sure that’s not where you keep bras. He doesn’t know. He’s never worn a bra, and he’s never cohabitated with someone who does long enough to know (Maddie doesn’t count, at least not when it comes to lingerie-storage).

Eddie laughs, and Buck laughs, and the moment passes, but still – tits out bangs around in the back of Buck’s head like one of those Inside Out characters – and, okay, he definitely needs to cool it on the movies with Christopher.

**

Two weeks later, he and Eddie are showering (together, yes, but not like that) after a call where both of them had to get up close and personal with the inner workings of a septic tank, and the rest of the team had refused to eat in the same room as them until they took, in Hen’s words, at least seven showers.

They aren’t talking, just showering in companionable silence, and Buck happens to glance over and Eddie’s scrubbing shampoo into his hair, eyes closed, and Buck watches the water run down Eddie’s neck, over his collarbones, down his – and Buck’s mouth goes dry as the water traces the curve of Eddie’s – well, his pecs, but Buck tries it out, tits, just to see what it feels like, and, well, now he needs to finish his shower. Quickly.

Only Eddie opens his eyes and looks over at Buck looking at him like some kind of creep, and he raises an eyebrow, and that’s his you good face, and Buck manages to, somehow, shake himself out of it, offering Eddie a little chuckle. “Sorry, sorry,” he says. “I, uh, was just—”

Chimney bangs on the door. “Look, Hen said seven showers, but as long as you’re clean, it counts – and Cap won’t let us eat until you two stop using all the hot water and join us.” Eddie with his tits out, the little Inside Out character in his brain supplies helpfully, and Buck needs to finish his shower now.

*

Thanks! More to come :)

[imrllytootiredforthis]

Christmas Miracles

Pairing: Chan x reader

Summary: It’s Christmas Eve and Chan is still working, no matter how much you try to convince him to take a break

Warnings: Dom reader, sub chan, handjob, use of petnames (good boy, baby, etc), slight exhibitionism, probably more that I forgot

Word Count: 5.8k

A/N: This is way, way too reflective on my mental health rn, but really, who needs to actually confront your problems when you can just write an angsty, smutty christmas fic abt them?

That being said, 18+ minors DNI

It’s Christmas Eve.

Christmas fucking Eve and your boyfriend hasn’t left the studio once.

Not for food, not for water, not to simply say hi to you or the others, not for a bathroom or brain break. 

Not once. In fact, you don’t even think he’s taken a break from working at all in there. You know because you check in with him every hour and half.

And-you guessed it!

Every. Single. Time. He’s. Working.

Headphones pulled over his ears, fingers clicking keys and eyes glued to that computer.

And frankly, it was getting frustrating. Frustrating because you and the others have been waiting out here all day, talking, chatting. You’d come a few hours early to the secret santa gift exchange you and Felix had set up, with your gift for Han.

You made sure that you were there extra, extra early. Made sure to give your workaholic boyfriend lots of extra time to finish up his work, giving him periodic warnings every half hour to let him know just how long he had left. 

Every time he’d nod offhandedly, hum in acknowledgement but not really listen before he’d shoo’d you off, saying he knew and that you could stop mothering him.

And so you gave him some slack, getting off his back a bit as he requested, trusting that he would be able to regulate everything by himself. 

And when everyone finally got there, gathered around on the floor, ready for the gift exchange, you stood up and said that you’d get Chan and the activity could commence.

You popped your head into his studio, gently asking if he was ready. “It’s time, you ready? Got your gift?”

He spun around on his wheelie chair, looking at you, confused. “My gift?”

“What do you mean ‘My gift?’, Chan? We’re doing a gift exchange. Everyone’s here, that’s what I’ve been bothering you about for all day!”

Blank. Not a single thought in that pretty head of his.

He did not.

“Huh?”

Your jaw clenched. “You did not. Chan.”

He rubbed at his red eyes, the bags under them prominent from the apparent lack of sleep despite how many times you’ve told him to stop working and get a full proper night of it. 

“Wait-we’re doing a gift exchange-since when?”

You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “The one that Felix and I set up like three weeks ago! We picked names from a hat!” You paused, remembering the day with a heavy sigh. “No, you weren’t there, but I gave it to you when you got home that night. I even remember-you had Hyunjin. You were asking me what I thought you should get for him.”

He nodded slowly, pursing his lips, eyes not meeting your’s. “...Still don’t know what you’re talking about. I have no memory of this happening.

“I remember, I told you that you were supposed to come up with it yourself, it was supposed to be special that way.”

Running a hand through his unruly hair that didn’t look like he had brushed in a while, he shook his head again. “Look, I don’t know, maybe it just slipped my mind, I don’t remember any of this.”

“Fucking hell, Chan! I told you about this, weeks ago! I told you last week. I told you a few days ago, I reminded you over and over and you told me you had it covered!” 

Finally leaving the doorway you stepped inside, shutting the door behind you, hoping no one else heard the outburst. When you looked back to him, it seemed you had already lost his attention, his eyes turned back to the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “Turn off the damn computer and listen to me!”

And that was the final thing to have his headphones coming off, hesitating for a minute over the shut off button before deciding your rage over fighting over this particular thing wouldn’t be worth it.

The screen went black and he turned to you. And it finally hit you, the extent of his overworking.

He looked tired-exhausted, pale and unruly. He looked as if he hadn’t eaten or slept or drank anything in days. 

Rubbing a hand over his face, he groaned. “Look, I’m sorry! I’ve just been so busy with work-”

“And that’s it! All you ever do is work now! You cancel plans to work! We barely spend any time together because you’re working! The others barely ever see you because you’re working! Look at yourself Chan, you don’t look like you’ve even been taking care of yourself!”

“I just need to finish this one project and then I promise-I’ll take a break!”

“That’s what you always say! That’s what you said for the last project, for the one before that and the one before that and that’s what you’ll say for the one after this!”

He opened his mouth, but you cut him off. “You need to take a break and take a break now! No ‘one more hour’, no ‘one more day’, no ‘after this project is finished’! You are going to take a break now and you are going to not look at your computer until after Christmas.”

“But-”

“I don’t want to hear it.” You grabbed his arm, opening the door and pulling him out of the studio for what you could only guess and hope you were wrong was the first time in days.

The others smiled and greeted Chan happily when the two of you walked in. You smiled, pretending you didn’t see the obvious looks of concern passing between the boys. The walls were too fucking thin for this. 

They began shouting exclamations about how they felt like they hadn’t seen their leader in forever, congratulating you for finally being able to get him out the studio for once.

You side-eyed him all the while as he looked down at his feet, rubbing his neck and apologizing sheepishly. 

“Sorry guys, I’ll try to be more...present from now on...”

The others nodded and you clapped your hands together, gaining everyone’s attention with a “Well, anyway...does anyone wanna start this gift exchange?”

Cheers filled the room as you led Chan to the couch, sitting him down before taking your place next to him.

--

The rest of the night was fun, you received a spray bottle from Seungmin, telling you to spray Chan with it whenever he worked for too long. Everyone got a laugh out of that.

Chan got a ‘World’s Best Dad’ mug from Han and you could see him almost getting teary-eyed as he read it, pulling Han in for a hug and thanking him for the somewhat of a joke present.

Hyunjin seemed fine with the lack thereof of a gift but played it up a lot, pretending to be wounded by Chan, grabbing at his chest and falling to his knees in a fake sob of agony.

Truly, you enjoyed it.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d hung out with all the boys and Chan, forgetting sometimes really how close they all were, how well they knew each other and how much more than coworkers they’d become over the years.

You also greatly forgot how loud they all were. 

The laughing and constant clapping to accompany it, things shouted, so unhinged it had everyone laughing from just the absurdity of it.

Several times they got into ‘fights’ that were really just shouting with the escalation of someone trying to yell louder than the other until everything was incoherent screaming. It ended when suddenly the entire thing turned to laughter, all eight boys pretty much rolling on the floor with it while you sat there, very confused and slightly amused by it all.

It was the first time in a while you saw Chan so carefree and happy, so relaxed. 

It was nice to see.

Well, it was nice to see until he wiped the tears from his eyes from laughing too hard and suddenly he didn’t look so relaxed.

He looked tired again, woozy like he might pass out or something. 

You take his hand at look at him with a soft smile. “You good, Channie?”

He nods but his skin has taken on a sickly pale colour. “Yeah, yeah. I-i’m good, I think-I think I just need to go to the bathroom, yeah?”

“Okay...”

And like that he stands up, announcing to the others that he has to go to the bathroom, saying to not wait up for him as he trails down the hall in an almost unsteady manner.

You’re overreacting you tell yourself. You’re overreacting, he knows himself best, he knows his limits. He knows how to take care of himself.

You. Are...Overreacting.

And then he’s gone for ten minutes...

Fifteen...

Twenty minutes. 

“Wait, where’d Chan go?” Han questions, popping his head up from where he lays on the floor, rolling around and gasping for air from something Changbin’s said.

“He went to the bathroom, remember?” Lee Know replies, not even lifting his head up from where he lays.

You sigh, standing up. “I think, uh, that I’ll go check on him.”

They all echo okays and laughter, jokes about how Chan can’t even go to the bathroom in peace anymore, but at this point you could care less about the heckling.

All you care about now is hoping that this wasn’t what you had an itching feeling it was.

That he isn’t doing what you think he is.

But perhaps that’s too much to wish for on this Christmas Eve as you knock on the bathroom door twice, leaning in in wait for his response. “Chan? You okay in there, baby?”

No reply.

“Chris?”

Nothing.

“Chan...I’m coming in, okay?”

You try the handle first, unlocked, then you slowly push the door open, looking in to see...that you were right. He isn’t in there.

He better not.

You rush down the hall, hoping-desperately hoping that you’re wrong and maybe...you don’t know, but hoping that he had some kind of excuse as to why he wasn’t in the bathroom and you’re assuming that he never was.

Well maybe, maybe...he needed to grab something from the studio. Maybe when he went to the bathroom it was already in use, so he went to the one on the other side of the building. Maybe he...went to get fucking take-out...without telling you or the others about it...

They were all lame excuses and you knew they were all wrong as your feet led you to the one place you knew he would be. The one place he would be, doing the one thing you knew he would be doing.

“Chris?”

Your voice is wary, tired as the door creaks, slightly screeching as you pull it open.

“L-look! I can explain!”

And there he was. 

Sitting at his desk, his headphones pulled over his ears, his fingers hovering over the keyboard, on that goddamned computer.

The boys continued to laugh and yell outside but you still close the door, hoping that with their level of sound and the door it would be enough to mute your sounds. 

Your voice is deadly calm when you speak, masking the anger burning inside of you. “Then explain Chan-because I am really hoping right now that you have a good explanation.”

He looks down, hanging his head in shame and you know he doesn’t. “I’m...I’m sorry, I’m trying, I really am...it’s just there’s so much work to do and so little time to get it all done. I wanna take a break, I wanna spend time with you and the boys...it’s just...”

“It’s just what! I get it-you wanna get this finished,” The calm in you is gone, replaced with a near hysteria, shutting your eyes and clenching your fists as your voice rises in pitch. “You feel rushed and you feel as if you need to get it all done as soon as possible but you can take a break! You need to take a break!”

You move toward him, turning that spinning chair so he’s facing you. You take his face in your hands, forcing him to look you in the eye. “This isn’t healthy how hard you’re working! It’s Christmas-it’s a damn holiday and, and you’re working! Do you not understand, do you not hear what I’m saying?”

He opens his mouth, trying to look away but you don’t let him, don’t let up on the grip you have on him. “I-I do, it’s just-”

“No, do you actually hear what I’m saying? Cause Chris, I need you to hear me right now. I need this to cement in your mind, I need you to think and realize that this isn’t healthy! This isn’t good for you and it isn’t good for us and if that’s really not enough of a reason for you, then it isn’t good for the company. They can’t have you passing out on-stage because you haven’t been sleeping or eating or drinking.” 

You drag in a heavy breath. “So, do you actually hear what I’m saying?”

“Yes, yes, I hear you.”

You don’t notice the tears spilling down your face until his eyes are getting watery too and he’s wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into him.

He buries his head into your stomach and shakes with heaving sobs. You pat his back, trying to soothe him the best you can as you cover your mouth with the opposite hand, trying to stay silent as you do the same.

And suddenly all of the energy drains out of you. The anger is replaced by pure exhaustion.

You’re crying and he’s crying and you’re clinging to each other, grasping at the comfort the other provides, the small cracks built over the past while finally breaking until a flood is released. 

Everything that’s happened, everything that hasn’t happened, everything that had to be said and everything that didn’t. It’s all there, silent and unspoken in the embrace.

It’s all there and you both understand it without a single word having been said. With just the tears and the touch and the wet spot that you’re sure is staining your shirt now as he buries his head into you. 

And suddenly you’re laughing, watery, hiccupy laughs that don’t really sound like laughs-and nothing going on right now is really funny but you can’t help it-because it’s Christmas Eve and you’re supposed to be happy, and it’s supposed to be the happiest time of the year, bright lights and warmth and family and you’re the exact fucking opposite right now. 

Because you’re both so, so fucking burnt out, so, so fucking tired and you’re both really, really done and all you can really do right now is cry.

You don’t know how long it’s for.

Until the tears run out and you’re staring at the wall blankly, playing with Chan’s hair as he clutches onto you, the waterworks stopped with the after breakdown sniffles present.

You’re not sure and don’t really care if the others heard you but if you strain your ears you can still hear their distant laughter clearly.

“Y-you okay?” You whisper, snivelling in a way you’re sure is unattractive but in all honestly you’re much too far past that at this point.

He doesn’t reply, only pulls far enough away to look up at you with big, sad, red eyes and even redder cheeks...and...oh.

Oh.

He pushes himself against you and you can clearly feel the large bulge pressed up against you as he looks up at you with those big sad eyes.

And now you’re kind of confused.

You’re not really sure what this means.

Now?

After that?

Maybe you’re just reading the context clues wrong but he looks at you and bites his lip, looking away shyly.

You sigh and pull him up off the chair, pushing him over to the couch in the corner of the room. He lands on it with a small oomph, still holding you by the waist and pulling you in close to him.

It’s a weird transition, from what just happened to this. From the tearstains still prominent on either of your faces to whatever this is. Whatever this is turning into.

But if this is what he wants right now, what he wants from you. Well then you’re going to give it to him.

“You’re gonna need to tell me what you need baby. Verbalize it for me.”

He sniffles again. “I just...I really need you right now. Will you just...” He mumbles the last part, turning pink under your gaze.

You sigh, looking at him with gentle eyes before settling against the opposite side of the couch against the arm of it. “C’mere.” 

He scrambles across the cushions to meet you, kneeling between your legs and tilting his head, waiting for you to give him direction. “C’mon baby, turn around,” He follows your lead until he’s sitting between your legs, his back against your chest, your resting chin on his shoulder. “Okay honey, ‘M gonna need you to tell me exactly what you need. Loud and clear so I can hear you.”

He shudders and you can tell he’s struggling to get out the words. “C-can you please...take care of me? Just wanna feel you.”

He paws at the sleeves of your shirt and you can tell what he’s asking for. Another time you might’ve teased him, played a little dumb, asked to elaborate on the request. But neither of you have the energy for that right now, so he’s granted that small mercy.

“Good boy, Channie,” He shivers at the words, squirming as you shift him slightly in order to pull off your own shirt, dropping it onto the floor to find later before feeling at the hem of his. “Can I take this off for you?”

“Yeah,” His voice is small and shaky as you pull it over his head, lifting his arms to make the job easier. And when it’s off and joined your own on the floor you’re already touching him.

You’re touching him and he’s sighing, relaxing, falling so quickly as your fingers graze his abdomen, tracing over his hard-earned abs and pecs, brushing over his sensitive buds. They harden quickly and he’s moaning, breathy little pants falling from his lips as his eyes slip shut-as you continue. Continue to touch and pinch and stroke and grope.

And over everything, it’s your voice that has every last drop of remaining tension in his body melting away, turning him into putty in your hands. Your voice as you whisper into his ear how good of a boy he is, how much he deserves this, how much he deserves everything and more.

He doesn’t think he could move even if he wanted to-and he doesn’t. Chan never wants to move from this spot-from this moment-here with you.

Your breath fans over the side of his face, leaving small kisses over his neck between every word. “Does it feel good Channie?”

"Nngh," he whines, not answering the question but this time it’s okay, this time you let it slide, continuing as his breathing quickens, moaning climbing higher in pitch as you gently ask the question again.

“Channie, baby? Asked you a question baby.”

He drags his eyes open just enough to look at you, pulling you against him into a short but sloppy kiss. “So, so good-please-please touch me, need it~”

For once you don’t ask him to clarify, if the bags under his eyes are anything to go by, he deserves this, deserves a break-a reward if you will-after working so hard.

Your hand fall to his hips and he whines at the loss. Chuckling lightly you kiss his cheek. “Patience baby.”

He nods breathlessly and gasps as you push his pants and boxers down, shivering at the cool air meets his heated skin and his cock slaps up against his abdomen. “T-touch me, please-please, need it so ba-”

His breath hitches, voice cutting off as you lick a strip up his neck, dragging your hand over his cock at the same time. You tsk him as he lets out an especially loud moan. “Patience, no need to get all worked up, s’okay.”

His is breath is gone, gone, gone, gone as his thighs reflexively shut at the sudden touch. You coo at him, placing your own legs between them and prying them apart.

His hips rock forward gently as you thumb over his slit, gathering his arousal and using it to slide your hand up and down him easier. “P-please.” He doesn’t know what he’s asking for but the words slip out instinctively, they feel right for the moment, for the desperation and need he feels, coursing, burning through his veins.

Your lips skip across the skin of his neck, nipping and licking at the unmarked skin. Hand starting slow and gaining in pace to match his pulse against your lips, squeezing the base as he loses more and more control of his body. His hips jumping up erratically, noises coming out louder and louder, higher and higher in need. 

“Gotta be quiet, darling, the boys are still outside.” You breath.

He freezes for a second, horror crossing his mind at the thought. But then the way your hand feels...gripping him, sliding up and down him. Sparks of pleasure explode behind his eyelids and all he can do is dig his teeth into bottom lip to keep quiet.

His hand falls to where your’s trails, up and down, up and down his chest, teasing and stroking. He grasps at your fingers, pawing at them clumsily. “N-need you,” He whispers, voice light and airy. Cute. Adorable in the way his body squirms against yours, cock pulsing in your hand. 

A small bead of pre-cum pearls at the tip, spilling over your fingers. “P-please,” he moans. “H-hold, nngh, h-hold my ha-hand.”

Your heart melts and you oblige his request, turning the hand over to intertwine your fingers with his. “Of course, such a good boy for me. Such a good, good boy.”

His body tenses, abs clenching and unclenching as he squeezes your hand tighter, almost painfully but you could care less as you continue, movements getting smoother and smoother due to the arousal leaking. 

He whimpers out loudly, toes curling as his body convulses. “Please-please-please-please, can I cum, can I cum, can I please-please can I cum?”

You hush him, kissing up his cheek, his temple, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. 

“It’s okay. Cum for me Channie.”

With the words his body tenses, breath hitching in his throat as his legs tremble, letting out a high-pitched whimper and, with a last throb, he cums.

Sticky white liquid spills over your fingers as he falls lax into your arms, panting and sweaty. His body’’s energy used up and drained. 

Completely and utterly boneless as you pull your hand away from his and use it pet back his sweaty hair. “How’d you feel baby?”

He sighs, “Great. Really, really great.” His eyelids flutter in a struggle to keep them open. “Thank you.” You hum, watching his eyes finally slip shut, lips pouting up. “Kiss me, please?”

With a small giggle you do, pecking those pouted lips once, twice, smiling while he pouts further, letting out an indignant whine. “Kiss me.”

You heart flutters in your chest and he moans as you claim his lips with your own, softly sliding your tongue into his mouth, kissing him breathless until you have no choice but to pull away.

Glancing over to his moniter on his desk the time shows clearly and you give him one more peck on the nose.

“Merry Christmas Channie.”

Tiredly, he whispers back, eyes already shut. “Merry Christmas, love you so, so, so much.”

You smile, pausing for a moment to hear that the boys outside have gone quiet-probably from having gone home if the time is anything to go by. 

“Love you too baby.” You murmur back, but he’s already asleep, lightly snoring with a slight smile on his lips.

He’s sleeping. Calm and relaxed, and finally, he’s taking a break.

Maybe it is a Christmas Miracle after all.

A/N: My taglist is open now here, hope everyone enjoys this and has a happy holidays!

@imsolovelylovely​, @hobihearteu​, @lino-jagiyaa 

[sophiacloud28]

Vent piece, AU, Rise Leo, Angst

It’s cold in here. Even in pants, sneakers, and a hoodie, the chill of the planetarium still eats at him a little. He’s okay with it, though. It’s not quite enough for brumation, which is the important part. He doesn’t need to completely lose track of everything. He just needs… peace.

And, as he lies across the floor while staring up at the star-covered ceiling, he’s sure he’s found it. He’s certain that, if only for a moment or two, he is finally allowed to rest. Finally able to think of something else than his work, his constant running around, his never-ending parade of personas. Hell, he can almost feel himself drift into nothingness as the light music he hears cradles him to near sleep.

It's always nice, always comfortable, always –

He blinks as he hears rustling. Someone sits in a chair in front of where he’s lying on the floor. And while he wants to call it an accident, his nostrils tell him it's not.

The scent of subtle soap and warm skin. The rustle of pants as legs are crossed and brought apart again. The chair squeaks at the attempt to settle in it, but nervousness is keeping its current occupant from getting comfortable.

He wishes he could say the same. Unfortunately, the cold has a good grip on him and while he’s not brumating, he definitely feels sluggish.

Not that you’ll attack him. You have no way to defend yourself save for a can of pepper spray — the thing smells absolutely vile — and from the presentations he’s seen you give, you don’t have a mean bone in your body, which just… helps.

“Want to stay for the video?”

The thing that impresses him is the way you’ve just… made this look as casual as possible while letting him know several things.

One, you know he’s there. How you caught him when he always takes for the grates the second you have a new group is a mystery — there’s hours, a schedule, and he’s got it all down — but you did. Second, you’ve known for a while. The lack of inflection in your tone indicates experience and redefines your nervousness as one of casual approach. Three, … he just wants to turn his brain off. He wishes he couldn’t understand or care about how an employee knows about his presence and hasn’t called the authorities yet. He knows he could deal with them, certainly if he were a little warmer, but this? This goddamn circus? He’s here to get off work, not…

He sighs. Shuffles. He owes you an answer. He just…

“Knock on the back of my seat for a yes.”

He looks up, away from the stars to you. Your back is facing him, then again he’s in a weird position that puts his head near the seat. He could say nothing, not even knock and watch you squirm. He could crack a joke, say something that might make you laugh or groan as he attempts socializing.

But right now… he just can’t be assed.

He reaches up and knocks against the plastic. You just say thank you and stay there for a bit longer before you get up to rummage for something near the projector. There’s shuffling in the chair you were just seated in before he hears you take off for the doors.

Time for the next group. He wonders if he should stay. If he should do what he usually does and skedaddle before anyone notices there’s a bum on the floor. But when everyone steers clear of the seat, therefore him, he has to wonder what’s going on. What you did to manage it so that, when the lights fade out and he hears rustling, he knows it’s you.

You don’t speak. The video is a speaking one after all. It does make him wonder, though. Even long after the video’s done and he’s left to stare at the stars again, he wonders what just happened and if he should care. He’s not complaining, though, not after getting to finally see the visuals, albeit from an interesting angle.

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

It doesn’t stop him from returning, either.

It’s been a week. He’s debated whether or not it’s worth risking his neck, his family’s neck over someone knowing he’s using the planetarium as his way to relax. He’s wondered if he shouldn’t tell the fam, or at least his little brother, to make sure it’s safe.

But that would mean letting everyone know. That would mean having to deal with that mess and he honestly… doesn’t want to.

He's tired. He’s done. His brothers, even his dad, have completely drained him dry of anything he could remotely care about. So he goes without hesitating.

He navigates lunch hour and watches the shift change. He flinches as your loud coworker laughs and jokes, reminding him of himself in the most obnoxious way. So much so that he half-wants to punch them for being so annoying. He waits on the floor instead, though, and is grateful when you join him the second they leave, leaving him to knock on your chair.

This behavior is more befitting his twin. He doesn’t care.

“Sorry for that. For what it's worth, the next group should all be teenagers, so no crying children.”

He knows. Presentation hours are for classes. Field trips. And while you don’t necessarily struggle during them, depending on the class, it can get disgustingly loud. Even when teenagers are involved.

He knocks on the chair again. You laugh a little before sighing, “I’m sorry I have to ask you to go. I am getting a break later on, though. If you want to stick around until then, I’ll be happy to show you some interesting features.”

And the tridactyl hand he’s been using to knock on your seat grips his hoodie as he thinks, debates.

He shouldn’t. It’s dangerous. No matter how innocent you are, the mere knowledge of who he is could ruin your existence and his. He’s not here to make friends.

… But the company is nice.

His hand hesitates for a second longer before he knocks. You then hush him away and he goes to the vent where he watches you work and barely get to breathe when you get two classes back to back. And he quietly lets himself in after all the hubbub, laying on the floor as you sit with a breath into the chair he knocks on.

The fact that it gets him a chuckle almost makes him smile. The fact that hears you tap the seat next to you worries him.

“Come on. Best seat in the house,” you tell him, though, and while it doesn’t convince him, it does make him move, make him join you even as the seat creaks under his weight. It has him making sure that you can’t see his face or his hands as he sits next to you. Not that you seem to care, though, as your eyes are fixed on the ceiling and your hands fiddle with a small contraption you immediately bring forward and click on once he’s there.

The lights turn off. The domed ceiling goes from evening to night, showing the stars. And, with another click, lines start drawing themselves across the artificial sky, connecting the stars into groups and images slowly appear, making him blink.

Constellations. He’s heard you talking about those. But thanks to the light pollution, the most he’s been able to spot are the brightest stars and, if he’s lucky, the Summer Triangle. Now, he’s finally able to see them.

He almost gets up. He doesn’t. The moment feels too sacred to break. You seem to notice the shift, though, as he can hear you smile when you speak.

“This is the Greek one, which was eventually taken over by the Romans. There are more, though. The Babylonians had an incredible star chart they left behind, explaining what they saw and why it was important to them. The Mayans had one also, and it's been suggested that other Central American cultures might have either used the same map or had their own variations to it. The most interesting one, though, is the Asian one. Western influence was scarce, so their system works very differently even today."

… Ah. He gets it, now. It's almost funny, too, and enough to make him smile. Make almost reach out in the hopes that you understand that you either don't need to share or that he's grateful. He can't do either, though. No matter how much the world wants to think that there's space for everyone, the fact that he's underground, that the Hidden City exists tells him otherwise. He can't let himself do anything but speak, and breaking the silence feels like blasphemy.

"… Thank you."

He still does it, though. Not for his sake but yours. You need to know he appreciates it, even if some of it is going completely over his head.

"No problem."

Because it's worth the softness that invades your tone. Even if it requires more effort than he has energy for, the payoff gives him just a little more than he thought he'd be given. And he likes that. God, does he.

"Anything you want to see?"

"The star map without the images?"

Because if this is all it takes to get this to work as you click and the images disappear, then he's more than willing to try.

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

Unfortunately, winter does not seem to agree.

Brumation becomes a problem. His hoodie is no longer enough, but wearing anything else might hinder his movements in the vents. He can't afford to lose the agility, but he knows that, if he's not careful, he might knock out.

Something you seem to notice as well.

Within a month of winter starting, he finds a blanket waiting outside the vent. His careful thanks only get him even more wrapped inside the surprisingly thin yet cozy fleece blanket as you fuss over him while never once looking up as he's asked you to. It doesn't help that every time, you simply smile after he tells you that he's comfortable, tapping a hand against his plastron.

"Good. Wouldn't want you to pass out."

Which only reminds him of what he's doing and how… he's treating this entire relationship.

No doubt you're getting bored. Annoyed, even. Not that you've told him as such and he doubts he'd ever hear you complain, but he doesn't think he's being fair in any way, certainly considering that he's been keeping this up for weeks.

He doesn't hate you. He hopes you know that. It's just… he comes here when everything is just too much. And you pampering him… is just part of it, now.

"Hold?"

"Yeah."

You joining him on the floor between presentations as he buries his face into your side. Him whimpering, trying not to chirp or do anything that would sound remotely strange as he lets you talk about whatever planet has caught your attention or whatever paper you're working on this week. And you chuckling, even laughing sometimes as he does or tries to either give you advice or ignore you. It's all part of the thing that makes him feel a little better, a little stronger by the time he leaves. It's all part of something that makes him feel safe even if he barely says anything.

Because by the time he gets to you, there's nothing left for him to give.

The silence as his eyes burn almost deafens him. He feels you move and almost refuses to let you get away only to realize he's too weak, too slow thanks to the cold to hold onto anything. The cold, the sluggishness he'd fought so hard to find becomes his enemy as you disappear and reappear to help him up and out the doors, your blanket covering him up like a cloak to cover his face. And it's not any better when he steps outside and winter stakes its claim on him and the only thing he can concentrate on is your voice.

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

The amount of research you have to ingest in the following hours is insane. You figured something of the sort was going to happen, certainly with how closed off he was being, but you'd hoped to avoid any catastrophe involving your new friend.

Alas, from the way he behaves, you should have called this. From his self-destructive behavior, you should have known that he would drive himself to hypothermia, leaving you to figure out how to sort this mess. And that unfortunately means no more secrets.

… You think it's hypothermia. When you see the green skin and the three-fingered hands, you're no longer sure. Certainly when he's not shivering and the only thing that helps are the red crescents near his eyes and under his blue mask.

Blue mask… Where the hell is he from? And does it matter when this is probably going to ruin your relationship? He thrives on secrets and you… Well, you just ruined a whole lot of that trying to save his life after he broke, didn't you?

Either way, he's safe. He'll be alright in a few hours. He just needs to get to a decent body temperature, which he is safely getting to while bundled up in your bed. He seems to have an internal body temperature, after all, just… one lower than yours.

Part of you worries as you try not to hover. The other knows better and simply keeps you busy with making dinner, and you can't be happier with the meal you chose as you let the pea soup simmer. You work on making something warm to drink along with it, too, hoping that he'll be okay with some Chai.

Then again, after an hour, you wonder if he'll be alright in general as you dare enter the room with the food and drink on a tray.

You can hear him breathing. That's much, much better than earlier. The fact that he doesn't really acknowledge you doesn't surprise you, either. If anything, the fact that he's looking at you as you set the tray down is the biggest anomaly. He doesn't follow you. He has too little energy to even begin caring, which you can't blame him for. So this — this is new. And concerning when he doesn't sit up upon seeing the food.

Guilt? A need to hide? The mask and the fact that you've never seen anything of him until now tell you it's the latter. He might not have had any energy, but he did keep you from something, likely only draining him further. It's why you hadn't fought him when he'd asked for your presence on the floor. He needs it, craves a presence he doesn't have to explain everything to. And you have been for the past three months. Something you find absolutely heartbreaking.

"I made some soup and chai. Hope you like it."

And more heartbreaking still is the way he grabs your wrist as you attempt to leave.

You turn to him. Let him pull at your wrist and have you sit on the edge of the bed. He does not let go, though, instead nearing you and settling against your back, curling up there with his shell to the door.

Even if he didn't refuse your offer of getting on your lap before you sit on your bed so that he can, you know it's for protection. It's not the first time he does it, either, even if it's completely unconscious. He cares. More than he lets you or anyone else know. And you're almost willing to bet that's what's breaking him.

He loves. He's just… so tied up in whatever else he has to do that it's not showing properly.

You carefully, sweetly touch his head, something he welcomes with a stretch of the neck and a quiet whimper. You smile as he relaxes, using your lap as a resting spot, and tears no longer in his eyes. He doesn't sleep, not quite, but he chirps, trills, and nudges your hand if you so much as stop petting him. Like a cat, he refuses to let you go until he's had his fill and you're honestly very much fine with it, certainly when, after enough coaxing, you manage to get him to sit and eat.

In fact, the only thing that bothers you is his phone the second it starts ringing, prompting you to fiddle with his hoodie and collect the phone to see who it is.

Another turtle. This one red and massive. Raph is the name on screen. Doesn't stop you from wanting to throw the phone across the room or shutting it down before you resume feeding and petting the one you know to be a slider.

They're supposed to be tolerant to cold. Resistant to brumation. You wonder how badly he's been worn down for this to happen. You also hate the fact that it's making you feel almost violently protective to the point where you want to lash out at the other turtle for treating your friend like this.

… Maybe you should have taken that call. Just to know his name. Then again, you don't want to ruin the trust between the both of you, no matter how little there is. He is at his weakest and he doesn't need to be tested further.

"You think you're up for a warm bath now that you've eaten?"

Besides, from the nod you feel against your shoulder, you have other ways to communicate with him.

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

He doesn’t fight you. He doesn’t do much of anything, actually, as you scrub him clean. He only blinks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time once you’re done. He only lets you help him out of the bath and halfway back to your room when his hand lets go of yours and he — he looks away as if caught doing something, being somewhere he shouldn’t be.

“Where — where’s my stuff?”

And you realize why very quickly.

“Your clothes are in the bathroom and your phone is in my bedroom.”

“… Did I… get a call?”

“You did. From someone called Raph. I didn’t pick up.”

He’s awake. He’s coherent. His brain has finally caught up.

“… I have to go.”

And his thoughts and words hurt more than you’re comfortable with.

“Go get your clothes, then. I’ll go grab your phone.”

He looks at you with doubt, but turns around and heads back. You enter your bedroom and collect the blue jacketed phone before walking back to the bathroom where the slider is slipping on his hoodie, having already worked through his pants. You set said phone on the sink where he can see it as he works on his shoes next, unsurprised to hear him soon babbling to someone about trackers and getting someone off his ass for something. What surprises you is the tone. It’s animated, filled with a dramatic drawl and flair you had yet to hear from the slider. It’s nothing like you’ve heard, and it makes you realize just why he’s so drained, certainly when you hear “big bro” from his lips.

You cover your mouth. Your eyes burn. He ends the call and leaves your bathroom before anything else can happen, though and, just from the smile that meets you, you know you can’t cry.

“I’m afraid I gotta go. Someone’s breathing down my neck and might break the building if I don’t get going.”

There’s no point in it, after all.

“I’m… sorry I kept you.”

“You’re fine, sweetheart. Things just happen you know?”

“I guess. Do you –?”

“I know my way out. No worries.”

You’ve already lost him.

He gets to your living room where he takes to your window instead of your door. You feel your face hurt as you watch him expertly jump onto the sill.

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

“Will I see you again?”

And it near contorts in pain as you watch his face, his persona break for a second, an instant in which you get your answer.

No. You won’t. You will never ever see the slider again. He’s no longer safe with you, and it has nothing to do with you.

“We’ll see.”

You watch him jump away. You feel your heart break. And you wonder if you could have done anything differently… while knowing there was never another option.

[gerryrigged]

not me popping in multiple weeks late to your wip list to inform you that the concept of tim going to jason in a sex pollen situation and dick being Displeased about this flipped a switch in my fucking brain. it just spoke to me okay, i'm obsessed. i understand that there probably isn't a lot to say on the concept beyond the fic itself but i'd be thrilled with anything you'd like to share! i am RAVENOUS

Ohhhhh Anon 🤗 that one ate my brain for a solid few days when it first stole up on me, so I definitely feel you. Jealous and possessive Dick is just too good!!!

Okay so this is post-Red Robin, and Dick and Tim's relationship is still a little strained. Like they’ve reaffirmed their care for and trust in each other, they're making efforts to repair things, but yeah. Still stuff they haven’t addressed, and the comfort level hasn’t been quite rebuilt yet. 

Also Bruce fucked off to build Batman Inc. and left Dick to continue as Gotham’s Batman with Damian as his Robin, so there’s still that. 

Anyway, Dick is particularly invested in improving his and Tim's relationship, because he's only become more attracted to Tim since he returned from his BruceQuest more centered, more himself - but also sharper and more enchantingly graceful and competent and gorgeous than he’s ever been before. He's also turned 18, and Dick is tentatively hopeful that they can finally address the potential between them that's lurked under the surface for at least a couple of years now. 

Because, haha, Dick thinks that they are BOTH aware of the long-simmering feelings between the two of them, and that Tim has just been considerate of Dick’s reluctance to start anything while Tim was still underage. He thinks that they had a kind of mutual, unspoken understanding to wait to explore those feelings until Tim was older, if they were both still unattached, and still interested. And okay, their falling out in Red Robin threw kind of a wrench into things but rebuilding their relationship now is a perfect opportunity to maybe try deepening it further 👀💘🥺💞🙏??? 

(HA. Tim has no fucking idea that Dick thinks of him as anything but his trusted younger brother figure 🙃) 

Anyway. Jason is still around Gotham, occasionally causing trouble, occasionally helping. He mostly stays in his carved out territory, but he’ll like, deign to coordinate with the Bats for pushback against Arkham breakouts, or city-wide gang wars, or like, alien invasions, maybe. 

At times, he seems to be circling the Bats. He’s made conversational overtures toward Dick when their vigilante paths cross, which Dick has warily returned. Dick has also spotted Red Hood with Red Robin once or twice; it made him tense and beeline toward them the first few times, but Hood always took off, and Red said it was just work, or Jason fucking around - that he didn't seem to be actively plotting any harm, at least. 

Dick isn’t exactly happy about it, but Tim gets huffy about Dick not thinking he can take care of himself (‘what happened to equals, huh?’) so Dick has to back off. He does extract a promise from an eye-rolling Tim that he’ll call Dick for back-up if things get out of hand and Jason seems to be falling back into old, potentially Tim-maiming habits. (‘partners, remember? that rely on each other?’) 

Then there's a multi-Rogue Arkham breakout. After splitting and converging in various teams to take out the rest, Batman (Dick), Hood, and Red Robin wrap up with Harley and Poison Ivy at the end.

It seems to go smoothly - for a hot second it looked like Red Robin was tagged by some kind of acid spat by one of Ivy’s flowers, but he must've dodged or was able to just quickly neutralize the substance with seemingly no side effects, because he seems okay.

Dick is anxious to get back home to check on Damian - Robin had apparently been knocked out in his and Batgirl’s fight against Scarecrow across town, and may have inhaled some gas when his mask tore.

But he stops, concerned, when he notices that Red Robin is lingering behind, not following. 

He stalls harder, frowning, when Tim snags Jason’s jacket to also keep him from leaving. But Tim just flashes Dick a strained smile. 

“Just want to yell at him about something, it’s fine,” Tim reassures him. 

“Oh yeah, that makes me want to stick around,” Jason grumbles. 

“I think you’ll want to hear me out,” Tim says, low and hoarse, fingers tightening on Jason’s jacket. He clears his throat when both Dick and Jason shoot him odd looks - or, well, an interrogative helmet tilt, in Jason’s case - and waves Dick off again impatiently. “Seriously, go. We’re fine.” 

It takes Tim getting pretty insistent to actually shoo Dick away - he’s weirdly reluctant to leave them alone, gaze fixed uneasily on Tim’s hand, still gripping Jason’s jacket, the way Jason is sort of leaning into Tim, something intrigued in his body language (what does he know that Dick doesn’t?) - but Dick does eventually, reluctantly leave. He’s definitely going to interrogate Tim later to figure out what that was all about. 

As you can imagine, it’s a real knife to Dick’s gut when he finds out that Tim was sex pollened, aware of it and actively fighting through it, and chose Jason to help him deal with it while Dick was RIGHT THERE. RIGHT FUCKING THERE.

I don’t think he finds out from Tim directly. Maybe from Oracle?? Maybe he’s waiting at the Manor for Tim to come by for a debriefing, and he never shows, and Dick gets increasingly worried until he looks up Red Robin’s location data and he’s. Still with Jason. For some reason. At the Bat safehouse nearest to that last battle. They’re right on top of each other, practically. 

Maybe he calls Oracle to fish for info and she (not having any more idea than Tim of the Dick -> Tim feelings) gives him kind of an amused, snarky response about how oh yeah, don't worry, they’re fine 😏; I can’t say more than that, the cameras are blacked out. And Dick’s like, ‘...blacked out?’ and she’s like, ‘protocol, lol, but seriously, they’re fine.’

And Dick is like. Privacy blackout protocol? Tim’s hand on Jason’s jacket? Babs smirking so hard he can hear it through the comm? POISON IVY?

2 + 2 = 4 and Dick is NOT a happy camper. He probably like. Sits there staring at the Red Hood and Red Robin icons layered on top of each other in that apartment ALL FUCKING NIGHT, imagining what’s happening in there, wanting to yell himself hoarse and throw breakable things to shatter against the Cave walls. But he sits motionless in the dark, instead. Aching and second-guessing everything he thought he knew about where he and Tim stood with each other - when he can think through the haze of hurt, jealousy, and anger. 

[INSERT A SWITCH TO EITHER JASON OR TIM'S POV FOR THEIR MARATHON SEX POLLEN FUCK SESSION 😂 WOW THEY ARE HAVING A FANTASTIC TIME WHILE DICK IS JUST. SO MISERABLE. TIM IS SO FLEXIBLE. JASON HAS SO MUCH STAMINA. YAAAAAY.]

I’m sort of divided about how Dick’s actual confrontation of Tim would go, because my dark horny Id wants jealous Dick stewing and stewing and eventually just losing it (possibly prompted by getting dosed by another mind-altering, inhibition-loosening drug? because WHY NOT) and like, borderline dub-con ambushing Tim, possibly tying him down and fucking him until he cries and learns who he belongs to

but then my mushy Id is like NO I WANT DICK TO CRY INTO TIM’S CHEST ABOUT HOW HURT HE IS THAT TIM DOESN’T WANT HIM WHEN HE’S LOVED TIM FOR SO LONG NOW, and for Tim to be like wait wait wait WHAT??? but I DO want you, I’ve loved you for so long, that’s why I didn’t want a cheap meaningless sex pollen pity fuck, that would destroy me! and then they cry on each other some more and make sweet sappy reaffirming (but also lbr intensely possessive) love

and then my SUPEREGO is like stfu you know that’s not how it would go, Dick Grayson represses the fuck out of all debilitating hurts and betrayals and upsets, he has to brood and angst like a MOTHERFUCKER first, and then probably snipe at a baffled Tim about unrelated things because he can’t talk about his feelings, and then pick petty fights with a confused, annoyed Jason about things he’d previously been letting go as hostilities had cooled

and then vent to his friends in highly coded/obfuscated language so they have to stab in the dark trying to give him relevant advice, except for Roy who oh shit accidentally figures out EXACTLY what Dick is so bent out of shape about because Jason talked to him about helping Tim out with the sex pollen incident, and what the fuck Dick are you in love with Tim??? and what the fuck Roy, did Jason GOSSIP with you about Tim, did he BRAG ABOUT FUCKING TIM, Dick is gonna fucking PUNCH HIM IN THE FACE, and Roy has to frantically talk him down. 

and then Dick would eventually confront Tim slightly-too-aggressively about that one time he fucked Red Hood (if it even was just one time >:|), and was that really the best decision Tim, I’m not saying I’m questioning your judgment but he stabbed you in the chest with a Batarang Tim, I’m not saying another much safer and more appropriate person was right there Tim but I was literally right fucking there Tim, I would have fucked you so good you would never want anyone else Tim, why didn’t you want me Tim, why didn’t you choose me???

….also also, I’m undecided on whether I would want to add JayTim tentatively developing feelings from the pollen incident into the mix to make things even more messy and fucked, but honestly!!! That could be more than I want to try and juggle lol

Thanks for the Ask, I appreciate you!!

[voxofthevoid]

This is less WIP Wednesday and more Teaser Wednesday. I've gathered tiny snippets (150-200 words) from the 15 stories written for the April anniversary projects for this post.

Shibuya swap remains on hold until I finish #15, which may take longer than anticipated—still in time for the project, given that it's going to stretch across April and May owing to the total length.

Of the fifteen fics, eleven are solely Gojou/Yuuji; one is Higuruma/Yuuji; one is Sukuna/Yuuji; one is Kenjaku/Yuuji, and one is Gojou/Megumi/Yuuji (the excerpt is just Gojou/Megumi).

The list of the fics and premises can be found here, though I've given one-line summaries above the excerpts:

01. Gojou/Yuuji: An offhand comment leads to Yuuji discovering the dubious joys of pet ownership.

Yuuji’s sure by now that Gojou’s managing to breathe somehow, though he really can’t figure out how when he’s in the exact same position he settled into when he collapsed on Yuuji and burrowed into his chest like—

“Oh,” Yuuji says, realization dawning, “you’re like a puppy.”

Gojou stills. Slowly, with a strangely severe air, he raises his head. Heavy-lidded blue eyes blink up at Yuuji. “Does that mean I get treats?”

Yuuji blinks right back. “Treats?”

“Puppies need to be trained,” Gojou says sagely, lifting himself up on both arms to hover over Yuuji. “Positive reinforcement. Don’t you know that?”

“No?” Yuuji’s thought of raising puppies, who hasn’t, but it wasn’t ever really a serious thought. It was never an achievable dream anyway. Plus, Gojou’s not actually a puppy. He’s not even any good at making puppy dog eyes. They glow too much.

They’re glowing right now, twin pools of starfire made severe by the way he’s frowning. “You’re not a very responsible dog owner then. Puppies are a lot of work, you know.”

02. Gojou/Yuuji (fem!goyuu): Yuuji finds religion in her teacher’s tits, violently.

“There’s no need to be jealous, Yuuji. Some girls are just late bloomers.”

Gojou’s voice startles Yuuji, making her jump, but the doll in her hand remains peacefully asleep. She sighs, relieved, though not as surprised as she’d have been a week back. It’s not like she was actively focusing on her cursed energy anyway, the pulse and flow of it through her arms an afterthought while she focused on—

What Gojou actually said sinks in then, and Yuuji hurriedly drags her eyes away from Gojou’s chest area.

Her tits, says an unimpressed voice from some rotten corner of her soul. You were staring at her tits, you degenerate worm.

Shut, she tells Sukuna, the fuck up.

Yuuji shoves her down before she can retort, and Sukuna never goes quietly or calmly, but she does go, and Yuuji’s left staring into the too-amused eyes of her very adult, very well-developed teacher.

“Um,” Yuuji says intelligently.

03. Gojou/Yuuji: Yuuji acquires a doll that’s sympathetically connected to Satoru. It’s innocent until it isn’t.

“I’ll leave you to your quality time with this guy,” Satoru says, stepping away from Shouko and the examination table. “Don’t have too much—”

Satoru collapses with a strangled sound, his knees hitting the tile hard enough to send a bolt of pain all the way to his pelvis, except it’s nothing compared to the storm of sensation there, eating through him like someone’s shoved a fist into his asshole, without lube or ceremony.

“—toru! Talk to me, what’s wrong?”

Satoru raises his head and finds Shouko kneeling in front of him, her palms pressed to a wall of solid air—Limitless, expanded on blind instinct.

“Nothing,” he gasps, not needing her incredulous expression to know every inch of him is showing that it’s something. “I…”

…have a cock in my ass that I didn’t put there, Satoru completes inside his head, half a revelation even to himself. He knows this sensation, the stretch and burn of his body around another body, but he also knows why and how this is happening, and that’s where his brain sparks and stutters to a stop.

04. Gojou/Yuuji: Megumi finds out that Gojou’s been giving Yuuji some hands-on sex education.

“An hour? Both of you? Huh.” Itadori shakes his head. “What did he…do?”

“What do you think? It’s Gojou-sensei. He projected a bunch of way-too-explicit pictures, talked about STDs in gruesome detail, and asked if we were into BDSM.”

Itadori blinks slowly. “That’s it?”

“He also called us boring virgins,” Megumi says drily. “Then he ran off with Kugisaki chasing him.”

“Did she catch him?”

“Obviously not.”

“Huh,” Itadori says again. “He skipped all that for me. Got right into it.”

Megumi takes a moment to process that. At least he tries. It doesn’t make sense. Itadori said Gojou’s taking that class for him on Friday, so why’s he talking like it’s already happened? And what does he mean by—

“Right into what?” Megumi asks warily, straightening up from his huddle on the chair. There’s a weird feeling in his spine that’s got nothing to do with the position.

Itadori cocks his head, like he’s confused by Megumi’s confusion. “The sex part.”

05. Gojou/Yuuji: Satoru has a late-night philosophical discussion with the King of Curses.

“I am a pretty interesting guy. And it’s not that I’m complaining about my exalted company, but you know, don’t you, that you shouldn’t be here?”

“Shouldn’t I?” Yuuji asks mildly, now at the foot of Satoru’s bed.

“Sukuna’s been allowed to live because he’s the ideal vessel, capable of fully suppressing you.” Satoru eyes the hand now braced on his mattress, barely an inch away from his left foot. “You don’t look very suppressed to me.”

“Blood,” says Yuuji.

Satoru blinks at the non-sequitur. “Are you a vampire now?”

“What’s that?”

“Mythical creature that drinks the blood of humans.” Satoru bats his eyelashes at Yuuji. “I hear they prefer virgins.”

“Then you’re safe.”

“That’s a hell of an assumption to make about a guy you don’t even know.”

“I know your type.”

“Calling me a slut while climbing into my bed isn’t a good look, Yuuji.”

“I called you nothing,” Yuuji says, now looming over Satoru like a lover. “Only made an observation. And I do not want to drink your blood.”

06. Gojou/Yuuji: Satoru’s ward is in that peculiar purgatory between puberty and presentation. He tries to help.

Satoru rubs his palm in a slow circle against Yuuji’s stomach, trying for soothing but landing on something that makes Yuuji still and shudder against him. The reaction’s further incentive to slide his hands down, over the hairless skin under his navel and the sparse thatch at his groin, till his fingers find exactly what they expect to find.

Yuuji arches against him with a strangled shout as Satoru’s hand curls around his hard cock.

“Is this,” Satoru asks softly, “what Megumi’s been making you feel?”

“Satoru-san,” Yuuji whines. “That feels—”

“Weird?”

“Yes!”

“Good or bad weird?”

Yuuji’s quiet for a long few seconds. Then— “Not bad.”

“Was it ‘not bad’ with Megumi too?”

“…Kind of. It didn’t feel like this.”

“I’d hope not,” Satoru says, with a laugh that feels like something else in his throat. “If you make cute little Megumi touch you like this, his very scary dad will come for your head. Well, my head. And then I’d have to put him in his place, again, and the Zen'in will get involved, and it’ll be a whole mess. You wouldn’t want that, would you, Yuuji?”

07. Gojou/Yuuji: Satoru learns why most alphas don’t fuck other alphas.

Satoru exhales, shoving his forehead into the pillow to get himself some breathing room. He inhales, slow and deep, and unclenches his muscles in a rippling, gut-swooping wave, right in time for Yuuji to tear into him with the mindless fury of a beast.

His rim burns, a howling hot hurt—

Satoru gasps into the pillow, everything except the corner of his mind devoted to smothering every instinctive attempt at Limitless turning to white static for a brief, burning eternity.

—and gives, screaming the whole time.

Yuuji cleaves him in two, carving a red-hot path through clenching walls and steaming viscera to lodge himself in Satoru’s throat.

He hasn’t. Satoru knows this. It feels like it.

He can’t breathe with it.

Distantly, he’s aware of Yuuji coming inside him, the cock and knot not softening an iota in the process. It’s the size that’s eating him. Yuuji’s cock was big to start with, but his knot is monstrous—an obscene stretch that has set fire to Satoru’s muscles. They clench around it, helpless attempts at pushing it out of him, but his hole has closed up tight behind it, and if Yuuji tries to pull it out again, Satoru will kill him.

08. Higuruma/Yuuji: A wardrobe malfunction drastically alters the aftermath of Yuuji’s fight with Higuruma.

“Itadori,” Higuruma rasps, “put the shirt on.”

“I could.” Yuuji shrugs with a nonchalance he doesn’t feel, dropping the messy hood. “Do you really want me to though?”

Higuruma looks briefly pained. But he’s still looking. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Direct approach then. Not that Yuuji knows anything else, but he usually doesn’t have to use his words, just his body. “Do you want to have sex, Higuruma-san?”

Higuruma gets a little bug-eyed, almost as expressive as he was when yelling at Yuuji about darkness and light and people. “Itadori.”

“I don’t mind,” Yuuji assures him.

“That’s not the—” Higuruma briefly closes his eyes, raising a hand to grind two knuckles into the space between his eyes. “How old are you?”

“Fifteen.”

There’s a low, strangled noise. “Do you usually go around propositioning men over twice your age?”

“Not really,” Yuuji says. It’s mostly true. Half true. “I don’t get it though.”

For a moment, Higuruma almost looks him in the eye. “You don’t get why I wouldn’t want to fuck a child?”

“When you put it like that…” Yuuji takes a testing step forward, and Higuruma tenses but doesn’t move. “You were ready to kill me earlier, right? This can’t be worse.”

09. Gojou/Yuuji: When Yuuji’s fifteen, Gojou Satoru dies; when Yuuji’s seventeen, Gojou Satoru is born.

“Satoru-kun, wake up.”

The tiny lump on the bed doesn’t stir. Yuuji huffs, more amused than anything. Satoru’s antics haven’t really changed over the last four years. He’s gotten less subtle, really. Yuuji knows what he’s like when he’s really asleep—a messy splay of limbs, the thick covers somehow dominated by a body that should be drowning under them instead. Satoru only vanishes under them when he’s trying to lure Yuuji in.

And Yuuji keeps getting lured, so it’s technically his own fault.

“It’s ten in the morning,” he tells the approximate shape of a head. “Last time you messed up your sleep cycle, you were grouchy for a week. C’mon, Satoru-kun.”

Still nothing.

Yuuji sighs and grabs the top of the covers, yanking them down.

Radiant blue glowers at him. “You’re late.”

“Good morning to you too,” Yuuji greets. “And I’m not late. I’m early. I wasn’t due back for another week, remember?”

Satoru’s scowl deepens. On the sharp-faced, painfully pretty adult he’ll undoubtedly grow into, it’ll be a terrifying expression. On this tiny nine-year-old whose face is half white fluff and half curse blue, it’s just adorable. Yuuji wants to pinch his cheeks and coo at him.

10. Sukuna/Yuuji: A bad breakup isn’t a good excuse to fuck the monster rotting your soul, but Yuuji’s made worse decisions—probably.

There’s no change in Sukuna’s expression or posture while Yuuji climbs to him, but his gaze is unwavering, four eyes redder than the blood soaking this realm zeroed in on Yuuji with animal intensity. There’s an answering animal urge inside him—two of them.

Look down, show your belly.

Look back, bare your teeth.

Yuuji chooses the only one he ever could.

A foot stops him, slamming into his midsection before he can touch Sukuna.

“You’re an impertinent fool,” Sukuna drawls. “I should pluck out your eyes.”

“Try me, asshole.”

“And your tongue.” Sukuna’s still smiling, wide and lazy. There’s a terrible tenderness in his tone—hunger made sacred in the worse way Yuuji’s ever witnessed. “Might as well make it a whole feast—split you open from throat to gullet and slurp up your innards, break your bones with my teeth to suck out the marrow of your ribs. You’d make a half-decent meal now. And you’d thank me for it, wouldn’t you?”

“Like hell,” Yuuji snarls, grabbing Sukuna’s ankle.

It responds by sliding down, from his stomach to his groin.

Yuuji freezes.

“The infection just wouldn’t be worth it,” Sukuna says, the lower set of eyes resting on what his foot is touching. “After all, you’re so disgustingly human.”

11. Gojou/Yuuji: When a blip in time lands sixteen-year-old Satoru in the future, he finds himself in possession of a cursed object sporting his own eyes and a grieving boy who can’t look away from those eyes.

“I meant it by the way—you should just eat that box.”

Realization widens Itadori’s eyes, bleeding gracelessly across his scarred face. “What the hell, senpai!”

“What? It’s logical.” Satoru approaches the bed. Itadori’s eyes are fixed on him now, nothing hollow about them anymore. “That Angel person is dead, Tengen-sama’s gone, and none of you have found a way to bust this prison open. You might as well eat it.”

“It’s not a snack box!” Itadori says hotly. “It’s Gojou-sensei! It’s you.”

“Don’t compare me to that fossil. Besides, that’s more reason to do it. You already have one Gojou Satoru, here in the flesh. We might as well get some use out of the box, and it’d be interesting, don’t you think, to see what would become of you if you ate me?”

For a moment, Itadori just stares at him, nearly vibrating with…something. Not anger, not any kind of straightforward upset. But he’s pure emotion from the fire in his eyes to the strength in his fingers.

Then he sucks in a deep breath, slumping in place. “That was a terrible joke, Satoru-senpai.”

“Was it?” Satoru asks mildly. “You could’ve at least laughed. Spare my feelings.”

12. Kenjaku/Yuuji: Yuuji makes reasonable assumptions about the handsome man stalking him. Kenjaku gets to enjoy the fruits of their labor.

Getou’s changed into a thin, loose t-shirt and sweatpants. He’s still toweling his hair, the ends of it dripping wet. That looks like a lot of work.

Yuuji can’t help staring. Getou has such an interesting face. He tries not to focus on the scar stretching across his forehead because he doesn’t want to be rude, but the rest of his features are fair game, right? Especially the hair. It looks different all loose like this, framing Getou’s face in new and striking ways. There are more loose strands, probably the bits usually pulled into the top knot. And it’s still damp, plus mussed from the towel, leaving bits of it clinging to the sides of Getou’s face.

“Do you like the view?” Getou asks.

Yuuji jumps a little, looking back at the city and then at Getou again. “Y-yeah. It’s great.”

A faint smile, very sharp for something that looks so soft. “Come inside and close the door. You’re letting the AC out.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“I was thinking about what to do with you,” Getou says while Yuuji closes the balcony doors, and when he turns around, Getou’s seated on the bed, one leg folded under him so that he’s half turned toward Yuuji. “And then I realized I should just ask you. What do you want, Yuuji?”

13. Gojou/Yuuji: In a faraway forest enclosed in Brahmic barriers, there’s a boy who loves and hates the world in equal measure.

“You’ve grown so demanding,” Satoru says, keeping his hands firmly tucked in his pockets despite the siren call of Yuuji’s wet skin. The eyes are a better deterrent than his own self-restraint. Mismatched from all angles—the primary pair red on the left and brown on the right, the secondary pair brown on the left and red on the right. It’s as if they decided during their unholy apotheosis that no one would have the luxury of pretense.

“Satoru,” says the mouth that once called him Gojou-sensei, called him Six Eyes, “I missed you.”

Something inside Satoru shudders, a prickling disruption like ice melting. His hands twitch free of the pockets, and his body sways forward, melting into an embrace that’s returned with possessive fervor, four palms sliding over him with enough fervid force to brand him through the thick layers of his uniform before settling on his back, clasping him close to a body that seems to burn with its own inner fire.

“Yuuji,” Satoru murmurs, a question and an invitation.

Yuuji leans in with heavy-lidded eyes and sinks his teeth into Satoru’s throat.

14. Gojou/Yuuji: Yuuji’s hormones battle his morals while his half-naked teacher sleeps on his lap.

All Gojou’s got on is a pair of boxers, and they’re loose enough that they’ve slid down to bunch up at the crease of his thighs.

You’d think it’s getting hotter, not colder, but Yuuji can’t exactly complain. He’s the one trespassing on Gojou’s time and home, and it’s none of his business how Gojou dresses in his downtime. It’s not like he isn’t enjoying the view either. It’s just very hard not to touch sometimes. Yuuji keeps catching himself staring at pink nipples and shapely pecs and chiseled abs and even at places further down, like the telltale bulge between his legs and the obscene thickness of his thighs.

He won’t do anything though. He wouldn’t betray Gojou’s trust like that. It’s flattering, really, that Gojou’s so comfortable with him. Yuuji wouldn’t ever—

Gojou makes a soft, huffing noise and rolls over, curling his very long body into a fetal position—

“Shit,” Yuuji rasps.

—and pushing his face into Yuuji’s dick.

It throbs, ten times more vicious than the dull ache till now.

This can’t be happening.

Gojou breathes out, hot air skewering Yuuji’s cock through his sweats.

It’s absolutely happening.

15. Gojou/Megumi/Yuuji: Satoru crashes his student’s private time, and then the number of students in the equation doubles.

“Are you going to fight?”

“Stop it.” This can’t be happening. “You can’t do this, stop it—”

“Or scream,” Gojou suggests, brightening perversely. “Yuuji would run to your rescue. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Megumi opens his mouth, and then those words slam into him.

Itadori would come running. He’d break through that door like it’s made of straw and see this grotesque tableau. And Itadori’s a noble fool; he wouldn’t run from Gojou, only to him, and nothing about Gojou’s serrated smile says that will end well for Itadori.

Gojou likes Itadori. Megumi knows that. Everyone in the school, even the higher-ups, knows that. But that doesn’t mean Itadori’s safe. Gojou caring hasn’t made anyone safe, ever. Megumi would know.

“Don’t,” he says; it comes out soft, barely a breath. “Don’t you dare touch him.”

“That’s a hefty demand,” Gojou says, cocking his head to the side. “What should I touch instead? You?”

Megumi screws his eyes shut. “Don’t.”

The hand on his wrist loosens, a thumb stroking over his pulse. “Don’t be so scared. It’s not like I’ll do anything you don’t want. I did interrupt, didn’t I? I’ll make it up to you.”

[charmingpplincardigans]

How’s everyone doing? I’ll go first, I’m bad!

I have been ~*~struggling~*~ since mid-September and in the last two weeks it has just gotten unbearable. I feel like I’m drowning all the time. I’m having trouble keeping up with and reaching out to people I want to talk to. And that’s like, on top of always having been bad at getting back to people. *stares forlornly at the ask Chaz sent me like, literally two years ago that I think about daily but just. haven’t. RESPONDED TO.*

Things are just. Closing in on all sides unfortunately. I’ve been sick several times. I bounced this month’s rent check. A thing I had NEVER DONE BEFORE IN MY LIFE before this last move. My job is literally never going to pay me what I’m worth. Or anyone what they’re worth, frankly. I broke down in front of my boss the other day and just sobbed for an hour because after I pay my bills every paycheck I have just enough left over to buy groceries for two weeks, if I’m careful, and little else. Which means I’m putting stuff like gas on credit cards, which isn’t helping the debt that makes me feel like drowning in the first place.  I’ve been at this job SEVENTEEN YEARS. A steady, corporate job. And I’ve never once in my entire time there made an actual cost of living raise!! The cost of living just keeps raising without me! (And also everyone else, I know!)

I’m super overdue on getting people the art they commissioned from me, but my brain just hasn’t been in a good enough place to create much of anything, and I keep thinking I have to get this done and then thinking they deserve better than this, around and around on a loop ad finitum. And there are a couple of other things going on personally that just fucking blow that I don’t know how to fix and I’m just gonna choke on it.

I haven’t done any fandom stuff since NYCC. I haven’t written on my WIP. I haven’t read fic. I don’t check in on the madness happening on twitter. I’ve barely popped my head into my favorite pirate group chat over the last five months or so. I miss doing all of that so much and my stupid brain is so broken that even when I try I can’t enjoy it.

Shit. I’m having a hard time getting work work done. I just sit down at my desk every day, answer emails, and then spend five or so hours frozen with anxiety because there’s too much to do and doing nothing is only making it worse every day.

I need to be back in therapy ASAP, but unfortunately you can’t eat therapy so I can’t pay for it!!

And I feel guilty saying any of this to almost everyone I would usually talk to. (Congrats and condolences to the rest of you!) Because they’re having a harder time than me. Or because they’d just want to give me a bit of money about it, which would fuck me up even more. Or because it’s just tedious and boring and no one wants to listen to me talk about this over and over again, even though it’s all my brain does every hour of every day. It’s a wonder I’m ever able to talk about anything else.

My boss is pretty great, in spite of it all. She’s constantly supportive (to the extent she can be), and she just. She tells me all the time how creative and wonderful and smart and cool to know I am. And every time I just like, tear up, because none of it feels true. But I also tear up when my friends and my partner say those things too. Because to me, a full grown adult without a savings or a 401K or the ability to like, go get drinks just because I want to, I feel like a complete and utter failure.  So like. Whatever I guess!!

I need to find a new job that pays me way more. Then I can get a therapist to fix my brain and save money to pay down my debts and have money to have fun with my friends and not feel like a constant financial burden on everyone. Then I can have the brain power back to maybe work on my fic or complete that art or like, I don’t know, talk to the people who actively want to talk to me. You wouldn't think that part would be so hard, but it really, really is.

I’m working on it. I’ll keep working on it. I have LinkedIn open right now. I’m gonna fucking sob through it, but that doesn’t mean none of it will get done.

In the meantime, if anyone knows of a good way to make a quick $30 grand, I’m all ears.