#when your head is still you can only tell left from right sounds

[princesssmars]

so...we can all agree vi is an ass girl, right?

modern!au. 18+ content ahead. post contains lesbian sex and dry humping. inspired by this video from love and deepspace. i didnt know they got down like that. wc : 3.081.

she didn't show it often before, but lately violet could quickly become so achingly desperate for you.

she didn't show it often, but violet could become so achingly desperate.

at the start of your relationship, she tried to play off her need for you in a casual way, brushing it off as just being a very attentive girlfriend. you never had a problem with, always open and accepting of whatever little bits of attention she would give to you.

but then one day she slips, and she can feel your dynamic shift as soon as it happens.

she was away visiting her family for the holidays, body snugly tucked under the covers in her childhood bed as she held her phone above her face. the house was quiet, the air was cold, and she was having an internal battle with the reasonable part of her that told her to call it a night and drift off to sleep already...

and then there was the other side. the one that suddenly brings to her attention the steady heat that’s been building beneath her stomach after you sent the prettiest photo of you all dolled up in your parent’s guest bathroom. the one that made her bite her lip as she observed every inch of you through the screen before instantly liking the photo and sending back a flirty message. the one that now gravitated her fingers to calling your phone in the middle of the night and hoping and praying you’d pick up, nearly breathing a sigh of relief when you did.

"vi? are you alright?"

loaded question, she thinks to herself. in perfect health? of course. of sound mind? debatable, but for the most part yes. alright? no, definitely not at the moment.

"yeah, yeah, i’m alright princess. just wanted to talk to you."

"aww, you're such a sweetie. how'd i get so lucky, huh?"

and yes, she does appreciate and silently adore the sweet sentiment. but the sound of you cooing at her with just the tiniest hint of a rasp in your voice from tiredness only cements her fate, having to use all of the rational energy she has left to stop whimpering.

"tell me how your trips been. wanna hear your voice for a little longer."

"no problem. well im fine, everyone here is good. besides my aunt nat, she's still moody because no one allowed her in the kitchen again-"

you go on about your family and their shenanigans, and she cant help but quietly laugh along when you giggle about some of the stories and memories you've made. but the 'conversation' takes a turn when you start to talk about her.

"you know i miss you, right?"

she feels a subtle pang in her chest, half longing and half desire. "oh yeah?"

"yeah. rolled over in bed this morning and kept trying to find you till i realized where i was. it's weird not waking up with you."

she hums, hoping you cant hear her stuttered breaths through the receiver. she doesn't know why hearing about you subconsciously looking for her embrace is what does it for her, but she can only give a short response as one of her hands trails down into boxers.

"wish i could've been there with you, baby."

"mmm, me too. missed your warmth, swear you're like my own personal heater. wish you could be here with me now."

her breathing stops and her eyebrows raise. "oh yeah?"

"yeah. missed your hands, too."

fuck, fuck fuck fuck. she's taken off guard, mind racing at your words and tone and before she knows it she has two fingers stuffed inside of herself while she quietly whimpers for you to keep talking to her.

"fuck, just a little more baby, please, 'm so close-"

"aww, you're such a good girl for me, aren't you violet?"

she swears she bites her lip so hard it nearly bleeds when she cums, walls clenching around her fingers and eyes rolling back into her head as she reaches her peak while you talk her through it.

the next week when she picks you up from the airport she can see it, a glimmer in your eye and quick in your smile that wasn't there before. she tries to ignore it when she pulls you in for a long-awaited embrace but then she just gets so enveloped in your warmth, your smell, the feeling of your body pressed hers. she's only yanked out of her lovestruck stupor when you whisper a sly little comment in her ear about how long and tight she's been holding you.

"call me crazy but if i didnt know any better i'd say you're feeling a little desperate for me."

so the cats out of the bag. she's super attached to you, so what? it's not like you ever complained about it, instead constantly using her neediness to your advantage to get what you want from her. you'll likely never have to beg and convince her to get up from bed to change the thermostat again, only needing to graze your hand across her chest and press a lingering kiss to the space beneath her chin before she's leaping out of bed and speedwalking down the hall.

and don't even get her started on her libido. the both of you had an amazing sex life already, able to almost instinctually tell what brought the other the most mindblowing pleasure possible. but ever since that night, it's like her desire for you only increased tenfold, barely able to go a day without getting her hands on you or vice versa.

it only reached a head when you decided to truly test her limits.

she had taken up a later shift to help out loris who had a date, which meant by the time she returned home she was too tuckered out to have her way with you. but during times like these, she could always count on the early morning sun waking her up just in the rich window of time for morning sex. but when the light rays peek through her bedroom window and she uses her arm to pull you closer she finds you absent, your side of the bed cold.

after a brief search through the house, she opened her text messages just to find your sent a sweet text only an hour before she’d woken up to tell her your friends had invited you on a last minute girls day around the city the night before, and you didn’t want to wake her from her sleep since she seemed exhausted when she got home.

vi groans and falls back into the pillows, lousily texting you back a short message to tell you she loves you and hopes you have fun with your friends. she’ll be alright, she can go a few more hours without you near.

but only an hour later after she’s showered and eaten a quick breakfast she feels the ache start to build in her chest, eyes darting up to the clock on the wall and groaning when realizes just how long this day is going to feel.

everything she tries to do to keep her mind off of you fails miserably. doing chores? she's thinking back on the time when the both of you first split up household duties when you moved in together, feeling giddy at sharing something so menial with the girl she was enamored with. making herself a protein shake for the gym? now she's stuck in a daydream about all the times you've been in this kitchen together, sharing sweet baked goods and sweeter kisses as you settle into domestic bliss.

she has got to get out of the house.

jayce understood her problem as soon as she called inviting her down to the gym for a few hours to work off any ‘pent-up energy’ she’s currently... unable to get out in her preferred method.

it works for a while, the familiar smell of sweat and the slight ache in her muscles grounding her back into reality as she makes casual gym talk with jayce. she's just starting to feel like the absence of you is off of her mind when she hears your text notification on her phone, accidentally leaving her place as jayces spotter to open up her phone.

as soon as her brain registers that you’ve sent her pictures she makes up some lame excuse to get to the bathroom, tuning out her friend's groan of disapproval as she speed walks to the restrooms and locks herself in one of the stalls.

the first few messages are sweet, little selfies of you and your friends as you enjoy your day together as you get some sweet treats together at one of the malls concession stands. a lovesick smile involuntarily grows on her face, always happy to see you smiling and enjoying yourself with the people who care about you. but her eyes start to squint when you start to send pictures of you trying on various outfits from some of the outlet stores, posing demurely in front of the trying room mirrors.

but then her eyes widen to the size of dinner plates when suddenly shes getting photos of you in her vagina's favorite enemy - lingerie.

even before vi started acting so eager about your body, it wasn't hard for you to catch on to the fact that the woman was so clearly an ass girl. even on five hands, you wouldn't be able to count the number of times you’d caught her staring or sneaking small glances at your behind, not to mention how she thought she was being discreet about her affection for it with the numerous times she’d slap it when walking by you. she tried to laugh it off when you brought it up in conversation, assuring you that she loved each and every part of you and could never pick a favorite.

but now you were determined to really see how much she wanted you, using every dirty trick in the book you could think of. she feels her face get hot as she looks down at her phone, the image of you in lacy lingerie, back facing the mirror as the magenta fabric (nearly the same shade as her hair, jesus christ,) stretches across the swell of your ass and crisis crosses across your back.

her brain short circuits. before she can think about it she’s saving the pictures to her phone and calling you at the speed of light.

“hey, violet. how’s your day?”

“you are so… evil. amazing and beautiful and evil.”

your giggle rings through the receiver, melodic and teasing. “what's the problem? you don't like the set?”

“don’t even joke. when are you getting home?”

“mmm not till late, the girls wanted to go to a club tonight.”

“oh you’ve got to be kidding me-”

“do you want me to send you the address?”

vi hasn't been to a nightclub in months, at first harshly avoiding the hard party scene in favor of her sobriety before feeling no need to indulge in the party scene once her life became more stable, especially after she met you. but she never stopped you from going out and having fun with your friends, tagging along once in a blue moon to sip on a mocktail while she chatted up the bartender and stared at your ass while you danced.

tonight was an extremely necessary blue moon.

the air is hot, and the feel of her drink burns her throat as vi waits at the bar, blue eyes wide and aware as she stares at the club’s crowded entrance like it owes her money. the bartender asks if she’s alright, scared she’s waiting for someone to arrive to jump them before she assures them she’s fine. they slowly nod and get back to making drinks, nearly dropping a glass out of fright when she slams her glass on the bar and quickly makes her way over to you.

if she wasn't so laser-focused on finally getting her hands on you she might've been a little cocky at the fact that you look like you were about to salivate at the sight of her, knowing she made the right decision to wear the tight pants she knew you loved on her. in only a second she’s got her hands settled on your waist, not caring that your friends are laughing at her clear excitement over seeing you in your club outfit, a tiny dress so she can see the wide expanse of your legs, your arms, your shoulder - fuck, the straps of the pink bra aren’t even hidden by the strapless dress-

“wanna dance with me?” your voice is nothing short of flirtatious, and you already know your answer by the way you start to walk past her to the dance floor, already predicting how she follows you like she’s on a leash.

as the both of you grind and dance in the middle of the club every thought racing through vi’s head is centered on you, physically and mentally unable to focus on anything else when she finally has you so close again after what felt like years. she feels a familiar sense of euphoria when her palms glide up and down your waist, smirking to herself when she feels you shudder when her hands reach up to cup and discreetly squeeze your breasts. she’s feeling happy about finally starting to turn the tables back on you before you arch your back into her, your ass pressing into her as your hand reaches up to her head, nails dusting along her cheek before reaching into her hair and pulling.

it’s only to be expected that that’s her breaking point, dragging you through the dancing bodies and into the back of the building until she can find anywhere to get you alone, thanking any god that exists above that she finds an open storage closet and drags you inside, pressing you face first towards the door. a little voice in her head reminds her not to be too rough with you, but it’s quickly silenced when she sees just how much you crave it, how your back is yet again arching and your hands are clenching into fists from their places on the wooden door.

it's nice, to remember that you want her as much as she wants you.

in only a few seconds she’s given into it, pressing you further into the door by pressing her body against yours and grinding her crotch into the fat of your ass, eyes lidded and head dropping to rest on your shoulder from the rush of pleasure she feels below.

“vi, oh my god-” your voice is light and airy, every word almost choked out as you struggle to prevent yourself from moaning out and alerting every person in the bar about what the two of you were up to.

“i know, fuck, I know, baby. i just-” she cuts herself off with a groan when she lets her hand travel down your front and under your dress to your panties, face running hot when she feels just how wet you’ve gotten. she’s all but rushing to ruche up your dress, mind going fuzzy yet again at seeing the pink fabric covering your ass and how it feels under her when she begins humping you yet again.

“nngh, knew it. knew you were an ass girl.” you giggle.

“god, please stop talking-”

whatever snarky little comment you were going to make dies in your throat when her arm comes up and around your neck to hold your jaw, turning your head around and smashing her lips onto yours. you whimper and moan into her mouth, violet greedily eating the noises of your pleasure as she takes you up against the door.

you pull back for a few seconds to catch your breath, both of your eyes drifting to the thin trail of saliva connecting your lips together.

she can feel it, then. an almost electric charge that runs form her body into yours. you lean into her touch, arch into her further like you’re trying ot merge your bodies into one. when her other hand tightens around the pushed-up fabric of your dress and she gets that absolutely adorable scrunch between her eyebrows you know what she’s asking, and you gently nod your head.

and so she presses her lips back to yours, her crotch further into your ass, and rides you in the cramped nightclub storage closet. she's grateful that you seem to be enjoying it just as much as she is, her mind completely focused on getting closer and closer to her peak. she can feel it building quickly, a growing heat below her stomach reach to burst at any moment. all it takes is you, sucking on her tongue before mumbling muffled words into her mouth begging for her to finish against you. she cums with a stifled moan into your mouth, only amplified when she feels you shudder and go loose in the legs beneath her.

you’re both panting, sweaty, and tired as you stare at each other. it’s a comfortable silence as you help each other adjust - vi fixing your dress and you attempting to put her hair back in her signature style.

“so,” your voice lilts up as vi’s busy fixing her jacket, debating if she wants to take it off to cool down or not, knwoing she’ll probably just wrap it around your arms outside anyway. “you gonna admit it yet?”

she rolls her eyes, looking at you with an exasperated but fond look in her eyes that makes your stomach flip. “you just love being proven right, don’t you?”

“absolutely.”

“fine, you were right. are you happy?”

“very. now, let’s go home annnd maybe,” your fingers hook into the loops of her pants and tug her closer,”you can show me a little more just how much you need me, yeah?”

maybe, vi would show her neediness for you more often. just a little.

[travelingtwentysomething]

Eddie is impressed.

Eddie is half chubbed up.

Eddie realizes Steve is actually sort of intimidating.

Eddie doesn't like feeling like this guy is somehow looking down on him and his antics like he's some spoiled rich brat.

Like Eddie doesn't know the struggle.

Eddie hates Steve.

Steve continues to work for Eddie, ignoring all his moods like a mom ignoring a toddler's tantrum, happily anticipating his needs and being more competent than anyone in his position has any right to be.

Over the first few months After Steve, Eddie's mercurial moods swing wildly from "I'm going to make your life hell until you quit", to "damn this man is so incredibly sexy I want to make him quit his job so I can spoil him".

But at this point, Eddie is spoiled.

Steve gets absolutely everything right- he is perfect.

Eddie spills his coffee on his shirt in the car on his way to the Grammys, his stylist team is having a conniption in the back of the limo-

Steve calmly pulls his backpack into his lap, and out of it comes a tide pen, baby wipes, a portable steamer, and a battery powered blow-dryer. (Who even knew that was a thing?) And in the 20 minute wait in the limo line on the red carpet, Steve has him out of his dress shirt (that's tossed to the side unsalvageable) and the Gucci suit clean and pressed like nothing ever happened. And as an added touch- Steve pulled out a brush and some highlighter to put a dash of glitter on his collarbones, the cleavage above his pecs, and a little dot on each of his abs. So when Eddie steps out of the car he "looks like a wet dream instead of another boring rockstar in a designer suit".

At least that's what Rolling Stone said when the pictures got published all over their website to massive fanfare.

Eventually, Eddie can't help but catch himself smiling in the morning when he wakes up with his first thought being excitement to see Steve and get their day started. Instead of barking orders and tantrums, they somehow get to the point where they're joking with each other and even sharing actual conversations.

Steve becomes so integral to Eddie's brightened mood and new outlook on life, Eddie starts dreading Steve's days off. It's in his contract that any day Eddie isn't scheduled to work an event, a concert, or a studio day, Steve has the option to take a paid day off to catch up on his own life.

So Eddie becomes a workaholic.

If he's not on tour or in the studio, he's got some promo, photoshoot, or work social event scheduled. He's even taken up a modeling contract and become a brand ambassador for Gucci. When that still left a few days free here and there, he started looking into acting gigs.

He had never been so productive, and so astronomically famous.

Eddie's music was also coming easier, Steve was his muse.

Eddie was so inspired he's been cranking out songs so often, and in so many styles and genres, that his publishing deal had quadrupled in value and he's sold more number one hits to other artists over their first year together than Eddie had songs on Corroded Coffin's albums combined.

Steve is with him every step of the way. He never complains, he always has a smile on his face for Eddie, and he tells him all the time how much he seems to have grown in the last year, and how proud he is to watch it all happen for him.

Eddie feels like an asshole.

Eddie is unequivocally and unconditionally in love with Steve.

Eddie is Steve's boss.

No matter how much they act like friends (and occasionally engage in flirty banter) Steve is off limits, because Eddie may be a rotten asshole at his core, but he would never abuse his power like that.

But maybe he already has.

He has ruined Steve's life.

Eddie realizes a few days before their one year anniversary (Eddie is only calling it that in his head, he doesn't want to sound like a psychopath) he has isolated Steve from his own life so much that he hasn't asked for a day off in 6 months.

Steve never seems to take any time for himself anymore. He even has a room at Eddie's house because he spends about 5 nights a week there since Eddie tells him he doesn't want to deal with the chaos it puts his busy and tight schedule into when Steve gets waylaid by his commute in LA traffic.

Steve barely spends more than a few hours at a time away from Eddie, and he only sees his one friend- Chrissy's wife Robin- on nights he's not staying at Eddie's. Which means that commute comes with a side of exhaustion because he always comes back with bruises under his swollen eyes like he'd stayed up too late trying to catch up with his best friend and fit an entire week's worth of socializing squeezed into one or two nights a week.

Eddie wants to be a good person and let go of Steve so he can find a job with a healthier work-life balance, somewhere with a boss that doesn't treat him like a slave to his own whims and fancies, a boss that doesn't secretly hope that one day Steve will fall into his bed and into his arms like this isn't some 50 shades of bullshit arrangement.

Eddie is terrified to lose Steve.

To his horror, the day comes unexpectedly on their anniversary.

Steve gave him a speech about how Steve had loved being a part of Eddie's journey, how he had watched Eddie grow with awe, how he was inspired every day by Eddie's drive, and his art, and his kindness. Steve praised him for the way his attitude about life had taken a 180 turn from when they met a year ago. He thanked Eddie for taking Steve along for the ride, becoming his best friend, and respecting him above all else.

But Steve needed to go. Because he had reached his limit. He had done everything he could for Eddie, but it was time that Steve "joined the real world again and stopped living in a fantasy".

Steve would always be here for Eddie as a friend, but he had to go out and build a life for himself.

Eddie thanked Steve and told him he understood, that he valued Steve's friendship above everything, and that he would be getting the biggest bonus and one hell of a severance package.

Eddie went home to his empty house and drank until he blacked out.

When he woke up his kitchen and living room looked like someone had opened up a rage room and taken a bat to anything that wasn't nailed down. He looked in the corner of the room and saw a bat sticking out of the drywall next to the sliding glass door.

Okay, so he hadn't been robbed.

Then why did it feel like someone had stolen his heart straight out of his chest like a Mortal Kombat Finisher?

When Chrissy walked through his front door just as the afternoon was turning to evening and Eddie was on his third hair-of-the-dog, he didn't even uncurl himself from his fetal position on a couch afloat amongst a sea of glass and wood scraps from what was once a very expensive coffee table.

"Oh you poor, poor-" Chrissy crooned, "stupid fucking idiot." She slapped a pillow so hard down on his head that he was seeing Chrissy's identical twin floating above her for a minute or two.

Eddie sat up, indignant, ready to lay into Chrissy for the assault on his already wounded body and soul, but was thrown back down to the couch by another smack of the pillow, this time to his chest.

Seems like Chrissy really hadn't let herself go since playing herself through college on that softball scholarship.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Chrissy shrieked with fury Eddie had only seen from her once. (Her high school boyfriend, Jason, had gate crashed her wedding and tried to "object" when she was about to say her vows to Robin on the grounds that "Chrissy isn't gay, she's just confused by California's woke agenda and should come home to Indiana with him".)

Eddie threw himself over the back of the couch and landed ungracefully on the hardwood floor, groaning in pain, but happy to have put a couch between him and Chrissy's pillow. He popped his head over the back of the couch and had to duck back down quickly to avoid a rocket from Chrissy's throwing arm.

"Chrissy! What the hell is going on?" Eddie cried from his prone position behind the couch.

"Why don't YOU TELL ME, EDDIE?!" Chrissy screamed. "Steve showed up at mine and Robin's last night bawling his eyes out and he and Robin locked themselves up in our bedroom and I haven't heard anything from either of them for the last 12 hours except for the one time Robin came out to collect the 6 bags of food she ordered from the convenience store at 3 am, and all I could get out of her was that Steve had finally quit."

Eddie popped back up from behind the couch, only to receive a pillow to the dome, a crunch swiftly followed by a groan the only sound he was able to make as he fell back, nose gushing blood.

"Oh my God, Eddie, FUCK!" Chrissy jumped over the couch and landed on the other side and crouched down next to Eddie, he flinched when her hands came up to hover over his broken nose. "Shit, I'm sorry! Fuck, let's go to the kitchen, you need a towel and some ice." She grabbed his elbow and dragged him up, escorting him to a seat at the counter while she ran over to the fridge and grabbed a bag of frozen peas and a kitchen towel from the drawer next to the sink.

"Here-" Eddie snatched the bag of peas from her before she could get any closer to his broken nose. "Sorry, look, I came in here ready to calmly ask what happened, but I saw you drunk in your living room that looks like the suite at the Four Season's after CC's first Grammy and I thought that we were past all this. Eddie, you've been doing so much better for so long, what the hell happened last night?" Chrissy looked around at the devastation, landing back on Eddie and seeing it reflected in his eyes.

"Oh. Oh, you poor, poor-"

"—Stupid fucking idiot." Eddie groaned. He couldn't stand to see the understanding in Chrissy's eyes and so he folded his arms and laid his head down on the counter, cold peas pillowing his swollen eyes and nose.

"Wait. I'm confused. So you finally told him?" Chrissy asked.

"Told him what, Chris? That I'm in love with him? I didn't get the chance." Eddie hiccupped into his frozen peas, never lifting his head, curly hair acting as a curtain around his face, hiding his shame from his oldest friend and manager. "Steve quit. Said he needed to stop living in a fantasy, join the real world, and build a life for himself. But that he'd always be here for me as a friend-" Eddie couldn't stop the sob from escaping his chest.

Chrissy pulled him off the counter and into her arms.

Eddie cried like a baby.

When he calmed finally and could breath normally again, they had somehow migrated to the couch in his fully intact living room at the front of the house.

"Eddie, I don't want to alarm you. But I think you really are an idiot." Chrissy patted his shoulder fondly.

Eddie pulled away from her, appalled at her lack of empathy.

"Don't give me that look. Think for a second." Chrissy grabbed his hand and in both of her tiny ones. "Steve is at my place right now, devastated, just like you. He told you he needed to stop living in a fantasy, and build a life for himself. That he's always going to be your friend." Chrissy looked imploringly into Eddie's eyes, willing him to understand the conclusion she was slowly coming to.

"Yeah, that's what he said, Chris, you don't have to rub it in." Eddie scoffed uncharitably, ripping his hand back.

"No, Eddie." Chrissy hopped up onto her knees, excitement building as she got more sure of her theory, grabbing Eddie's hand again, "Steve is not okay. He is holed up with his best friend in the break up protocol- ice cream, junk food, and platonic cuddles in bed. He doesn't know that you see him as more than just a friend. And he is devastated that he is always going to be your friend, and he has to give up the fantasy, and go build a life for himself-" by now Chrissy was bouncing next to Eddie, her smile chasing away the clouds that had darkened his eyes, "—because he doesn't realize that you want to build a life with him."

"You don't think you're reaching a little here, Chris?" Eddie asked, though he couldn't help the glimmer of hope that had already taken root in his chest, chasing away the darkness that had been clawing its way deeper since Steve walked away from him last night.

"Eddie, if you don't get your ass off this couch and over to my place right now and go profess your undying love to Steve I'm going to beat your face in." Chrissy said with a sincerity that scared Eddie into standing immediately and looking for his keys.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for my keys."

"We're taking my car."

"Well then let's fuckin go, I have to go get my heart back."

"Jesus that was cheesy."

"Shut up, I have six Grammys."

"Well four of those are from this year, so you better get Steve back or clearly you can kiss your songwriting career goodbye."

"Heeeeyyyyy."

“vickie!” eddie practically screams from his kitchen, rage coursing through him as he stares down at the tabloids spread out in front of him on the counter. “get in here! now!”

eddie’s had an issue with his rage lately. well. he’s had an issue with a lot of things, since he got famous, really. but that’s not his problem right now.

his problem is he’s looking down at image after image of himself on the covers of people and us weekly and entertainment tonight being dragged out of last night’s night club by his own security team with blood pouring from his nose. he looks angry. he looks crazed.

just then, a stranger walks into his kitchen.

“who the fuck are you?” he blurts out at the man, who’s wearing a dark green sweater vest over a white t-shirt and tortoise-shell glasses.

“i’m steve,” the weirdo stalker says, smiling brightly. he has surprisingly swoopy hair for an insane fan. “i’m your new assistant.”

“where’s vickie?” eddie asks, rubbing at the sore spot on his nose. thank god it’s not broken.

“you fired her,” steve tells him. “two days ago.”

“i fire her all the time.”

“ok, well… i guess this time it stuck,” steve shrugs. “chrissy hired me.”

“fucking chrissy,” eddie says under his breath, rolling his eyes. he pulls out his phone from the pocket of his sweatpants and speed dials chrissy. “chris, what the fuck?” he doesn’t even give her the chance to say hello.

“good morning, eddie. i’m doing really well, how are you?”

“not fucking well, that’s how i am!” eddie practically yells into the receiver. “what the fuck? did you see the pictures? and who the fuck is this guy in my house?”

“yes, eddie, i saw the pictures.” eddie can hear the eye roll in her voice. “we’re handling it. nancy’s already on it with the team. what was the other thing?”

eddie knows she’s fucking with him and that pisses him off even more. “who is this freak in my house wearing a goddamn sweater vest?!” he feels like a blood vessel in his eye is about to pop.

“hey,” steve protests softly from across the kitchen where he’s started to pull shit out of eddie’s fridge. he didn’t even know there was anything in that fridge.

“that’s not a very nice way to talk about your new assistant,” chrissy’s voice comes loud and clear through the phone.

“christina fucking cunningham, you know i have final say on all hiring decisions when it comes to my assistants.” he rubs at his sore nose again.

“you had final say on all hiring decisions until you fired vickie for the thirteenth time and she refused to come back, even with a three hundred percent raise. we’re going in a different direction now.” chrissy sounds entirely too pleased with herself.

“well, i fucking hate him,” eddie grumbles and watches steve to make sure he’s heard him. steve doesn’t even react, just continues doing whatever the fuck he’s doing with the frying pan he’d found in the cabinet.

“you don’t even know him, eddie. give him a chance. anyway, i have to go, i have brunch plans with my very beautiful, very intelligent, perfect fiancée,” chrissy tells him, gloating, before hanging up on him.

eddie wants desperately to throw his phone across the kitchen, but if he breaks this one that would be his fourth phone in three weeks and he couldn’t bear to have to ask this steve person to go buy him a new one. he settles for squeezing it in his hand until it creaks while taking several deep breaths through his nose.

“what are you doing?” he grits out.

“are you always this rude?” steve asks, ignoring his question.

“to weirdo freak strangers showing up in my house unannounced? yes.”

“it’s not unannounced, chrissy wrote it on your calendar.” steve gestures toward the paper calendar hanging on the side of the fridge where chrissy writes his major life events and which eddie mostly just ignores before sliding a plate full of food toward eddie.

“what is this?” eddie sneers.

“it’s an omelette with cheese and mushrooms,” steve replies, smiling. he’s always fucking smiling.

“i’m allergic to… omelettes,” eddie says, just to be a dick.

“no you’re not. you’re allergic to blueberries and dust.” steve doesn’t stop smiling pleasantly.

“did you get access to my medical records? that’s a violation of my… whatever rights.” eddie waves a hand through the air.

“no, i didn’t go look at your medical records, jesus. i’m not a stalker. chrissy told me when she hired me.”

“whatever. i still fucking hate you.”

“okay,” steve shrugs again. “eat your breakfast.”

eddie has every intention of leaving the kitchen, full plate of food and all, but. he is hungry.

so he eats.

and he’s pissed that it’s actually good.

~*~

eddie spends the rest of the day being a general nuisance to steve any time he tries to do his job. when steve answers the phone before handing it to eddie, eddie “accidentally” hangs up on whoever it is on the hand off & makes sure to blame his new assistant when the person finally calls back. when steve has to drive him to his meeting with nancy and the pr team, eddie tries to give him the wrong directions, but steve’s too smart for that. when steve has to do the grocery shopping, he makes steve go to the erewhon all the way across town during rush hour because the one down the street “just doesn’t have the same vibe, steve.”

and all the while, steve just does his job, still smiling, not getting angry at all even though it’s beyond obvious eddie’s being a little shit to him.

which honestly just pisses eddie off more than anything else today.

“here’s some aspirin,” steve says, placing two white pills on the coffee table in front of eddie, along with a mason jar of water. eddie, lounging on his big squishy couch, pulls the ice pack away from his nose, which has started throbbing again. “you didn’t have any glasses.” steve shrugs when he sees eddie’s arched eyebrow looking skeptically at the jar of water. “if you don’t need anything else, i’ll take off for the day.”

it’s past 8pm already, long after steve should have left for the day except that eddie had made him stay to organize his extensive tshirt collection by color, shade, and design before he could even think about going home. it was an emergency, after all.

“i’ll have to check the t-shirt closet first,” eddie replies, before swallowing the aspirin dry. steve shrugs again and rolls his eyes. eddie would say something about his blatant rudeness, but he’s too exhausted.

eddie pulls himself off the couch and makes his way down the hallway to his “t-shirt room.” it’s so stupid, but he has all this space and he’d started collecting the tshirts so long ago. they’re not worth anything, they’re just his wardrobe but… they remind him of wayne and the thrifting they used to do every saturday morning.

the organization eddie had been having steve do was entirely arbitrary. it’s not like eddie plans his outfits. he mostly just pulls whatever out of wherever, unless it’s an event and then he pays someone to do the deciding and dressing for him anyway.

but. steve’s organized the t-shirts by genre and subgenre and then by band alphabetically and finally color. more than eddie had even asked him to do.

eddie had come in here fully prepared to rip steve a new one, but even he can be shocked into appreciation.

steve notices eddie’s silence and grins.

“can i tell you something?” steve says pleasantly and then continues without even letting eddie respond to the question. “i know i look like a nice polite guy next door that moms totally love—it’s the sweater vests, i think.” steve plucks at his top. “and that’s true. i am a nice polite guy and moms do love me. i’m awesome.” his grin widens. “but i got kicked out of my parents house when i was 18 and i lived in my car for a while. i’ve been on my own for seven years. i made a life in LA out of nothing. so you can throw your little temper tantrums and tell me how much you hate me. you can make me go to the erewhon all the way across town and you can make me look incompetent to my colleagues. but i need this job. i’ve worked hard for this job. this job pays more than any other job i’ve ever had combined. and you’re hardly the biggest asshole i’ve ever met. so you can continue trying to make my life miserable—hell, i’ll even give you my dad’s number, you guys can swap ideas!” steve laughs at his own joke before turning serious for the first time all day. “but i’m not vickie. you won’t make me cry. you can’t fire me. i’m not going anywhere.” he claps his hands together. “anyway, i’m gonna take off, since i have plans with my actual friends. but hey, i’ll see you tomorrow, huh?” and he smiles again, giving eddie a small waggle of his fingers, before heading out through the door.

eddie’s still just standing there in the middle of his tshirt room when he hears the front door slam shut.

[gyubakeries]

𝗴𝗹𝗶𝗺𝗽𝘀𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘂𝘀 | k.mg

a/n: trust mingyu to do something and completely throw my world off-kilter. i cried after listening to the cover because the song is that meaningful to me. mingyu if i ever meet you i will hug you. and cry. also, thank you skye ( @etherealyoungk ) for entertaining all my ramblings abt this fic <3 shoutout to kae ( @ylangelegy ) because i finished this just to torture u 🙂‍↕️

a BIGGGG thank you to cori ( @seoloquent ), ally ( @lovetaroandtaemin ), lou ( @tusswrites ), rae ( @nerdycheol ) and lexi ( @heechwe ) for beta-reading!! u guys helped me bring the fic together 🫂 ally ( @lovetaroandtaemin ) made this beautiful banner for this fic too!! thank u so much ally <33

and without further ado, glimpse of us gyu!

🏆 this fic is part of the angst olympics collab! check out the main masterlist here <3

word count: 8.1k contents: mingyu x f!reader , photographer!mingyu , heavy angst as u can tell , post break-up , grief , drinking , implied sexual content but nothing in detail , the tragic nature of relationships that crash and burn , mingyu is lowkey an ass , but he's making up for it , the narrative switches between the past and present , flashbacks are in italics , happy ending

it's all wrong.

when mingyu wakes up, a white ceiling presses down on him, the scent of oranges suffocates him, and skin that is brushing against his isn't warm.

he feels uneasy, his skin prickling at all these foreign sensations.

it's all wrong.

he should have been looking up at tattered glow-in-the-dark stickers on a pale blue ceiling. he should have been in the embrace of sweet roses that always managed to make him feel at home. he should have been touching skin that keeps him warm through the coldest winter nights.

he should have done a lot of other things too.

he didn't.

—

"y/n, i know you're in there," comes your best friend's voice. he's teetering on the edge of exasperation, but you can only laugh to yourself.

it's a pathetic sound, and you can only think of when it used to be much happier.

"you better be decent," seungkwan warns, before he's punching in the code to your apartment and letting himself in. the stench of alcohol hits him first, and then his eyes land on you—slumped against the couch, hand clutching an empty bottle of alcohol, and a hazy look in your red-rimmed eyes.

"you promised you wouldn't do this to yourself anymore," seungkwan whispers, biting back all the nagging and scolding when he sees your blank, regretful smile.

"promises aren't a real concept anymore, kwan," you croak out, voice hoarse from all the crying. "they're never real."

you repeat the words like a mantra, sometimes in your head, and sometimes out loud. seungkwan bites his tongue to stop himself from crying in front of you as he helps you get off the floor, drink some water, and sleep in your bed.

"i'll stay the night," seungkwan tells you, already pulling out the air mattress he bought for himself ever since you started drinking to the brink of alcohol poisoning. "tell me if you need anything."

him, you think. i need him. kim mingyu. he's all i’ve ever needed.

seungkwan can read your mind, and he stays silent after that.

you fall asleep without saying anything, and old glow-in-the-dark stars and real laughter haunt your dreams again.

—

it was the most beautiful thing you'd experienced in your life before it became the ugliest.

kim mingyu entered your life like a tornado when he crashed into your car on a sunday morning, four years ago. he left you with a wrecked rear bumper, a rapidly beating heart, his number scrawled across your palm, and a promise of taking you out on a date.

you forgot about the rear bumper quickly after that, and texted the number the second mingyu walked out of the car repair shop.

. . .

you (11:30 a.m.) :

ill be waiting on that date, kim mingyu

mingyu (11:31 a.m.) :

lets go grab brunch together

im still standing right outside

you (11:32 a.m.) :

see you there :)

. . .

it was no surprise that you fell for him as fast as you did.

it was difficult not to. especially when mingyu was the man of your dreams.

he'd hold your hand for every second of your dates, even after you told him your palms get sweaty. he'd remember all the tiny little details about you that only your best friend would know. he'd know exactly what food you dislike, and would never order it for himself either.

mingyu quickly fell for you too.

with every meal at random restaurants. with every movie night spent cuddling under a single blanket. with every touch of your hand, with every press of your lips, with every second he spends with you, he fell.

it took two months after the car crash for mingyu to ask you to be his girlfriend.

when you met seungkwan for your regular catch-up session, you told him about mingyu.

"he's perfect, seungkwan," you sighed dreamily. "i think he's the one."

seungkwan loves it when you're happy, but he hated that you were so blind in your love for mingyu to give all of yourself to him so quickly.

he gave you a silent smile. maybe, just maybe, if you'd taken a moment to reconsider taking things at a slower pace with mingyu, if you hadn't been so swept up in his charming eyes or your strong attraction to him, you would've read the look in seungkwan's eyes.

the look of caution.

—

it's the same look seungkwan is giving you now, as you down your fourth shot of.... something.

"slow down?" you tilt your head, the word feeling unfamiliar on your tongue. "when have i ever taken things slow?"

the night ends the way it ends every other time; seungkwan has to drag you back to your apartment, make sure you don't trip on the unopened boxes of furniture, give you water, and then sleep on the air mattress placed permanently next to your bed.

the next morning starts the way it usually does; you throw your guts up the second your eyes open, and all the wounds the alcohol helped close for you open up once again.

—

back then, despite all of seungkwan's kind warnings, you ignored him. you knew you loved mingyu, and mingyu loved you back. seungkwan never brought up the topic again. he convinced himself that you were an adult, and you knew what you were doing.

for the two years of happiness you spent with mingyu, you thought the same.

it was one of those whirlwind romances people see in the movies.

in month three of your relationship, you shared pieces of your heart with mingyu that you've never shared with other people. you'd fallen in deep.

in month five, you both said i love you to each other. some say it's too soon, but you could only think of how it wasn't soon enough. you fell in deeper.

by month eight, you moved in with him. mingyu started coming home to you cooking him dinner. you'd spend the night washing dishes and then slow dancing in the living room with all the lights turned down low. the two of you kept falling, hurtling downwards rapidly, without any care for when the end might come.

after a year with mingyu, you were already hearing wedding bells and looking up wedding dresses on pinterest.

it's too soon. it's too fast. slow down.

a seungkwan-like voice kept nagging you from the back of your head, but you tuned it out.

what mingyu and you have is true love. true love doesn't need to be taken slow.

—

he's at the club. there's a girl hanging off his arm, her hand splayed across his chest, and the strong scent of lavender makes him want to throw up.

for a second, mingyu almost says, i have a girlfriend, please leave.

but he realises that he doesn't. not anymore.

mingyu forces himself to look at the girl who's been chatting his ear off for an hour, and he feels sick to his stomach when he realises that she isn't you.

no one will ever be you.

still, mingyu finds himself pressed up against her on the dance floor. still, he lets her take him back to her apartment. still, he finds himself touching her.

and still, it's your face, your body, your voice, your presence that haunts him.

mingyu would give up all his senses if it meant that he wouldn't have the image of you burned into the back of his eyelids every time he closes them.

(mingyu’s also a liar, because giving up his senses means giving up the only way he'd be able to see you, now that you've left his life for good.)

—

"will you marry me?" mingyu asks, and the question knocks the air out of your lungs. you're tangled up under the sheets, mingyu's arm draped on your waist, and your leg swung across his hip.

"you're kidding me, right?" you laugh, going back to drawing random patterns on mingyu's skin.

mingyu wordlessly turns around, and you miss the absence of his touch for all of three seconds. you hear him rummaging through the drawer of the bedside table, and for a moment, mingyu's words feel real.

the realization sets in when mingyu turns back to you, a blue velvet box in his hands.

"open it up," he tells you, and with trembling hands, you take the box and open it.

inside, there's a beautiful diamond ring, and your breath hitches in your throat.

"mingyu-"

"i love you, y/n," he cuts you off, and you hear his voice go raspy and high like it does whenever he's on the verge of tears. "you're the only person i've ever felt this strongly for. i know that we've been together only for two years, and people might call me foolish for rushing into things so quickly, but i'm sure of this. this is—you are—all i've ever wanted.."

you feel mingyu shift in bed next to you, and you turn to see him sitting up. he takes your hands in his and pulls you up to sit next to him. he doesn't let go as he takes the ring out from the box and holds it in front of your ring finger.

"i've never been more serious about anything before, so don't think this is just a heat-of-the-moment thing," mingyu says, nervousness seeping into his tone. "y/n, will you marry me?"

think about it. it's only been two years. this is an important decision. take it sl-

"yes."

"yes?" mingyu asks in disbelief.

"yes, mingyu," you nod, tears flooding your eyes. "i will marry you."

the feeling of mingyu slipping the ring onto your finger, the feeling of mingyu pulling you in for a passionate kiss, the feeling of both your hearts intertwining because of this new shift in your relationship outweighs and drowns out the voice of caution in your head.

take it slow.

but it feels so right.

—

"seungkwan, you said you had a friend who asked for my number, right?"

it was a random thursday evening, and seungkwan was at your place, helping you clear out all the boxes in your living room from your shift to a new apartment.

"yeah, his name is wonwoo," seungkwan nods, looking at you with curiosity. "why do you wanna know?"

"you can give him my number," you say, eyes not meeting seungkwan's inquisitive gaze.

"y/n, are you sure?" seungkwan asks, standing up from his corner to go sit next to you. "it's only been five months-"

"you told me i should be moving on, right?" you cut him off. "that's what i'm doing."

"that quickly?" seungkwan questions. "y/n, i know you, so you don't have to pretend to be okay. you guys were engaged, and you expect me to believe that you're ready to see other people? it's not fair to you or wonwoo."

"i know what i'm doing," you sigh. "but fine, if you won't set me up with wonwoo, i can just go find another date. it's not that big of a deal-"

"you still love him," seungkwan states firmly.

you ignore him and continue talking. "i can't just mope around and sulk forever. i need to-"

"you're still in love with kim mingyu, don't even try to deny it, y/n," seungkwan stops you again. "i'm your best friend, and i can see it in your eyes. "

your shoulders droop, and you look at a picture frame you picked up from one of the boxes.

a girl was sitting next to a large window, an oversized hoodie draped over her figure. her face was turned away from the camera, and her long hair fell down her shoulders in messy waves.

it was just a picture, but anyone looking at it would feel warmth, and love. when you looked at it, the feelings once associated with it had gone cold a long time back.

your hands run through your hair, now cut short and barely reaching past your shoulders, and you toss the picture frame into the box labelled 'waste'.

—

click!

you whip your head around to see mingyu crouched on the floor, camera held up to his face, and the lens directed at you.

"gyu! my hair probably looks like a bird's nest now," you whine, realizing that he had taken a picture of you. you get up from the windowsill you were sitting on and go over to your boyfriend.

wanting a peek at his sneaky picture, you grab at his arms to steal a glance at his camera, but your attempts fail as he swiftly dodges all of your attacks. with his long arms, he's able to set the camera out of your reach. however, before you can protest, he picks you up in his arms and kisses you softly.

"good morning, love," he whispers against your lips, and you wrap your arms around his neck tighter.

"i wish you didn't have to go," you mumble, pressing kisses to all of mingyu's face.

"i'll be back before you know it," he assures you with a hint of sincerity in his eyes.

mingyu was leaving for a three-month photography tour he had been invited to. it was an important milestone for him, because it meant that he was finally getting acknowledged in the industry. and as his girlfriend, no, fiancée, you obviously had to support him.

but it didn't mean that you were going to miss him any less.

"you need to text me at least thrice a day, send me loads of pictures, and facetime whenever you're free, got it?" you remind him, and he laughs.

"what if you're asleep when i facetime you?"

"i'll wake up to talk to you," you nod resolutely. "i expect daily updates, kim mingyu."

"yes ma'am," he salutes, and you laugh too.

soon, it's time for mingyu to get into a cab that will take him to the airport, and all you can do is wave goodbye and kiss him deeply before he steps into the car.

"i love you," he tells you, and you mouth the words back to him as the window of the car rolls up.

the cab drives away, and you're left standing on the sidewalk, still wearing mingyu's hoodie.

the first two weeks pass smoothly, with mingyu's incessant texts and calls. aside from the fact that you were sleeping alone in your shared bed, and there wasn't anyone to have your meals with, it almost felt like mingyu had never left.

you get a package at the start of week three. it's from mingyu, and upon opening it, you see that it's a framed picture.

the photograph is black and white, and you recognize it as the picture he had secretly taken of you the morning he left.

a note in the package reads:

'this city is beautiful, but i miss the beauty of having you by my side the most. just a couple more months, and i'll be back. with love, mingyu.'

just two more months, you tell yourself, clutching the frame to your chest.

little did you know, two months was more than enough time for your relationship to come falling apart.

castles made out of sand don't last for long, after all; all it takes is one wave for it to be swept off.

—

"can i get another one of these?" you ask the bartender, gesturing to your empty glass, and he nods. you slump up against the bar again, the events of the evening replaying in your head.

you had finally gone out on a date with a guy from work. he had shown interest in you for a long time, but back then, you had a ring on your finger and the vague promise of a wedding looming over your head.

now, however, you were free to date whomever you wanted.

(if freedom meant living without the one person who your heart longs for the most, you wish you could give it up.)

the date had been a disaster.

the entire time, while the guy kept talking about his interests and his dog, all you could see in front of you was tan skin, pointy canines, a mole decorating the tip of the nose, and the warm smile you loved so dearly.

all you could see was mingyu.

no matter how much you tried, you couldn't get him out of your head. it got to the point where your brain tuned the guy out completely, and for a while, your senses stopped working.

all you could feel was mingyu, mingyu, mingyu.

"i have to go," you had choked out apologetically before rushing out of the restaurant and heading to the nearest bar to get shit-faced.

"why am i so pathetic?" you mutter to yourself, a few hours later, in the back of seungkwan's car. "why can't i stop loving him? even after he hurt me?"

"the heart wants what it wants" seungkwan sighs, glancing back at your limp figure in his car.

"you'll be okay, y/n," he tells you, but you're not sure if you ever will.

everywhere you look, all you see is mingyu.

—

by month two of his photography trip, mingyu had stopped texting as frequently, and that's exactly when everything began to fall apart.

your texts went unanswered for hours, and you would get only a few short replies from mingyu over the span of multiple days, so, eventually, you stopped texting him about your day in detail.

he never answered your calls, so, eventually, you stopped calling him whenever you missed him at night.

and then came the next change: mingyu called you, a week before he was set to come back home, only to tell you that the photographer he's idolized all his life wanted mingyu to join him in america for a month.

"it's the opportunity of a lifetime," mingyu said, voice brimming with excitement. "but if you don't want me to-"

"mingyu, you're going to america," you cut him off. "i'm so happy for you, love. and don't worry about me, i'll manage just fine for another month."

"thank god, i expected you to start crying over the phone," mingyu said with a laugh, and it was probably a joke, but the words stung a little more than they should have. "okay, i gotta go. talk to you later?"

"sure, gyu," you replied, trying to tamp down the momentary sadness you felt. "i love y-"

the line went dead before you could finish, and your heart sunk.

mingyu stops saying that he loves you, so, eventually, you stop saying it too.

—

ten months have passed since the breakup, and you're finally getting a hold on yourself. there are some bad days where you can't even get out of bed without crying your eyes out over the absence of him in your life. but on other days, you manage to shower, make yourself breakfast, go to work, and distract yourself from the fact that you're going home to an apartment that feels strange and unfamiliar; a far cry from the coziness of the home you shared with mingyu.

still, you keep pushing through. it's a new beginning, you tell yourself, even though all you want to do is go back to the past.

you tell seungkwan just as much, and all he says in response is, "remind yourself of why you left, y/n. yes, you loved each other, but maybe love isn't always enough."

so, on a particularly bad sunday morning, that marked five years since the day you had first met mingyu, you let yourself remember exactly why you left him.

you don't leave the bed till later that evening, when you have no more tears left to shed, and the scars of past memories have been etched into your skin all over again.

—

five months. it's been five months since mingyu left for his three-month photography trip, and he's set to come home today.

you spent all morning cleaning the house, calling his mother for his favorite recipes, and putting on his favorite dress, just to make everything perfect.

the last text you had sent him had gone unanswered since the previous night, hence you had no idea what time mingyu's flight would land. you wait the entire day for the apartment door to open, but afternoon shifts to evening, fresh food goes stale, and mingyu still isn't home.

it's close to 1 in the morning when you're awoken by another presence in the living room. you had fallen asleep on the couch after eating instant ramen for dinner, but when you open your eyes, all sleep leaves you in an instant.

"mingyu," you whisper, and your fiance sets down his suitcase and bags, opening his arms up for a hug. you rush to him and hug him tightly, burying your face in the crook of his neck, dirty airport clothes be damned.

"i missed you so much," you whisper, and mingyu only responds with a kiss to your shoulder. he pulls back first, and you see the exhaustion written all over his face.

"can we talk in the morning?" he asks, giving you a small smile. "i'm really tired now."

"of course," you nod. mingyu kisses your forehead as a small thank you before leaving to shower. you'd be lying if you said you didn't feel disappointed when he didn't even hold you in your sleep that night.

it's alright, he's just tired, you tell yourself. and that night, you still shiver in the cold bed, even though mingyu is back in it.

—

the talk never happens the next morning. mingyu leaves for a photoshoot right after breakfast, and you haven't even had the chance to kiss him properly ever since he came back home.

the talk never happens at all. you both move past it, as if the last four months of silence and distance hadn't affected your relationship at all.

it was wishful thinking on your part to think that you and mingyu could bounce back from the last four months unscathed. you tried so hard to not to overthink how mingyu wasn't the same anymore.

he'd work longer hours, and when you asked him about his day, he'd just give you short answers. he'd rarely say the words 'i love you' back to you. his smiles stopped reaching his eyes. his body stopped seeking your touch.

it felt like with every passing day, the chasm that had formed between you and mingyu grew wider, and you had no idea how to cross over it.

one year passes after mingyu proposed, and he never even brings up the wedding.

you delete the wedding pinterest board on your phone.

—

it's been a year since the breakup, and you're driving to meet seungkwan for sunday brunch, when a sudden push from the back jostles you, and you hear the loud crunch of metal.

shit.

you're immediately rushing out of the car to assess the situation. your rear bumper has been completely destroyed, and the owner of the car that bumped into yours is already apologizing frantically, when you realize—

"mingyu?" your voice is a strangled thing as you bring your eyes up to look at the man standing in front of you.

he seems just as shocked as you, his face immediately turning pale and his eyes widening almost comically.

"it's- it's you," the words fall from mingyu's lips, and you feel your eyes fill up with tears embarrassingly quickly. you bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from crying in front of your ex, and keep your tone calm and composed as you say, "don't worry about the bumper, i'll take care of it. bye."

you're turning away to get back into the safety of your car to cry your heart out, but mingyu stops you.

"y/n, can we talk? please?" he pleads, and you shut your eyes tightly, not wanting to meet his. you're afraid of what you might do if you look into his eyes again.

"there's nothing to talk about, mingyu," you shake your head. "we- whatever was there between us is over now."

"so we don't have to talk about the fact that you packed your things up, put your ring on the kitchen counter, and left my life? without any explanation?" mingyu presses, and you gather the courage to face him.

you regret your decision to do so, because all you can think about when you look at him is that one day, a year ago, when you decided to leave.

—

it's a random tuesday morning — or maybe it's thursday, you're not sure. ever since your relationship with mingyu started feeling more like a connection shared by strangers rather than lovers, the days seemed to be bleeding together.

mingyu is all over the apartment, his formal shirt untucked and not fully buttoned, socks mismatched, and his movements rushed. he goes into the bedroom to get a tie, then goes into the closet to get his shoes, goes back into the bedroom because he forgot his watch, and the process continues.

you sit on the couch, scrolling through your emails and not paying attention to mingyu. maybe a year ago, you would have joined in on the chaotic mess, but right now, mingyu's groans of frustration are nothing but annoying to you.

"y/n, have you seen my watch? the new one?" mingyu asks, approaching your figure on the couch.

you simply shrug your shoulders, looking up at him for a moment and shaking your head. "you keep telling me not to touch your stuff, so i wouldn't know."

mingyu bristles at your response. "why do you sound so petty? the only reason i told you that is because you misplaced my memory card!"

"it was empty! it wasn't like you lost any of the photos on it," you bite back. "and it was a mistake, mingyu. i'm human.”

mingyu pinches the bridge of his nose, inhaling deeply to calm himself down. "fine, let's forget about that. could you please just tell me where the watch is?"

"i don't know where it is, mingyu," you repeat, going back to your phone.

"well, would it kill you to get off the fucking couch and help me find it?" mingyu snaps. "you know that i have an important event to attend. why are you being so difficult?"

"maybe i don't want to help!" you retort. "you just use me as some personal assistant who makes you meals, does the laundry and makes sure everything is in perfect condition for you. it's like i'm not your fiancée anymore!"

"you know what, i don't have time for this," mingyu fumes. "you're being unreasonable, and i don't know why-"

"you don't have time for me at all, anymore," you scoff. "it's always events, meetings, shoots. you're going ahead in your career but you're leaving me behind."

"that is so selfish of you!" mingyu lashes out. "do you expect me to drop my career and spend all my time with you?"

"i expect you to at least acknowledge my presence, mingyu!" your voice cracks with the weight of the past year suffocating you. "i've always supported your career. i've always wanted the best for you, but you just discarded me to the side! do you know how pathetic it feels?"

mingyu's expression falters, realization flickering in his eyes. "y/n, i didn't- i never wanted you to feel like that, i-"

"i've had enough of your excuses," you stop him. "i've had enough of this mingyu. just- just go attend your event, okay?"

mingyu gulps, the guilt flooding his body. "let's talk when i get home? please, y/n."

you don't give him an answer, and before mingyu can plead again, he gets a call from his assistant, who informs him that he needs to leave as soon as possible.

"i have to leave now, but i'll come back and we'll sort this out, yeah?" mingyu tells you, having calmed down significantly. "i'll see you later, y/n. i- i love you."

the last three words are like a knife twisting in your gut. you can only watch as mingyu hastily finishes getting ready and leaves the house. the second the door shuts behind him, you go into the bedroom and start packing all your clothes and shoes into suitcases.

you stuff in some other important things, like documents, pictures, jewellery, everything you brought with you when you moved into mingyu's house.

you leave behind the pink fuzzy slippers that had a matching blue pair. you leave behind the ugly paper mache statue you made with him. you leave behind the matching 'his' and 'hers' mugs you both drank coffee from.

you leave behind the engagement ring on the kitchen counter.

you walk out the door in two hours, both your ring finger and heart empty.

—

you snap back into the present, where mingyu's frame is still towering over you.

"i thought that argument was all the explanation you needed," you mutter indifferently, trying to tamp down the tears that were trying to escape.

"it wasn't, y/n. it just left me confused and-"

"then imagine how i felt," you let out a dry laugh. "imagine how i felt when you came back home from your photography trip and didn't say a word about all the missed calls and unanswered texts. when you never brought up our wedding and kept me waiting for some shitty happy ending i wanted with you. you left me in the dark, like i was nothing but some old childhood toy you shoved away in the attic to collect dust."

"that trip changed a lot of things for me too, y/n,” mingyu shoots back. “i was reaching the peak of my career, and it kept making me question whether i was ready to settle down then. i was scared and confused because i had never felt for someone the way i felt for you, but i also wasn’t sure if us getting married that quickly was going to be a good choice.”

"why didn’t you think about all this before you proposed?" you argue. "and why did you never talk to me about any of this? we would’ve figured out something that worked for the both of us."

"y/n, i-"

the loud honk of a car behind the both of you interrupted mingyu, and you take that as a cue to leave the conversation.

"look, we're past all the excuses now," you look away from mingyu. "what we had is in the past, and we both need to move on."

"i can't," mingyu says, and those two words knock the breath out of your lungs. you turn around to look at him again, hoping to find some ounce of a lie in his words, but the look in his eyes says it all.

he isn't lying.

"i've tried moving on, y/n. i've tried to forget you but it never works. i've tried so hard, but no one is you. i'll never love anyone as much as i love you, and that scares me," mingyu chokes out.

the car is still honking, but you can't seem to move from your spot.

"you'll- you'll move on someday," your voice is shaky and barely sounds convincing to even you. you don't know whether your heart is happy or broken at what mingyu just said.

"i know i won't, because what i feel for you is true love," he says with conviction. "y/n, our relationship may have been brief. we may have taken things too fast and fizzled out, but i know my feelings are real."

"how can you say that? we only hurt each other in the end," you shake your head. "it can't be true love if both of us ended up with broken hearts."

"my heart still hurts every day when i wake up and realize you're not there," mingyu sighs. "i still make two cups of coffee, and one goes down the drain because you're not there. i still call out your name when i can't find my goddamn keys, but you're not there. it still hurts so much, even after all this time has passed.'

"and i know i was the one at fault," mingyu continues. "i haven't stopped beating myself up about how stupid i was to ignore you and your needs like that. i wish i had admitted the truth to you, and i regret not doing that every day. god, y/n, i cry myself to sleep every night thinking about our wedding and how i was the one who went and ruined it all."

the tears finally spill, and by now the car has already turned around to take another route. your chest heaves with how much you're crying, and you realize that you should’ve reached out to mingyu too.

you waited and waited for mingyu to say something, but you never said anything either. you pretended that everything was okay when it really wasn't. maybe if you'd said something-

"stop, i know what you're doing in there," mingyu breaks your train of thought. "you- don't blame yourself. relationships end and hearts break, but that doesn't mean they don't deserve a second chance."

"mingyu, i- i don't know how i can trust you again," you speak, your voice hoarse. "you said it yourself. we- we crashed and burned. we hurt each other with our love, and i can't go through that heartbreak again."

"let me earn it back," mingyu pleads. "let me make up for my mistakes, y/n. i'd die regretting losing you without having a chance to tell you how sorry i am for doing that to you."

there's two voices in you.

one tells you to let down your walls and let mingyu in again.

the other one curls up in your lungs and it tastes like the bitter alcohol you drank almost every night to forget mingyu. it tells you that you're going to get your heart broken again.

a third voice breaks through the noise, and it's mingyu.

"please, y/n. let me make things right," his voice has dropped to a whisper, and the conflict in your mind stops.

"i'll consider it, if you pay to get the rear bumper fixed."

—

"what if we break up some day?" you ask mingyu when he brings up plans of growing old with you in the countryside of france.

"we've been dating for a year and you're already thinking of breaking up with me?" mingyu gasps, which makes you giggle. "i'm hurt, babe. i'd never do that to you."

"but what if you did? or if i hurt you?" you ask, the question not wanting to leave your mind. "everyone tells us we're going too fast. that we're going to crash. what happens then?"

mingyu exhales deeply before turning to face you. he cups your face with his hands and looks deep into your eyes.

"even if we end up crashing, even if we end up leaving each other, i promise to find you again," he says sincerely. "if it's my fault, i'll apologize till my last breath, till i know that you've forgiven me. and if it's your fault, well — as long as you show up in my life again, i'll forgive you."

"that's not fair to you," you laugh. "you shouldn't let me off the hook that easily."

"to be honest, i would," mingyu disagrees. "because i know that staying away from you would kill me. if you ever decide to come back into my life, i'll welcome you with open arms. i'd rather be hurt with you by my side than die a slow death without you."

"you're so sappy," you roll your eyes. "i hope you know that i won't forgive you that easily."

"i told you, i'd spend all my life making it up to you if i ever hurt you," he vows. "what we have is true love, y/n. it only comes around once. i'll be damned if i ever lose you."

in that moment, you hadn't thought much about mingyu's words. but little did you know, that somewhere down the line, mingyu would really keep his promise to win your trust back.

—

it's been eight months since mingyu crashed into your life all over again, and this time around, you've really taken things slow.

he's still working on gaining your trust back, which you appreciate, because it assures you that he truly means his apology and that he's here to stay.

this time around, you feel hopeful. maybe, if your heart heals, you'll try again. you love him too much not to at least try once more.

on a tuesday evening, just as you reach home from work, you get a text.

. . .

mingyu (7:15 p.m.) :

you free friday evening?

you (7:37 p.m.) :

yeah i am

why?

mingyu (7:38 p.m.) :

i have an exhibition for my photos on that day

it wouldnt feel right without you there

you (7:50 p.m.) :

i'll be there

mingyu (7:51 p.m.) :

thank you :)

. . .

—

the exhibition gallery is packed with people as you walk into it on friday evening. you feel a little overdressed in your wine red, knee-length dress amidst a crowd of people wearing sweatshirts and jeans.

still, you walk forward confidently, you find yourself getting captivated by the sheer magnitude of the exhibition.

there's large displays of streets in different cities bathed in the warm light of the moon, birds soaring in the sky, random people going about their daily lives, and so many small, unseen moments that mingyu always had the knack for capturing.

the composition of all the photographs makes you stare at them in awe. mingyu is extremely observant, which allows him to focus on the finer details others would skip over. paired with meticulous editing, the final photographs are nothing short of stunning.

you spend a lot of time with each frame, reading the captions mingyu has penned down for each of them. you're so engrossed in each picture that you don't even realize that the crowd in the gallery has come to a stop in front of one particular frame.

you try your best to crane your neck to catch a glimpse of the photo, but to no avail. finally, when some of the crowd clears out, you move closer, and then the world stops.

it's the picture you tried to throw out but ended up keeping it on your nightstand. it's the picture you had received in a package from mingyu when he was away.

it was the last picture he had taken of you.

tears pool in your eyes rather quickly, and you walk closer to the picture of you displayed on the wall. it's huge in size, bigger than all the photos, as if this is the one mingyu wanted everyone to see. the one mingyu loved the most.

and it's titled — her.

'the last photo of this exhibit is a picture i clicked of my muse. before her, photography never had an end goal for me. all i did was click pictures of whatever i saw. after her, i began looking for pieces of her in every sight i took in. i tried to capture the warmth of her smile, depth of her love, glow of her presence, and the special feeling she stirs in me. everywhere i go, i find a glimpse of her, and every picture i take till my last breath, she will be the inspiration behind it.'

there's the sound of a mic coming to life, and you whirl around to see a tall figure standing on stage.

he's dressed in a pressed black shirt and slacks, the sleeves rolled up, hair parted to perfection, and posture confident.

but only you can find a glimpse of fear in his eyes.

it melts away when they meet yours.

"good evening everyone, my name is kim mingyu, and i would like to thank all of you for attending my exhibition," he speaks into the mic, and the crowd bursts into loud applause.

"as you all know, photography is not only my career, but my passion. it's what i live for. last year, however, was a rough patch for me. i lost all interest in photography. i hadn't touched my camera in months. it was like the colors of the world had faded away," his voice, although confident, sounds a bit shaky. his eyes are still locked onto yours, almost as if every word’s meant only for you.

"people told me that it was normal to feel that way. maybe it was burnout, or maybe the reality that photography was just a hobby. but, only i knew the real reason all along. all artists have a muse, without which it becomes difficult to breathe life into their art. i too have a muse. she is the reason i'm here today and able to show you what i've done."

"last year, i went into a slump because she left my life. it was my fault; i was too caught up in the lens of my camera to notice that i was hurting her," mingyu's voice is strained and raspy, and you know that tone all too well. sure enough, his eyes are glassy with unshed tears, but he powers on.

"for that one year without her, i lost all my drive and creativity. i couldn't look for the details in nature because my vision felt blurry. it felt like she had taken a part of me with her when she left. by some stroke of luck, i found her again. and this may sound cliche, but, the second i saw her, it felt like the world existed in technicolor again."

"she's here tonight, even though i don't deserve it, even after everything i put her through, and this time, i want to show her that i've changed. that i don't care about all these pictures, not if i don't see her in them. that one day, if she'll ever forgive me, if she'll ever give me another chance, i won't let her down."

you're sure that your makeup is ruined by how much you're crying, and there's a few tears streaming down mingyu's face too. the crowd is muttering sadly, wondering who the girl could be, but no one in that room will ever know that it's you.

"my muse, this exhibition is my whole heart, and tonight, i give it to you. you can take your time to accept it, i'd wait a lifetime for you anyway. and to everyone who attended, thank you once again."

as mingyu steps off the stage, you can only hope he doesn’t notice you slipping out of the gallery and into the cold night.

—

when you hear the door to the terrace you snuck into open, you think that it’s a security guard telling you the location is off-limits.

you turn around to apologize, but your breath catches in your throat when you see mingyu standing there, tear tracks similar to yours glistening under the pale moonlight.

“mingyu, i-”

“i thought you left,” he chokes out, and your heart squeezes uncomfortably. “you were there the entire time i was speaking, but then you were gone, and i thought that it was done for good. i thought it was the last time i’d see you, and i felt so scared.”

you can see how his chest is heaving, and his shoulders are lined with tension. there’s this urge in you to close the gap between you two so that you can take that stress away.

“i’m sorry, i should’ve told you before i left,” you gulp nervously. “i just- i needed some air.”

“i’m sorry too, for springing all that on you,” mingyu says. “i just had to tell you everything, even if you wouldn’t forgive me at the end of it all.”

“did you mean everything you said tonight?” your voice is quiet, almost as if you're hoping mingyu won't hear you and your words will disappear into the air.

“of course i did,” mingyu replies without skipping a beat. “everything i did before you and after you has no meaning, because you weren't there. our love was what inspired me the most. it's the truth, y/n.”

you take a moment to process his words, letting the weight of them fully land on you. seeing you go silent, mingyu steps forward, his eyes searching yours.

“if i- if i asked for you to forgive me, for you to give me a second chance, would you say yes?”

you already know the answer, but you bite your tongue to stop yourself from blurting it out. you pretend to think about it, as if mingyu can't read your expression. 

“i never stopped loving you,” is what you say. “even when we weren't talking for a whole year after the photography trip. even after we broke up. even now, after you came back into my life. i've never stopped loving you, mingyu, but you're still the person who broke my heart.”

you can sense mingyu about to apologize again, so you bring your hand up to stop him.

“you're the one who broke my heart, but you're also the one my heart wants. the only one,” letting these words out makes the burden on your shoulders feel lighter, but the tension of the moment still remains heavy. “and that's what scares me. because even if you break my heart again, i'll still love you. i don't think i know how not to.”

“i won't, y/n,” mingyu shakes his head. “i won't make that mistake again. i just want to earn your trust again and show you that i'll be better to you. we can take it slow and figure things out, but-”

“fuck taking things slow,” you cut him off. at some point during the whole conversation, your bodies have gravitated towards each other, and mingyu is close enough for you to reach out and cover his mouth with a hand.

“it doesn't matter if we go slow or fast, i just want you,” you tell him, looking into his eyes so he knows that you're speaking the truth. “i want us to work out this time.”

mingyu's eyes widen with surprise, and he gingerly lifts your hand off his mouth.

“do you really mean that?” his voice trembling.

“i forgave you a long time ago, mingyu,” you let out a laugh, eyes welling up with tears. “i forgave you when you paid for wrecking my rear bumper. again. i just needed time to know that this was real. that we wouldn't crash and burn again. and tonight really sealed it for me. i could see it in your pictures, mingyu. i could see how much love you look at the world with. back then, i thought that your love for photography was more than what you felt for me, but now i know that it's not true.”

“my love for you is what makes me love capturing the world in my lens,” mingyu completes. “i'm sorry i had made you feel otherwise.”

“we're done with the apologies now,” you shake your head. “let's leave the past in the past and start afresh. does that sound good?”

“i guess i'll have to crash your car one more time, then,” mingyu jokes, and you laugh. this time it's a loud, genuine sound; one mingyu had missed hearing. one you had missed hearing.

“maybe let's find a less destructive way?” you giggle, but it quickly turns into a gasp when mingyu cups your face with his hands. 

“as long as it's with you, i don't mind anything,” mingyu says, and then you see it.

a look of sincerity and hope flashing across his face. you know it for sure, because you feel the exact same way.

mingyu's eyes flick down to look at your lips, still hesitating to make a move.

“just kiss me already,” you sigh, and mingyu doesn't waste another second. with one swift movement, he's swooping you in for a kiss. a kiss so soft, yet so deep, it makes you feel like you're floating amongst the stars in the night sky looking down at love blossoming again.

when mingyu pulls away, you're both breathless for a few minutes, the reality of the moment sinking in.

the moment doesn't need any more words or touches. you can see everything you need to know in his eyes, and you hope he can read yours too.

its unmistakable; the glimpse of love that you see in him.

you feel yourself falling all over again, hurtling towards an end that may catch you by surprise, but this time it doesn't feel daunting.

not when you know that mingyu will be there to catch you.

fill this form to be added to the taglist <3

head to the masterlist for more!

taglist: @lecheugo @min-imum @sousydive @livelaughloveseventeen @unlikelysublimekryptonite

@theidontknowmehn @shinwonderful @wonuwrites @hearts4hee @t-102

@gyuguys @grapejuicelh @aaa-sia @cixrosie @baseball-dokyeom

@4shypotato @rafayellegalwife @gyuhao365 @flickhurstyles @bibblemiluvr

@cvixmei @valvoria @moonyxhcbi @mansaaay @minwonwoozi

[inkedbydave]

A sneak peak from the KitTy fanfic I'm working on, enjoy babes!

English is not my first language and I've never wrote anything similar before (I'm more used to poems and essays) so constructive criticism is more than welcome!

***

Kit stood by the window, his gaze aimed at nothing in particular. The room felt far too small, as if the walls were inching closer with every passing second. Ty’s presence was something he couldn’t quite escape, even if he was doing his best to act indifferent. He hadn’t wanted to meet up with Ty at all, but here they were, in Berlin, in the same hotel room, once again stuck in this weird, complicated tension.

Ty, of course, didn’t make it easier. He had a way of being completely unaware of the effect he had on people, or maybe he just didn’t care. Kit suspected it was the latter.

"Did you know your heart rate synchronizes with the person you’re closest to?" Ty’s voice broke through Kit’s thoughts, smooth and steady.

Kit blinked, looking over his shoulder. "What?"

Ty had moved closer without Kit realizing, his fingers already brushing lightly over Kit's wrist. "If you care about someone, your heartbeat matches theirs. I wanted to see if it works." His voice was soft, but there was a playful glint in his eyes - those damn eyes that always made Kit feel like he was both burning up and freezing at the same time.

The color of storms, or the edge of a dagger, one Kit Herondale wouldn't really mind being destroyed or killed by.

Kit’s pulse sped up at the light touch, despite every instinct in him telling him to pull away. "Ty, you can’t just do that to people-" He gasped.

Ty tilted his head, the smallest smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "I thought it was interesting."

Kit’s breath caught in his throat. Ty wasn’t just touching his wrist anymore. He was tracing his fingers so lightly, - reverently - that Kit could feel every single movement, almost as if Ty had memorized how to make his heart race without even trying.

Internally, Kit was spiraling.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck

He could feel his pulse in his ears now, pounding louder with every second. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not after everything. Not after the way things had fallen apart between them.

But Ty, as always, was too calm. Too unaffected. Or at least, that's how it seemed like.

Ty’s fingers slid from Kit’s wrist, over the back of his hand, until he gently took hold of it, guiding it toward his own chest. Kit’s body went stiff, his breath hitching as Ty placed his hand right over his heart.

"Can you feel it?" Ty asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes never left Kit’s. There was something in his gaze, a quiet intensity that only made Kit feel more exposed, like he was under a magnifying glass. Like he was being stripped bare.

Kit’s mind went blank, the warmth of Ty’s chest under his hand distracting him from everything else. And then, the undeniable thump of Ty’s heartbeat beneath his palm hit him like a wave. It was fast. Really fast.

It was... perfect.

Kit swallowed hard, struggling to maintain his composure. "Ty," he started, voice thick, but the words didn’t come out the way he wanted. His heart was hammering against his ribs now, and it had nothing to do with Ty’s proximity or the heat of the moment. It was just Ty. Ty and the way he always had this effect on him, the way he seemed to have an effortless hold on Kit’s emotions even when the boy was trying so damn hard to be distant and cold.

"Yeah?" Ty asked, his voice a low murmur, that almost teasing smile still present. He wasn’t even out of breath. Was Ty even aware of how much Kit was spiraling?

Kit suspected he, in fact, was.

Kit quickly pulled his hand back, shoving it into his pocket, unable to meet Ty’s eyes. "You shouldn’t do that," he muttered, trying to sound angry, but it came out more breathless than he intended.

Ty looked sad. It wasn't too obvious. Not to anyone who didn't know him well. But Kit could see it in the way his brows furrowed just the slightest bit, the way his breathing became uneven, just a tiny bit off, the way he crinkled his eyes. "Why? Because it works?"

Kit’s chest tightened. He was so damn tired of this - of Ty always finding a way to make him feel like he was the one who was losing control, when all he wanted was to be left alone. He didn’t want to care anymore. He didn’t want to feel like this, like everything about Ty was a constant pull, a force he couldn’t resist no matter how hard he tried.

But no matter how cold he acted, no matter how many walls he put up, Ty always found a way through. And he was damn good at it.

[gorgeys]

thirty minutes ★ santana lopez x fem!cheerio!reader

santana only has you for thirty minutes a day

word count: 885 warnings: SMUT - fingering, lowk angsty

a/n: the santana brainrot is so real ughhhhh

thirty minutes.

that's the exact amount of time between the end of cheerios practice and the end of football practice.  and you and santana make the most of it.

while the rest of the cheerios hit the showers, you and santana race to the parking lot, her hand tightly wound around yours.  she looks both ways, ensuring there's no witnesses, before literally shoving you into the backseat of her brand new car.

"it's not cheating," she reassures you, grabbing you by the hips and settling you in her lap.  "if the plumbing's different."

before you can ever protest, her lips are meeting yours in a bruising, dizzying kiss and any thought of your kind-hearted boyfriend, quarterback finn hudson, is erased from your memory.

he's probably throwing the football around on the field right now, thinking about the date he's going to take you on tonight.  he probably overthrows a ball because he's too busy contemplating what type of flowers to buy you or what shirt he's going to wear.

you do feel bad for doing this, especially since you can see the bleachers of the football stadium from the rear window of the car, but the death grip santana has on your hip bones, forcing you to grind down onto her bare thighs, feels too good.

and santana says it's not cheating anyway.  she wouldn't lie to you, right?

her fingers start to creep beneath the hem of your skirt, leaving goosebumps in their wake as they skim the inside of your thighs.  for the sake of time and her own eagerness, she pushes your underwear to the side and buries two fingers inside you without warning.  the way you groan and arch into her hands leaves her looking up at you like you're the only thing in her world.

"bet he can't make you feel like this," she says, driving her fingers deeper.  she feels like she's on cloud nine when you nod back.  all the hate in the world couldn't compare to what she felt for stupid finn hudson.

other than her occasional whispers, this is the only time in her life that she actually shuts up and listens.  she listens to every sound and incoherent babble that leaves your lips and the squelching sound of her fingers inside of you.  she watches you screw your eyes shut and throw your head back, an attempt to avoid the way she looks at you.  it's easier to ignore the longing and desire in her eyes than to accept it.  especially when you only have ten minutes left.

it doesn't matter how many times you cum or tell her that the overstimulation is too much.  finn may have you for the rest of the day, but these are her thirty minutes with you and she intends to use each and every one of them. 

"you can take it," she mumbles, pulling down the front of your cheerios uniform so she can leave kisses on your bare chest.  "don't you wanna be good for me?"

she keeps curling her fingers inside of you and watching your wetness drip down her wrist with blown pupils until you notice the football boys start to emerge from the field.

"shit," you mumble, brain still fuzzy as you climb off her lap. she frowns as you flatten your skirt, missing the feeling of your nails digging into her neck.  "do i look okay?"

she thinks you look perfect as always with lips puffy from kissing and ponytail much looser than before.  to anyone else it would have been obvious you were up to something, but finn was so oblivious santana didn't even have to worry.

"yeah," she says breathlessly, her chest still heaving beneath the school logo of her uniform.

"okay," is all you say before you open the car door and step out.  she sighs before following your lead and stepping out the other side.

she closes the door just in time to see finn walking up, his helmet tucked under his arm.  she leans against her car and crosses her arms as he engulfs you in a hug, not even questioning why you had emerged from the backseat of santana's car.

she scowls watching you beam back at that stupid gassy infant grin on his face.  maybe she wasn't ready to proclaim her love to you in front of the entire school like he was, but she still couldn't understand what you saw in him that you didn't see in her.

he slings an arm over your shoulder and starts to lead you toward his car, but you make sure to turn back before he can take you too far.

"i'll call you later, san!" you shout with the smile she'd give up everything for.

santana only grimaces back, conflicting feelings fighting each other in her head.  finn, who's still somewhat scared of your intimidating best friend, looks back and gives her a subtle wave and tight-lipped smile.  it only upsets her more.

you never say it, but she knows you'll end up in her car tomorrow, bouncing on her lap again.  and the day after that and the day after that.  so for now, she'll just have to replay the vivid memory of you in her head, wishing she could be so much more to you.

[pa-pa-patato]

is it possible if you can write another bendystraw oneshot? I really love them and your ideas about them

“At least I don’t kiss you when I’m drunk!”

Everyone was having a good time at the living, some were playing games, while others talked among themselves and Cup and Bendy began to bicker like they usually do which is why no one was paying much attention to them, Until now.

Everyone turned to look at Bendy whose smile fell as he noticed the mood in the room shift and Cuphead who was red in the face with the most bewildered look they’d ever seen.

“….what?” Boris finally spoke up destroying the silence the room had, “ok I know cheap shot given I don’t drink anymore-“ Whatever Bendy tried to say was cut off by Fanny laughing “That’s not what he meant! You kissed him?” She turned to Cuphead a sly smirk on her face as she questioned him. He couldn’t answer opening and closing his mouth in shock luckily or unluckily Bendy spoke again “Why are you so smug? Do you know how many times I had to pull you and Red off of each other while drunk?” The ladies in question immediately looked at each other in complete shock and embarrassment.

But Bendy wasn’t done just yet.

“And you!” He pointed at Holly who was already blushing a bit, “Do you have any idea how many times I had to hide your compact so you wouldn’t call Alice in the middle of the night to tell how ‘she’s so pretty and she should ditch all those pesty boys trying to court her and kiss you instead’?” Now she was full-on blushing, her face completely red.

“And you.” Bendy turned to Oddswell, his voice gentle now “I wanna know what happened that night at the bar with Winston” Oddswell looked embarrassed for a brief moment before nodding slowly choosing to ignore everyone’s gaze.

Cup still wasn’t saying a word, his eyes completely focused on Bendy and Bendy alone.

The rest of the day was spent with everyone ignoring the topic as best as possible. Expect for Bendy, Who still had no idea why everyone had that kind of reaction in the first place.

Bendy left saying he needed fresh air and Cup followed saying he was going out to smoke.

“You know I got out for ‘fresh’ air right?” Bendy waved the smoke out his face giving Cup an annoyed look, Cuphead responded to that by blowing smoke directly at him making him cough, “Seriously man?” He whined earning a chuckle from Cup.

“Sooooo” Cup started awkwardly “I kiss you when I’m drunk?” He avoided Bendy’s eyes as he asked, Which in turn made Bendy roll his eyes “Yeah but we pretty much established that it’s a normal thing to want to kiss your best friend” he turned to look up.“Besides you were drunk so not like it means anything”

“So if I were to kiss you right now it’ll mean something?”

The question took him off guard and made him snap his head back to look at Cup who was peacefully continuing to smoke, The air around him suddenly felt suffocating.

It seemed as tho the smoke had completely inhaled him making him unable to see anything but Cup, the smell made him want to cough again but he stayed silent for as long as he could ignoring the seemingly innocent glances Cuphead gave him.

“No.”

He finally said his voice sounded too dead even to himself, Cup only gave a long hum in response as he turned towards him blowing smoke into his face as he spoke.

“So it will mean nothing to you?” “Nothing at all.” And with that, his lips met Bendy’s

Is it still lying if they’re both aware of the truth?

[ghostofskywalker]

Hello!

Can I please request this prompt for your event with the beautiful Sargeant Hunter???

“You love me?” || “I always have”

hello! sorry this is so late, but i hope you enjoy it!! i always liked thinking of pabu as a place where people don't lock their doors and neighbors drop off baked goods to each other just because they wanted to share, like small new england towns in the 80's, so this is kind of based on that

Not Exactly How One Plans a Love Confession

words: 1,230

summary: Hunter originally doesn't want to tell you how he feels, but after you overhear him talking to his brothers, he decides to take the plunge.

clone troopers masterlist

Everyone talks about falling in love like it’s a boulder that rushes down the side of a mountain, mowing down the unsuspecting people standing in its path. But for Hunter, things came on a little bit slower than that. Maybe it was the fact that he was still adjusting to life on Pabu and experiencing so many new things each day, but after a while he didn’t even question the way he felt about you, or the way your lives had become so effortlessly intertwined. 

Shuffling out to the kitchen one morning (with a particularly egregious case of bed head), he barely took note of the fact that there was already a steaming pot of caf waiting for him, and he grabbed a muffin from the basket sitting on the counter without a second thought. It was only when he moved to sit down and enjoy his breakfast that he realized the confections were new. They still didn’t have much in the way of material possessions (despite being here for almost a year now), and a wicker basket like this definitely wasn’t on any of the lists he and his brothers had made of all the things they still needed to fix up and buy. 

As Hunter took a sip of his caf, Crosshair stepped into the kitchen, signature scowl on his face as he filled a canteen with water from the chiller. It wasn’t a shock to see him awake, since he slept on the couch most of the time. “Those better be good,” he said plainly, gesturing towards the muffins. 

Hunter wasn’t quite awake enough to catch his drift the first time around, and he just looked at Crosshair in confusion. “What?” 

“Your girlfriend woke me up when she left them on the counter,” his brother responded. “She walked in like a gundark in a china shop.” 

Hunter just raised his eyebrows, his mind having not even registered the fact that you were never referred to by name, but he knew exactly who Crosshair was talking about. “I doubt that’s exactly how it happened,” he said. “If it was that loud, are sure it wasn’t Wrecker who brought the muffins in?”

Crosshair raised his eyebrows. “I’m sure. No one else would be humming when the sun isn’t even up yet. You know, the two of you should just hurry up and get married, or at least invite her to move in. Maybe then I won’t get woken up by the door slamming open at 0600.” 

Although still half-asleep, Hunter did catch Crosshair’s words the second time his relationship with you was referenced. “Shut up, you know she’s not my girlfriend.” 

Crosshair snorted. “I don’t know a single person who would wake up at the crack of dawn and break into my home to leave freshly baked muffins and start a pot of caf this way she knew I ate something.”

“That’s because no one wants to be around you,” Hunter shot back. 

The sound of someone descending the stairs stopped Crosshair from whatever he was going to say in response, and it was Echo who stepped into the kitchen next. “Good morning,” he said sleepily, trying to stifle a yawn as he shuffled over to the caf machine. “Where did the muffins come from?” 

“A little fairy dropped them off before sunrise,” Crosshair said, raising his eyebrows as he looked over at Hunter. 

Echo nodded, knowing exactly what Crosshair meant. “Make sure to thank her today when you go over there,” he said. 

“What makes you think I’m going over there?” Okay, his brothers were right, he did plan on seeing you today, but Hunter didn’t really want to admit that so easily. 

“We know you,” Echo responded. “And even if you don’t want to admit how you feel about each other, it’s kind of obvious.” 

There were only so many times Hunter could vehemently deny the accusations before he broke, and apparently this was the moment that his defenses came crumbling down. “Fine, I will make sure to thank her.” 

Crosshair gave him a look. “And you’ll tell her how you feel?” 

Without even thinking about what he was saying, Hunter spoke in response. “I’m not going to just tell her that I love her without even going on a date first.”

Both Echo and Crosshair’s eyes widened, but they didn’t even get a chance to make a joke about the situation, because a new voice had entered the conversation. “You love me?” 

Silence fell over the area in an instant, and all eyes turned towards the doorway, where you were standing. The sound of the front door closing behind you made it clear that you had just arrived, and there was a basket of fruit in your hands, no doubt a gift from Shep and Lyana, who you were very close with as well.

Hunter froze, his mind racing as he weighed his options. 

Did he lie and try to save face? But what if you felt the same way? 

Did he own up to his feelings? What if that ruined your friendship?

Whatever was going to happen though, it was clear that Crosshair and Echo had no intentions of being part of it, because they cleared out so fast it was almost as though they dissipated into thin air, and Hunter couldn’t decide if it was a blessing or a curse. The room seemed so much emptier now, and the silence was starting to grow awkward. 

Well, the damage was already done, he thought, before taking a deep breath and speaking. “I think I always have,” he said, getting up from his chair as you took a few steps closer to him. “Even if I didn’t realize it until a little while ago, and I wanted to tell you in a slightly more acceptable way.” 

You laughed, taking the final few steps so that you were close enough to take his hand. “I’ll admit it’s not the most romantic way to find out,” you said. “But I don’t care, I love you too.”

If he was dreaming, he officially never wanted to wake up. “Really?” 

“You’ve become such a big part of my life that I don’t think I ever want to go back to the way I lived without you,” you said. “I’ve lived on Pabu my whole life, but you make it feel like so much more of a home.” 

Okay, now Hunter was trying to keep from tearing up (even though he would never admit it if asked). “Can I kiss you?” he asked, moving even closer. 

“Yes,” you breathed, before finally closing the gap between you and pressing your lips to his. He could hear the basket of fruit clatter to the floor the moment his hands found your waist, but at the moment, he didn’t really have it in him to care. 

When you finally broke apart, he couldn’t help but smile, saying the first thing that came to mind. “By the way, the muffins were really good.”

You just laughed before leaning in to kiss him again, a quick peck this time. “If that was your way of saying thank you, I’m certainly not complaining.” 

“Well then, allow me to fully express my appreciation.” 

Hunter supposed he might have to eventually thank his brothers for getting him to admit things, but he wasn’t ready to admit that just yet.

- the end -

i no longer have a taglist! if you're interested in being notified when i post, you can follow my library blog @ghostofskywalker-library and turn on notifications!

[weaveandwood]

The Snake and The Crow: Regrets

Pairing: The Viper x Female Rook (Bianca, an Antivan Crow mage) Words: 3.4K Rating: Mature

Summary:

Bianca faces all of her regrets, both in the Fade Prison and outside of it. Ashur deals with a fading mind. AN: Surprise! I got the chapter done early and was able to get it posted before the scheduled Wednesday update date! I've had a lot of this chapter sitting waiting to be used for a bit now, and I'm so happy to get it out for you to read.

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! Read on AO3! Previous Chapter

Bianca blinked open her eyes. How long had she been out? Her head hurt, her vision was swimming, and every muscle in her body was screaming. The last thing she remembered was Ghilan’nain dying and everything going to shit. 

What happened? Everything felt wrong, like the air was thick and the color had been leached from the world. It reminded her of something. Almost like…

She sat up quickly, her head spinning, and saw a yawning chasm, not unlike the one she was used to when talking to Solas. There was someone on the other side, a woman. Bianca tilted her head, squinting to get a better look. 

Oh, no.  Oh, no, no, no.

It was her.

“Your work is done,” he had said, looking down on her with a mixture of pity and disdain.

She curled in on herself, panic beginning to course through her veins. She was trapped. Solas had betrayed her, used her to escape this prison made for gods and left her to rot. Her breathing quickened along with her pulse. She looked around this greyed out wasteland, desperate for anything that could get her out of here. Something. 

She thought she heard the faintest whisper on whatever would pass for a breeze here—there one second and gone the next, but it sounded so much like him. Like Ashur. But it couldn’t be him, not really, not when he was still alive, or as alive as the blight would allow him to be. It had to be either a trick of the Fade or her mind. Still, she stood up, following where she thought the voice went. He was impossible to ignore. 

“There has to be a way out of here, I just have to find it. Then I can…What? Make things right?” she laughed to herself, bitterness replacing any humor. Her voice sounded loud and out of place here. Neve, Davrin, Assan, Lucanis…all dead. All because of her. Again. This is my fault, this is my fault, this is my fault . Her old ghosts came back to haunt her, like they had for weeks after the blighted dragon razed Minrathous. 

“Hey, kid. Solas found a way out, now you need to find yours.”

She turned in a circle, looking for the source. Another voice on the breeze. First Ashur, now Varric? Her mind had to be playing tricks on her, craving something familiar, something comforting. Nothing in the Fade made sense. 

Stairs, though. Stairs were good. Stairs made sense. She started to climb. Another voice filled her head, the familiar shape of a friend flooding her vision as larger than life statues appeared before her. 

“I told you the enchantments were dangerous, but you chose me anyway. Who will protect Dock Town now? It’s like you want to see it wiped off the map. I trusted you, and it got me killed. Just like you killed Ashur.” 

Each of Neve’s words were perfectly sharpened to cut her where it hurt the most, each syllable a quick stab, poised to kill. They echoed around her, a whirlwind of pain, dragging her out to the sea and pulling her under. This is my fault . 

“Rook is not to blame.” That same faint whisper. Was it in her ear, or her memory? She couldn’t tell either way, only that it was Ashur once again providing a small act of mercy, stopping her from collapsing in on herself just as he did the night the dragon razed Minrathous. The flurry of daggers stabbing at her soul with every beat of her heart fell to the ground and she could breathe once more. This wasn’t her fault. This prison was locked by regrets—she couldn’t afford to dwell on them anymore, not if she wanted to get out and finish what they started.

“I made a choice. I live with the choices I make. The successes…and the failures. We all believed in this. The real Neve knew what it might cost.” She wasn’t sure who she was saying it out loud for. This fake Neve surely didn’t care. Maybe it was just for herself. 

More stairs. With shaky hands, she continued. What would she face next? Who would she face next?

“Whatever it takes, that’s what you told us. You lived it every day. You asked a lot of us, of the team. But you asked even more of yourself. After everything you’ve done? It was my turn to make the sacrifice. And I’d do it again. Without a second thought.” 

A tear fell down her cheek. Davrin was supposed to be living a new life, finding new purpose with Assan and the other griffons. He was more than his sacrifices, he mattered outside of his death. And now he was gone. 

“I’ll make sure your sacrifice matters, Davrin.” 

“What about mine?” Varric asked. He was no trick of the Fade, as real as anything here could be. She wished she was imagining things, that this was just a dream. Wake up, wake up, wake up . 

Solas had betrayed her yet again. Used her this entire time. Fooled her. He certainly had earned his many titles. She felt her magic deep within her, dulled by this prison but heated and burning with rage all the same. He was lucky this wasn’t a prison locked by wanting to throw him off a cliff, weighted down by the heaviest of stones or she would never break out. She looked at Varric and her fire gave out, extinguished by overwhelming grief she had not yet been allowed to feel. He had been…all this time…

“I think I knew the truth, deep down, but I couldn’t face it because it would mean admitting I let you die.” This was my fault. “I made a call, and it got you killed.” 

“Haven’t you learned anything, kid? I made the choice, even knowing the risks. My decision, my sacrifice. You don’t get to take that from me.”

Varric always had a way of making her see things clearly. Everyone made their choices, they knew the risks. She may have been the leader of the team, but it was not on her to shoulder everything. It was not on her to diminish their sacrifices, to take away their autonomy.

Even me , the faint whisper said. It is what it is .

She closed her eyes, allowing it to seep in, filling every empty space within her, grief replaced by acceptance. Of course Ashur would challenge a dragon by himself to save those less fortunate than he was. Of course Davrin would distract Ghilan’nain to allow Lucanis to take the shot. Of course Neve would offer to break the wards. Of course Varric would try to reason with his old friend. They were who they were. 

It is what it is. 

“Rook!” She heard Lucanis’s voice in the distance, relief flooding her so quickly she thought she might drown in it. An arm grabbed her through the pale light she had been walking toward the entire time without realizing it, the place where the veil was thinnest. 

“I’d say good luck, but you don’t need it,” Varric called as she was pulled through, reunited with her friends once more. 

She wanted to believe him.

Dear Ashur, if you’re reading this, I didn’t make it back from Tearstone Island . 

Dear Ashur. Dear Ashur. Who was Ashur?  Was he Ashur? He must be Ashur. 

The thoughts in his head were dissonant, making it nearly impossible to focus sometimes, but when he thought of her, he was able to find himself once more. He was Ashur, The Viper, so many other masks, and she was Bianca, Rook. Gone. Betrayed. Pulled into the Fade by the Dread Wolf. The very one who was assisting Minrathous at this very moment with holding back the blight and Elgar’nan. It had taken all his restraint not to use what little magic he had remaining when he saw Solas. Had he been healthy, unblighted…but he wasn’t. He didn’t have the strength to focus his magic on anything but keeping the blight within himself contained, just for a while longer. Just a little while. 

His brief hold on his focus was waning, the call of the Blight growing ever louder. It would be so easy to succumb to it. For some reason he couldn’t recall, he didn’t want to succumb to it.

Through blinding mist, I climb a sheer cliff, the summit shrouded in fog, the base endlessly far beneath my feet. The Maker is the rock to which I cling

The Chant always provided him with comfort in times like these, he had said to her the last time he saw her. He did not know then it would be the last time he saw her. 

Her? Who was her ?

Bianca. Bianca. Wild curls, ocean blue eyes, spark and flame. The letter. He went quickly to the desk in his room, no longer at the Shadows hideout but in his home that was too grand for one who was just a man. A man, not a title. The letter lay there, well-read with edges crumpled and stained with drops and smears of black blight. He skimmed, looking for his favorite part: 

I had already started falling in love with you.

Love. It made his magic spark to life once more, warmth flowing through his veins. Something it had not done these last weeks once he learned she was gone. They were trying to get her back. He could not do anything but pace his room, a fate worse than this blight for a man of action. 

It called to him. Sang louder than The Chant at times. He had fought this for months, but it was winning. Tendrils of inky black coated his body, the dripping proof of his injury everywhere he touched. Perhaps it was better she did not see him like this. He read the letter again, his eyes stopping once more at her confession. 

I had already started falling in love with you.

He had loved her from almost the beginning, that was one thing he remembered. He never got to tell her and now it was too late. So many secrets, so many lies, so many things he thought he was protecting her from. For nothing. She was gone and he would be soon. A faint thought of “It is what it is” echoed through him, anger rising. The blight sparked, feeding on it. He didn’t want acceptance. He wanted her. He wanted love. He wanted to be selfish for once in his life. 

Why wasn’t he selfish?  Who was he? A glance at the letter. Dear Ashur. He was Ashur. 

A soft knock at his door. The blight within him surged, the song begging.  Rip. Attack. Tear. Feast.  He swallowed it down. His magic was so tired of swallowing it down.

“Enter,” he called, as much as he could. His voice was weak for the first time in his life, used to echoing through the Chantry or the hideout, leading his faithful. No more. A man opened the door. He had a vague flicker of recognition. Who was he? Tarquin. Tarquin. 

“We just got an urgent missive. They have her—she’s back. They’ll be fighting Elgar'nan tomorrow.” 

Something he once recognized as relief flooded through him. The end. It would be over tomorrow. He could hold on just one more day, join the fight. He knew he wouldn’t survive it, but he could help. He sat down and grabbed his pen, hands shaking from the effort. 

Bianca, I have succumbed - either to illness or violence but either way I no longer remain on this side of the Veil and have gone to the Maker’s side. The truth of the matter is this…

It was time to write his own confession. For her. 

It turns out, you don’t have to be trapped in the Fade to be in a prison of your regrets. Regret didn’t have to be a statue of a fallen friend, the memory of one you didn’t realize was lost, or the voice of someone you were on your way to losing. Regret could take the form of a pair of warm brown eyes looking down at you, a trusted friend who could be more. Who you thought you wanted to be more. It could take the form of a pair of violet wings wrapping around you in comfort when they were usually used to aid in violence. It could be the gentle press of lips followed by a more urgent one, whispers of “you’re here,” and “I promise.” It could feel like hands that are not the ones you truly want tracing the shape of your body. It could feel like dancing on the knife’s edge of love, but with the wrong person. It could feel completely right, but completely wrong at the same time. 

She wanted this.  She didn’t want this. 

He wanted this.  He didn’t want this. 

“Wait,” Bianca said. 

“What is it?” His brows knit together, the crease between them present once more.

“This isn’t…we shouldn’t, Lucanis. I’m not what you want. I can’t be what you want,” she said. She couldn’t be a statue in his own prison of regrets. Something he looked upon and thought if only I hadn’t. 

“You—I want you, Rook, as you already are. I thought you knew that. I thought you felt the same,” he said, sitting back on his knees between her thighs. Lies. To her, to himself, to everyone. 

I do.  I don’t. You do.  You don’t. 

She was silent. She saw him start to retreat back into himself, the pedestal of her sculpture already formed in his mind. How do you tell someone that you want them, but that you want someone more? Someone you can never have, someone who will be on the other side of the Veil sooner than either of you would like, someone you would have gladly stayed in the Fade to meet once more? How do you tell them you know they feel the same about you—the wanting and the not wanting, constantly at war with each other. 

“I thought I did. I want to.” She had thought, when he came into her room moments ago, that she could love him fully, that she would be able to forget everything else and have only him. He understood her, he trusted her, he had been there for her through it all. His was the first voice calling her name as she was pulled from Solas’s prison. She had been so close to falling before, what was stopping her now? She had been so good at lying to herself her entire life, why would her heart not let her lie about this?

She had fantasized about it, being with Lucanis. The Demon of Vyrantium, the First Talon, the rogue who almost captured her hardened heart. The man who would kill with pinpoint precision then come back and make her churros because he remembered her favorite drink was hot chocolate. Daydreamed how it would feel to be a part of something, fully, and have a family with the Crows she always felt like she was on the perimeter of, just inches away from belonging. She had wondered how those hands would feel on her body, in her body, and now that they were…they weren’t the right hands. 

It’s not fair to him. He deserves more. She deserves more. She sat up, still in her undergarments but feeling completely naked in front of him. 

“Lucanis, I–”

“I thought we had something, Rook. Why are you pulling away now? After all this time?” he asked. “Why would you—”

“Lucanis,” she interrupted, smiling softly. “You don’t want this either, it’s just easy . I’ve seen how you look at Neve. How you smile around her. You don’t smile like that around me. And I don’t think I can smile like that around you. Honestly, I don’t know if I’ll be able to smile like that around anyone, at least not until…”

His face softened. “At least not until you know…” 

Neither of them could bring themselves to say the hard truth. Until he was dead . 

She nodded, though her head barely moved. Her hands in her lap suddenly were the most interesting thing in this room—anything to avoid seeing the hurt on his face. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

They sat there in silence, moments dragging out into eternity. Would the Fade reclaim this space with the two of them frozen in this position, the stone of the Lighthouse crumbling around them while they sought to avoid looking at each other? Would the glass separating them from the aquarium crack and deteriorate with age, the fish long gone due to lack of care, the plants that brought her so much comfort with their rhythmic floating on the currents crumbled to the floor below while they avoided saying anything that mattered?

She felt a hand on hers. It may have been moments, minutes, hours, or decades later, she couldn’t be sure. She looked up to see him looking at her, his eyes warm and soft, a knowing smile on his face. A tear she didn’t even know had formed escaped down her cheek. He reached forward to brush it off her face. 

“I still can’t believe we found you. I thought we’d never see you again, that I’d never see you again. That you were lost for good.” He laced his fingers with hers, still fighting the war between wanting and not wanting. 

“You can’t get rid of me that easily, I’m afraid,” she said with a half smile. She brushed her thumb against his, fighting the same war. Her heart tugged and pulled, Lucanis and Ashur on opposite sides. Something growing or something dying, something expected or a beautiful surprise, something easy or one of the hardest things she’s ever experienced. 

Why did she always have to choose the difficult path?

“You’re right. About Neve,” he said after a few moments. “You’re always right, Rook. It’s infuriating sometimes.” He cocked his head to the side. “Spite agrees.” 

She let out a small laugh, her fingers sliding out of his after his confession. “Well if Spite agrees, who am I to argue that?” 

She wanted to cling to him, to tell him it was a joke, that she was only kidding— “Oh, you know Rook, never serious!” She faced the prospect of being alone, truly alone, for the first time the day after tomorrow and she had to admit she was terrified. But that was her sacrifice to make, for Lucanis to be as happy as she was in those hours before the dragon attacked Minrathous and all of her hopes were as blighted as the man she hadn’t yet admitted to herself she loved. That she still loved. That she would love, until it was over. Maybe long past that. 

“Will we…be okay?” she asked, tentatively. She didn’t want there to be any issues or unhealed hurts between them, especially when they both went back home to Antiva to resume their lives—him as First Talon, and her as a thorn in Viago’s side. 

“More than okay, Rook,” he said softly, brushing a curl from her face and tucking it back into place. He kissed her softly, one more to add to her small collection of kisses from him that night. One tentative and sweet, one desperate and urging, and one for goodbye. She stared at her empty hands, lost in thought while he dressed and left, the door to her room closing with a gentle click. 

She lay back on her sofa and turned toward the fish, her constant companions. She watched as they swam to and fro, free to go where they pleased, wherever the current took them. She wondered, as she contemplated how her life would look after tomorrow, if she could be afforded that same option. Throughout her entire life, she realized she had never had a say in where she ended up, always a pawn in someone else’s plan for her. To be able to go where she pleased…it sounded like a luxury she used to only dream about on those cold nights surrounded by other orphans in Treviso, or when she was huddled up under a threadbare blanket distracting herself from her growling stomach back in Vyrantium. She had seen so much of northern Thedas now, she was changed through and through. How could she go back to her old life? Did she even want to?

As her eyes fluttered and finally closed, she found her head at war with her heart. She knew her heart would win. 

She always did choose the difficult path.

[xfeiteism]

thump thump | liu xiao

for already being familiar with the multiple sides of liu xiao's nature, you're sure impressed by yourself for still falling for it.

w.c: 1.1k

a.n: is it bad that i would defend liu xiao to hell and back even tho i can name at least three characters that objectively deserve to point a gun to his head? yes but i had to write this

liu xiao doesn't give a shit about pool. maybe he has a knack for it, and maybe he likes having the upper hand in the sport, but it's not as though he makes it a weekly routine to aim a cue stick against a billiards ball.

and yet, he's never been as terribly entertained by a game of pool like he is tonight.

all too mutually familiar to one another, it had been hard to miss each other upon fleetingly walking past each other – only for a brief moment and within the distraction of your respective companies, but it was simply impossible to not stop in your tracks and lock eyes.

you should've known better than to accept his invitiation for a game while wearing that on-brand smile.

halfway through, the game wasn't a game anymore. or maybe it was, but definitely not in pool and extremely much to his one-sided entertainment.

you're multiple vacant pool tables away from the people you both had initially arrived with. in the back of your mind, you can't help but wonder how visible you are to their attentions, the room solely lit up by dimmed lights hanging over each table.

on the long edge of yours, you're leaning back against it, hands clawing onto the wood hard enough for your knuckles to whiten and nails almost break.

the conversation that had diverted you away from the game had been one that should in no way reach the ears of others; exchanging matters involving individual field of works kept secret from most of those in your surroundings, clearly of importance and yet, you can hardly remember a single word of it. not in this situation.

you'd subconsciously left your cue stick across the table. liu xiao rests his palm on the tip of his own, the free palm keeping his weight up on the edge, right next to your own. he's leaning forwards, very much so, to such extent you can feel his even breath fan your skin.

"it's a shame that you don't want to negotiate. i'm sure we'd benefit equally of it," liu xiao sighs, but he hardly sounds upset by your firm rejection. you can tell, because he's still showing you that pleased smile. "i don't enjoy forcing people into business though, so i won't bother you any further about it."

"if you get that, move back already," you croak out, trying to stay as composed as possible despite being completely betrayed by your eyes refusing to meet his.

"why?"

unbelievable question, really, but nothing shocking when it comes from liu xiao.

"i believe we've already made it clear that i'm not interested in business–" your sorry excuse of an argument is interrupted by a quiet gasp when he leans in even closer. "a-also, this looks really weird to the rest."

"that's funny." his smile widens, and the smugness in it makes you wonder if it'd be a bad idea to hockey-check him into the closest wall. "you've never struck me as someone who cares about what others think – not that they can see anything from here anyway."

"they have no idea we already know each other and it's better like that. i don't want them to get the wrong idea."

"about what?"

"y–you know what i mean! it's not like we're close to begin with," you hiss back at him. you can tell your confidence is slowly but surely starting to shatter though and you attempt to swerve the topic before he can push it any further, "besides, i want to finish the game already."

liu xiao briefly raises an eyebrow at this. his hand leaves the edge of the table and you just can't help but flinch when you suddenly feel his fingertips over the skin of your cheek.

coming from him, the touch could be anything from a threat to a way of entertaining himself even more. whichever it is – because you honestly can't tell this time – you're left frozen beneath it. it doesn't help when the digits ghost down your jaw and by the time the tip of his index finger rests under your chin, you can hear your heartbeat hammering in your ears.

"even though you've never cared a bit about pool?" liu xiao taunts, his finger sinking lower alongside your neck with each word he speaks. "i was actually surprised to see you here – you must really want to keep your true colors a secret from your friends, no?"

"isn't that just–"

you cut yourself short when he slowly drags his finger across the curve of your collarbone. shoulders hunching even more, your head sinks lower, as if you care so much more about the old, shoe print-stained wooden floor than the fact that you can almost feel his forehead against your own.

it may undoubtedly be in liu xiao's nature to play with any functioning part of one's brain – god forbid you already don't know that – but at the very least, he knows what lines to not cross; the digit doesn't travel any further than right below your collarbone, showing no signs of departing from your absolutely blazing skin, but humbly staying in place.

that could be great and all, in fact you could even appreciate the thought, had it not been for the realization slowly sinking in the longer the touch lingers within that area.

it finally hits you, how your heartbeat isn't only hammering in your ears, but in his as well. your eyes widening is enough to reveal your new knowledge.

"what's wrong? i know it's way out of my ability to get you scared – you're not angry with me, are you?" your silence drags out a chuckle from him that he doesn't as much as try to hide. "or is it something else? i'd love to find out, you know?"

cat got your tongue. your thoughts, your sanity, composure, confidence, guts and everythig. that said, you're hyperaware of the half-lidded eyes behind the glasses boring into your own, tips of your noses grazing against each other and the way you can feel his lips almost, almost touch yours–

"y/n, are you done? we're leaving soon!"

you can only faintly hear your company calling out to you from the other side of the room, but it's just enough to get your mind together. your painfully tight grip releases the table, yet they barely have the strength to push him aside by his chest. when your shoulder bumps into his, you don't care the slightest about turning around to face him and apologize, opting to instead let your rushed feet drag you away from there. while reuniting with your friends, you do your best to ignore liu xiao far behind you.

"it was nice seeing you again," you hear him call out, and you make out that stupid smile lacing his words, "let's finish our game next time."

[manyblinkinglights]

tentatively concluding I’ve won my first Internet argument

[goaskangel]

simon ‘ghost’ riley overstimulating his sweet gf !

cw : headlock, overstim, slight dubcon, slapping, sexy ass simon

poor you, thinking your bulky boyfriend would return stressed and in need of some relief. a massage maybe, a good lunch, a small kiss from his darling. as logical as it sounds, simon came back with an urge that he just couldn’t get rid off. 

greeted with a geared up, tall man, you can’t even finish a hi baby before he practically walks all over you. pushing you inside, his gloved palms immediately finding their place on your waist and chest, closing the front door. 

“so fuckin’ tough it is,” he squeezes your face as he towers over you, “bein’ away from you.” 

he finds himself breathing in the soft scent of your hair, leaning deep into your neck and kissing your neck behind his cloth mask. you drop gently into his arms as he holds you close. the intoxicating aroma of his natural musk and smokiness of gunpowder radiating from beneath his gear. 

later, even after telling him how you’ve cooked for him, cleaned the sheets for him, organized the home so it’s all cozy for him, simon tells you he’ll get to it but for right now, he needs you. you laid back across his still geared body, his dirty, mean, mean words right above your ear. his heavy attachments bruising your half nude top and back of your hips as he forces you to stay down, his left arm down to hold your left leg open as his thick, right fingers pump thoroughly into your cunt. 

“ngh-mmm, simon!” you moan out desperately as he pulls what feels like your fifteenth orgasm. your legs shaking from the coerced impact, your slick dribbling down your open thighs onto his getup. your face being as wet, flushed cheeks covered in tears. 

he doesn’t care, in fact he’s awfully amused by the reaction he’s managed to get out of you, the reaction he’s been dreaming about. 

“gonna give me anotha one, yeah?” his bare fingers circle your chubby, raw clit. 

“mm-mm, can’t. don’t wanna.” you yelp and arch off his stomach when he sends a harsh slap! onto your pussy. “hell you mean you ‘don’t wanna’? ya cunt’s tellin’ me otherwise, dovey. be good now n don’t lie to me, or i’ll really hurt ya.” emphasizing on the word hurt as he leaves your limp leg to wrap his husky arm snug around your head, choking another cry out from you. 

“yeah? you got tha’?” you nod profusely as much you can, making him chuckle to your barely able form. 

the sensitivity doesn’t go down, now instead of being able to see his skilled forearm fidget in and out of you, you can only feel it. staring at the dim ceiling with teary eyes with his heavy breathing and whispers.

a very subtle yet strong wave of pleasure washes over you as you thrash and whine under his pressured hold. “yeeeaah, was that so hard?” he lets go of you, his mask under his lower lip as he kisses your dazed face. all he wanted was to make you feel good, lovey!

masterlist

[sugarwarachan]

sex pollen troubles - ft. k. bakugou

summary: prohero!Bakugou gets hit with a sex quirk. too bad his roommate hates him—right?

wc: 1.8k

pairing: prohero!Katstuki Bakugou x roommate!reader

content warnings: MDNI, Bakogou has a roommate because his therapist tells him to, fem!reader is an investigative journalist, gratuitous use of Ace (hello gilmore girls fans) idiot Katsuki, pining Katsuki, fingerless gloves make an appearance sorry not sorry, making out, fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk, pet names like baby, pretty girl, princess, breeding but only if you squint

a/n: word vomited this out in less than 24 hrs

He’s praying you don’t pick up.

“Bakugou?” You sound annoyed, a little suspicious even.

He never calls you.

“Ace.” You hate that nickname, but the thought of saying your actual name in the desperate growl that is his voice right now makes his head spin. “I need - fuck - are you home right now?”

Sex quirks are a dime a dozen these days. He’s been hit with a few before, simple one that are usually pretty easy to shake. (He still hates the premature ejaculate memory, though, coming home with his boxers stiff and an image of you spread out on his bed playing like a film in his head. He hadn't been able to look you in the eyes for weeks.)

He’s never been hit with one as strong as this. The second the mist hit his nostrils he was huffing up the scent of vanilla and citrus and strong black coffee, just the way you like it, before he realized what was happening, the villain ripping down the street in the opposite direction while arousal hit him like a truck.

Bakugou's practically doubled over talking to you now, the ache in his dick throbbing in time with his fucking heartbeat.

“Yeah, I’m home.” Even annoyed you sound like heaven. “What’s going on? You don’t sound like yourself.”

He barks out a laugh, and before he knows it, he's telling you the truth. “Got hit with a sex quirk. A big one.”

Your breath bitches slightly on the other line. He’s pretty sure his cock jumps at the sound.

“And I - " need you right fucking now - “fuck - I can’t call anyone else.”

It has to be you. He’s got women he could call, sure, anyone who might want to get into a pro hero’s pants, but it has to be you for a reason he doesn’t want to look at too closely.

You’re silent for a beat, before you say, “Send me a pin. I’ll come get you.”

He hated you at first. Always talking his ear off about every fucking thing, bringing up articles that remind you of cases you're covering—it was like living with Deku dialed up to 11.

But what he hated even worse was when you stopped talking. When you realized he wasn’t actually gonna come around and be nice to you, when you figured out, oh fuck, he’s actually just an angry prick, and left him alone.

One day he could count on constant chatter when he was back from patrol, the next, nothing at all. You even switched up your schedule so he barely saw you, a fact he didn’t tell his court-ordered therapist because he was supposed to be getting better at being around other people, not worse.

He hates remembering this now with his dick hard as steel and weeping from the tip like he’s fucking 15. The alley is secluded, thank fuck, so no one can see him shaking and groaning, forearms braced on the wall in front of him, head hanging down like a panting dog. He can barely move; every brush of his pants against his erection like a live wire to the brain.

By the time you pull up—five minutes, forty six seconds later, he counted—he’s so frayed and tense that the minute he sees your face, he shouts, “Took you fucking long enough."

Your face shutters closed the way it always does around him, and he wants to fucking die.

“Fuck, Ace, I’m sorry - it’s just, I’m fucking miserable right now - "

“Why did you call me, Katsuki?”

It’s a mistake to look you in the eye. His restraint is a razor’s edge at this point, and seeing your beautiful face is too much. You've always been pretty, but the light shining on your soft hair is convincing him he can write fucking poetry all of a sudden.

“You know why,” he grits out.

You step forward, vanilla and citrus and coffee flooding his nose.

“No, I don’t. You act like you fucking hate me half the time and ignore me the rest.” You scrape a hand across your face in frustration. “And then you call me sounding like that. Why wouldn't I be confused?"

“I want you.” It’s out of his mouth in a flash, and he knows it’s the right thing to say by the way your shoulders relax. “I’m a fucking asshole, I know it. I’m not good at feelings, baby, I'm sorry, but I want you so fucking bad it’s like I could break my teeth over it. It has to be you, Ace, fuck, I’m sorry, it can’t be anyone else - "

You shut him up your mouth, your lips locking into his as both of your noses bump against each other. He doesn’t care; he just needs you as close to him as he can get you. It’s better than anything he imagined, finally touching you, finally giving in to the attraction that’s dogged him ever since you walked into his life.

You taste like coffee and a little bit of that strawberry lip gloss he loves so much. He licks into the seam of your mouth and relishes the shiver that goes through your body.

“Like that, baby?” He breaks away, nosing at your jaw, nipping at the juncture of your throat. That makes you gasp. “You smell so fucking good here.” He jerks his hips, hisses through his teeth as his cock jumps in his pants, pulsing with need.

“Let me,” he hears you say, and you’re tugging his pants open to get your hand around him. The second your fingers wrap around him his eyes roll up in his head. He could cum just from this, he realizes.

“Of course you’d have a pretty dick,” you say with a look of annoyance, and he’s not entirely sure what to say to that besides puff up his chest. You laugh, and it’s almost fond, and goddammit he wants you more than he’s ever wanted anything else -

With a growl, he pulls your hand away and backs you up against the wall, peppering kisses down your neck. The whines he’s pulling from your mouth is making everything in his life worth it. He’d fight a thousand fucking villains if it meant this, fingering the seam of your panties under your little skirt as you cry out for more.

“Wear this for me?”

“Like fucking hell I did,” you retort.

“Sure thing, princess.” He runs the pad of two fingers over the soaking wet seam of your panties. A feral grin passes over his face as your thighs tremble and press together. “This just happened to you all on your own?”

He roughly pulls your panties to the side to gather up the slick at your entrance, pushing your hips apart and settling himself between them.

“You’ve gotta come first, pretty girl.” You like when he calls you pet names; he’s been watching the way your skin breaks down out in goosebumps each time. It’s a like a drug being this close to you, making you feel this good. “The second I’m inside ya I’m gonna blow my fucking load so be good and come for me, yeah?”

The rough material of his fingerless gloves rubs against your clit as he stuffs two fingers in your pussy. Your little hole sucks him in greedily as you whine and buck against him.

“Harder, Kats, please - you won’t fucking break me - "

He adds another finger to stretch you out, keeping his palm rocking against your pubic bone with every grind. You’re fluttering around his fingers, whimpers echoing off the walls in the alley.

“That’s it, baby, there you go. Fuck, yeah, you like me stuffing this pretty pussy full?” You dig your nails into his scalp as you hold onto him for dear life, whimpers ratcheting up to moans and cut-off screams as he starts to feel your cunt clamp down hard on him.

You moan his name against his neck as you cum. “Just needed to think about me stuffing you full?” He can’t help but smirk, which quickly turns into a hissing groan when your hand finds him again and positions him right at your core.

“I could say the same for you,” you smirk, rolling your hips and coating the head of his cock in the slick of your orgasm. He chokes on his spit, bracing one forearm on the wall behind you, his free hand stilling your hips in place.

“Lift me up,” you pout.

“Didn’t know you were bossy.”

“Didn’t think you would like it,” you shoot back, rolling down onto his cock and taking an inch of him inside you. “This position’s better, isn’t it?”

“Of course it is, you devil woman.” He can barely think. “Baby, I don’t - god fucking damn it - I don’t have any - "

“I’m on birth control and I’m clean.”

“Same. Clean, too, I mean.” He’s rambling. He never rambles. “I’ve got my check-up stats in my phone if you’d like to see them.”

You laugh, and it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard in his entire life.

“Can I kiss you?”

It takes him aback, but he’s been dying to know what you taste like since he met you, honestly.

“Yeah, pretty girl. You can kiss me.” He nips at your mouth and laughs at your pout when he pulls away. “Let me get all the way inside ya though first, huh?”

He feeds you his dick inch by inch, clenching his teeth at the way you squirm and plead for more. You’re slippery and warm, your cunt making obscene squelching noises with every rock of his hips.

With one final thrust, he’s seated up to the hilt, balls slapping against the meat of your thighs and ass.

“So fucking perfect,” he moans in your ear. “All for me - just for me, isn’t that right, Ace?”

Your head jerks up and down in affirmation.

“Say it, pretty girl. Say you’re fucking mine. Tell me how much you like my dick getting this pussy nice and tight. Bet I can get her to scream again, huh?”

He pinches your clit between two fingers. You jerk in his arms.

“Close, princess? Like it a little mean?”

He rocks his his up so he’s dragging the head of his cock across your g spot, over and over. Your eyes roll back in your head and your breathing gets shallower, shorter.

“Please please don’t fucking stop, ohmygodohmygod feels so fucking good, Kats- "

Your pussy clamps down on him like a vice and all rhythm flies out the window. He grabs the meat of your hips and fucks up into you roughly, shooting thick ropes of cum against your cervix.

The creamy sticky ring at the base of his cock when he pulls out is probably the hottest thing he’s ever seen in his life.

He looks up at you, sees the appreciative gleam in your eye. You're turned on by that, too.

“Can we do this again when we’re home?” he asks. “Maybe after I’ve made you dinner?”

The smile you return is like the sun. “We better.”

[ellana-ravenwood]

“Batman, you need to-IS THAT A BABY ?!” - Batfam x Fem!reader

Synopsis : Bruce and Batmom bring their newborn daughter to the Watchtower, so she can meet their friends (or vice versa). Includes an overprotective Damian, League members who cannot believe the Batman is smiling, and other shenanigans.  

Oop, I’m back (?). My dudes. It’s been TWO YEARS since I last posted here. Two. Years. I posted like, two life update...don’t know if some of y’all saw it, but long story short : I got married, I have a son now, and everything is going so well in my life that I didn’t really need the validation I got from writing online...Buuuuuuuuuuuuut, I still love writing. And so, after quite a long break, here I am :). Hope you will enjoy this, don’t hesitate to let me know if you do : 

Please, do not repost my stories anywhere else, under any other form. Do not translate and then repost them either. Thank you.

My masterlist : @ella-ravenwood-archives

________________________________________________

“You’re evil, you know that right ?” You say, raising an eyebrow.  

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, my love.” He answers, a small smile on his lips. You turn to him and...Oh that smug look, that smug look you loved so much. He definitely DEFINITELY knew what he was doing. 

And that it was utterly...evil. 

“It’s going to be FUN !” 

Ah, and here’s his little devil. Damian himself. He loved this. Partly because he thought it was funny to mess with everyone, partly because he liked showing that you guys were a family. 

“They won’t believe their eyes !” His little voice kept going, followed by a big roar of laughter that sounded, by all means, more childlike than devilish. 

“That they won’t, they always seem so surprised when Bruce acts like a human.” 

Jason. Still not calling Bruce “dad” (except sometimes, by “accident”, and even him don’t realize he did), he’d only slowly been back at the manor, with all of you. And, for sure, a certain important event which happened about four months ago made it so he came back to live at home.

Dick chuckled and added : “Who would blame them ? We’re talking about a man who eats his burgers with a knife and fork !” He gestured to his father with his left thumb, his other hand shielding part of his mouth as if he was telling them all a secret, as if he was trying to be discreet, so his dad wouldn’t hear...Always quite the little clown, that eldest son of yours. With his exaggerated mannerism, and that sparkle in his eyes, in his smile. 

“I’m certain some of them thought he was genuinely a cyborg for YEARS” Tim added, quite seriously, his tone the opposite of his older brother (and that was just his way of joking...you think). And honestly ? Yeah, you were pretty sure some of your friends at the JLA thought your husband was a robot, at one point. 

Oh yes. That’s where you were going, to the JLA’s headquarters. To execute Bruce’s plan. Quite the evil plan indeed. 

“Hell, even I thought he was one before I met you guys !” Duke chimed in, and that made Cassandra smile widely, as she shook her head up and down pointing at Duke as if to say : “what he just said”. 

And in a very Bruce manner, your husband kept a straight face, ignoring his children’s teasing. Only you, saw that twinkle in his eyes, that smile that might not reach his mouth, but was definitely dancing in those bright blue eyes. 

Oh yes. Yes, your friends were in for quite the surprise. 

************

Meanwhile, in the Justice League headquarters : 

“Oh, hey ! Look, Batman’s zeta tube is turning on ! We haven’t seen him in a while right ?”  

Indeed they haven’t. Because, well, let’s put it this way : Batman’s wife just had a baby. 

A baby girl (finally, right ? You and Cass weren’t TOO outnumbered anymore). 

And Batman had been VERY busy doting over his baby girl. 

Batman had been busy being Bruce Wayne. 

Just a man, who thought he’d never be happy again, not knowing how to handle all those feelings he had for his wife (for you), for his children. 

That was happiness then, right ? 

So, yes. Batman hasn’t been much at the JLA’s headquarters lately. But your husband thought, it was finally time to go see his friends a little bit. He knew they were all up there, because it was their monthly reunion (once each month, they gathered to talk about the state of the world, the universe, what threat lingered, what lurked beyond...and to get very drunk, and see their friends, the only ones who knew what it meant to be a “hero”). 

And that what’s made him particularly evil. 

He knew, they would all be there. He knew what their reaction was going to be. After all, his memory was amazing, he definitely hadn’t forgot the way they reacted the first time they saw you, the first time they learned he had children (childrEN, plural !). 

And he knew they were a little worried about him. 

He had missed their last three reunions, and only answered : “Everything is ok” to their messages asking if he was alright (they hadn’t dared to go see if he was indeed ok, because last time they did that, they found him bed ridden with all the bones in his body broken, and he got so mad at them for butting in his business he worked twice as hard when he was fine again, and didn’t talk a WORD for months...that was, of course, years ago, before you were in his life, but the experience was still in their minds and so, they decided to respect his privacy, he would come to them when ready). And he never pushed his “red button”, him, or anyone in the family. 

They just assumed he was busy, they hoped it wasn’t anything bad. 

Yes. They were worried. For him. For you. For your kids. For Alfred. For your dogs, your cats, your cow...They. Were. Worried. 

And Bruce knew. 

You told him, when your pregnancy was confirmed, to tell his friends. That they would be happy. But after his own initial happy thought, his surge of hope and love at knowing he was going to be a dad again, he started to make his plan. 

Why tell them, when you could toy with them ? 

“They deserve it.” He told you, and you weren’t sure if they did, but you weren’t about to fight him on that. After all, you too, thought it could be amusing. Amusing to hide your pregnancy, making up excuses as to why they couldn't come see you, and you didn’t come up the headquarter. Amusing, to even hide it quite expertly from any form of news (Bruce was a MASTER of disguise, not only for himself), so it would be a real surprise. 

Amusing, to have your little girl in secret, with only your family. Amusing, but also what you wanted. For this good news to be just between you, your children, and Alfred. Your close family. Because you had too few things that just were yours. 

This had to be yours. Your thing, your secret, your own happiness. Yours, and only yours. And you found it was good, that you guys spend the first few months of your daughter’s life only between yourselves. 

It was nice, to go out “disguised” as a normal couple, and show your daughter Gotham (and how her little eyes already tried to take the entire world within them). 

It was nice, to live in total privacy for a little bit. 

So, yes, you had been a little selfish. And he had, too. You knew it wasn’t just to prank his friends, he kept it all a secret. That it was also to have some quality time with his family. To spend the first few months of his daughter’s life being the only one being utterly smitten with her. 

Though, this last thing wasn't true...You were, too. And your children ? Let’s just say your daughter had not been alone ONCE since she was born. And she seemed to love it. 

Whenever she made the slightest sound, smiled, laughed (or cried), they were there, Bruce was there, absolutely loving that little baby. 

She was almost 4 months old now, and Bruce thought that the gist had to be up. What scale did he use to measure this amount of “readiness” ? You had no idea. You thought he was just now ready to share his happiness with his friends, and not just his close family. 

And so here you were, after months of secrecy carefully crafted and orchestrated by your husband, in the JLA’s headquarters, along with your family, the little new addition to said family in your husband’s arms. 

Evil. Your husband was downright evil. 

He knew that what was about to happen would have a massive impact on his friends. He. KNEW. 

And as the zeta tube brought all your family up there, you knew that as he saw their faces, your husband was a little TOO happy with himself for his little “prank”. 

************

“Batman, are you al- IS THAT A BABY ?” Very typical, very in character : the first to react was Flash himself. 

None of the other noticed, and they seemed inclined to think Barry had lost his mind but then...

Bruce’s face didn’t move an inch, he just held that little “package”, and had his same stoic expression except...Except there was a little hand grabbing at his chin. 

Then another hand appeared out of that bundle Batman carried, with a bat plushie bunched in a tight fist, shaking it and...Cooing. 

Cute little sounds, and the way- EXCUUUuuUuuuUSE ME ?

The way Batman just softly looked at her, the way his cold expression was replaced by a tender one as he lowered his eyes to her ??

WHAT ?! 

They knew. They knew he had THE softest spot for his family. They knew his scary aura greatly dimmed when he was around his wife and children. They knew that when they weren’t there, he was only made of shadows. They were his light, his salvation. 

They knew he didn’t have the same face expression, when they were around.

Well, when they were looking at him...Barry swore that Batman loomed around his family, standing menacingly behind them, his eyes cold and calculating as if he was ready to fight any seconds to save his loved ones, and then whenever they turned to him his feature would instantly soften. He will ALWAYS remember the first time he met little Dickie, 9 years old and so full of joy and life, and how whenever he would look at Batman and talk to him, said Batman got a softer expression somewhat, but then when Dick turned around, Batman looked about to murder them whenever they came too close from him. 

Once, Tim, also 9 at the time, years after the JLA met Dick, told Barry matter of factly : “He doesn’t kill people. He could break your knee caps though” in a very Tim fashion. The kid was serious. And had noticed the aura surrounding his dad, how it changed when he was around (he noticed more than his siblings, because for a while, Bruce had been really cold and distant with him, since he met him not long after Jason’s death..understandable. So he was the only one who had this sort of behavior aimed at him, the shield Bruce put in front of him to keep everyone away so he wouldn’t be hurt, the shield that now was lowered for them and only them). 

It was his eyes. His eyes that were always hard and cold, became different when looking at you or his children. 

Not to say that his family never exasperated him, or that he never had his “mask” around them. After all, Bruce’s stoic expression was his face by default. It’s just that he was often too focused. And that he spend years practicing hiding his emotions, practicing keeping a blank face. Because Barry also remembered seeing Dick perched on his father’s shoulders, letting himself dangle in his back, his head upside down, whistling and kicking his feet, and Bruce having this stoic mask on, concentrated. 

Anyway, they knew all that. It had been years, since Bruce finally trusted them enough to bring his wife here, and his kids. But yet, yet they were still surprised sometimes.

Like today. 

The picture of Batman holding a baby was...a little weird. 

Even if he opened up to them over the years, he was still mostly very cold, distant and aloof. You know, Batman. That’s just who he was. So sometimes, to see him so devoted to his wife or kids, it was odd to say the least. 

And right now, as he walked towards them with a baby in his arms, the shock was real. Damn it, will there be a day when the Bat didn’t surprise them with something ? 

How did none of them notice you were pregnant ? Proof again Batman was a master of his craft. And that little girl...

Oh your daughter was such a beaming ray of sunshine, that in his arms it was particularly a jarring image. 

The big scary bat, tall, broad shouldered, muscular in every way, his face void of expressions, holding a tiny baby who kept smiling at everyone around, and playing with her plushy. 

Odd. 

Yet, sweet. 

Were they surprised ? Yes. 

Were they a little mad he hid something (AGAIN) this important from them ? Definitely. 

Were they shocked that his daughter was so darn cute and smiling and laughing that much ? Not really, because you were his mom too. 

Were they happy for him ? For sure. 

Were they going to adore that little girl ? Probably as much as they adored his other kids already, which meant...yes. Yes they were going to. 

Damn that bastard Bruce. Always so sneaky. 

Hal, couldn’t help but think : “First, he’s not a vampire, then, he’s married with children, and now, he has that cute baby. This guy ??!!” 

***********

The initial shocked passed, and only after your children MOCKED all of your friends (you had to give it to Dick, he knew how to imitate them so well..and when Damian joined in ? Oh, oh it was a fit of laughter impossible to fight that attacked them), did they approach your daughter. 

“Her name is Martha.” Bruce said “We named her after my mother.” and it wasn’t his usual flat tone he used as Batman. No, it was a soft voice he usually only reserved for his kids. And the reason he was using it now ? Well. He didn’t want to scare his daughter, as he still held her. 

She beamed at him when she heard her name, and babbled some baby nonsense. She then turned towards all those new faces, and you saw Bruce’s hand hold her a little tighter. 

Your beautiful, sweet soul husband. He clearly was worried she’d be scared, meeting all those new people. Especially since they all wore mask. But Martha-

Martha let go of her bat plushy (which Damian caught before it touched the floor, rolling on the ground in a way you thought was quite comedic. Oh, that boy), and lifted her arms up towards- 

“What a sweet little girl !” Diana said with a voice you NEVER heard her use. You realized it was her “voice reserved for babies and domestic animals”, and it made you smile. It was higher than her usual voice, and full of softness. 

You thought your daughter reached for her because she could feel the warmness in your friend. And after all, amongst all of those gathered here today, she was probably the one that adored babies the most. 

Diana looked at Bruce, who only inclined his head a little to give her the ok to lift her from his arms but-

Another arm stopped her, and took the baby away. 

Damian. 

Damian, the one who took his role as a big brother a little too seriously. 

He held Martha protectively against him, and literally sneered at all your friends. 

************

Damian deemed most of them unworthy to hold his baby sister, and only Clark ended up being allowed to carry her. And that was partly because Clark was the only one who knew about Martha, the only one who saw her already, and he had months to convince your son to trust him with her. 

Being an extremely close friend and all, you just couldn’t hide this from him and... no, really, you literally couldn’t hide this from him as he was the immediately noticed that second heartbeat when he listened in to make sure you and your family were safe. Bruce hated when he did that, but Clark wasn’t about to let them be in danger without moving an inch.

Anyway, Clark was allowed to hold her, but he gave her back to you rather quickly because your son’s stare made him uncomfortable. If eyes could kill, right ? 

Damian took his job as an older brother very seriously. He would protect her at all cost. And you had no doubt that he would be the kind of person to burn the entire world down if it meant saving his family. 

Damian only glared at everyone, letting them approach ONLY after they put on a surgical mask so they wouldn’t give her their “viruses or whatever”. 

You had to admit he was a bit much, and you asked him nicely to calm down a little. He relented on the face masks, but made them all wash their hands (twice). 

You ruffled his hair affectionately, what a sweet little boy. It broke your heart, how so many people judged him too fast. He really was, a nice kid. With a heart of gold. He just didn’t have much luck for the first few years of his life. 

But he chose to be like this. Chose to love, instead of hate. Chose to protect, instead of attacking. 

Although, right now, as Diana came back towards his sister, he definitely seems ready to high kick her (which definitely wouldn’t have hurt the amazon). 

************

It was a hassle, to convince Damian to let go of his sister so they could hold her. As per usual, it’s Dick who managed to convince him, saying Martha was all soft and cute, and everyone deserved to hold her at least once. Adding that if one of them dropped her, he would be allowed to do whatever he wanted to them. 

Some of the mightiest heroes of the planet were gathered hear, but the threat didn’t fall on deaf ears. Damian could be a little intense, and scary sometimes. 

They weren’t fooled by Dick’s agreeable smile either. A smile that didn’t always reach his eyes. They knew if they messed up, he would find every way to rip them to shreds. Dick was often seen as the calmest of your children, but his anger issues from when he was a child were never far. And he could be ruthless.  

Diana held her first, and your daughter babbled to her excitedly. 

Of course, being only 4 months old, she just talked gibberish. And it was so sweet, how Diana answered her : “What ? *babbles from your daughter* Noooooo. *more babbles from your daughter* I can’t believe he said that. And then what ? *babbles babbles babbles*”. 

After that, Dick took her back, and asked if someone else wanted to hold her, under yours and Bruce’s watchful eyes. 

Then again, in the room, many were also already parents and knew how to hold a baby. They weren’t too worried, except-

Except Dick, that little sh-, had found a new game in recent weeks. Whenever he gave his little sister to someone else...he pretended to drop her. 

And it made him laugh and laugh and laugh, to give mini-heart attacks to EVERYONE whenever he gave them his baby sister to them, as they always all panicked and screamed seeing her dropped (Dick always had her secure, he only pretended to drop her of course). 

“Oh no careful !” He’d scream, dropping his arms suddenly (she looooved it) while still gripping her, and they’d scramble to catch her, and he would just laugh. 

“You little-” Hal’s colorful words were...imaginative. And Damian was inclined to agree, since his brother pranked him oh, I don’t know, only about A HUNDRED TIMES since their little sister was born. 

You wouldn’t admit it, but it made you laugh a little too. Even if he got you a few times as well, pretending he was going to drop her. Then again, you trusted your eldest son. Once you and Bruce wouldn’t be around anymore, you knew he would hold this family together. 

************

Martha was a calm baby. She let people hold her, curious enough to not fuss and watch them all intently. It made Barry uncomfortable, how she held his gaze and would just stare at him. 

She would stare, and stare, and stare, and her bright blue eyes were EXACTLY like Bruce’s, it felt like being stared down by a miniature version of Batman. 

He didn’t like it. So he gave her back to whomever was closest, which happened to be Jason

Jason, who was always very delicate with his little sister. He handled her as if he’d break her. It broke your heart, to know he probably literally thought that. 

He refused to hold her at first, sure he would hurt her. But she kept reaching for him, crying when he wouldn’t take her, and she was so adorable and-

He caved, of course. After a little while. And he was oh, the fixture of a patient older brother. You knew he would ALWAYS be part of her life, and step in whenever she needed to. 

Right now, she was grabbing his hair, which were getting quite long, and pulling hard on them as babies do and- He didn’t say anything. He just let her do it. 

You really hoped she wasn’t going to take advantage of this when she’d get older, even if you already had visions of her having her brothers and father wrapped around her little finger, having her sister too, and...apparently, the entirety of the JLA. 

************

“How can such an a-hole make such a cute baby ?” Hal said, looking at the little girl he held. She was sort of dozing off, which for sure was adorable. 

Bruce only glared at him, which amused Hal greatly. He just gave him the shock of his life, he could laugh at his expense a little, right ? 

“I believe, to make a baby, you need to-”

“Um, no, Jon, please, I know how to ! It’s just-Oh, forget it.” 

Flustered, Hal Jordan was flustered. Jon J’onzz didn’t seem to get why, but then again, human sarcasms and irony were still very foreign to him. He always answered pragmatically to people. 

Talking about pragmatism. Hal handed back your daughter to Tim, who slipped her in his favorite new contraption : the baby carrier 3.0 (of his own design). Made so he could do all sort of work while having her strapped to him. Keeping an eye on her at all time. 

Tim adopted the use of a baby carrier, so he could still work while taking care of her (he stole the idea from his dad, who definitely hung around with his daughter EVERYWHERE with that thing...which was the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen, this tall broad man and this tiny baby attached to his chest). 

It was so cute to see her little feet dangling while he was working. Damian nearly lost it when he found Tim WELDING two pieces of metal together with the baby carrier on his front. Tim merely said : “I made her baby sized goggles and a fireproof pyjama, she’s fine, and she likes it” and indeed, your daughter didn’t have a scratch, and cried when Damian hauled her away from the sparks. Ooooh the smug look on Tim’s face as his brother gave her back reluctantly. Damian’s was utterly vexed. 

Vexation he forgot just a few minutes later, when Martha decided she had enough of sparkles and made little sounds of protest (not quite cries), and reached her little arms to him. 

As of now, Tim had her in this baby carrier again, and was strolling around the JLA headquarters, showing his new little sister to everyone. 

************

Cassandra didn’t say a word, as per usual. She never liked big crowds, only spoke to those she trusted the most. Her brothers, her parents. 

She only gestured to others. Remained quiet. But she monitored every little movements. 

Hawkgirl approached her sister ? Noted. Carefully studying every move. Martian Manhunter asked if he could hold her ? Noted. 

Superman made little babbling sound at her, while her dad held her ? Noted, with amusement. It was funny, to see one of Earth’s mightiest hero grimacing to a baby to make it laugh, while said baby was held by another mighty hero who was utterly stoned face. Cass’ smiled at her dad, who smiled back for a fraction of seconds before Clark shifted his head up to look at him too, and Bruce went back to his : “ -_-” face, by reflex really. 

Cassandra never spoke much, but she loved a lot. And her way of loving her little sister ? It was to always keep a watchful eye on her, so she could react to whatever she needed. And give her space when she needed to. 

She had many brothers, she often joked that if she lost one, she could just replace him (a joke you didn’t like much, because you knew it was just a self-defense from her, to shield her heartbreak at the mere idea of loosing a sibling), but only had one sister...

Yes. Your youngest child definitely held a special place in everyone’s heart. 

And you could see her slowly creep in every members’ of the Justice League’s heart too. 

Gods, you couldn’t even imagine what would happen to the person who would one day try to hurt her. You could bet, though, he wouldn’t get out of it unscathed (to say the least). 

************

Martha was particularly fond of Duke’s inuit kiss. He had the capacity to instantly calm her, and he could easily feel her inner emotions. 

As she was passed around everyone, and she started to be tired and cranky, he simply retrieved her and brought her to Bruce, because he knew that was her preferred spot to fall asleep. 

He kissed her on the forehead, and sure enough, she was asleep before he could pull away. Your husband put a warm hand on Duke’s head, a warm smile on his face. That boy could always tell what others felt. It was a gift, really, and sometimes a curse as others’ feelings could leak into him. Which is to say that sometimes, when others were sad, he would be too...

But for now, he felt content. At peace. Because his dad was, too. 

And indeed, Bruce, holding his sleeping daughter against his heart, his hand supporting her head gently, was utterly at peace. 

He loved the idea that his arms were his daughter’s favorite place to sleep, and never refused to hold her to help her sleep. You sure were a little jealous, but he told you : “They all always come to you when they need comfort, one kid out of six, you surely can give me, right ?” and though you knew he was joking, it broke your heart a little. 

So, you let go of your jealousy, and let him have this indeed. Martha was definitely a daddy’s girl. And that was good. You could see the impact on your husband, how having a baby in the house soothed him. 

He loved his kids so damn much. He often said they were his lights. And the fact Martha found comfort with him ? 

It reminded him of his own parents. How he would go to his mom, a Martha too, to find the same comfort. To fall asleep in the same way. 

You let go of that small jealousy, as you saw her falling soundly asleep, cuddled up against her dad. And it was funny, how Bruce would take his usual Batman persona, stone faced, standing straight and- 

Having one of two fingers held tightly by both of his daughter’s little hands. She grabbed them as he took her, one hand holding her (she was so tiny...and he was a big dude), the other, she used as a sort of comfort plushy. She held them with all her might, as she slept. 

And Bruce was speaking battle plans, and you had to fight the laughter in you as all your friends couldn’t help but stare at the scene, not knowing how to feel. 

Hal snickered at one point, and he made a gesture for him to zip it, and it was quite an odd scene, as he held his daughter and did that childish gesture. 

Seriously. That guy !! 

************

Batman smiling was...different. 

They all got caught staring at him, when he had his daughter in his arms. Staring because his broad smile was-

Well. Broad. 

It wasn’t his signature smirk. It wasn’t a soft smile. It wasn’t a half-smile. It wasn’t a smile that you could only see in his eyes. 

It was a full on big ass smile (as Barry would say). 

And sure, they already saw him smile like that (although he schooled his face back to “stone mode” when he noticed them looking), never that much. 

As if the birth of his daughter gave Batman another new light, and it was just impossible to yield to his old demon, to brood, when holding that ray of sunshine. 

It made them all feel...soft. And warm. 

It was nice, to know the bat wasn’t just a machine. They forgot it sometimes, that he was, in the end, “just” a man. They forgot why he became Batman. The pain and guilt he held inside. But moments like this, they were reminded of it. 

That the Batman didn’t exist because of hatred, but because of love. 

Because he loved his parents, his city, and now- 

His family. 

It was nice, to get reminded that there was a man below the mask. And though he could be an “a-hole” sometimes, there, holding his baby, he was just that. 

A loving man, who wanted to protect others. 

************

You made a note of every moments you would cherish forever of you introducing your daughters to them all : 

1. The shock on their faces as they beheld the sight of THE BATMAN holding a baby against him, and being so delicate. 

2. Your daughter being the star of the show, all of them smitten with her !

3. Your friends wanting to hold her, and how they beamed at her (and she beamed back, except with Barry, whom she only stared at for some reasons). 

4. Dick’s “game” of pretending he dropped her, and their panicked reaction. 

5. The success of Tim’s baby carrier, and how now, there was always one up in the tower. 

6. Diana and how it definitely seemed like she would move mountain for that child. 

7. How Clark’s eyes filled with tears again, as he looked at Martha. Because it made his friends so happy. You and Bruce. And especially Bruce. And Clark was an emotional man, who suffered too, and was just so happy “The Batman” was happy. 

8. How Jason seemed at peace with his little sister, and how whenever he held her, he seemed less weary than usual around everyone. Like Cass, he didn’t like much being amongst too many people. But now, it felt like he had an “emotional support baby”. Ah. 

9. Their reactions, past the shock, welcoming that new life in the world. 

10. How Bruce monitored his daughter being held by his friends, holding your hand. Even after all those years, when he acted close to you in his Batman costume, it made you...feel things. He always kept a facade as Batman. A facade that would crumble with his kids, and especially with you. PDA weren’t rare. And even after years at his side, it always made your heart beat wildly when he showed affection towards you in public, because it meant- 

Oh it meant so much. 

And you had so many more moments forever ingrained in your heart from that day spend up at the JLA’s headquarters. 

Too many to count. Some sweet, some hilarious- 

All positive feelings. 

And as you and your family stepped back in the zeta tubes, your friends saying “byyyyye” to Martha especially, with their baby voice (making Bruce roll his eyes), and as she waved at them- 

Waved for the FIRST TIME ever oh. 

Oh it felt like you would die of happiness. 

And still, Bruce’s hands held yours tightly. 

He knew. 

He knew, you were the source of this happiness he thought he could never find again. 

He knew. 

He never loved like that before. 

Yes. It felt like you could just die of happiness.

__________________________________________________

And here we are. I hope you enjoyed this. Don’t hesitate to comment and/or reblog, it’s always greatly appreciated :). 

Also, initially, the child was going to be Thomas (their son in my “main” storyline, if you already read a few works from me), but last minute, I was like : “wait no, I want to give Bruce a daughter, and the boys a sister. Also, poor Cass eh ?” and here we are. I really hope you liked this; I’m nervous for some reasons. Anyway. See you soon with another one ? 

[fake-bleach]

ROAD TRIP STOP | LOGAN HOWLETT x READER

taking a small road trip with old man logan where you’re halfway to where you need to be, and you're bored out of your mind. unluckily for you, your boyfriend won't possibly give into your antics.

or, logan fucks you in a gas station bathroom <3

word count: 3.3k

WARNINGS/DISCLAIMERS: (18+ only!) fem!reader, porn w/ slight plot lol, piv, unprotected sex, this shit is roughhh, degrading, filthyyy dirty talk, use of pet names, slight choking, coming inside/creampie, manhandling? i guess?, logan refers to himself as "your old man" bc i'm insane, anddd happy ending bc we all know how much i love those! :D

a/n: there aren't nearly enough fics abt old man logan & i need him Badly.

+ logan pictures from @divinesols incredible moodboard <3

ao3 link! | my masterlist

you’re 4 hours into your road trip, and logan, well, being the man he is, hasn’t let you drive a single second.

he tells you that you can just sit there n’ look pretty and that’s good enough for him. but, he’s getting tired, and the nearest hotel isn’t for another 50 miles.

you notice his eyes getting heavier, his body slouching more, his grip on the steering wheel loosening. so, you do what you do best. why not have some harmless fun with your old boyfriend?

your hands subtly inch over to his thighs, fingers trailing the clothed skin just above his knee, and he flinches surprisingly, glancing at you for a moment with that tired face of his.

“what are y’doing? huh?” he asks, with a quirk in his eyebrow and his voice rasping more than usual from his fatigue; it only makes it all the more arousing for you.

you grin, your head turned to look up at him with a sly expression. “just waking you up a bit. you’re practically falling asleep here.”

your fingers move upwards now, slowly but surely, and right before you can reach the spot just below his bulge, he sighs out, gripping your hand to lightly push it off of him.

“not here. got another hour left til’ we’re at the hotel. then, we can rest up, baby.”

you pout, looking at him eagerly. “are you even gonna make it there, lo?” you tease, “your eyes are getting heavier, you’re tired.. why don’t you just let me drive?” you attempt, but you’re knocked down the second you try.

he huffs, shaking his head. “don’t you try that shit. you know what m’gonna say to that.”

you groan at that, rolling your eyes fussily as your head turns to look up at the roof of the car. “you’re insufferable,” you sigh out, jokingly, of course. but, you were with logan long enough to know just how stubborn he could be. that he could almost always be.

which means, you knew exactly how to get what you wanted, in more ways than one. 

let’s just say this way was more fun, anyway.

you let out an exasperated breath before turning back to face him, your eyes lighting up just slightly before you open up your mouth.

“guess i just gotta..” you trail off, hands now on your body with your fingertips grazing the skin on your chest; roaming around the loose shirt you had on. “..entertain myself for the next hour then..”

logan turns his head to you now, eyes fixing on your hand just long enough to catch you slip it underneath your bra, cupping one of your tits. you let out a low moan as you look into his eyes, fingers rolling the nipple there, and he scoffs.

it’s a sound that has your heart racing immediately.

“you’ve been a good girl so far, sweetheart. would hate for you to switch up when we’re almost fuckin’ there.” he warns you, turning his head back to the road, having seen enough. “don’t you start now. gonna make you regret it.”

a pang of arousal hits you just like that, pussy involuntarily clenching around nothing as he threatens you; a threat that you definitely need to see for yourself.

you merely pout at him again, but his words aren’t enough to stop you. not when you’re just getting started.

your hand leaves your breast, slowly inching down your stomach, then to the waistband of your shorts, all with your eyes still locked on him. you bite your lip as your hand breaches underneath the material, testing the waters before your fingers reach the hem of your panties.

fingertips aching to dip into the wet heat, you anticipate your own touch as your hands lower, but an immediate grasp at your wrist stops you completely, eliciting a gasp from your throat.

mouth falling open in shock, you turn to look at the man responsible with that gruff look on his face, and that snarl from him gives you more than enough of a warning.

you clear your throat, letting out a noise of frustration towards your boyfriend as he all but tosses your hand away carelessly.

“knock. it. off. don’t make me say it again.”

logan nearly growls at you, moving in closer to get right in your face; he isn’t playing around, and you know it.

but, god, does it only encourage you more.

it isn’t until logan’s focus is completely back on the road that you test the waters again; your fingers finally inserting themselves into your soft, warm folds, wet and waiting so impatiently.

it makes you moan, a hushed sound that you try your hardest to bite back from releasing, but you’re evidently unsuccessful.

so, before you know it, the truck is swerving, causing you to pull yourself back to hold onto the sides of the car, anywhere that you could grab onto. the wheels squeal loudly as the high pitch penetrates your ears, and logan makes a harsh u-turn without a second to waste.

“lo! what the fuck!” you exclaim loudly, wild eyes reaching for his own, but it’s no use. he’s dead set in front of him, shaking his head furiously as the white of his knuckles present itself from holding onto the wheel so tightly.

he’s had enough of your shit.

his eyes never leave the road in front of him once, never returning to you. no matter how much you talk or try to get him to respond, he doesn’t budge.

instead, for the next 5 minutes, silence fills the space between you as your eyes shut from your frustration. it’s all you really can do at this point.

but, it’s only when the high screech of the wheels halting and the gear being put into park has your eyes opening again, eyes latching onto the bright lights in front of you.

a gas station, and the convenience store’s white luminescent glass reflecting on logan’s face. he’s out the driver’s side as soon as you can look at him, and before you can process it, he’s dragging you out of the truck, slamming the door shut as he does so.

you scramble against him, fists almost pushing their hardest into his chest as you whine loudly, increasingly dazed and confused.

“logan, what the fuck are you doing?! let go of me!”

you fight against him harder, but there’s nothing stopping him. not now.

he lets out an exasperated breath, his heavy footsteps embedding themselves into the loud gravel beneath them as he drags you along.

“don’t play that shit with me. actin’ like you don’t know what the hell you’re doing,” he practically yells at you in a hushed voice, “you know what the fuck you’re doing.”

“walk.” he orders you instantly, and you don’t hesitate to obey. not when his voice gets like that.

most of all, because it makes your heart pound—pounding in your chest because he’s right. you know what you’re doing.. but, you can’t say you regret it. no, not one bit.

and if he’s gonna make you regret it, you might as well go all out. right?

his grip on your arm is tight as you walk side by side with him, leading you into the gas station with the door open for you. you can’t even acknowledge the cashier from how quick logan swifts the two of you past them; straight towards the bathroom, and it makes you gulp. 

it’s too late for anyone to be around, too late for anyone to care, and you know that. but, the thought exhilarates you anyway.

he shoves the door open with a hushed whisper—one that’s almost incoherent as it escapes his lips. “you wanna act like a fucking brat?” he shuts the door hurriedly, shoving your body against the sink, “i’m gonna treat you like a fucking brat.”

you yelp at the sudden movement, his fingers digging themselves into your skin as you cry out at the feeling. it’s rough and brutal and it burns, but it’s so fucking good.

“lo.. lo, please,” you whine as your eyes shut tightly, the overwhelming sensation of his hands on you and his hot breath hitting your skin being too much to handle.

your body is flush against the sink as you attempt to squirm, to try to get him to do something, anything.

that cruel laugh of his fills your ears—quiet yet booming in your head as it sends chills throughout your entire body, eyes flashing open to look at him in the mirror in front of you. “please? please?” logan mocks you, “do y’even know what you’re asking for, baby? nah.. you don’t.”

“you just want..” logan trails off, his hands mindlessly reaching for your shorts, “to get fucked.. like the whore you are.”

without a single warning, he yanks them down along with your panties, and your whines are impossible to stop when the cool air hits your bare skin. when his filthy words are the only thing you can think about.

“can’t keep these pretty hands to yourself, you gotta rile me up to do it for you?” you hear the clank of his belt unbuckling, the zipper of his jeans sliding down, “gotta piss me off every goddamn time you get so fucking needy? i mean,” he laughs harder now, “not that i really blame you..”

logan pauses, and his eyes that were once staring directly at you now shift to look straight ahead, latching onto your mirrored reflection instead. as if he was looking right into you now. “pretty girl like you.. would be a shame to let this cunt go to waste. so, i’ll do you a favor..”

your jaw falls open in complete shock as your face contorts, as the tip of his cock breaches your tight hole, making your eyes roll back instantaneously with a sob from your lips.

“i’ll use her real good. for what she’s made for, yeah?”

your hands grip the sink in front of you as tightly as possible, body trembling as logan groans into your ear, his hands on your body never loosening.

instead, his grip only tightens as his hips become flush against your ass, his entire cock piercing you to the hilt with a satisfied moan.

“that was easier this time, wasn’t it? gettin’ used to me now. just needed to..” logan takes a moment to pull himself out of you, the tip resting against your entrance as he groans. he slams himself back inside of you so hard that your body fails you, your hands landing on the mirror to hold yourself up, bent over.

“break her in real fucking good.”

your body shakes against him as you cry out at his intrusion, stammering out a string of noises as your walls involuntarily clench around him over and over again. it’s almost as if you’re rapidly adapting to him; the way he stretches you out so much that it hurts in the best way possible. you’re pulsing around him, increasingly growing wetter by the second as your eyes water from the intense sensation.

your words slur with a few whines of what seem to be logan’s name as your hands move back to the sink, attempting to push yourself back up against him, but he stops you. grabbing one of your hands, he places it right against the mirror again, holding it still as he grinds himself into you. it makes you breathe out rapidly, body bent over the sink completely now.

“keep em’ right there. right fucking there. you don’t get to do that. y’don’t get to make any choices here.” he grunts in your ear, his thick beard grazing along your jaw as his eyes flicker from your face back to the mirror. he notices the way you’re trembling, eyes filled with those pretty tears of yours, and it makes him smile—a chuckle leaving him shamelessly.

he takes a moment to admire you, whispering out, “what i’m gonna do to you, baby..” and it makes your eyes flutter shut, warmth filling your core.

his other hand trails up the front of your body now, and it practically covers you completely because of how big it is—your stomach, your breasts, your chest, then finally, your neck. your gasp is loud; heavy, as his fingers wrap around your throat, holding you still for him.

all of you in the palm of his hand—all in his control.

you moan eagerly as he looks into your eyes through the mirror, grinning almost maliciously, “isn’t this what you wanted?” he laughs, his hips stirring a bit as he agonizingly pulls out of you, making you wince, “you wanted my attention so bad, wanted my cock so fucking bad..” he growls in your ear, his hand sliding from your throat to the back of your neck, pushing you down hard, and it makes you grip onto the side of the sink even more. 

“well, now you fucking got it.”

the sound of his rasping grunt hits you first; before you’re sobbing out on his cock, pelvis hammering inside of you with a tight hold on your neck, keeping you there with no chance of stopping, no squirming, no escaping.. no running away from this.

all you can do is take it as he pounds into you, the agonizing ache of his cock sliding in and out of you rapidly increasing the coil in your core, your loud cries and moans enough to make him go harder.

“there you go, there she is..” logan grits out, hands now grasping at your hips, smacking your ass, eliciting a grunt from you, “better fuckin’ hope no one walks in here, or else all they’re gonna see is some whore gettin’ used.”

you cry out as you feel the tip of his cock reach the deepest parts inside of you, nudging your g-spot suddenly as a tear slides down your cheek, your knuckles white from how tight you were grasping at your surroundings. your cheeks grow hot from the idea of that happening, stomach tightening as heat pools your core.

“what’d they think, huh? you think they’d wanna join in on the fun? bet they’d wanna fuck you too after i’m done with you. tightest fuckin’ hole i’ve ever had.”

you whine out now, shaking your head desperately in retaliation as you deny it. you couldn’t ever have another man like this, not now, not ever—only him.

logan sighs out, “no, no, no, i’d never let em’ baby, don’t you worry,” he reassures you, pressing his lips against the top of your head, “this,” he murmurs, his hand reaching to cup the front of your cunt, the rough skin on his palm grazing your clit just enough to make you squeal, “s’all fuckin’ mine. you hear me? not a single soul gets to use her like i can.”

“not like she’d want it anyway. only wants my cock in her. s’the only way she can really be filled up.. fucked stupid and cryin’ for me. ain’t that right? never got fucked by a man like me before y’met me, and i’m sure as hell no one will ever get her trembling like i do.”

you shake your head again, tears continuously spilling out of your eyes as your stomach tightens repeatedly, “n-no, lo, only you—” you stammer out as logan buries himself inside of you to the hilt, plunging into the warm heat of your walls, and he slows, relying on pure power than pace now. the harsh drive of his hips has your head fogging up, so close to reaching your peak with your cunt shuddering.

“ohh, there we go, she’s doing it now. shaking all over this fucking cock, squeezin’ me so tight,” he hisses, “that all you up in this pretty little head, or can you even control it? can’t even control it, can you, baby?”

a string of noises leaves your lips, breathless and mixed with whines and a few tears in your eyes as your core spasms out, his cock hitting deep inside of you repeatedly.

“what was that? can’t really.. understand you, baby, y’gotta speak up..” he teases, a mean laugh escaping his throat, “c’monnn, use your words, really think em’ out, say em’ clearly.”

“c’mon, show me that you’re still my good girl. my good little girl. speak up for your old man, honey.”

you yelp out at his filthy words, “m’.. i c-can’t.. control it, ah!” your moans involuntarily stringing out, eyes fluttering shut and rolling to the back of your head, your pussy convulsing around him intensely. “g-gonna–c-cum, lo, oh—” you spit out, your chest grasping for as much air as possible.

he hums in your ear now, fingers reaching for your clit and fastening tight, harsh circles at it, making you shudder, your cunt throbbing around his cock—pulsating over and over again as you start to see white. “gonna fill you up, sweetheart, gonna make you take it, fuck.”

you can’t even register him anymore as he talks you through it, the “come for me, baby,” muffled in your ears as you listen to him, cunt constricting around him tightly as you soak him, and the sound is filthy as logan chases his release, squelching loudly from your climax.

you let out a muffled sob as logan finally reaches his peak, slamming himself deep inside of you as he holds you there, the spurts of white hot spilling & coating your walls. all you can hear is the ringing in your ears, along with the mixture of your heavy breaths and logan’s rasps surrounding you.

logan’s strong arms pull you up against him as you catch your breath, heart rate slowing as your back leans against his chest tiredly. he mutters sweet nothings to you, praising you with kisses along your neck, cheek, then to your lips.

“my good fucking girl, my sweet girl—oh, baby,” he hums in your ear, eyes shut as he takes you in. you sigh out, breathing him in as your hand reaches behind, landing on the back of his head to pull him in closer, “god, i love you.”

you laugh, pressing a mindless kiss on his skin, “i love you more, lo, i–i’m sorry for acting out, for being such a—” you begin to apologize, but he just shuts you up with another peck to your lips. “shh, you hush now. i appreciate it.. you riling me up all the damn time. s’ the only way i can still feel so young.”

you giggle, eyes opening up to turn your head to him, taking in his disheveled look—tired, old, grumpy. the man you loved, as handsome as ever.

“always young in my eyes, lo..” you smile, “besides.. it’s the only way i can get you to fuck me that good.” you tease.

he huffs, rolling his eyes. “i fuck you that good every goddamn time, n’ don’t you deny it.”

you laugh, nodding. you can’t deny that fact. but, your eyebrows furrow slightly, suddenly thinking back to the previous events.

“did you really fuck me in a gas station bathroom, babe? what if someone walked in?!” you groan, pushing your forehead into his chest, embarrassed.

he chuckles, “locked it the minute we got in here, baby. wouldn’t let anyone see you like that,” he reassures you, gently gripping the side of your head to make you look up at him, “you got that?”

his face is stern now as he looks into your eyes, and those butterflies in your stomach erupt as if it were the first time you ever got them from him. you nod though, gleaming up at him.

“got it.”

he grins, “good. now, let’s get you cleaned up n’ back on the road. back’s killing me even more now n’ that bed’s calling my name.”

you laugh at him, teasing him further. “old man.”

you wouldn’t want it any other way.

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Can you write a college roommate head cannon for miguel O’Hara ( 18+ f!reader)

ik you asked for HCs but I have no self control... my bad, anon!

College Roommate!Miguel O'Hara Headcanons

(AO3 Mirror), Main Masterlist

pairing: College Roommate!Miguel O'Hara x f!reader

summary: Miguel is your roommate. And he’s hot. That’s it, that’s the tweet.

warnings: 18+ as fuuuck. F-receiving oral, using toys, masturbation, voyeurism (-ish), grinding, praise, service dom (idk?) Miguel, recreational drug use (reader and Miggy smoke a blunt). Minors DNI

a/n: I am a firm believer that modern day Miguel listens to 90s rnb, back when men were men: unabashedly, unashamedly down so fucking bad for their partners. he just gives me those vibes!!

edit: I'm writing a full fic for this! Rigor Mortis, college au fic, read here.

wc: 6k

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

I'm thinking you become roommates but he's your last choice. 

Very last minute: you have a big falling out with your now ex-boyfriend, and the plans for flatsharing next semester goes right out the window. 

So all the good places are taken, and you're going apartment-hunting, but everywhere's either too expensive, too dirty, or there's a predatory clause hidden in the lease: shitty landlords and blaring red flags in 9pt Times New Roman. 

When you stumble upon Miguel O'Hara; a student in private accomodation who, lucky you, is in need of a roommate; it feels like a godsend.

Rent is affordable and he's nice enough; refusing to grunt more than a few words to you, but is clean, organised, and from what you can tell, is barely in the apartment. 

You sign onto the lease, desperately, hoping you've just been lucky and trying not to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

You give a thousand mile stare at the blank document in front of you. A bullshit paper due in exactly 12 hours. Yes, you left it until the final stretch, and yes, it's 10k words. Very doable. You're not fucked. Nope.

You blame it on the banging from next door. Paper thin walls; obscene noises. Cries of Yes Miguel and Just like that, daddy have been plaguing you for almost an hour. His stamina must be superhuman, the way the woman in his bed has been howling. Howling may seem extreme, but she sounds like a dying cat: cock drunk and babbling over Miguel O'Hara? 

Your new roommate had been nice enough. Quiet, unassuming, and seemed more than absorbed in his schoolwork. So you didn't expect him to unashamedly fuck the girl he's been tutoring for the past week. It all clicks. The "perfect roommate" turned out to have one teeny tiny little flaw: loud, obnoxious sex, well into the early hours of the morning. 

On autopilot, you're clicking through tabs on your bed. Perhaps you're a prude, but the sex noises are abrasive, excessive, to the point of parody. Persistent, Miguel's low voice reverberates in the walls of your bedroom; making heat pool at the base of your stomach. 

"You want it, hermosa? Tell me…. such a pretty girl… like that?" It's muffled, but his voice is unmistakable. Low, greedy, heavy with want. God, the last time someone's spoken to you like that was… 

You shake your head free of cobwebs. No. You're not rewarding him. You can't . Your roommate is shameless, and inconsiderate, and really fucking annoying . 

The smacking noises increase, coupled with banging on his side of the wall. Resolute, your face hardens. From where you perch on your bed, you slam the wall with the side of your fist. 

"O'Hara! Keep it the fuck down!" 

~~~

He's a biochem major, up to his ass in assignments and he still has time for societies, internships and tutoring. 

The only times he'd be in the apartment really was an impromptu session, and you didn't notice at first, but it became more obvious as the semester went on.

As a so-called tutor, he only seemed to pick the prettiest girls - they would twirl their hair on your kitchen counter and bat their pretty lashes at him when they didn't understand. Favours for a couple of friends, is his only response when you ask. 

It felt like you'd open the door to a new girl every week and you are baffled. Donned in makeup and short skirts, they'd waddle in asking for Miggy, or drop off half-finished assignments whilst craning their head through, trying to catch a glimpse of him. 

The absurdity would make you laugh if it wasn't affecting your sleep. 

Not that he's not absolutely gorgeous, but he's so quiet you would never have thought he had it in him: to have a revolving door of women lining up to lay underneath him. 

This time, her name is Sarah: pretty little thing in Miguel's Advanced Math class.  She perches on a stool, wearing a tight dress that is wholly not appropriate for a tutoring session. She's one of his regulars, if you can call it that, and has been failing for at least 2 semesters. You flash her a smile as you pad through the kitchen, searching the cupboards for a snack. God, she is gorgeous; dolled up for another long session with Miguel, no doubt.

"Where's he gone?" She asks politely. 

You shrug. "I couldn't tell you, sorry."

"It's okay… I'm just a bit stuck." You almost snort and catch yourself. For some reason, you didn't think they actually did any work, merely a pretense for the… cardio later on in the day. 

You glance at her sheet of paper, scribbles in purple pen with large swathes crossed out. Leaning over, you scan the page.

"Right here." You point and she follows with a manicured finger. "You fucked up with this integral and I think… yeah, I think that messes with the whole thing."

Her eyes light up as she follows you, explaining with a piece of cookie hanging out of your mouth. She's definitely smart, just a few little mistakes here and there that you're happy to point out. Thanking you fervently, she rushes to correct it. 

"Ah, it's no problem. I get mixed up with it too." You smile and notice Miguel by the doorway, watching with a strange look in his face. You roll your eyes as you walk past. What a fucking weirdo. 

"Thought I was the tutor?" He croons.

You raise an eyebrow, voice low as Sarah is engrossed in her work. "...I don't want to fuck her, Miggy , if that's what you're worried about."

A little cruelly you push past him, shoulders clashing against one another. Is he smiling ? For now, you blame your perpetual tiredness when you think you catch the hint of a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

~~~

You're a light sleeper, and it all makes for a tired, delirious combo. You sleepwalk through the day, scramble to finish assignments and whilst it's not all O'Hara's fault, you can't help but blame him for a lot of it. 

After you successfully get through one long week, you decide to celebrate. That means a couple hours of mindless hedonism: your favourite movie, greasy food…. and your trusty dildo. Not at the same time, of course. 

Miguel's not home, and he's not tearing down the walls with some other girl, for once, so you decide to treat yourself. 

You've been going through a dry patch, and you'd hate to admit it, but he does sound good through the thin drywall. 

It was a joke gift; given to you by a friend for your birthday. An obnoxiously purple dildo with a suction cup at its base. Aptly named Hugh, due to its - ahem - large stature. Standing tall at 7 or 8 inches, far bigger or thicker than any partner you've taken in the past. Sitting around a small diner booth with your friends and opening the bag to reveal him, had been quite the experience, for sure. 

It wasn't your fault you had gone through a dry spell in the past few months. With work, with school, with relationship issues, you hadn't had the time or energy to sleep around. Not that you were desperate for drunk, lackluster sex, followed by an awkward dance of ubers and shitty coffee in the morning. Like many, you preferred to do it yourself. 

Laptop open, you ease yourself onto the toy, already slick with lube. Prepping yourself with your fingers had been quite the task, tabs open to something on a lewd website. It's cheesy, but you didn't really like the bright lights and plastic of usual porn. The moans felt too fake, the sex devoid of any real passion. So you found a couple of independent creators; couples, mostly; carnal fucking with fervour only borne from real love . It's embarrassing to admit it, but your favourite parts are the little kisses and touches in between, or light laughter after a rough session. As if to say: it's okay and I'm still here. 

On your screen now is a longtime favourite video, a broad man bullying his fat cock into his partner. You can't help but think he looks like Miguel, not as pretty but tan with strapping shoulders, and large hands that wrap around the neck of the girl in the video. 

" F-Fuck," You breathe, sinking down onto your toy. You bet Miguel's palm on your throat would be deliciously rough, and you imagine how he'd fuck the brat out of you like the man on your screen. 

What hadn't occurred to you, however, was that the thin walls went both ways. Whilst you were quieter than many of the girls Miguel brought home, you were fairly shameless with the moans and curses that fell from your lips. Headphones on, you were blissfully unaware that Miguel had slipped into the apartment some time ago. The slap of your thighs to the floor, the desperate whine as you roll your hips over the toy - he can hear it all. 

Miguel has a conscience, so he does feel some amount of shame when he slips a hand down his trousers and presses an ear to your shared wall. He closes his eyes and bites down lusty groans, fisting his cock to your pretty noises. Noises he's been wanting to hear from you for months, now, imagining it was you underneath him instead of his usual partners. 

He times it just right, squeezing around his tip in time with the steady slap just beyond the wall. Are you fucking yourself? On your knees, hands flat on the floor, churning up your insides with a toy… or maybe ass up, dildo attached to something…? He almost cums with that mental image, wondering what you'd look like on your knees for him. Is the dildo as big as him? He knows you, knows you'd want it to hurt - for his cock to stretch out your pretty pussy when he cums deep inside you. 

All things he thinks about with a hand around his cock, and he's already close. But he wants to cum with you, listening intently for the signs. 

" Fuck," Your voice comes out muffled, but it makes him buck up into his fist all the same. " Need it… oh God, I-" 

He speeds up, wondering what it would be like to have your thighs shake underneath him, what it would take to have you babbling and begging for more. How would he break you? Maybe on his cock, where he'd watch you squirm as you take his length. Or on your knees, choking around him and licking up his cum. Or, God, thighs wrapped around his head, riding out your high with his mouth sealed on your clit, crying for him slow down, for him to-

" H-Harder, Miguel, please." 

He releases, sudden and intense, spilling white ropes into his boxers. 

" Fuck, Miguel…"

He fucks his fist through it, overstimulated from the way you say his name. It feels like the only way it should be said; spilling from your mouth, haphazard and desperate. Like honey, like treacle; sweet things he didn't know he had the capacity for. He lets that feeling wash over him, panting, bringing his forehead to rest on cool wall. 

~~~

He's hot. He's smart. He's a whore.

A total blindspot for you, and no matter how much you can't stand him; you still find yourself stealing glances whenever he's home. 

And he does seem to be home a lot more, often choosing to study on the dining table rather than his room. It's like he does it on purpose, using the warmer weather as an excuse to wear tiny tank tops and loose gray sweats - showing off the muscles of his broad back and arms perfectly.

Funnily enough, when he's not around those girls, he's bearable - seems to have grown a couple of brain cells in those short few days between sessions. 

You laugh and joke, sometimes, and he surprises you by suggesting a movie one quiet night. 

He offers you his sweater to snuggle into, you eat your weight in greasy takeout, and your roommate seems like an actually decent guy?? 

You had fallen into an easy routine: O'Hara leaves a flask of coffee for you to snatch up in the morning, hair damp from the shower and all, and you meet him with netflix and instant noodles in the evening. A push and pull that works in the little space - much smoother than your rocky beginnings.

After a truly shitty day, you come home to a quiet apartment. Almost sleeping through an exam, forgetting lunch, missing the bus home, and having to trek back through pouring rain in a thin coat. Everything that could go wrong, did, and you are left with the pieces. You trudge through the living room into the kitchen, the wet squelch of socks on laminate floor haunting every step. Shedding your limp outerwear, you lay the contents of your backpack onto the kitchen counter: clumps of loose paper, the damp leftovers of a textbook, bleeding ink. Your main concern, however, is your laptop slick with rain water. 

With baited breath, you put it on the slab, and press the power button. A click, a stuttering whir, and the screen flickers on. Then, just as strained, it putters off. Dead. Completely dead. Your legs almost give out, and you lean on the counter to steady yourself. Half of your life was there; including the final project that would make up a good chunk of your grade. It takes you everything not to collapse onto the floor right then and there. 

"How was it?" You hear the click of a door and Miguel calls out from the hallway. 

You wince."...F-Fine?" 

You hear footsteps, as he gets closer. "Are you asking or telling me?" 

You clear your throat, desperately trying to keep your voice steady. "Fine. It was fine. I'm just… it was fine."

Back still turned, you fumble around with the wet contents of your bag, hoping he doesn't notice. 

"Long day?" He says warmly, head poking into the kitchen. Haphazardly, you spare him a glance from behind your shoulder. He's dressed in a sweater that fits snug around his chest, rolled up to expose his forearms, and loose sweats. In his hands, he drinks from a cheesy mug - your mug, donning a stupid pun. He looks warm. Cosy. Domestic. For some, reason it makes your heart sink even further. 

Long day? "Something like that." You manage to squeeze out. There's a pregnant pause as he comes closer. Rummaging blindly through a cupboard, you try to hide behind its door. If he sees you like this, now, you don't know if you'll be able to hold it together. 

You close the door, and all of a sudden he's there, mug in hand. 

" Fuck, man- " It makes you jump, as he squints and takes a sip of his coffee. 

"You look… wet." 

"That's because it rained, Miguel." Snapping at him, your tone is biting. You're tired, stressed and in desperate need of a cry, but he is unrelenting in his gaze. 

"Are you ok?" He asks, unfazed. 

There's a lump in your throat and all you can do is nod with a tight expression.  His eyes flicker towards the counter and you shuffle, trying to cover up the mess. And then you watch it happen; initial confusion, a flash of realisation, and then worry; all in the space of a couple seconds. 

Gently, he pulls you aside to inspect the damage. "Mierda. This is pretty bad. You sure you're ok?" 

He's got a hand on your arm now,  The dam breaks and you crumple into tears in the kitchen floor. Of course, he comes with you, rubbing your back as you blubber through the details. 

" Nothing's going right for me… and I've got my final project on there… I'm barely keeping up as it is…" All he does is nod, face tight with something you can't quite name. It must seem pathetic to him, you think, shamelessly crying on the kitchen floor, complaining to your poor roommate. He can't leave you like this, because he's a decent person - but internally, he must think you're going crazy. 

It helps, having him there: a steady presence by your side. Slowly but surely, your tears subside. 

"You could've asked me to pick you up." He hands you some tissues off the counter, and watches as you mop up the tears. "I would've come, if you called."

"I didn't… I didn't think we were…" You search for the right word. 

"...friends?" He offers, with a small smile. "You think I let just anyone steal my sweaters?" 

"First of all," It makes you laugh, despite yourself. "You offered. And second, I've seen what you do with your friends, and I don't know if I have the energy for it."

"Ouch." Bashful, he rubs his chest like it aches. He sits a little close to you, knocking your shoulders with his own. "I know this girl who's crazy good with computers. I could ask her to take a look, if you'd like? Might not be able to save it but maybe we could recover the files?"

"...I'd like that, to be honest."

"Muy bien ." He leaps to his feet, palm stretched towards you to help you up. "I'll run you a warm bath or something. You're creating a puddle and it's going to ruin my floor."

"Our floor, asshole. I pay rent here, too." 

~~~

You find that you enjoy being around him, and he feels the same. 

You can't help but compare him to your shitty ex who you were planning to move in with: and even with his quirks, Miguel is better in every way. 

There is harmony in your household, for a while, and you almost look forward to coming home to him after class. Almost. 

It doesn't last long, because of course it doesn't. You'd thought you'd come to a tentative ceasefire, able to casually rib and joke with each other - takeout and B-roll movies aside. He leaves you leftovers from food he makes, you turn down your music when he's studying, and he even woke you up the other day when you had slept through your alarm.

Beyond the wall, his music is loud: a playlist you recognise as the one he puts on to (unsuccessfully) mask the noise of his usual late night adventures. Cheesy love ballads, heady RnB that leaks into your own room. You'd rather die than admit his taste in music isn't horrible, but it usually means a long, long night for everyone around. With finals around the corner, there's no way you can let this stand. 

What kind of person does that? Lull you into a false sense of security with Snakes on a Plane and pepperoni pizza? 

Absorbed in your own work, you hadn't even realised he had someone over; let alone was gearing up for obnoxious sex. You'd bang on the wall, but you feel like you guys are past that: crossed a threshold of intimacy that means you can shout at him up close and personal. 

So you stomp over to the hallway, banging at the door to his room. In the short trip there, you've worked yourself into a frenzy. How many times have you told him to keep it down? That it was rude and inconsiderate to flaunt his sex life in your face; to fuck other women so loud you were practically involved? There was something about the little smile he would give you afterwards, when you catch him shepherding his latest out the door in the morning - like he gets off on it, enjoys it, when you react. Even when you think you're over it, he still manages to drive you absolutely crazy. 

“Miguel? Open the fuck up!"

You're still fuming when the door opens with a click, and Miguel appears in the sliver of the doorway. He opens it so that his frame is half swallowed by the door, top half peeking through with a lazy hand in his hair. And of his top half, he's bare from the waist up, black band of his boxers sitting low on his v-line and loose sweats. 

All the wind is knocked from your sails, and you lose your train of thought. 

"Yeah?" 

"I…" You clear your throat. "I don't care who you fuck, but when I'm doing work-" 

"-I'm not." He chuckles. "There's no one here, hermosa. Just me. And you, I guess…"

There's something about the way he says it, lazily, as if it's his first time saying those words - wrapping his tongue around your name to see how it fits. If it fits, how it tastes. His relaxed posture, the way his hair falls…

"You're high." Your brow shoots up. "... you're high!" 

With a finger pressed to his lips, he grabs your hand and pulls you into his room, eyes darting around the hallway. 

"Shhh! You can't-" Now, he gets close, whispering like he's saying something he shouldn't. "You can't tell anyone. "

"I won't." You breathe. His face is serious at first, and then you're both giggling. You've never seen him so carefree, and it's nice to see Miguel walking around without the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He's still holding your hand, pressed close, and you see him drag his eyes up and down your figure. "You want do something you'll regret…?"

"...I've got a 9am, tomorrow, I really-" 

"-shouldn't?" He finishes, dragging his hand up your bare arm, pupils blown. He gets up to your shoulders, tucking your hair behind your ear. It's sinful, the way his touch is gentle but gaze heavy - violent in the way he practically eyefucks you. You feel bare, in little sleep shorts and a t-shirt.

He steps back, lounging on his bed, and makes for a half finished blunt by the adjacent window sill. Sighing, you sit by him, sinking into the mattress. He pats you closer, dangerously close, and you comply. One arm curled by your waist, the other brings the blunt up close and you wrap your lips around it. When Miguel brings a lighter to the blunt, you lean into it, knuckles brushing your lips. 

You take a drag, long, heavy, eyes closed. And when they open, you're met with his own. Maybe it's the weed, maybe it's the heady atmosphere, but you swear his eyes are low and deep with lust.

"Good girl." He rumbles, cupping your chin and tracing a thumb to your lips. He separates, bringin the blunt to his own lips before leaning back to pass it to you. As quick as he gets close, he pulls away; leaning back into the expanse of his large bed. And he looks good, head drawn back and the curve of his tan arm drawn upwards. Tufts of hair from his chest, the trail that leads down suggestively - and without inhibition, you basically drool over him. God, there it is. You feel it kick in and let it wash over you. 

His music, long forgotten, blends into your downy haze. You want to sit in his lap, rest your head on his chest. You get it now: if this is the view all those women he tutors get to have, then you finally understand. 

"Come closer, hermosa ." You barely register the nickname, only focused on the way he says it, the delicious way it rolls off of his tongue. You nod, and shuffle closer. His siren song sounds sweeter, somehow, up close. 

You pass the blunt between you both, and watch it dwindle to the last dregs. Lying down next to him, he clutches your hand and takes the butt between his fingers, letting its flames die as you watch. You giggle and his gaze softens.

"I didn't expect this from you." You look up to see an upside-down Miguel, hiding a smile. 

"Expect what?" He drags himself downwards, to rest his head by your side. 

"All…" You gesture vaguely. "This. Don't even think I've been in your room for this long, before."

His room looks exactly how you'd expect it: tidy and modest, a row of trophies neatly lined up on a shelf, a telescope pointing out towards a window. There are posters by his bed; science related, mostly. You tilt your head in the direction of one of them.

"Is this what they see?" You mumble to no one in particular. 

He manages to catch it, sluggish in his response. "...Is this what who sees?" 

"All the girls you fuck." It tumbles your of your mouth, before you can help it. 

He tilts his head too, looking at the poster and you watch the sharp lines of his jaw besides you. Even at this angle, he's so pretty. 

"Huh. I guess they do." 

"It's not very romantic, is it?" You blink, oblivious. Your question is met with a noncommittal shrug. "What was her name last time? Cassie, Clara-something…"

"Katie." He hums. 

"Katie." Ignoring the twinge of disappointment at his quick response, you hope it's the weed and not jealousy that made you pretend to forget her name. 

You sit up on your haunches, tracing the valleys and mountains of his bare chest with a leisurely finger. You try not to notice the way he shivers at your touch. 

"I could hear everything. Every, 'Yes daddy'," You feign a moan by curling your lips into an O-shape. You bring your other hand to your hair, head tilted back with exaggerated movement. "And 'right there, Miggy, right fuckin' there' ." 

Technically, you're making fun of him and laughing, expecting him to follow. But he doesn't, head back and eyes boring into you - only bringing a hand to press yours at his chest. 

"Thin walls, Miguel." You clear your throat, sensing a shift in the atmosphere. Too far, probably. "Sorry, shit. I didn't mean-" 

"I hear you too." He says softly. "I heard you, the other day."

Head filled with cotton, it takes a moment for his words to really click. So he elaborates, lacing his fingers with your own. 

"Fucking yourself, hermosa ." He says it lazily, like the vulgarity of the act doesn't register.

Your eyes widen in horror. How much exactly did he hear?

"...and I heard you say my name." 

"It was…. i-it wasn't like that-" Fuck. You can't think straight as it is: and his voice is low and silky, rubbing circles on your hand close to his chest. Even now, he oozes confidence, the steady thump-thump of his heart giving away nothing. 

"Hmmm? Then what is it like?" You blink at him, unable to answer. "You're a hypocrite. You complain about all these women I supposedly fuck, but then-" 

He pulls you closer, so that your lips almost touch his. "-you lock yourself in your room, touching yourself and thinking about your poor roommate. What am I meant to do with you?"

A pause, and in your daze, you can't breathe. For all your theatrics, it's too easy for him - to prod and tease, and for you to chase after him. You move to kiss him, but he grabs your chin at the last second. "Not quite. I want to hear you say it."

"Fuck- " You crumple, hiding your head in the crook of his shoulder. Even in your haze, the nerves bubble up from the base of your stomach. "Fuck me, please , Miguel."

He places a hand on your thigh, leading you to straddle his middle, other hand wrapped around your waist. He grinds your lower half into his, leaning up to bring your lips together. 

He tastes sweet, greedily lapping up your moans in the clash. You're not thinking, not really, lost in the heat of his body, desperate and eager when you kiss. To contrast, Miguel cups your chin, pulling you away for air whenever you sink too deep. Somehow, he still manages to look smug, taunting you with a flash of his little fangs whenever you separate. If you weren't feeling the effects of that blunt, you may have had the means to be embarrassed at how much you want him - needily grinding against him and pawing at his chest. 

It's too slow, too leisurely, like a punishment; and he refuses to give you what he knows you want. Your whines betray you when he finally slips a hand down your shorts. 

"¿Paciencia, hmm?" He grabs a handful of your ass, clothed cock catching on your clit. It rips another moan from you, which he happily swallows with another kiss. "Patience, princesa."

You hump against one another like teenagers, your hands planted by his head for purchase. Hips moving of their own accord, you chase the relief Miguel provides: with his hands kneading your ass, length catching at your clit, and teeth nipping at your bare neck. 

He licks a stripe up your collarbone, soothing the blossoming hickeys with a hum. 

Fuck, how can he be so casual ? You don't know if it's the weed or something else, but he is in his element, hand dipping down your back to graze at your pussy from behind. He hisses when he realises how wet you are, swiping his fingers down your slit and taking them out to pop them in his mouth. 

Now, flushed and face hot with embarrassment, you look up at him with big doe eyes. It makes Miguel feel guilty for stopping you so close to your climax. Beautiful : lower lip hooked under your teeth, plump and swollen and kissable. He'll make up for it later: a promise he whispers into skin. 

"You're soaked." He cups your cheek to press a kiss to your forehead, and all you can do is whine. His gaze dips down, to the swell of your tits in that thin shirt.. 

"What did you think about when you touched yourself?" It's soft, said in the warm press of your bodies; hook-shaped and hazy and you fit like you were made for one another. The thought lingers, plants a dangerous seed that makes you forget that the man underneath you is your roommate : unrepentant whore, Miguel O'Hara. 

"You." You've seen it first hand, he eats hearts for breakfast; and yours is on a platter for him to devour.

He laughs, deep and rumbling, hands resting on your waist. "I know that, baby. You don't have fantasies? Fuck yourself to the thought of someone touchin' you just right?"

Not just someone, him, you think. Your voice dies in your throat at the way he looks at you. "Just… n-nothing really-"

He hums, grinding your hips onto his. "Speechless, I can't believe it. Is this what I need to do to get some fucking peace around here?" 

You roll your eyes, "Don't be a dick, Miguel. When I shout, it's because you deserve it."

"...there it is." Eyes shining, his face stretches into a shit-eating grin. Wide, unabashed, unambiguous. "You back with the living, sweetheart?" 

It makes you laugh, even though you hate to give him the satisfaction. 

"What do you want?" He kneads your thigh and pleasure pools at the base of your stomach. 

You mumble something begrudgingly.

"Hmm? Can't hear you, baby."

Louder, now. "...want to sit on your face, Miguel." 

Lowly, he groans, shaking his head. "Mierda… of course you do."

Expertly, he helps you take your shorts off, dragging the thin material down your thighs. You clambers upwards, wrapping them around his shoulders, watching intently as he kneads the soft skin. It's tentative, at first, and you place your hands on the headboard to perch just above his mouth. 

He licks, diving in with the flat of his tongue: a long upwards stroke that ends with him sucking your clit. Moaning, your hips jump and he chases your pretty pussy up, large palms pushing you back down. He concentrates on your bundle of nerves, lips around your clit like a man on a mission.

And, God, does it feel good; he watches and learns from your every movement, committing your body to memory. His moans vibrate deliciously, tension building at that spot faster than your mind can register it. Then, you clench around nothing, gushing into his mouth whilst he eases you through it. The noises he makes are obscene; one leg off the bed and a hand snaked under his boxers. He's getting off on it; watching you crumple and sob around his tongue. 

And when you begin to move off, thighs sore, he doesn't relent, sealing his mouth on your pretty little hole. 

"Miguel.. fuck-" After your first orgasm, it surprises you when he continues, tongue fucking you with fervour. He presses you close, impossibly close, and your body fights against his ministrations. Heat, everywhere, and it's too much. The haze of the blunt begins to wear off and you are left with biting clarity. You want more of him, deeper; drunk off of just his tongue. 

You card your hands in his hair, and he moans: deep and wanton, with his eyes fluttering shut. He wants to look, to watch you when you cum on his tongue for a second time. Back arched, the curve of your tits peeking through a tiny top, fucking yourself on his face. He wants it hard , wants you to take control and use him to get off. 

"Right there, fuck… "

Like you can hear his thoughts, you press yourself down harder, riding the deep ridge of his nose for relief. Miguel complies and leans into it. He eats you out like a man starved and the carnality of it all brings you to a second peak. You cum once again, legs wrapped tight around his face. Head back, he laps it up readily. 

You separate with a wet pop, and Miguel looks blissful : fucked out and panting, wiping the slick off of his face with a forearm. Exhausted, you lean back onto the mattress beside him. 

"That was…" He searches for the right word, and it's your turn to finish for him. 

"... good. " Scarily good. So good you won't be able to see him around the apartment without remembering what he looks like trapped between your thighs. 

Gently, he turns to cup your cheek and bring your lips to his. It starts off sweet and deepens rapidly, making that thread at the pit of your stomach tighten, again. He grabs your thigh, bringing it closer, and you feel his length poking your stomach. Fuck. 

"You haven't…?" Your hand makes for his trousers, and he stops you. "I want to, Miguel. Want you to feel good too."

His head sinks into your shoulder. "I know, baby, I know. Not like this. Not yet."

You nod, still wrapped up in his arms. You haven't even fucked, and it feels more intimate than it should. 

"You've got a 9am tomorrow." He smiles with a hand underneath his head. 

"I've got a 9am tomorrow," You repeat, sighing. "...and my life is falling apart. I'm failing half of my classes as it is."

He turns to you, lazily. 

"I could tutor you, if you'd like."

…

"That's not fucking funny, Miguel."

_

_

Miguel taglist: @d1lf-loverrr, @afro-hispwriter @ilovemiguelohara @weedxgirlx420 @ladydovahkiin180 @aaliyuh3 @sweetanimebakery @vvitcxen @rosecoloredlenses708 @daikondal @magikmina @impettywhenyouare @alonelygirlsuicidenote @plushyplants @javi0ca @rheeves @starrfruit @nikirikii @marsbars09 @foxglove-grove @mimooyi @crosshairclown @dead-by-light @kynamitedessert @naarra @wanderlustingcastaway @sagejin @cookielovesbook-akie @tangerineloverrr @gobblegluckgluckgod @wolfiepirate @jxxey3 @ebrysteria @elliemm @manchuria @youngghostpeachslime @weasleybuns @ilovemuppets @vauriz @bonbyon @aimno256 @ancientbeing10 @tvije @venus1224idkpleaze @neteyamsbulletwound @chickenjefferson-blog @maki-z @jasjasthings

_

edit: the full fic xx

[rafesangelita]

sheep!reader going to a party w rafe? 🤍

warnings: icky!s1!rafe, heavy teasing, drug use, kelce and topper are kinda gross, public groping, smoking, peer pressure (?), sheep is slightly embarrassed but too shy to say anything, a little bit of rough handling, suggestive language, rafe saying he’ll ‘share’ sheep..

a/n: season one rafe has me by my neck rn..

“well, look who we have here!” topper lifted his head from the white line he was about to snort off of the coffee table before scooting over, making room on the sofa for you and rafe to squeeze between him and kelce. rafe was all smiles when he pulled you onto his lap, your cheeks heating as you felt your dress ride up your thighs. “i didn’t think we’d ever see you at a party..” topper leaned in, the close proximity making a shiver run down your spine. truth be told, you didn’t think you’d ever be seen at a party either, but here you were, your boyfriend’s fingers slipping under your dress while two of his best friends watched you with lustful eyes.

it had taken a good portion of the evening for rafe to convince you to come out with him, your heart hammering in your chest the whole ride over here. not knowing what to say, you hid your face in rafe’s chest, all three of them laughing at your shy demeanor. “aww, come on, let us see that pretty face.” you stayed hidden, rafe’s large palm kneading your flesh as he reached for the bong on the table. “kelce, ‘you light me up?” you heard the flicker of a lighter, peeking up from rafe’s shirt as he inhaled from the glass structure, the sound of bubbles filling up your ears.

rafe took a long drag, holding the smoke in for a few moments before blowing all of it in your face, making you gasp softly before you started coughing. your eyes watered, the two boys on either side of you dabbing each other up as they found amusement in your obvious discomfort. “rafe..” you whispered, a pout adorning your lips while he pressed a kiss to the sensitive spot on your neck. you couldn’t help the small whimper from leaving your lips, the sound drawing both topper and kelce’s attention. “damn, rafe, when are you gonna let us get in on this?” kelce placed a hand on your knee, his thumb rubbing circles into your skin.

“forreal, this shy little thing is just so cute.” topper added, his hand finding the small of your back. rafe could tell by the nervous look on your face that you weren’t sure how to react, his facial expression turning into one of amusement. “tell you what..” he stroked the side of your face, “give me a bump and we can share.” seeing the way your eyes widened was almost comical, topper wasting no time in scooping some of the blow onto his finger tip. “give this to him, sweetheart.” instinctively, you accepted his digit, letting him lay the blow on the back of your hand.

holding your hand up to rafe’s nose, he covered one of his nostrils, snorting the powder until only a little bit of residue was left. “lick it.” rafe gripped the back of your neck, him and his friends staring at you intently. “yeah, do it, baby.” “you’ll feel so good..” you swallowed thickly, your eyebrows drawing together as they watched your tongue lick a small stripe up your skin. apart of you was scared of the after effects of this stuff, but still, you obeyed. rafe was smiling ear to ear, his corruption kink going off the charts right now. “what the fuck!” topper laughed, both him and kelce sitting in disbelief.

“she really fucking did it?!” kelce moved closer, your boyfriend roughly grabbing your cheeks as he shook your head around. “of course she did,” he cupped you through your panties, “she’ll do whatever i tell her to.. right, ‘pretty?” you nodded, gripping rafe’s forearm as topper moved your hair to one side of your frame. “come on, man, just a taste.” rafe pulled you into a kiss, his palm coming up to cup your tits over the lacey material of your dress. despite his earlier words, rafe was far too greedy to share you with anyone. “not a fucking chance, thornton.”