#which is the reason this whole process started in the first place

[frankingsteinery]

i’ve seen a lot of people in general agreement of the headcanon that victor is on the spectrum, but i’ve very rarely seen someone examine the why, and being the persnickety superfluous person that i am (and not being immune to projection myself) i thought i’d try my hand at it and break down his autistic traits!

disclaimer that this interpretation is speculative and is simply my unprofessional neurodivergent opinion + it’s based on contemporary understandings of psychology, which were not part of shelley's context, however autistic people have always existed even if there wasnt a word for it during that time period, etc etc. you know the drill

without further ado!

-- communication & social interaction

first and foremost, many autistics struggle with socialization. victor’s inclination to attach himself to a single friend (henry) and only talking to those inside of his close circle rather than forming many connections reflects this tendency, and he himself acknowledges his dislike and indifference of strangers. for example:

“It was my temper to avoid a crowd and to attach myself fervently to a few. I was indifferent, therefore, to my school-fellows in general; but I united myself in the bonds of the closest friendship to one among them”

“My life had hitherto been remarkably secluded and domestic, and this had given me invincible repugnance to new countenances… I believed myself totally unfitted for the company of strangers”

furthermore, he lacks relationship degradation (he does not require regular interaction or relationship maintenance to sustain a bond). during the creation process, he (presumably) goes months without writing to his family and friends, which clerval lectures him for:

“Very well, and very happy, only a little uneasy that they hear from you so seldom. By the by, I mean to lecture you a little upon their account myself."

yet upon his arrival at ingolstadt:

"...nothing could equal [his] delight on seeing Clerval."

victor also takes things literally several times and social nuances can fly over his head. he demonstrates this literalism when first meeting elizabeth:

"And when, on the morrow, she presented Elizabeth to me as her promised gift, I, with childish seriousness, interpreted her words literally and looked upon Elizabeth as mine"

and, of course, the infamous i will be with you on your wedding-night scene, when the creature obviously means he tends to harm elizabeth, not victor himself:

“It is well. I go; but remember, I shall be with you on your wedding-night.” I started forward and exclaimed, “Villain! Before you sign my death-warrant, be sure that you are yourself safe!"

he also goes nonverbal and groans/vocalizes instead of speaking when upset. there's several instances of this that i can recall (i believe another is with walton), but i could only find one, where elizabeth has to speak for him during their visit to justine:

"When she saw who it was, she approached me and said, “Dear sir, you are very kind to visit me; you, I hope, do not believe that I am guilty?” ... I could not answer. “No, Justine,” said Elizabeth"

and this is more of a sidenote but he gives walton every. minute. detail. of his story, including his childhood in-depth (which was not particularly relevant to the moral of victors tale, which was the whole reason he wound up sharing his story in the first place) which definitely feels like. Something. reminiscent of infodumping almost.

-- repetitive behaviors

victor shows both repetitive motions and repetitive language to such an extent that it'd be ridiculous to put them all here, particularly when he is distressed and agitated. some of these motions include clasping his hands, covering his face with his hands, and gnashing his teeth, which he does on walton's boat, after finding out about william's death, in his confrontation with the creature, during his time at the orkney islands, etc. the use of certain phrases/verbal repetition  include his many "great god!"s and "begone!"s, which he usually says in reaction to the creature or while grieving a loved one. these behaviors are arguably self-stimulatory (stimming) and done to cope with overwhelming, stressful situations.

-- fixations/spinterests

ths one's perhaps his most blatant characteristic. victor has a highly focused, intense interest, initially in in the workings of the world itself:

"It was the secrets of heaven and earth that I desired to learn... still my inquiries were directed to the metaphysical, or in its highest sense, the physical secrets of the world."

"The world was to me a secret, which I desired to discover;"

"I have described myself as always having been imbued with a fervent longing to penetrate the secrets of nature"

this is to the extent that his education is noticeably different from his peers, both in acceleration in the topic of his choice and neglect of other, more typical studies due to the intensity of this focus:

“I confess that neither the structure of languages, nor the code of governments, nor the politics of various states possessed attractions for me.”

“…but by some fatality the overthrow of these men disinclined me to pursue my accustomed studies.”

this early fixation eventually narrows into a special interest in ancient alchemy, after victor finds one of agrippa's works and a "new light seems to dawn upon [his] mind," upon which he proceeds to acquire all the works of agrippa and other authors:

"When I returned home my first care was to procure the whole works of this author, and afterwards of Paracelsus and Albertus Magnus. I read and studied the wild fancies of these writers with delight; they appeared to me treasures known to few besides myself"

this remains his special interest until he is a teenager, upon which, after finding out ancient alchemy has been disproven, he takes up mathematics until his arrival at ingolstadt. then, his interest shifts into a fixation on natural philosophy, particularly chemistry, which becomes his "sole occupation":

"He concluded with a panegyric upon modern chemistry, the terms of which I shall never forget... one by one the various keys were touched which formed the mechanism of my being; chord after chord was sounded, and soon my mind was filled with one thought, one conception, one purpose"

"I read with ardour those works, so full of genius and discrimination, which modern inquirers have written on these subjects... the stars often disappeared in the light of morning whilst I was yet engaged in my laboratory. As I applied so closely, it may be easily conceived that my progress was rapid. My ardour was indeed the astonishment of the students, and my proficiency that of the masters"

which, of course, develops into an interest in physiology and the structure of the human frame, which leads to his obsession over the secret of life, followed by being "thus engaged, heart and soul, in one pursuit" during the creation of the creature.

-- intense, volatile emotions; resistance to change

in general, victor is very emotionally demonstrative, and has difficulty managing these emotions. he also experiences quick fluctuations in emotion. this is something he has experienced since childhood, and is something he maintains as an adult, when he acknowledges that:

"My temper was sometimes violent…"

some examples of these shifts in emotion:

"My heart, which was before sorrowful, now swelled with something like joy..."

"Sometimes he commanded his countenance and tones and related the most horrible incidents with a tranquil voice, suppressing every mark of agitation; then, like a volcano bursting forth, his face would suddenly change to an expression of the wildest rage as he shrieked out imprecations on his persecutor"

hand in hand with his emotional dysregulation, he shows resistance to change and has strong reactions to this change. the most obvious example of this is during the animation of the creature:

"The different accidents of life are not so changeable as the feelings of human nature... but now that I had finished, the beauty of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my heart"

"Mingled with this horror, I felt the bitterness of disappointment; dreams that had been my food and pleasant rest for so long a space were now become a hell to me; and the change was so rapid, the overthrow so complete!"

but it also occurs when moving to ingolstadt, suggesting a discomfort with unfamilarity and a need for stability:

I threw myself into the chaise that was to convey me away and indulged in the most melancholy reflections. I, who had ever been surrounded by amiable companions, continually engaged in endeavouring to bestow mutual pleasure—I was now alone.

-- black-and-white thinking

this aspect is most clearly shown through the way victor thinks about, and drops and gains interests and relationships. he spends years studying ancient alchemy and it is his principle interest, and then drops it on a dime and suddenly looks upon this passion with contempt:

“By one of those caprices of the mind which we are perhaps most subject to in early youth, I at once gave up my former occupations, set down natural history and all its progeny as a deformed and abortive creation, and entertained the greatest disdain for a would-be science which could never even step within the threshold of real knowledge. In this mood of mind I betook myself to the mathematics and the branches of study appertaining to that science as being built upon secure foundations, and so worthy of my consideration”

later, he spends four years with his mind filled with "one thought, one conception, one purpose" studying the processes of life so intensely he forgoes adequate food, water and rest. this culminates in the creation and subsequent animation of the creature, which he again turns around and abandons this interest immediately, to the extent that he cannot bear to think of natural philosophy:

Ever since the fatal night, the end of my labours, and the beginning of my misfortunes, I had conceived a violent antipathy even to the name of natural philosophy.

it's a very polarized, all-or-nothing approach that is mirrored with his relationships, too, which he alternatedly neglects -- he cuts contact when he goes to ingolstadt but abruptly picks it up again when henry comes into his life; when the creature flees victor's apartment, victor treats it as if he never existed entirely; his family only comes to the center of the narrative again when he gets the letter from alphonse about william's murder, despite 2 years having been passed at ingolstadt, etc.

and finally;

-- low empathy

victor repeatedly focuses solely on his own internal emotional experience, and struggles to fully comprehend and understand the depth of feelings of others and respond with compassion in conventional ways. during justine's trial, for instance, he elevates his own suffering above justine's, even as she faces her literal execution:

I rushed out of the court in agony. The tortures of the accused did not equal mine; she was sustained by innocence, but the fangs of remorse tore my bosom and would not forgo their hold.

Despair! Who dared talk of that? The poor victim, who on the morrow was to pass the awful boundary between life and death, felt not, as I did, such deep and bitter agony. 

similarly, victor dismisses ernest's grief after william's death, he frames it in terms of how it affects himself -- telling ernest to "be more calm" to avoid causing his own discomfort:

Ernest began to weep as he said these words. “Do not,” said I, “welcome me thus; try to be more calm, that I may not be absolutely miserable the moment I enter my father’s house after so long an absence.

this detachment suggests not deliberate cruelty (victor very clearly loves his family, and he's said to be kind several times) but a limited capacity to process and respond to other's emotions. this is a detachment that extends to his views of the dead. during the creation of the creature, he refers to the corpses he utilizes as only "materials" instead of once having been fully-fledged human beings, and he does not contemplate the lives or dignity of the deceased.

aaaaaand thats it! thank you for indulging my. headcanon projection land. let me know what you all think...

[itwaslegendary]

and just like clockwork twitter and tiktok “swifties” are already doing the 2 things they always do when a new re-recording comes out

1. “she didn’t breathe the same here in (any song) i’m just going to stream the stolen 😡😡”

2. “there’s no way she wrote (any vault track) back in (insert year) she has to have written them post midnights and is lying 🙄”

it literally was never about “improving” or “botching” the album it’s about her owning her work hasn’t she made it clear enough…?

[blackjackkent]

Me> [struggling to unravel a very annoying UI bug]

My brain, entirely unprompted> H E Y. IF JAHEIRA HAD USED SOME MORE MINOR VERSION OF THAT RITE OF THE TIMELESS BODY ON RASAAD TO EXTEND HIS LIFESPAN, IT WOULD RESOLVE THE MORE FINICKY TIMELINE ISSUES ABOUT RION BEING THEIR KID.

Me> ...ok? I didn't ask right now but thank you for working that out I guess.

[louisa-gc]

how to start reading again

from someone who was a voracious reader until high school and is now getting back into it in her twenties.

start with an old favourite. even though it felt a little silly, i re-read the harry potter series one christmas and it wiped away my worry that i wasn't capable of reading anymore. they are long books, but i was still able to get completely immersed and to read just as fast as i had years and years ago.

don't be afraid of "easier" books. before high school i was reading the french existentialists, but when getting back into reading, i picked up lucinda riley and sally rooney. not my favourite authors by far, but easier to read while not being totally terrible. i needed to remind myself that only choosing classics would not make me a better or smarter person. if a book requires a slower pace of reading to be understood, it's easier to just drop it, which is exactly what i wanted to avoid at first.

go for essays and short stories. no need to explain this one: the shorter the whole, the less daunting it is. i definitely avoided all books over 350 pages at first and stuck to essay collections until i suddenly devoured donna tartt's goldfinch.

remember it's okay not to finish. i was one of those people who finished every book they started, but not anymore! if i pick up a book at the library and after a few chapters realise i'd rather not read it, i just return it. (another good reason to use your local library! no money spent on books you might end up disliking.)

analyse — or don't. some people enjoy reading more when they take notes or really stop to think about the contents. for me, at first, it was more important to build the habit of reading, and the thought of analysing what i read felt daunting. once i let go of that expectation, i realised i naturally analyse and process what i read anyway.

read when you would usually use your phone. just as i did when i was a child, i try to read when eating, in the bathroom, on public transport, right before sleeping. i even read when i walk, because that's normally a time i stare at my screen anyway. those few pages you read when you brush your teeth and wait for a friend very quickly stack up.

finish the chapter. if you have time, try to finish the part you're reading before closing the book. usually i find i actually don't want to stop reading once i get to the end of a chapter — and if i do, it feels like a good place to pick up again later.

try different languages. i was quickly approaching a reading slump towards the end of my exchange year, until i realised i had only had access to books in english and that, despite my fluency, i was tired of the language. so as soon as i got back home i started picking up books in my native tongue, which made reading feel much easier and more fun again! after some nine months, i'm starting to read in english again without it feeling like a huge task.

forget what's popular. i thought social media would be a fun way to find interesting books to read, but i quickly grew frustrated after hating every single book i picked up on some influencer's recommendation. it's certainly more time-consuming to find new books on your own, but this way i don't despise every novel i pick up.

remember it isn't about quantity. the online book community's endless posts about reading 150 books each year or 6 books in a single day easily make us feel like we're slow, bad readers, but here's the thing: it does not matter at all how many books you read or what your reading pace is. we all lead different lives, just be proud of yourself for reading at all!

stop stressing about it. we all know why reading is important, and since the pandemic reading has become an even more popular hobby than it was before (which is wonderful!). however, there's no need to force yourself to be "a reader". pick up a book every now and then and keep reading if you enjoy it, but not reading regularly doesn't make you any less of a good person. i find the pressure to become "a person who reads" or to rediscover my inner bookworm only distances me from the very act of reading.

[mondaymelon]

₊⊹ 𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 ♡. | genshin!various x gn!reader

「 "𝐚𝐡, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐮𝐩…"」

— in which you kiss him ... accidentally, and indirectly.

𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 — kazuha, gaming, FREMINET, THOMA, KAVEH, chongyun, gorou

— "Ah, wrong cup."

It's a warm morning, yet the shade of the light canopy of trees provides ample comfort. At your words, however, the amicable conversation halts. Gingerly, you place his cup back on its saucer, uttering a quiet apology. "Sorry, sorry..."

Ugh, a quiet moment with someone you'd been pining after for ages, and you likely just sabotaged any chance you had. Making someone uncomfortable is surely not a way to have someone fall head over heels for you. You cautiously glanced upwards, catching the sight of... something you didn't expect...!?

He hid in his hand, raised and flush against his face. It was rather insufficient in the whole "hiding" department, however, for you could still clearly see the fluster on his features and the red cast across the tips of his ears. Just above the cover of his fingers were his eyes, hurriedly averted from yours. His mouth was slightly ajar, but in the moments that passed, his lips moved to form whispers you couldn't quite catch.

You stood, frantic. Really, every one of your plans was going awry. "I'm sorry! I, I'll go get you a new cup-"

"He caught his hand in his before you could fully depart, clutching it tightly. His usually cool skin was warm. "N, No, I- It's fine..."

He watched your face brighten with relief as you sat back down, completely cheery again, and released a breath quietly.

Ah, how was he supposed to tell you that the mere sight of your lips touching where he had put his made his heart skip a beat?

— It simply wasn't fair.

𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 — HEIZOU, KAEYA, CHILDE, venti, ayato, LYNEY

— "Wait, let me try..."

Word had gotten around of a new drink, supposedly "the best in all of teyvat"... naturally, that called for a timely visit. It didn't exactly matter who you went with, though who were you fooling, it did, and he'd been the first one that came to mind when you were drafting a letter. Now, he stood by your side, leisurely swinging his arms while he walked and smiling smugly.

The reason? The moment you reached into your pocket to fish out your wallet to pay the fee for two drinks, you'd found your pockets empty, and that's where he had swooped in, graciously handing over his mora instead. The moment the two of you exited the vicinity of the drink stall, however, he somehow materialized your wallet once more and placed it in your hands with a cat-like grin. That little... you'd be sure to treat him to a meal sometime soon, a favor like that couldn't just be gone unpaid.

...That, and it was a convenient excuse to spend another outing with him.

"Hey, you got the limited edition flavor? C'mon, give me just a sip..." You beamed when he handed said drink down towards you, taking a sip from his straw — until you realized just what you'd done, of course.

It wasn't like it was something dire, not by any means. You were rather the romantic, and the fact that... well, hadn't the two of you just kissed indirectly?

You didn't voice your thoughts, only meekly retreated after handing the bottle back to him, growing even more flustered when your fingers brushed against his in the process. He seemed to hear them, however, and a smirk made its way onto his lips.

"Oh, don't tell me you were aiming for an indirect kiss all along?"

"W- No!" Ugh, that twinkle in his eyes was dangerous. It's easy to see that he doesn't believe you in the slightest. Yet, before you can dispense another rebuttal, he reaches a hand up to your hair and makes a mess of it.

— "Aha, who knew you were so sly~"

𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓 — alhaitham, XIAO, albedo, diluc, neuvillette

— "Is something wrong?"

Well, not exactly "wrong", per se. Instead, there was definitely something wrong with you in particular.

The situation started off like any other would. You found the man in his usual place, and greeted him with a smile, to which he nodded in response. He was a busy person, so you'd decided to take the initiative and make him a boxed lunch, only planning to give it to him and then let him carry on with whatever tasks he needed to complete — only... hey, wasn't it too out of character of him to ask you to feed him??

He glanced up at you, his head subconsciously tilting to the side. Just with that simple movement, a figurative arrow struck your heart. "If it's too much trouble, nevermind-"

You awkwardly coughed into your fist, trying to disperse any awfully hopeful thoughts of "hey, isn't this so romantic!?" in your head — yearning for him was one thing, but projecting your imagination of him would be another entirely. "No, it's fine- I was just caught off guard, is all..." At this point, you were more so convincing yourself than him. You dipped your head in a nod to yourself. Of course, he was so swamped with duties that he couldn't spare the time to feed himself, that was the case, wasn't it?

"Here, open wide..." You took a portion of the food and lifted it up to his lips, and he ate it agreeably. Hamster. He's like a hamster, a thought you really shouldn't be having considering how his disposition was, but seeing him swiftly chewing the portion in his cheeks... you cleared your throat, only to flinch with a start upon realizing he'd taken the utensils from you. Now, he held some of the lunch up to you, gesturing it to your mouth.

"Eh, but this is for you-" You declined, yet the insistence in his gaze only grew.

"You brought it for me, so you should have some as well."

"Well... alright," not willing to bother with an argument you were not likely to win, you ate what he hovered before you gratefully, trying to ignore the way he was staring at you as you ate.

W, Wait, hold on, isn't that the same cutlery he used-

"Your face is red. Did you choke? Here, let me-"

"No, it's just that- we, just now- ah, it's nothing."

— "Mhm."

( a/n ) new post format and its silly ( i hate everything about this ) :stareyes: ahahah anyways. trying to revive myself so. you guys get ( poorly cooked ) food :>

𝐭 𝐚 𝐠 𝐥 𝐢 𝐬 𝐭 : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @falors, @swivy123, @scara-is-my-wife, @lupicalbestwolf, @justyoureader,@fiannee, @aether-darling, @ceneid, @avensuersa, @solxima, @sangoqueenkoko, @haliyamori ...

[blackkatdraws2]

[Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint] 5 years of waiting for Han Myungoh to reappear in the manhwa only for him to be changed into a completely new person. Disappointment.

[NOTE: I don't have anything against people who like Han Myungoh's Demon Earl design.] This will be me ranting/venting about Han Myungoh's new design. Don't get me wrong, I still like Han Myungoh. I love him a lot, I'm just letting out my frustration.

-------

"There were many small wrinkles on Han Myungoh’s face. Moreover, his whole skin was blackened. Putting aside the wrinkles, the skin discoloration was a sign of a species variation. The longer I looked, the more I could see the old face. Still, many human traces were missing and it was hard to know without looking closely." - chapter 204, Unidentified Wall

-------

Getting this out of the way before I start: I know that the manhwa design is accurate to the novel description, I know that there are many technical reasons why his design in the manhwa differs from merch/official art/etc., and I'M NOT HATING ON HAN MYUNGOH'S NEW DESIGN.

Okay.

I'm sad at the manhwa version of Han Myungoh's demon form.

Particularly, I'm upset since I doubt they'd make such a drastic change with any of the other KDJ Co. members. [There's Kim Dokja's demon form, but even then I could still tell that it's Kim Dokja, unlike with Han Myungoh.]

I knew he was gonna look different but something this drastic makes me feel distressed. Han Myungoh was the first, and currently still the only comfort character I have in my life, which is surprising since I never expected to even have a comfort character. Loved him in the novel, loved him even more when he was finally drawn by artists, then the manhwa adaptation trailer dropped and I was PUMPED.

I think what really pisses me off even more is that there's barely anything about him in the first place. I live off of scraps. I really only read the manhwa for him if I'm being honest, I prefer the novel ORV. I've waited for so long for him to finally appear in future chapters again, and when he does come back, he's completely unrecognizable!

It's not even the fact that HMO got redesigned, it's the fact that he looks like a completely different character! What happened?! That's not him, who is that?!

Like, just put yourself in my shoes for a second. Imagine Yoo Joonhyuk disappearing for the entirety of the manhwa adaptation and then when his long awaited comeback is here, he suddenly has long white hair, blue eyes, a chiseled jawline and a completely different outfit, like- you see where I'm coming from, right?!

I'm genuinely so distraught over this lmao, like /gen /extremely neg.

With that out of the way, I've processed this loss for a long time now and I've accepted the fact that I'll never see "Han Myungoh" in the manhwa ever again. I will love both designs even if I favor one more than the other, because it's Han Myungoh and I love Han Myungoh. I'll love him even if he was a worm.

[innerfare]

Killer Relationship Headcanons 

Summary: A collection of headcanons about being in a relationship with Killer

Genre: Fluff

CW: None // SFW

———

Killer fell first and fell harder. He didn’t realize it was happening at first, he was just as shocked as you were to realize he turned into a rabid dog when anyone so much as mentioned your name, fighting anyone who so much as looked at you the wrong way. Even more shocking was the sweeter side you brought out of him. 

You had no idea what was happening in Killer’s head. To you, Killer was just a crew mate, and not just any crew mate: the first mate. You had the wherewithal to clock the man in the mask as emotionally unavailable and that was that. Sure, you often went for drinks together, but only with the whole crew, and yeah, you laughed at the same jokes and ate the same meals, but it was as crew mates, the lines clearly drawn and the knowledge that he was dangerous always in the back of your head. 

But then he started doing things for you. 

He started making a different side at dinner because the one he was serving everyone else wasn’t something you would eat. He started giving you the best piece of dessert, much to Kid’s chagrin. He started stepping aside when it came time to board the Victoria Punk to allow you to board first. He started scaring off men at pubs and taverns before they ever got the change to be rejected by you. Oh, and he started intervening in all of your fights. 

You take the fighting bit personally, never having considered he was into you. You think he’s just underestimating you, thinking you can’t hold your own in a fight. This leads you to confront him one night, more than prepared to duel him to prove your worth as a pirate and warrior. He shocks you by coming clean and confessing his feelings for you, though not exactly in a romantic way. It’s more like he’s pissed off by your accusations and snaps at you that he can’t stand the idea of you getting hurt. He storms off afterwards. 

It takes you a few days to process what he told you because it makes you see him in a completely different light. Gone is the cold-blooded killer you shared a ship with, here is the man who has been taking care of you in small ways without you even realizing. And the most shocking part is how the idea of him stopping makes your chest ache. You grew accustomed to his affection without even realizing. 

You wait until around midnight, when you know he goes into the shower alone, and follow him in. He lets you see him without his mask, and you share your first kiss. That’s that, and from that point forward, the two of you are an item. 

The shower becomes the main place the two of you spend alone time together. Killer finds it easier to let his guard down. He’s going to take his mask off anyway to wash up, which makes it easier to do with you around. He’s able to convince himself it’s not a big deal, and the fact that you’re so cool about it helps. His face is a secret the two of you share, as are his kisses and kind words and difficult past. 

You’re his safe space and he’s yours. 

Don’t expect him to stop intervening in your fights now that you share his bed every night. He claims it’s because you’re too slow and he got to the enemies first, or because you looked like you already had your hands full, but you know the real reason he jumps in. 

He always keeps one of the counters clear in the kitchen so you can sit on it while he cooks. Everything that lands on the table is tasted by you first. 

Merciless teasing by Kid (he’s just jealous). 

After he eats his fruit, you realize not all of his laughs are the same, and you learn to read his emotions based on the different laughs, speaking a language he hates but is oh so grateful to you for learning. 

This is the sort of thing your relationship is built on- subtleties. It’s what made him fall in love with you and it’s the reason he would kill or die for you. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[steddiealltheway]

Steve lays in his bed with thoughts of Eddie in the boathouse. For some reason, he wants to go to him. Hell, he knows he probably can't sleep, and they need him as well rested as they can so he can stay on alert through this whole hunt the freak thing.

Plus, a small part of him knows what it's like to be stuck with your thoughts late at night after dealing with the Upside Down shit. And it's not pleasant. Especially alone.

Another part of him knows that Dustin would never be okay if something happened to Eddie after they told him things would be fine.

But things will be fine. Especially if Steve goes to the boathouse and keeps watch for part of the night.

He throws on some more layers and grabs a protein bar for Eddie before driving that way, trying not to get too weirded out by the concept of him hanging out with Eddie "The Freak" Munson.

Hopefully this time he won't be threatened with that damn broken bottle.

He pulls up a little ways away from Reefer Rick's place and parks before grabbing his nail bat and creeping his way to the shed. He rounds the side toward the door and knocks lightly, whisper yelling, "Eddie! It's Steve! Open up!"

He waits a few moments before sighing and raising his voice. "I'm opening the door. Just don't kill me."

He slowly opens the door, glancing around the boathouse and finding it empty. He glances at the tarp over the boat and sighs, "Eddie, I know you're under there. It's just me."

The tarp shifts slightly, and Steve stares up at the ceiling in annoyance. "Okay, I get it. You don't trust me, and you have no reason to really. But we both know Dustin would kill me if I ever attempted to hurt you or turn you in. Plus, I know you're innocent, so I'm just going to stay here until you come out." He pauses before adding on, "I'll even hum so you know where I am."

He starts humming the first song that comes to mind which ends up being "Everybody Wants to Rule the World."

The tarp shifts and Steve watches as Eddie slowly reveals himself, bottle in hand, pointed at Steve. His eyes flicker to the bat in Steve's hand.

Steve stops humming. "It's for your safety," he says, lifting it up a little.

Eddie raises his eyebrows, and Steve gets the message before he drops the bat and raises his hands in surrender.

Eddie nods at him. "What's in your hand?"

Steve glances up and tosses the protein bar at Eddie. "Food," he says as Eddie curses, failing to catch the bar.

Steve takes a step closer but Eddie holds out the bottle to him and stands up. "Why are you here?"

"To make sure you're safe."

He looks unconvinced.

Steve shrugs and crosses his arms. "Okay, I know what it's like trying to process all this shit on your own, and it sucks, man. I didn't have anyone with me the first night after everything went down, and I didn't think I would make it through the night without that thing coming back."

"So what? You're here to help the freak with no ulterior motive, and I'm supposed to believe that?"

"You can tell me to leave, but I don't really want to spend the night alone either," Steve confesses, hoping that it will help Eddie trust him a bit.

Eddie only stares at him for a few moments before leaning out of the boat to pick up the bat before sitting down and picking up the protein bar. He unwraps it and bites off half of it before asking, "Tears for Fears, really?"

It takes a second for Steve to really understand what Eddie's asking before he smiles slightly. "That's what you're worried about?"

Eddie shrugs, taking around his mouthful, "I was just wondering if you really thought that's the type of music I'm into."

"It's the first song that came to mind. But no. I know you're into that metal stuff that Mike's been going on about." Steve takes a tentative step forward, watching the way Eddie's eyes follow the step.

He raises his eyebrows when Eddie glances up at him and shifts a bit before gesturing to the spot in front of him. Steve takes the invitation and sits in front of him, shifting a bit around the boat before grimacing.

"I bet you're missing your bed," Eddie comments as he finishes off the bar, dropping the wrapper in the boat before grabbing his broken bottle again. Luckily this time, he doesn't point it in Steve's direction.

"A bit," Steve confesses as he fails to get comfortable. He wishes he could take Eddie back to his home and maybe even give him the guest bedroom so he doesn't have to stay here.

Wait.

Steve glances up to where Eddie is tightly gripping the handle of his bat and the neck of the broken bottle and slowly reaches out his hand, asking for the bat. As Eddie hands it over reluctantly, Steve says, "Why don't you stay at my house for now? No one would guess you would be there."

Eddie snorts and shakes his head. "I'm not risking you getting caught with me."

"Well, it's too late for that." Steve says before circling back a bit to ask, "Why?"

Eddie shrugs and glances down at the bottle. "Because Dustin would kill me."

Steve sighs and lays the bat on the side of the boat. "You can hide in the back of my car on the drive there. It'll be easy to sneak you in."

"And your parents?"

"Gone for the foreseeable future. And even if they do come back, I can hide you in my closet or something."

Eddie shoots him a look. "Comfortable."

"Do you have a better idea?"

Eddie glances around the boathouse. "I don't mind staying here at the moment."

Steve's not sure why he wants to fight him on it so bad, but he gives in and says, "Just consider it after we've killed Vecna and we're going through the whole clearing your name process, okay?"

"Why?"

The question takes Steve off guard, but he easily deflects saying, "Because Dustin would kill me."

Eddie nods and looks off, getting that same far-off haunted look on his face. Before Steve can attempt to distract him Eddie snaps out of it asking, "And if someone comes here now, how will you explain why you're here?"

Steve glances around and looks at the windows and door. "Okay, maybe we should get under the tarp before that happens."

Eddie stares at him. "You want to get cozy with me in this boat?"

"I want to save both of our asses for now. If we hear something, we stay hidden, and if they come inside, we grab the bat and bottle and we attack." Get cozy with him?

Eddie sighs, "Can't wait," before shifting to sit next to Steve, placing his bottle carefully down toward the end of the boat before grabbing the tarp.

Steve shifts the bat, nails side at the end of the boat and shifts to lay back.

Eddie glances down at him and asks, "Ready?"

Steve nods as Eddie pulls the tarp over them and lays back. In the process, he ends up jostling Steve and shifting him to the side, almost getting his leg stabbed by the bat as Eddie curses about the bottle. They both shift to face each other, quickly noticing that they're around the same height with the way their feet are knocking into each other their breath is mingling together.

It is very weirdly intimate.

"Steve?" Eddie asks.

Steve hums in response.

"Maybe we should pull the tarp back until we hear something."

"Great plan," Steve says quickly, reaching up to pull the tarp back a bit.

There's a bit of moonlight shining through the windows which illuminates Eddie's face enough for Steve to be able to admire him. Steve blames the intimate position for his thoughts about how Eddie "The Freak" Munson is kind of beautiful.

Eddie's eyebrows furrow. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Steve quickly looks away and lies, "Just thinking."

"About?"

Steve takes a moment and readjusts a bit. "Just never thought I would be hanging out with you."

Eddie shifts as well, accidentally brushing his hand against where Steve's own hand lies between them. Eddie's hand shoots back to his chest. "if it makes you feel better, I wouldn't call this hanging out. We're just two people who are linked through some supernatural shit with parallel worlds and are trying to keep each other alive so Dustin doesn't kill us." He lets out a slow deep breath through his nose and glances away. "It doesn't have to mean anything. Trust me, I know you wouldn't be here unless you had to be."

Steve lets the feeling of regret run through him. "That's not what I meant."

"No?" Eddie challenges him.

"No," Steve confesses. "Dustin didn't ask me to come here, you know."

"So, you're doing this out of the goodness of your heart?" Eddie asks, tone dripping with disbelief.

"I didn't want you to be alone."

"Yeah, you said that before."

Steve's eyebrows furrow. "And?"

"And I'm sorry if I have trouble believing it."

Steve just blinks at him, unsure what to say other than his usual apology for being an asshole in high school.

Eddie beats him to it and sighs, "You're just... Steve Harrington. And I'm 'The Freak.'"

Steve can't help but snarkily reply, "I didn't realize that was your legal name."

Eddie narrows his eyes at him. "You know what I mean."

As much as he hates it, Steve does understand what he means. He looks him in the eye and says, "You know if I could go back and change how I was in high school, I would. Because, trust me, being 'King Steve' was not all that it was chalked up to be. And everyone I love still sees me that way. It's like they're waiting for that guy to come back or something because they're always in disbelief that I've changed or whatever. It's all just... bullshit." He sighs out the word, trying not to think too hard about understanding what Nancy meant when she called him it.

Eddie continues to stare at him, eyes wandering over his face as if he's trying to make his own assessment of him. Or as if he's waiting for the real Steve to pop out, the inevitable asshole. Instead, he just says, "You're different than I imagined."

"Is that a good thing?" Steve can't help but ask.

"Give me a business day or two, and I'll get back to you about it," Eddie says with a smile.

The response startles a laugh out of Steve which he quickly covers with his hand before he rests it in the space between them. "Maybe you're different, too."

"Yeah?" Eddie asks.

"I thought you'd be way less willing to accept my presence here."

Eddie shrugs the shoulder he isn't laying on. "Well, being alone seemed to be slightly more appalling than spending time with you." He smiles and nudges him with his foot. "I'm joking. At least, now I'm joking."

Steve rolls his eyes and nudges Eddie with a little too much force, sending them both off balance and causing Steve to end up a bit sprawled out on top of Eddie who stares up at him with wide eyes.

For some reason, the new angle really does something for Steve who can only think of kissing Eddie. He leans back and takes a deep breath before an idea strikes him. He blames his tired, anxiety-ridden mind on the reason for voicing his thought, "You know, I can think of a better way to explain why I'm here if someone comes in."

"Yeah?" Eddie asks, face carefully blank but a heavy swallow gives him away.

Steve shrugs. "Who is to question King Steve hooking up with some random girl in Reefer Rick's empty boathouse?"

"Christ," Eddie mumbles out, eyes flicking down to Steve's lips. "Are you suggesting we...?"

Steve looks down at him innocently. "I mean, if it comes down to it, I would be down to kiss you. Your hair is long enough to hide your face," he turns to the door and windows, "And from this angle, they would barely catch a glimpse of you."

Eddie swallows again and breathes out, "You're definitely not what I thought you'd be like."

"And is that-"

"A good thing?" Eddie finishes for him. "Yeah, I would say it is definitely a good thing."

Steve smiles down at him and is about to shift off of him when there's a sudden noise outside of the boathouse. He feels Eddie freeze beneath him.

"Steve... I know it was probably a joke, but either cover us with the tarp or kiss me," Eddie whispers quickly.

Steve reaches out for the tarp and pulls it over their heads, noticing the slight look of disappointment on Eddie's face before the tarp blocks out the light. His hands reach out, landing on Eddie's chest before trailing up to cup his jaw.

"What are you doing?" Eddie whispers. Steve can feel his heart thudding in his chest impossibly faster at the sensation.

"Why not do both?" Steve whispers into the air between them.

He waits as Eddie's own hands come up to his shoulders, tracing their way into Steve's hair. "Both. Yeah. Both are good."

Steve's not sure who moves first, but their kiss is frenzied, filled with the anxiety of Hawkins crumbling around them along with the possibility of Eddie being caught, mixed with the fact that they're "The Hair" and "The Freak." And this is not supposed to be happening.

But Steve doesn't care. He deepens the kiss, groaning when Eddie tugs at his hair and pulls him closer. God, Steve can practically feel the kiss go through his full body, and he can't remember the last time a kiss made him feel like this.

The air around them under the tarp gets warmer as the kiss goes on, and Steve finds himself breaking away for air only to chase Eddie's lips again. It's all intoxicating. And the warm air makes it feel like he isn't getting enough air as Eddie practically sucks it out of him.

He breaks away and gasps, "God, I want to lift the tarp, but I can't risk anyone seeing you."

Eddie doesn't answer, he just pulls the tarp slightly off them before pulling Steve into another kiss. Steve can barely register the relief of the cool air hitting the back of his damp neck as he gets lost in Eddie.

"Can't see me remember?" Eddie says against Steve's lips.

"They can- mmm. See the rings," Steve manages to get out.

Eddie's hands slowly drift down Steve's back, resting on the dip of his spine that's still under the tarp. "Better?"

Steve pulls back and looks down at Eddie, his mouth pink and damp, cheeks flushed red, pupils blown wide. "God, you're beautiful," Steve says without thinking.

Eddie stares at him for a moment, face carefully blank before he glances at the window. "Do you think they're still here?"

Steve glances out the window and debates what to say next. He settles with the truth. "I'm pretty sure it was just a branch that hit the window."

Eddie nods and worries his bottom lip, not looking at Steve. He's still struggling to catch his breath, but Steve can't say much when he is equally as winded.

Steve pauses and says, "But maybe someone's out there. Or..." He shakes his head, trying not to finish the thought out loud.

"Or what?" Eddie asks.

"Or maybe I just want to kiss you again," Steve confesses.

Eddie looks up at him and pauses, eyes searching Steve's face for something. He glances toward the window and says, "I can't exactly be on high alert if you kiss me again, but..." he glances at Steve and finishes his thought, "I think it's worth the risk."

"If you really think about it, it's more risky if I stop kissing you."

Eddie tilts his head in confusion. "And why's that?"

"Because I'll only be able to think about kissing you again and won't be on high alert," Steve flirts easily. "And really, it's a great cover."

Eddie smiles and even momentarily laughs. "You're so full of shit," he says, but pulls Steve down to him, kissing him again with the same frenzied energy.

Only, Steve pulls away and winks at him. "We've got all night. We can take it slow."

"I think you're going to kill me."

Steve brushes a strand of hair out of his face. "And is that-"

"A good thing?" Eddie finishes for him again. "Yes," he answers, kissing Steve again but slowly, taking his time with him.

It's fair to say that Steve's original plan of keeping watch and letting Eddie sleep goes out the window, but he's pretty sure it's worth it.

It's definitely worth it.

[werepuppy-steve]

i keep thinking about that one bachelor au post so here's my take on it (i've never watched the bachelor or bachelorette so bear with me)

the bachelor au where steve's the bachelor and eddie is a contestant, but not because he actually wants to be, he's just in it for the paycheck. robin is also a contestant but only because her parents sent in her application without her knowing and she isn't out to them yet.

they both think that steve is overrated and definitely over hyped. typical rich kid with enough money to buy people's love, yada yada.

until they both start going on dates with him and then realize that it isn't exactly true. yes, he's rich, but he's also kind and funny and actually genuine once you get past the mask he puts on for everybody. eventually, eddie and robin find themselves looking forward to their dates.

only robin doesn't want to date him. he's slowly moving his way up the ranks to becoming her best friend, sure, but this is still tv. she's still expected to kiss him and confess her feelings for him. and when the time comes for her to do that, she can't.

they're in venice. steve is leaning in and robin is very aware of the cameras filming them. the back of her neck goes cold and her stomach churns and suddenly she's running in the opposite direction. her italian is passable so she ends up getting a taxi back to the hotel production put them in.

she locks herself in her en suite and presses her forehead against the cold porcelain. she doesn't know how long she sits there until her phone buzzes and she checks the notification. the nausea rises up her throat again. she forgot she gave steve her number.

there's a knock on her room door and another text.

r u ok? can i come in?

robin debates it but figures she owes him and explanation. she lets him in and they sit on the bathroom floor. robin tells him why she's on the show in the first place, about how she didn't know her parents signed her up until she got the phone call from the casting director. tells him that even if she gets kicked off, she can still use the money for her student loans.

she stares at the water in the toilet bowl when she comes out to him.

steve is quiet, processing, before he laughs. he's not laughing at her, he promises, but "robin. you're on a show with more than a handful of other queers, you know that, right? i'm bisexual."

and yeah, robin knew that, but it's different when you're not into the guy you're supposed to be romancing at all.

steve reassures her that it's okay, and that he still hopes they can be friends and keep in touch after the show ends.

robin would like that.

she apologizes to the production crew the next day and they're understanding and steve and robin get a re-do of their date. it's much more genuine this time, filled with laughs and digs as they eat gelato along the river and people watch and gossip.

it's the best robin's ever been on.

eddie, on the other hand. he's absolutely head over heels for steve, which is surprising even for him. he's trailer park trash, he's got absolutely nothing on steve harrington. not the name, not the money.

hell, the very first day, he insulted the guy's food choices right to his face without knowing it.

eddie wants the earth to give way underneath him and swallow him whole.

he plays it up on their first date, all fake niceties and empty smiles, until steve tells him point blank, "the guy that said the buffet was shit that first night? i want to get to know him."

eddie's flabbergasted.

steve opens up about all the fake people in his life, the ones who just take advantage of them and use him for their own gains. the ones who don't even bother to get to know the real him. the one that likes to play guitar and hang out with the gaggle of teenagers that follow him around all the time for some unknown reason.

he tells eddie about what he wants to do with his life, not what someone else has planned for him and eddie falls deeper and deeper.

this time, when steve leans in for a kiss, eddie doesn't shy away. their lips press together and it's the best goddamn kiss either one of them have ever had.

the show has a deadline, of course, and steve can't just spend all his time with eddie and robin. there are other contestants. robin knows her rose is strictly platonic and steve has already called her multiple times freaking out about his growing crush on eddie. she knows eddie has this in the bag.

the final night comes and the contestants have dwindled. there's only a small group of them left: eddie, robin, and another guy and girl they didn't bother learning the names of.

when steve chooses eddie after a moment of dramatic silence that kind of puts his own dm dramatics to shame, eddie doesn't hesitate to jump in steve's arms, wrap his legs around his waist, and plant a sloppy one on him right in front of the cameras.

[pricegouge]

Get Her a Dog (She'll be Happier For It)

Part Five | master list | taglist | MDNI

Soap x reader, Price x reader, eventual PriceSoap x reader

series cw: cheating. dubcon. angst. cuckholding. pet play.

chapter cw: angst, cheating, dubcon, breeding kink. john gets slapped

reader is fem and fat

He comes home with a puppy some weeks later, timed perfectly to coincide with your house finally starting to look like a home; no boxes left to be chewed up, as if he were really trying to be considerate. A puppy was not discussed but you're helpless against its charms, infatuated from the moment it first teethes on your fingers. You name him Gilbert because it makes Johnny laugh the hardest, though it gets shortened to Gil within the hour. 

You've heard that one of the biggest tests a couple could go through was a move, but clearly that statistic was measured among couples who tackled these issues together , as the move goes through surprisingly easy, even despite the stress of handling most of it yourself. Not to say Johnny doesn't help where he can, touring houses with you and signing paperwork without a fuss. It's just hard to wrangle him when he's suddenly needed much more often around base so you shoulder the brunt of the work and clap excitedly each time he praises you for a job well done when you make progress, traversing the unknown terrain of legalese and open houses with no aid besides an (admittedly very helpful) realtor. Johnny calls it your solo mission, makes it into a bit of a game for you. It's sweet, fun. Everything you've been missing about his company, and despite all the apprehension the ambitious project had instilled in you, you end up feeling closer to your husband than you have in years. It's nice to feel like a team, and you wonder if maybe this is the exact reason he spends so much time with his own. Hard to be mad at him when you think of it like that.

He's with you when you attend your final open house, broad shouldered and strong in the oversized kitchen; the only man among those assembled who can fill it out, make it seem homey instead of austere. You make out like teenagers in the master bath when you both decide this is it, the one . Johnny lifts you onto the counter with a heavy grunt as you whisper against his lips about putting a baby in you, fueling him on as he rips his belt off and rucks up your skirt. He only shushes you when your begging gets too loud, afraid of being caught, though it's almost rendered meaningless with the way you whine when he pulls out, painting your belly. Johnny tells you you should wait until after the move to avoid stress on the baby and you can't deny he's right so you put on a happy face for the rest of the tour, keep it in place through the whole hair pulling process of finalizing the sale. It's not hard to fake, pleased as you are with Johnny's initiative to move, and it's still in place on moving day when the two of you collapse, exhausted but relieved, onto the mattress that still sits on the floor of your new bedroom. 

It finally breaks that first night, when Johnny's got you on your back, heavy weight bearing down on you where he leans against the backs of your thighs, pinning you in place underneath himself. He's worked himself into a sweat, breath coming in heavy huffs which spill hot as a bellows across your cheek. You're useless but to clutch at his thick shoulders, moan your encouragement. He answers in deep grunts, synchronized with the slap of his full balls against your ass. You don't beg him this time, don't think you need to with the way his eyes are locked on the sight of your cunt clenching around him, trying to keep him buried deep. 

You know something is wrong when he pulls out to jerk himself off over your tits, but he's so sweet afterwards that you let it slide, allow yourself to be lost in the warmth of his embrace, at least for the night. You weren't ovulating, anyway.

He comes home with a puppy some weeks later, timed perfectly to coincide with your house finally starting to look like a home; no boxes left to be chewed up, as if he were really trying to be considerate. A puppy was not discussed but you're helpless against its charms, infatuated from the moment it first teethes on your fingers. You name him Gilbert because it makes Johnny laugh the hardest, though it gets shortened to Gil within the hour. 

Gil is a handful, the best kind of trial run - one you're not sure you can give your husband the credit for considering you're not entirely certain he had the foresight necessary to assign you a trial, though one you're committed to rise to regardless. The dog's a quick study, breezing through potty training within two weeks, though the chewing takes a little longer to break. He trains you just as much as you do him, molding you into the perfect dog owner in record time. You coordinate vet visits with practiced ease, spend an inordinate amount of time reading dog psychology books (seriously, you never realized how developed the field was), and walk him religiously - a practiced balance between just enough for exercise and not enough to hurt his fragile little joints, meticulously calculated based on vet feedback. Johnny becomes enamored with him just as quickly as you, though he's not quite as strict about adhering to the rulebooks as you. (Another perfect insight gained into your upcoming trials as new parents. You were learning so much already.) There are some days you don't know who has more puppy energy, Johnny or the dog, Gil often collapsing into a small, fluffy heap long before Johnny would clamber to his feet, complaining about his bad knee. When you tell him he could be helping burn off Gil's energy by training him to play fetch properly, he interrupts before you can prattle on about what your books say about the benefits of fetch by reminding you that wrestling is how puppies play with each other, so that's what he will be doing.

"Besides," he affirms, scooting Gil's supine form along the kitchen tile with a heavy hand planted on the pup's bloated, exposed belly as the beast gave half-hearted nips to his owner's thick fingers, "it's good. Teaches him how tae handle rough pats and stuff, jes' in case."

"Like, in case an overeager baby pokes him too hard?"

You tell yourself you're imagining the way his shoulders tense, thick delts creeping up toward his ears. "Aye, exactly."

***

The idea for the housewarming party comes up after Gil's first obedience class, when the trainer comes around your car at the end of class to ask how you've liked it and Gil barks his head off at her from the backseat. You're shocked, having never seen him behave this way but the instructor just smiles, unconcerned.

"Do you have many guests around the house, Mrs. MacTavish?"

It takes you by surprise, realizing that you haven't really, not since the move. Behind it comes an odd sense of pride in your husband, ashamed you hadn't realized before that moment how far he's come from needing to be with the boys nearly every night. "No, not often lately."

"I see. This is pretty normal behavior for a puppy. Just a little territorial. It should be an easy fix with proper socializing, given how smart Gil here is. I'd start with having some guests over and make sure you calm that -," she motions to Gil's anxious whining from the other side of the glass illustratively, "- reaction before allowing your guests inside. I don't sense much aggression in his behavior, probably all bark and no bite," she laughs, "but do you think you'll need help?"

Ego flares hot for a second, undeserved and unaccounted for. You'd blame the strange way you've equated raising this dog with proving you're ready for a baby if you stopped to think about it for more than three seconds but you don't, too busy biting out a positive response.

Johnny takes to the housewarming party idea enthusiastically, probably happy to have this strange self-inflicted embargo on visitors lifted. You treat it all very officially, happy for the distraction amid dog walks and dog parks and dog grooming and -.

It starts with handwritten letters instead of texts, though you can't admit to yourself why until you're thumbing through your contacts list for P.O. boxes and your thumb hovers over John's name too long, the urge to call him hard to combat. You don't need the back and forth, the memory of how you'd almost kissed him still far too fresh despite how you've tried to bury it deep. You leave his invitation short and impersonal, even managing to make yourself laugh when you picture yourself spraying it with your favorite perfume like some lovesick teenager. But the invite is sealed unsprayed, and it's shuffled off into the post just as unceremoniously as the rest of them, and when John texts you days later to confirm he will be there, you note it just as mildly as the rest as well, and you lay yourself down that night with some sense of pride. 

Even if you're ovulating now and your husband definitely shouldn't be letting you drift off to sleep with any dignity.

***

Years of hosting the boys for dinner should have prepared you for an evening such as this, but friendly gatherings around the tiny kitchenette of the old apartment were one thing, and the first proper dinner of your forever home was another beast entirely. It didn't help that in all your excitement of fancy proper invites you'd managed to invite Kate and her wife, though the severe woman had shown up stag and you can only imagine that meant she'd been in town on business, a fact that lends itself to the intensity with which she stands in your kitchen now, probably thinking to be congenial but only serving to make your hands shake as you pull a bread bowl from the oven under her watchful eye. You can hear Johnny greeting yet more guests in the other room, his loud boisterousness infectious enough to have the newcomers laughing with him before they'd even properly stepped through the door. You keep an ear out, asking Kate if she'd like to go say hi to the new guests when you detect the light lilt of Kyle's latest fling because you were determined to pawn her off on someone before she watched you - disinterestedly, scathingly - ruin the whole dinner because you were not made out for the cooking reality show lifestyle and you couldn't handle the pressure of her very presence.

"He'll come to me," she says mildly, sipping on her wine so elegantly it didn't even stain her teeth and you curse when she proves herself right, Kyle filtering in mere moments later as if paying respects to a mob boss. His easy charm loosens Kate incrementally, but you attach yourself to his date, Maddy, regardless, throwing yourself into her company for as long as she offers it, your little gaggle growing when your cousin joins some minutes later.

Gil trots around happily, the mild concern you'd had about his approachability dead and buried after the first guest's arrival had prompted only a singular bark before being reprimanded with a water bottle, rewarded for being calm on the second greeting with trainer treats. He'd been nothing more than a vibrating bundle of excitement ever since, wagging his tail with each new guest and chewing on the end of your aunt's ugly scarf only once. You coo at him about being a good boy whenever he deigns to approach you, but for the most part he's just happy enough to mingle, weathering clumsy pets with a dignity better suited to a much older dog. Johnny catches the impressed way you watch him at one point, nodding smugly as if he alone could take credit for the dog's behavior. The peck you press to the corner of his lips after draws hoots from his teammates when he can't let you go without a proper kiss.

John comes uncharacteristically late, though you're aware of his arrival from the moment Johnny answers the door for him like a neighboring planet with which you are locked. Orbital resonance, affecting each other before you even lay eyes on him. From the kitchen, you pretend not to listen as he greets his boys each in kind and you wonder how quickly he notices your absence, if he's calculating the appropriate time necessary to wait to come through and greet you with just as much care as you. For all the restraint you'd shown while sending his invite, now that you can hear the rough scratch of his voice in your home again, you suddenly remember it wasn't always near-misses, and you want your friend back. Want him to scoot Maddy and your cousin off to the side so he can help you put the finishing touches on the meal, or maybe distract Kate who is still having a hard time mingling with the other women .

He does neither, instead distracts himself with Gil for as long as the dog lets him, commenting to Johnny about he wasn't aware the two of you had adopted. 

You nearly slice through your own finger when you hear Johnny's answering laughter over the sound of cutting chives, the way he says it was at John's own behest.

It irks you, more than it ought to. You'd joked to yourself from the beginning that you didn't believe Johnny had an idea like that in him but still, Gil has been the highlight of your days ever since Johnny had brought him home and you didn't much relish attributing the idea to John at this point, especially not after…

'John's own behest.' Where did he get off anyway?

You move through dinner with a practiced detachment - though, one you've never had to use on most of the assembled before. When he does finally come to greet you, John is put off by your careful reservedness, though he seems to be the only one to notice it, blessedly. Johnny sets the jovial tone for the night with ease, the assembled crew following after his general cheer easily. You even see Simon loosening up a bit, playing with Gil when he thinks no one is watching him. Determined to have a good time with your friends and family, you allow yourself to be carried along as well, settling in between Johnny and Kyle at the table when dinner is finally served. It's nothing terribly formal, an overflow of guests having taken up residence on the couch in the adjoining living room. When you look around you see plenty of people already eating, the din of laughter having abated a few decibels seeming to confirm that at least everyone seems to like the food enough to keep them from chattering too much, a point Johnny seconds when he doesn't sit immediately, instead deciding that was the moment to thank everyone for attending. 

"Okay, sorry, this'll only take a sec, but ah jes' want tae thank everyone for coming tonight. Ah ken it's a wee bit of a trek outside the city now, afterall." Johnny pauses to allow the small crescendo of polite laughter. He seems slightly embarrassed, the apples of his cheeks ruddying under so much attention, but he did it to himself and you're not about to share the spotlight so you let him flounder, ever the better under such circumstances out of the two of you. "Honestly, though, everyone here tonight is very important tae us and I ken I speak for both me and the missus when ah say we love each'a ye's and thank ye fer always bein' there fer us." He plows over the small collection of coos from your family evidently unable to weather the storm. "An' a special thanks tae ye, cap. Wit'ou' ye talkin' some sense intae me, there never would'a even been a new house tae warm!" He holds out his glass as if to give a toast. You see a handful of people follow suit, but Johnny only has eyes for his captain, watching expectantly as the older man struggles to bite back the grimace the sergeant's words brought on. After a slight pause, John raises his tumbler stiffly and Johnny grins, seating himself with a small, pleased smile. 

John avoids your eyes, long enough that the moment stretches while everyone waits to see if you'll take up the reins, or if Johnny will follow through on the toast he'd started. Distracted, you tuck your hands into Johnny's arm as if to portray the doting wife, but you remain seated, as if confused. Your voice is thin and brittle when you tell everyone to please dig in. The tension swells and ebbs, a tide brought in by a collective shrugging on shoulders, let out with a handful of awkward chuckles. Johnny seems oblivious, tucking into the spread with a borderline indecently appreciative moan. His hand finds your leg under the table, squeezes to gain your attention so he can compliment the chef. You feel vapid and airy when you tell him it was nothing really, as if you've become untethered from the scene around you. There's something you're missing, or rather something you haven't missed at all but which you refuse to look directly at. 

Diagonal from where you sit, John refuses to look directly at you.

***

Without the distraction of wrapping up the meal, you're actually expected to host. A terrible development considering you're two Scottish expletives away from filing for divorce. Irritation eats at you, has you peeling absently at hangnails with too much abandon. After your second trip to the bathroom to staunch some mild blood flow and contemplate your financial standing without Johnny, you emerge to find John waiting for you in the hall, his face stern and grim, yet dire. The same expression you'd nearly kissed off of him. 

You pass by him without a word when he goes to reach for your elbow. 

The worst part is that none of it is even John's fault. You don't know the circumstances under which he told your husband to get his head out of his ass, but he's not to blame for the fact that it was necessary in the first place. Effect, cause. There's a whole song about it. But you don't want to be mad at Johnny for once, not after how well the two of you had been doing. Finding out Gil had been John's idea was bad enough, but that wasn't an issue in the same way knowing your husband would have been content to live the rest of your days - raise a kid - in some cramped York flat was. All the ways Johnny had changed, all the maturity he'd shown. All the reasons you'd been feeling so much more positively about your marriage as of late. 

All because of John.

You're becoming less adept at hiding your frustration as the night drags on. Kate is among the first to leave but she lingers in the door, eyes hard and scrutinizing as you ramble farewells, for once too unconcerned about putting on a good face for her. It's not your smartest decision, as Kate - who has likely known something was wrong since the moment she stepped through the door - chooses then to show her hand, parting with a cryptic, 'He's no better,' before making her exit properly and the thing is, is that you know that, but without lense of Johnny's would-be recent growth to obscure them, all you can focus on are all his massive shortcomings the last few months. 

He'd called buying your forever home together your solo mission, for Christ's sake. And you'd thought it was cute.

By the time the party has dwindled to the small collection of regulars, Johnny's mates, you've had just about enough of playing your role, wandering off to the kitchen without so much as an excusal. There's a version of tonight that ends with you making too much noise while cleaning up, a passive aggression that would draw the attention of the other team members who'd then filter out the same way Kate did earlier, with small, meaningless words of advice that will also go unheeded. It's hard to decide what you do want when the list of things you don't seems to go on forever, but a fight with Johnny when you're so very wound up is not a good idea and even you can recognize it in the moment. 

Though there's another option, left of center.

Where before your dance with John was oppositional, it was too graceful, coordinated to be adversarial - more polar, fixed and measurable. Whatever it becomes as the night drags on is too pointed, an aggression gauged by the lack of it. John yields when you linger, follows when you need space. Peripheral presence, stalking.

So you let yourself be herded into the laundry room and you hiss and you spit but he doesn't weather it for once, instead using every opening he can find to lay blame at your feet, tell you you should have been more outright with your wants from your husband all along. You demand to know how he can say that when he of all people has known your building frustration with Johnny's disinterest in listening to your desires, and he turns it back on you by suggesting you never should have told him in the first place, should have spent all your energy learning to communicate with the man you'd said your vows to. 

You surprise yourself, how low you're willing to sink. "Oh and I should take your advice on that, should I? Did you learn to listen before or after she left you?"

To his credit, John barely flinches. Or maybe he does, in his own way, such tells trained into unrecognizable ticks. John draws himself up to his full height, lets himself drift half a step closer into your space so his next words seem uncharacteristically menacing. "Your welcome for the house. Your welcome for the dog, " he snarls - sarcastic and cruel. A side of him you've always known existed but which has been carefully kept from you. 

Bait is easy to spot, harder to resist. "Where do you get off, anyway, suggesting we get a dog? Afraid I can't handle a baby? Think I need some sense talked into -?"

"Of course not. I think you'd make an excellent mother. " Though his words are reassuring, his tone still falls over you like a rock slide, threatens to crush you under his frustration. "But it was either a dog or nothing because that man -," his fist clenches hard where it hovers by your ear, pointing over your shoulder in the vague direction of the living room on the other side of the wall, "- was not going to give you a baby. And I know you're lonely, so I -."

Slap.

Through the stinging in your palm, you have a brief moment of satisfaction, noting the way John indeed does flinch as you scowl up at him. "Some substitute."

If you had thought about the way you pictured this route going before setting upon it, you suppose you would have pictured a moment of stunned silence, storming past John's shocked expression, perhaps knocking your shoulder into him just to watch him sway on locked knees. But you hadn't thought it through, because you're impulsive and a fool for thinking you've known John well enough to predict him. But there's that other side of him, that side you've never seen before tonight which can call even your reckless husband to heel, out there in whatever hells they toiled under. It's that part of him who stands before you now.

John is confident where you'd expected confounded, decisive where you'd expected dazed. Your hand doesn't even make it back to your side before he's grabbing you by the wrist with a firm, callused grip and spinning you until your back rests flush against his chest, his arms wrapped around your front so he can pin you there, keep a hand planted over your mouth when he leans in to huff harsh breaths over the shell of your ear. "You're a spoiled little brat, you know that? Soap's a good lad, just needs some guidance. But you're so bloody impatient you can't wait for him to grow into it."

Protests fall flat from your tongue, get swallowed up by the firm hand which remains clamped across your jaw. John shuffles forward and you're forced to move with him, your steps clumsy and tangled with his own until he gets you hinged over the dryer, his body still flush against the back of your own. He presses close enough that his knees worm between yours, heavy boots knocking your stockinged feet aside to make room for himself. When his free hand paws across your hip to the apex of your thighs and just grips you there, your breath stutters through his fingers, heavy and humid.

"Got you a house, woman, christ , what more do you want?"

When his grip changes on your jaw, you seethe. "You know what I -."

"Yeah," John's fingers slip through your folds with slick ease when he pushes the gusset of your panties aside, his fat digit testing your cunt with barely any preamble. "I'll get you that, too."

It's rushed, skirt thrown over your hips and a few fingers to make sure you're wet enough. John's not quite as thick as your husband (a relief when you think about what it had taken to accept Johnny's fat cock in that open house quickie), but he seems to feed into you forever, forcing a place for himself so deep within you that you were certain he'd take all of you with him when he left it, all your soft vulnerable bits pulled right along behind him. 

Lucky he doesn't seem to be going any time soon. 

For all his rush to get inside you, John takes his time about bottoming out. Takes even longer after , pressed up flush against you with his fingers circling your clit carefully, just enough to keep you from tipping over that edge of pain. His other hand cups your breast, seems to take its measure with a satisfied huff. You wonder if he's imagining them all full and swollen, and pull a curse from him with the way your cunt flutters at the thought.

"John, we can't -."

"Really shouldn't," he agrees, but his hips have finally started moving, and he leans you further into the dryer, the hard metal biting into the plush flesh of your thighs. Your hands brace against the top of it, send some of Johnny's folded t-shirts tumbling to the floor.

"I mean it."

"'S'what you wanted, sweetheart." His next thrust scrapes along the entirety of your back wall and you can feel the way your cunt grips to keep him close. "Want this pretty pussy bred, yeah? I've got you."

Your voice is too whiny to be taken seriously when you try again, the thin sound of his name too desperate.

John's hand trails down to your belly, holds you there just as reverently as he did your tit. "Tell me you want it, sweetheart. Tell me you want to filled with my fuckin' seed."

It's not worth it to respond at first so you let yourself be carried by the slow tide of his movements, entire body rocked up and back with how deeply he fucks you. Your panting by the time the rigid line of your spine loosens with it, your head lolling back onto his shoulder so he can brush a whiskery kiss against your cheek, trailing up to your mouth. His lips are more chapped than you'd expected, his beard softer. You don't think about what it means that you'd had expectations. He tastes like smoke and burnt tea, heavy and bitter because god forbid he add any sweetener to anything. You want to sit him down at your kitchen island and make him a proper cuppa. You never want to see him in your house again.

"Don't cum inside."

A low grumble builds in his chest, like an avalanche against your back. You can hear the echo of it in his voice when his lips glide against yours, deceptively soft. "No? Don't want my baby, sweetheart?"

"John, I'm married, " you plead, though the ring you actually bothered to wear today feels more like a leash than anything now - a flimsy mark of ownership, easy enough to slip. 

There's no masking the snarl in his voice this time. "Yeah, I'll fix that too."

[2amriize]

˚⟡˖ RIIZE when you cry while hugging after a long day

ᡣ𐭩 masterlist genre fluff pairing bf!riize x reader

ᯓ★ SHOTARO

After working all day, all you wanted was to get home. It hadn’t been a great day, to say the least, as you were quite tired and had made several mistakes with orders, which led to your superiors scolding you. After finishing your shift, you started walking home, but before you knew it, you ended up at Shotaro’s house. To be honest, you had been thinking all day about how much you needed to see him. Just seeing his smile could recharge your energy. You knocked on the door, and within seconds, Shotaro (who was in pajamas) opened it and looked at you, confused. “Oh, y/n, what are you doing here? Is something wrong...?”

As soon as you saw him, you walked up to him and hugged him. After a few seconds, he hugged you back. Feeling his arms around you, you couldn’t hold back any longer, and you began to cry, burying your face in his chest. Shotaro noticed but decided not to ask anything, hugging you in silence while closing the front door. “You’re staying over tonight, and you can’t say no.”

ᯓ★ EUNSEOK

You couldn’t take it anymore. You had been stressed out all day for various reasons and couldn’t stop overthinking several things. Fortunately, you had plans to watch a series at Eunseok’s place that night. When you were with him, it felt like all your problems disappeared. Or so you thought. At first, you were fine, but once you cuddled up on the couch to watch the series, you couldn’t help but lose focus and start thinking about everything again, getting stressed all over again. Even though you tried, you couldn’t help but start crying, hugging him tighter. Eunseok looked at you, confused, and paused the episode. “Are you crying, y/n?” He let out a small sigh as he hugged you back, gently stroking your hair. “Ah... my crybaby. Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

ᯓ★ SUNGCHAN

You were tired from spending the whole day studying at the library. Your final exams were coming up, and you needed to maintain the grades you had so far, so you were basically studying every day until dinner time. When you packed up and left the library, you didn’t expect to see Sungchan waiting for you at the door. He walked up to you with a smile. “Sungchan, what are you doing here...?” “Picking up my girlfriend,” he said as he opened his arms toward you. You stared at him for a few seconds, trying to process what was happening, and then walked into his embrace. Before you knew it, you were crying into Sungchan’s chest. Realizing this, he gently stroked your head. “Studying is tiring, right, princess? Come on, I’ll treat you to dinner.”

ᯓ★ WONBIN

You couldn’t understand how, after practicing the same choreography all day, you still couldn’t memorize it. The truth is, you hadn’t been able to sleep much these days, so you were already tired, but at the same time, it frustrated you that you couldn’t dance it properly. Almost everyone had already left; it was just you and Wonbin left in the practice room. Wonbin had decided to stop over an hour ago but was waiting for you. Seeing how late it was getting and how tired you looked, Wonbin walked over to you and touched your arm to get your attention. “Y/n, we should go. You’ve done enough for today.” “But... it’s just... I still can’t get it right and...” Wonbin looked at you intently. He knew how tired and frustrated you were, so he pulled you into a hug. You didn’t take a second before you started sobbing on his shoulder, letting out all the stress you had felt that day. “I know, I know what you mean, but you need to rest.”

ᯓ★ SEUNGHAN

“What’s wrong, y/n? You look a little tired...” That was the first thing Seunghan said when you met that night. It was one of your friend’s birthdays, and you had arranged to meet Seunghan half an hour earlier so you could go together. You had been working all day, and you were tired from running errands for your boss. Even though you tried to hide your exhaustion with some makeup, Seunghan could instantly tell something was wrong. When you looked at him to tell him what was bothering you, you were met with his worried eyes, and you simply felt like the words wouldn’t come out. “Do you want a hug?” Seunghan asked, opening his arms, and you nodded, immediately starting to cry. “If you want, we can skip the birthday party and go home. I can say I’m sick...”

ᯓ★ SOHEE

Sohee and you had planned to have dinner at the beach for your anniversary for weeks, which excited both of you since you both loved the beach at night. You didn’t expect to be so tired after working all day. You didn’t want to cancel your date with Sohee, since it was your anniversary, so you decided to try and ignore your intrusive thoughts and enjoy the dinner. And you did, but not for long. After dinner, the two of you cuddled on the towel, watching the waves in silence. When Sohee pulled you closer to him for a hug, you couldn’t control it anymore, and tears started falling down your cheeks. Neither of you spoke; Sohee had already noticed you were tired and knew that all you needed was a hug from him and his company, so you both stayed in silence, embracing each other while looking at the moon.

ᯓ★ ANTON

When you texted Anton that you wanted to see him, all he could think was that he had done something wrong, which made him quite nervous. Even though he spent the entire afternoon trying to think of something he might have done wrong, he couldn’t think of anything, which stressed him out even more. When he knocked on your door, you quickly opened it, letting him in without saying anything. “Is something wrong, y/n...?” Anton murmured, and you immediately wrapped your arms around his torso, resting your head on his chest. “No... I’m just tired... I needed you...” you whispered, your voice trembling. Anton let out a sigh of relief when he heard you, wrapping his arms around you. You couldn’t help but start crying as soon as you felt his embrace. You could feel all the stress and exhaustion you had felt throughout the day slowly fading away as you hugged him.

ᡣ𐭩 masterlist

taglist: @cherryishxo @gacktsa @totheseok @kkumistars

[rebelliousstories]

Pretty as a Peach

Relationship: Cooper “The Ghoul” Howard x Reader

Fandom: Fallout

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff, Strong Language, Brief Angst

Word Count: 1,322

Main Masterlist: Here

Fallout Masterlist: Here

Part Two of: Peachy

Summary: There’s something odd about this girl that had started traveling with the duo. But it does give Lucy a peak behind the curtain on the Wasteland’s most notorious partners in crime.

“Rise and shine babies!” Someone screamed right as the light started to filter into their shelter for the evening. Lucy groaned as she stretched, before rubbing her eyes and looking around. The same woman from last night, the one that The Ghoul called “Peach” was still there. She shook awake the man next to her, who merely grumbled.

“‘M tired, sweetie. Just go back to sleep.” He said, voice thick with accent and sleep. Cooper reached a hand up and removed his hat from his eyes to look at where the offending noise came from.

“You said we’d leave at the break of day. Don’t tell me you forgot already, old bones?” She teased, bending over to place her hands on her knees.

“I’ll show you old man.” Howard growled, and swiped for the woman. But she stepped back and giggled maniacally at his failed attempt.

“Come on. I wanna get this show on the road.” And she left without another word. Her two new companions were made to catch up to her as she left. Thankfully, neither one had bothered unpacking much which made the whole process easier. Lucy watched as Cooper marched forward and slowed his pace once he made it to the woman.

The vault dweller was fascinated by what she saw on their journey through the day. She saw a different side of The Ghoul that she was traveling with. Not going as far as to say sweet, but definitely caring. As they walked, Lucy saw the pair in front of her sharing food, water, and on occasion, words. It was not until a familiar four legged friend came up that their words became loud enough to be intelligible.

“Oh, who is this?” She knelt down to the dog with a dead iguana in her mouth. The pup’s tail was wagging at a hundred miles an hour at the attention, while the woman scratched behind her ears.

“That’s DogMeat. Ain’t mine, but stays with me I suppose.” Cooper drawled, looking disinterested in the animal, but his partner knew better. Yet, she said nothing about it.

“Well, hello DogMeat. I’ll let you have breakfast.” The woman stood back up and watched the dog for a moment more, before resuming her pace. DogMeat stayed behind for a bit, just long enough for her to tear into her meal, before she rejoined the trio. This time Lucy got an even different view of The Ghoul.

Occasionally, his hand dipped down to find the dog he claimed not to care about, delivered a passing pet, and then retracted it. Usually at the same time, his other hand would search out the peachy woman next to him before, also, retracting. Lucy could not hear the words spoken between the two, but she could see the gestures. When she complained about the sun, and shielded her eyes with her hand, Cooper reached up and placed her hat on her head. If she was fanning herself, he would reach into his pocket and give her his canteen.

But she also did things for him that made her have hope for civilization on the surface. Whenever he began to pat himself down, she would reach into her own bag and give him a readily available chem for his inhaler. If Cooper rubbed his stomach and reached for his canteen, she would hand him some jerky instead. They took care of themselves, as well as each other. Lucy knew that if she were to ask, they would both say that this was just a partnership born out of necessity. But if there is one thing she had learned on the surface it is that people just do not stick around other people unless there is a deeper reason.

She saw it in the way they sought each other out as they walked. If they moved through difficult terrain, he would always make sure that it was safe for her to move first. As the night grew closer, and the cold came in with the night, Cooper kept the woman closer and closer until they found shelter. The trio found themselves a little barn type structure to stay the night. It was open save for one set of door, but it was better than sleeping in the elements where you had no idea someone was sneaking up on you until it was too late.

Cooper looked around the area as he set down his saddle bag. Peach came over and set down the hat on top of the bag before setting out to explore. She made her way all over the dilapidated barn, careful not to break the barn or herself. It was not until she tried to climb to the hayloft that The Ghoul stepped in.

“Don’t you go climbin’ woman. You gonna get yourself hurt, Peach.” He groaned, watching her pause briefly in her efforts.

“I’ll be fine.” She shot back, already resuming her climb. Her journey was successful as she safely made her way into the loft, and poked her head out off of the side.

“See? I’m fine. You should come up, Coop. ‘S got a good view.” And she rolled out of sight. The man sighed heavily, but followed her request much to Lucy’s astonishment. She watched him climb the same rickety ladder that Peach had climbed just moments before. Staying down on the ground with DogMeat, the vault dweller began to gather things that they would need to start a fire for the evening. Light faded fast as she finished building the flames up to a point that they could enjoy it. A little bit later, the duo came down from their loft. Hay stuck to her hair and his duster, but no one had made a noise so Lucy was not sure what they were doing for the last hour.

“Come here, DogMeat.” She called,and the canine responded. Her head rested in the woman’s lap as she scratched her nails over her fur. The pup closed her eyes and eventually fell asleep in her lap, to which she gushed over.

“Oh this is just the cutest thing ever.” Peach cooed, careful not to raise her voice and wake the dog.

“Yeah, she’s pretty cute.” Lucy agreed, watching them in their moment. Both women turned to the man with them simultaneously and looked at him with hopeful faces.

“It’s a dog. Whatcha want me to say?” He grumbled, knees up to his chest and head bare from his hat.

“Oh, don’t give me that, Coop. You think she is adorable.” Peach leaned her body into the side of the ghoul next to her, who merely shot her a look, to which she ignored.

“Okey dokey. I’m going to go to sleep. Goodnight you two.” Lucy proclaimed, setting up a little palette a bit a ways from the fire. It was close enough that she could still feel the heat, but far enough away that she could give the couple their privacy.

“I kinda like that Vaultie, Coop.” The woman sighed, keeping her voice to a whisper as she gazed at the young woman that was now asleep.

“Ain’t nothn’ special ’bout her. ‘Cept her last name. Pain in my ass most of the time.” He replied, finding his eyes on the young woman as well.

“I was that ‘pain in the ass Vaultie’ once. Remember?” Her question made The Ghoul pause before he responded.

“Yeah I do. But now, you’re my little peach girl. Pretty as one too.” Cooper dropped a kiss to her hair and slung an arm around her while she settled in to sleep. They laid together, with her tucking herself in closer underneath Howard’s duster. As they drifted off to sleep, Lucy laid awake. She could barely make out what was being said but it was interesting to her enough that she would have to ask about it. The Ghoul’s Peachy Girl was a former vault dweller.

[breakyourrxles]

❥get you alone (m)

↳ In which your new job as the company financial advisor makes one thing loud and clear: the no dating the talent policy is one that is quite frequently disregarded.

bang chan x fem!reader — coworkers to lovers, idolverse, forbidden romance, explicit sexual content. [6k wc] cws: alcohol consumption, penetrative sex (unprotected), creampie, rough sex, Chan wants it bad-bad, Bang Chan has a Big Dick.

Starting the new job in the summer would be good.

This is what you told yourself when you begrudgingly hauled all of your belongings across Seoul in the blazing heat, for a move that took all of fourteen hours – from start to finish, and even with the help of some friends. It didn’t feel like it would be good then, but you had to hold onto the self-imposed reassurance that it would eventually be good. Autumn was right around the corner, after all, and a shiny new loft apartment in an excellent spot in town was hard to say 'no’ to, especially given the salary increase you were taking on to top it all off.

Your friends constantly prodded you with jokes the whole day about how lucky you were – to be working alongside idols. You insisted that this were hardly the case as someone working in finance of all things. Not exactly the glitz and the glam of microphones and high heels. You insisted that the chances of you meeting anyone all too often were slim to none, much to their displeasure.

You wanted that to be true. You genuinely thought it would be.

After all, that was the case at the previous companies you worked for as a temp financial advisor – you didn’t see much of anyone that had been on television. You could count the times you had run into someone famous in the hallways of your work place on one hand, and it was always simply in passing. Nothing exciting. Nothing to report. Taking on a full-time gig at JYPE – you had no reason to assume any different.

Three days into the job, you finally feel a bit settled in. Papers, pens, and comforting knick-knacks just in all of the right places on your desk – it’s a sign of a newbie for sure – someone not quite yet frazzled by the whirlwind of what the job would entail. Seated a bit in the back of the large office room, you hear the door open and the woman at the front most desk sighing exasperatedly – cautioning something about how someone can’t be here, but from the tone of her voice, it sounds as if this is not the first, second, or even third time she’s said the same – and only for it to fall upon deaf ears just as it seemingly had today.

“I just need to talk about the budget for the video,” you hear coming towards you – and you can’t see him yet, but you can hear him getting closer, accompanied by the sounds of other financial workers in the office shuffling about in an attempt to remedy the situation.

The situation?

“We have people for that, you don’t need to come and do it yourself!” the woman from the front nearly yells, but by that time, the man has just about reached your desk – and you’re a little worried about what it is that you might have to deal with right about now. What sort of absolutely nuts, disgruntled, higher-up is coming for your head already about a project that you’re not even filled in on yet?

“Yeah, but I like to do it my—”

The stranger reaches your desk finally, popping his head around the side of your cubicle wall to find something that apparently must be surprising to him, as it cuts his thought process off in an instant. You watch his brows furrow in confusion – not necessarily anger – but more so that he wasn’t expecting to find the sight he had found. His head cocks to the side suddenly, and he pulls himself into your field of vision entirely, still visibly confused by the fact that he’s looking at you.

“Y-yes?” you stutter out, completely frozen in place with uncertainty about what the complete fuck is going on right now in this office.

“Oh!” he exclaims, realizing now that the entire scenario is obviously absolutely bizarre to you. “Sorry, umm, so I guess the other woman doesn’t work here anymore?”

“Suppose…not.”

“That’s fine, I’m sure you can help me—”

But the woman from the front of the office finally makes her way to the back where the both of you reside. The mans face dropping and beginning to take on that of a childs who knows he’s about to get reprimanded.

“You don’t have to answer to him,” she says to you, but also sort of speaking to him as well. “Despite what they’d have you think, the idols don’t actually run things here. We have a particular way of doing things and Chris absolutely loves ignoring that.”

…The idols?

It hadn’t crossed your mind before, albeit, a lot was going on, but since the I-word had been mentioned now, a lot of things were beginning to come together now. He is quite good looking, and given how revealing his tank top is – appears to work out, as well. Nice skin, beautiful smile…a little short, but that’s okay.

“I’m just a guy!” the man you have now learned is named Chris retorts as the woman takes her leave, and he turns back to face you again, leaning his arm up against the wall next to you, “what’s a guy gotta do to get treated like a guy around here?”

“Probably not be famous,” you respond in sort of a half-giggle, trying to restrain the smile from your lips as you turn back towards your computer to finish inputting some data. “But if you need something, I’ll be happy to look into it. You came all this way after all.”

Chris catches the way sarcasm drips from your last few words and rolls his eyes, gently tossing the stack of papers he came in with onto a empty spot of your desk.

“Are you going to treat me like this now, too? The new girl already tainted, how tragic.”

“You asked, I gave you a legitimate answer as to why.”

“Mm, fair,” he nods, pushing his bottom lip out for a moment as he considers the fact – then quickly finds himself along a separate path of thought. “So, what’s your name?”

You tell him, he responds that it’s pretty. You find that more than a little bit annoying, given your awareness of the incredibly strict 'no dating’ policy among office workers in JYPE, and even more strict 'no dating the talent’ policy – one that lands your contract terminated if they so much as even suspect that you’re engaging in unsavory behavior with any one of the idols under their label.

Chris lingers about a bit longer before you finally look towards him again and tell him that you’ll take a look at the paperwork the next chance you get, which, despite not directly telling him to leave you alone, he does manage to take the hint and bids you farewell, that it was nice to meet you, and that he looks forward to your next meeting…to which the woman from up front once again responds, “you shouldn’t be in here!”

You think about this story often now – the story of how you and Chan met. It seems so cute and casual now, like a story that two children would tell about how they met on the playground because the little boy pushed the little girl into the sandbox…except now they’re thirty-five and married with three wonderful children. It only feels that way in essence, though, because while yes – your relationship with Chan was far from married with children, it wasn’t zero.

And that was a problem. Ironically, mostly for you, it seemed.

As the months carried on, Chan did indeed continue coming to your desk for all of his financial needs instead of going through the appointed channels put in place by the company. He eventually tells you that he does it this way because he feels more comfortable doing it himself – he knows who did it, and when, and whether it got done or not. He knows all of the steps, so if anything goes wrong, he knows exactly how and why. Easier to fix. It makes sense, of course, until the few times you have to call him for some unsigned documents and he tells you to come meet him in the studio, or the practice room, or even at the dorm.

It’s not okay, and the both of you know that. You find yourself very quickly sneaking around – hoping not to be seen on your way to your secret rendezvous with Chan – and not even for that. But certainly, that’s what everyone would think if they were to know.

You kind of wished it were the case, too.

And there had been a few nights where things got a little strange. A little out of line. Chan was a flirt, and you wanted to be flirted with by him. The occasional hand grabbing, or his hand placed at the small of your back as he passes behind you, lingering a little bit longer each time he does it – but nothing overt. If you were honest, you weren’t quite sure if chan was into you or not. He was never entirely clear about his intentions. While financials and paperwork had obviously, at times, fallen to the wayside and perhaps simply been an excuse to get you into the same room as him, he had never made a move, and never said anything that would indicate a completely inappropriate and – by work standards – illegal romance between the two of you.

That didn’t necessarily stop you from desiring it, though.

It took nearly a year before the wall showed a crack. The impenetrable Bang Chan.

“Can you come to the cafeteria with it? I’m trying to have dinner before I get back to work.”

You roll your eyes, shoulder and face craned to hold the phone in place as you type on the computer in front of you and sigh upon finding the time – already much later than when you were supposed to be out of the office and also well over your allotted overtime for the month.

But, it was Chan, and yeah, you were a bit soft for him and the few quiet moments you got to spend around him. Even if they didn’t mean anything. Even if they never would. A guilty pleasure – partaking in all of the things that you shouldn’t.

When you arrive, much to your surprise – Chan is the only one there. Being well past office working hours, it was prime time for idol working, and you think that you’ve never seen the place so empty before – although, if you were honest, you didn’t spend much time there, either.

Chan waves you over to his table, well into eating a bowl of mild cup ramen as you sit just ahead of him and place the stack of papers on the end of it. You take a moment to look around at the scenery – which perhaps isn’t much to him, but for a moment, it makes you consider what it must be like. To live life as an idol.

The man in front of you manages to mumble out a 'thanks’ in between eating and you assure him it’s no problem. In a moment of his looking away from you, you take in for a moment his features a bit more intricately. The bags under his eyes from restless nights and messy hair – the gray hoodie adorning him looking potentially slept in from the night before – and it’s a little charming. You know next to nothing about this man, but if there’s one thing you know, it’s that he works hard. Tirelessly. Selflessly. For the group of men he lovingly refers to as “the kids”.

“Can I ask you something? And you don’t have to answer if it’s too personal or anything,” you start suddenly, placing your chin in your palm and elbow on the table as you look across towards him. He stops eating, cocking an eyebrow inquisitively and hurries his chewing so that he can assess the question faster.

“Yeah, go ahead.”

“Do you have a girlfriend? Well, or boyfriend, I guess, didn’t mean to assume anything—”

And Chan snorts, looking down towards the table and grinning – and for a moment you could swear that he almost looks…embarrassed. Sheepish. Shy.

“No,” he says, ever so slightly shaking his head in response as well before looking up at you through his eyelashes, and it’s truly as if he’s self-conscious about the fact. “No I do not. Kind of hard to meet someone in this line of work.”

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little taken aback – both by the fact that he answered the question at all, and by – well, everything else about the interaction.

“Surely that can’t be true, you’re surrounded by beautiful people everywhere.”

“You see, the thing about being surrounded by beautiful women,” Chan starts, shoveling some more noodles in his mouth, chewing and swallowing before finishing his thought, “is that they are also surrounded by beautiful men.”

The implication of his response sound insane to you. Is he really implying that he’s…not?

But Chan doesn’t give you time you think it out much further, starting up another thought. “The truth of the matter is that I’m just too busy,” he says, wiping his face and hands with a napkin, crumpling it, and placing it on the tray in front of him before sliding it just out of the way of your conversation.

“Most days I work about fourteen, maybe sixteen hours? And that’s everything: any filming, recording, then there’s the producing I do as well, plus I’m on the business end of a lot of the things that we get to do, and then when I come home I’m still sort of dad even though they are, of course, plenty capable of doing things for themselves, but it’s just the position I’ve taken on within the group…I don’t have the kind of time someone would deserve, y'know?”

“Yeah,” you respond fast enough to show acknowledgment, but his words run through your mind for much longer than that. A man that takes on so much more than the average idol.

You’d have been lying if you said you didn’t think he was sexier now. That’s a problem. Especially because the next question out of your mouth is extremely self-indulgent, and perhaps even gives you away.

A woman of stronger might may have been able to avert the trajectory of this scenario. That woman was not you.

“You don’t even have anyone you like…just, see?”

Chan looks up at you slowly now, eyebrows tensed slightly together – and it’s not anger, but curiosity to match your own. It’s sort of a playful smile that purses across his lips as you watch the thoughts bounce around his head in real time – holding your facial expression perfectly as to not give even more away than you already had. He has to be the one to speak next or it’s doomed.

“What do you mean?”

Fuck.

It’s not what you wanted, because now you have to speak more. It’s not even like you’re offering, or extending the invitation as it were, you’re just…curious. Innocently curious. Completely innocently curious about where his dick has been lately.

“Like, a friend…with benefits? I guess?”

The man in front of you holds fast, continuing to stare at you for a moment before cracking up a bit again and shaking his head just as he had the first time you asked him something that, to him, is completely absurd.

“No,” and you watch as he cocks his head to the side suddenly and smiles an awkward smile into the table – knowing that he’s about to admit something even more humiliating than he already had. “It’s been quite a long time since anything like that.”

Oh, now you’re really intrigued. So much so that the allure of playing coy is completely thrown out of the window. You have to know everything, and now.

“Oh my God, how long?” you ask quickly, jutting yourself forward toward him as if he’s some sort of exhibit on display for your viewing pleasure, and he pulls back suddenly, still laughing, but obviously absolutely beside himself in sheepishness. 

“Oh come on, really? Is it that hard to believe?”

“What!? Yes! Of course it is!”

“Why?”

“Because look at—”

It’s in that moment that you consider that this entire situation was a set up from the beginning, and not on your end. A sudden realization that all of the upper-hand you had thought that you had, never really existed at all. Had…Chan been playing you this whole time?

Chan sits back into his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and looks away with a smile, still shy, but obviously amused by the turn the situation had taken. Maybe it wasn’t a set up. Maybe it was just a happy little mistake.

“About three years, I just have other stuff going on, that’s all,” he finally responds to the originally intended question – before the derailment of what’s and why’s.

You choose not to respond, having already given far too much of yourself away to the discussion.

When Moa from the creative direction department celebrates her 10th year with the company, the higher-ups green light a huge party for it, citing her relentless contributions, hard work and loyalty. It’s your first time attending one of these anniversary parties, but you’re assured that most of them are not like this.

It’s one of the few times that the idols and the office workers mingle much. Given Moa’s direct work with the talent in particular, it’s expected for them to be invited to such a gathering, and despite it taking place at the company building, dress code is (not so) strictly enforced and everyone is told to “dress nice,” a guideline that works better for some than for others. If honest, not even you are particularly sure what this means – stuck somewhere between completely formal and business-casual, you simply decide on the latter…more or less. Something similar to the usual just above the knee length dress you would wear to work, but more casual, and a blouse with a bit more sheer to it.

When you get back to the building, it’s well past typical closing hours but the sound of a party is easily heard from even the lowest level. Nine floors up, the elevator dings and you step out with a bottle of wine in one hand and your bag in another – plus your eye out for Chan, of course.

And that makes you feel a little bit silly, yes, because this being an after hours party doesn’t make the company policies any more suspended. They are still very much in place.

But still, the joys of flirting aren’t to be ignored, and no one better to do it with than him.

When you step in, you quickly notice a few of the twice ladies there – beautiful girls, glowing from all of the way across the room, and Chan standing with two of them in particular, looking especially cozy – and you do your best to ignore the ping of pain in your chest that you know without a doubt does not belong there. Chan looks over and makes eye contact with you and you both nod a silent hello, before making your way over to your colleague, and the table in which you are to leave your offering of wine.

It’s rather quick, much quicker than expected, that Chan catches up with you – as you’ve barely had time to say hello to Moa before he’s placing that sly hand on the small of your back and greeting the both of you. You watch the look on your colleagues face switch to one of confusion – wondering why one of the idols is getting so handsy with you, but she simply smiles and thanks you for coming.

You suspect in that moment, that the 'no dating the talent’ policy is one that is frequently disregarded.

The black haired man to your side pours you a drink, then pouring himself, and you take notice of the way he’s dressed for the occasion – just a nice button down shirt and some nicely fitted jeans – nothing fancy but he took a moment to step out of the sweats that he had probably been wearing for a few days straight by that point. Appreciated. Chan hands you a cup and raises it towards you just the slightest bit in cheers before taking a sip.

You catch the way his eyes linger on the silhouette of your waist and hips before pulling away in an effort to not be seen.

“Friend?” you say, nodding towards the girls that Chan had been talking to previously, and watch him in nearly a panic raise a hand up as if to swear upon something.

“We’re just friends.”

“That’s…what I said,” you respond, chuckling into your cup and shaking your head, “calm down, we’re friends, not married.”

“And I’m sure that’s devastating to you.”

The response fully takes you off guard, practically causing you to choke on the drink you had quite disastrously already taken into your mouth. You think of why he’d say this to you – as best as you can in only the few seconds you have to do so: he’s been there longer, is he drunk? Is he stupid? Is he insane?

“What?” you retort, looking at him with a face that one would surmise that they had grown an extra nose since the last time they had looked in the mirror. A look of absolute bewilderment.

“You were going to say I was handsome that one time, back at the cafeteria, don’t think I forgot,” Chan replies with a smug tone, as if winning some sort of battle that you hadn’t known about.

“Yeah that doesn’t mean I want to marry you, are you insane?”

“I was filling in the blanks, whatever,” he answers back, waving a hand about playfully and purposefully avoiding eye contact with you. It’s true that he might have had a few and that’s what had been causing him to be so bold, but he was very much aware of the game he was playing.

Two can play, you think to yourself.

“So am I to assume then that you wish to raise a family with me, with the way you were just checking me out only a moment ago?”

You watch Chan bite his bottom lip in an attempt to keep himself from smiling – knowing he’s caught – he looks down to the floor before looking over at you. “Ah, saw that, did you?”

“Yeah, not sure you could have made it any more obvious, actually.”

“Sorry about that,” he says, playfulness dropping from his tone slightly and replaced with seriousness. It catches you off guard, because wait, no, I like what we’re doing right now.

“You don’t have to – it’s fine,” you answer back hurriedly, to reassure him and try to bring the both of you back to a flirtatious place, but the look on Chan’s face is yet again another reminiscent of that day in the cafeteria.

All according to his plan. You’re right where he wanted you all along.

“So, you like it when I look at you then?” he says in a whisper, leaning over closer to you to assure that no one else will hear the conversation.

Now or never, shit or get off the pot.

You lean towards him, meeting him just about halfway to close the distance between the two of you, before turning your head to look at him and find your faces only mere centimeters from the other.

“That’s not all you can do.”

Sneaking out of the party was the easy part, it was the finding a place where the two of you could be alone long enough to make anything happen that was the difficult part.

Ducking and weaving through hallways and doors – all led by Chan who had the better understanding of the area in which the two of you were now navigating, he dragged you around by the hand in an attempt to find a place that he could have you. Away from prying eyes. Just you and him. And from the grip he had on you, and the information he had divulged to you previously, his intent to completely devour you once the opportunity arose was ever present, and lended itself to a dull throb between your legs already – the man hadn’t even touched you yet.

“I know,” he whispers, darting around a corner and looking down a hallway to make sure that no one will spot you, “I have just the spot.”

“Ooh, so exciting,” you tease, but it’s only seconds later that Chan has his weight pressed against you, your back to the wall and chest to chest – lips just barely missing your own – and the bratty attitude is swept from you in an instant and replaced with unfathomable desire.

“Or I could just have you right here,” he whispers against your ear, hooking one of his hands up under your knee and granting his hips space between your legs against the wall – and you can already feel the tenting in his pants at simply the prospect of getting his dick wet again after so long.

It’s hard to tell him 'no’ to the idea, but thankfully you don’t have to, Chan knowing it being a poor one as he smiles and pulls himself off of you only to once again pull you towards an unidentified place that the man has mapped out in his mind.

You’re thankful that it’s only a few more twists and turns down halls before Chan looks around and opens a door to a room, hurrying you inside of it and closing it behind with a 'clink’ sound of the lock. the room is pitch black in darkness and Chan had already let go of you once ushering you into the doorway, but it’s not long before you feel his essence – the feeling of his hands softly grazing your hips and causing the fabric to bunch up at your lower back as his hands slide in the direction. Your behind meets a table at his insistence in pushing you only a couple of steps towards it, and the mans hands creep back down to the outsides of your thighs, only to slide up again and hoist you onto the table.

Chan hooks his fingers into the elastic of your panties, and it’s the first time that he finally, after what feels like a fucking eternity, presses his mouth against your own. Kisses that at first start out gentle and experimental, quickly devolve into needy and sloppy – and mostly from his end. It’s easy to tell that he is quickly becoming unraveled, and the thought of it only intensifies the dull ache already present between your legs. Slowly pulling the fabric from your legs, he carefully pries them open by the knees and settles himself between – pulling your body as flush as possible into his as he kisses deeper, harder into your mouth. An attempt to taste every bit of you that he can, no doubt, and the absolutely intoxicating feeling of unbridled desire for you making your head spin. Chan was losing himself in you, and quickly.

It had been a long time, and he was going to ruin you.

Pressing one hand up against your face, fingers slightly woven into your hair to pull you harder into his mouth, the other hand quickly dips down in the space between himself, and the apex of your thighs. One, lone, fingertip gently pressing against your folds and it’s not only the whimper that escapes your lips and is quickly swallowed by him that makes him grin, but the physical desire for him dripping from you, as well.

“Good to know I wasn’t the only one dying for it,” he whispers into your lips as he begins slow circles right above your clit. “You might not walk out of here when I’m finished with you.”

The words cause an involuntary reaction, that surely he’d have felt had he been inside of you already, and you’re sort of glad he isn’t just for the sake of being able to get away with how absolutely, catastrophically, horny just the idea of it was making you.

And bless his heart, the fact that he’s only able to make a few circles into your pussy by hand before he’s pawing at the front of his own pants in an attempt to free himself and finally have what he’s been wanting all this time. He makes quick work of his confines for a man not necessarily practiced in the arts of having a quick fuck in a dark office, so it’s impressive – almost as impressive as what he has to show for himself when he pulls his length from his boxer briefs.

Chan’s kisses get sloppier by the second now as you feel him lazily stroking himself by hand against your sopping wet pussy, the head of his cock prodding between your folds and up against the entrance to your cunt as he shallowly presses into you, but never enough to enter much at all, and you don’t want to beg for it – well, you do – but you won’t. Maybe.

“Do you have a condom?” you finally whisper, pushing to the side one of the computer mice to illuminate the room slightly with a turned on monitor screen.

“No,” he responds, peppering kisses along your jaw, but pulling back his hips from you just slightly.

“Okay.”

“Should I stop?”

“I said 'okay.'”

“Yeah but you said it as like, an acknowledgment.”

“Chris, I said okay!”

“Okay, okay!”

It feels almost like a brutal display of force, the way he digs fingers into your thighs from the underside and pulls your hips towards his – the edge of your ass just barely hanging onto the edge of the table as Chan lines the head of his cock up with you and not-as-slowly-as-he-probably-should presses in – one arm wrapped around your waist for leverage and the other hand placed firmly onto the table – it makes your head spin, the burning stretch of him forcing  your body to accommodate his, all the while kissing you deeply, passionately. The juxtaposition of Chan’s primal urges, his innate desire to have you, to be inside of you, to fuck you, compared to the whimpers that drop from his mouth at the way you’re so snug around his length, so warm and wet – a feeling he had almost completely forgotten in all of the time he hadn’t had it. So enveloping and all consuming in the moment.

When Chan finally bottoms out inside of you, it’s a hiss of “fuck, so tight,” and in your mind you think that it could be that, or combined with his substantial girth – the way you can feel every wall and muscle inside of you tugged and pushed with every movement he makes within you even in spite of your wetness. You don’t care to understand the how’s or the why’s necessarily – it doesn’t matter – what matters, is that you might be close already just from the way his cock relentlessly pulls at your g-spot with every motion, but you’re thankful when Chan seemingly begins to lose the will to be kind with his motions, and instead chooses to chase his own high with abandon – as thankfully for you, it’s precisely what you need to get there.

Chan brings a hand up, pushing you to lean back on your own elbows in an almost lying position now, hooking his hand under your shoulder for leverage to pull your body down and onto his cock harder. He’s losing himself in the moment, in your body, and it feels good watching him do it. Listening to, and now with the smallest amount of light in the room – watching him pant and grit his teeth at every throb and squeeze of your walls around him – nothing was sexier than a man fully lost in the moment of desiring you, and Chan was fully lost – the only thing bringing him back now, was the crash of his peak, which you are happy to accommodate, of course.

But as much as you were enjoying the show, his relentless fucking into you quickly brought you towards your own peak, where normally you were able to meet him with playful comments now the only sounds dropping from you pathetic whimpers and cusses – and his name, of course, which met you with a particular crash of his hips and a growl through gritted teeth.

“F-feel so good,” you whine, feeling the beginnings of your muscles tightening and knowing that he can feel the same with the way his eyebrows furrow tightly and his button lip pulls between teeth. Chan hisses at the feeling of your impending orgasm and the look on his face – beautiful brown eyes up through eyelashes and a weakened state, Chan is almost disappointed – knowing that your orgasm will inevitably be his own downfall, as well.

“Close?” he responds, knowing the answer, and you nod – allowing your head to drop back, only for Chan to pull you back to look towards him, pressing his forehead to your own as he continues his relentless pace into you. “Where do you want it?”

“In-insi—” you whimper again, unable to even finish the word. Chan takes the time to drag kisses down your lips, to your jaw, and it’s that moment that you truly break any sanity that he had maintained through the encounter.

“You w-wanted me, so have me.”

You know that he knows it’s in reference to his coming inside of you, that the distinction doesn’t have to be made in the moment, and it’s all in good fun, of course, driving him absolutely mad with only a few words. That’s the joy of it, after all.

The effect is immediate, as expected, as Chan pulls you tight into him and fucks into you at a relentless pace, chasing his orgasm without any other single thought occupying space in his mind. The only thing he can think about now is filling you with his cum, and that’s all by design, of course.

Luckily, the angle at which he has you immovable is one that works exquisitely well for you, rubbing at your g-spot and pulling at your clit in just the right ways that you’re babbling and on the brink of tears in orgasm well before even he is. A chant of asking you to come for him, come on him, and you’re gripping down and attempting not to cry out at the waves of release crashing over you – Chan fucking you all of the way through it before he finally reaches his own right after you – painting your walls with his cum and continuing to fuck his release into you, albeit gently, even well after he finishes and begins to soften inside of you.

It’s a long few minutes before he pulls away from you – out of you, gently tucking his overstimulated cock back into his clothing with a wince and wiping his forehead with the back of his hand before bending down and helping pull your panties back up your legs and into place.

Chan stays there, nestled between your legs and on his knees, arms crossed with elbows anchoring him on either side of your knee as he gazes up in awe at your beautifully fucked out state of being. For a moment, it’s hard to even imagine the same man being that animalistic, that primal, as he just was only a few minutes before.

But duality is sexy, after all.

“You’ll have to let me do a better job next time,” he smiles innocently from between your knees, head slightly cocked to the side.

There’s a lot of good things packed into that one, extremely short sentence, but figure you’ll address the most pressing of them first.

“A better job…?” you ask, intrigued.

“Yeah,” he replies, pulling his arms back and gently prying your legs apart again to make space for him to press kisses to the inside of your thigh, and you hate the way it’s already making you hot for him again.

“There’s so much more I’m going to do to you.”

♡ send me your thoughts and feelings in my ask.

—this is a oneshot, there will be no part 2.

[cuubism]

more physical therapy au

--

Dream comes to his next physical therapy appointment marginally--marginally--less apprehensive than before. When he'd first gone, he'd expected to be told he was being melodramatic. That he should just be grateful that the surgery was successful and he has some functioning. That he should just give up on his art, that it didn't matter, that it was hopeless.

He doesn't know why he thought that. It's been hard to have a charitable view of people, lately.

But Hob wasn't like what he feared. Hob was... kind. To him.

So he goes back.

He has, in fact, been doing the exercises that Hob gave him. It is not as though he has much else to do with his time. Other than setting up his new flat, where he now lives after fleeing what had once been his home. Even a few months later, the place is fairly... minimalist. Which is not Dream's style. But he'd left with little more than his art portfolio and the clothes he was wearing, deciding that it wasn't worth going back, and he hasn't had the energy to replace anything since.

Or the two functioning arms required to move things.

His flat is depressing enough that even the physical therapy office feels warm and welcoming by comparison. Hob gives him a big smile as he comes in. It's pathetic that it makes his heart flutter.

He goes over to Hob, setting the folder he brought on the table.

"You look cheerful," Hob notes. Dream highly, highly doubts that. But he is perhaps slightly less morose than last time. Nevertheless, he finds Hob's optimism... somewhat cheering. Normally, he would find such a thing annoying. But there is something very steady and reassuring about Hob. Not much in Dream's life has felt steady in some time.

"I have tried finger painting," Dream tells him. He takes the piece out of the folder and shows it to Hob.

It had been interesting, at least. Distracted him for a moment. Made him think about the way children make art, before becoming mired in theory and technique.

He had considered bringing one of his usual pieces to demonstrate to Hob what he's meant to be able to do, in case that would be helpful, but it's still painful to look at them.

Hob takes the painting and stares at it with wide eyes. "How is this actually good?"

Dream should probably be offended by his incredulity but instead he just finds it amusing. "I had lots of time to spend."

He has, once again, painted a bunch of cats, all different colors, cluttering the page. It's simple, and lets him avoid thinking about his more conceptual pieces he hasn't been able to work on.

"Wow," Hob says, propping the painting carefully against the wall by his computer. "Okay. Good work going above and beyond on the instructions, Dream."

That praise alone shouldn't make something in his chest start glowing. But it does.

"It did not hurt... much," he says tentatively, before Hob can ask. "However, with a brush..."

It is incredibly frustrating. It's like his body continually wishes to betray him. He's lost his home and everything he owns and now he cannot even have his art.

"Give it some time," Hob says, reasonably. He is much more patient, and optimistic, than Dream.

He makes Dream draw and write again. It's... perhaps marginally easier after the exercises Hob had given him. Still, he finds himself getting frustrated by the weakness of his grip. And the more frustrated he gets, the tighter he grips the pencil. He knows he shouldn't. But.

"Lighter," Hob tells him, and Dream glares at him. Hob raises his hands. "Not telling you how to do your art. Just telling you how not to hurt your hand."

Dream bites down on his annoyance, but loosens his grip.

He doesn't see very much progress, but Hob seems satisfied. He makes Dream run through some other strengthening exercises, which... don't hurt as much as Dream was expecting them to. He'd expected that this whole process would be nothing but gritting his teeth through agonizing pain, to minimal results. Perhaps Death is right, and he should be less pessimistic.

In any case, Hob seems proud of him at the end. Even if Dream doesn't think he's done anything to be proud of.

But he does leave, perhaps, slightly more hopeful than he entered. And he wants to come back. At least to see Hob again.

~~

Hob doesn't know if it's patronizing to be proud of Dream, but he is. Over the last few sessions, his grip has improved a lot. Dream doesn't seem to see it, but that's alright. Hob does. He's been keeping all of Dream's drawings. They are getting better.

Hob is pretty good at optimism. But even so, it somehow hadn't occurred to him that quiet and morose wasn't Dream's natural state. That is until he sees the joy that lights up in him the first time he's able to draw a cat without his hand shaking. Dream smiles so wide, like he isn't even aware Hob is still watching him, and Hob realizes that there is lightness to him. It's just been buried down.

The time after that, Dream even brings some of his old art to show. Hob's been dying to see it for ages, but hasn't pressed. And Dream's art is gorgeous. Hob can understand, now, why he'd been dissatisfied with those first cats he'd drawn, no matter how charming Hob had found them. His big pieces are so finely detailed, so precise. It's... possibly going to take a bit more time to get him back to that than Hob had thought. But he's determined.

But Dream seems happy to be sharing his art, doesn't fold in on himself this time just to mention it. He talks with enthusiasm about his process, the most words Hob's heard him say in... well, ever. Hob tells him that he's made enough progress to pick up painting--with brush, not fingers--again if he wants, but not to beat himself up if it doesn't look the same as his old ones. And for once, it seems like Dream actually accepts the instruction not to berate himself.

All of this is, most certainly, the reason Hob does the insane thing he does next.

He's organizing his records, having already walked Dream out, when he hears raised voices from out on the walkway. The front door is still open a crack, he realizes, so the sound carries.

"Come on, you're overreacting," says an unfamiliar, male voice. "I said I won't do it again, didn't I?"

"Do not," Dream replies, voice anxious, but determined, "follow me."

"Well if you'd just pick up your phone--"

Hob steps outside. An unfamiliar man--the ex-boyfriend, Hob assumes, he doesn't know his name, hasn't asked, doesn't care--has Dream cornered in the doorway. His posture doesn't immediately scream rage or aggression, which is more unnerving rather than less, considering this is the same person who'd snapped and broken Dream's hand.

And Dream looks scared. Under the mask of stoicism he likes to wear. Any cheer or hope he'd gained from today's session has evaporated, and he looks like he did before, when he'd first come to Hob's office, curled in on himself. It breaks Hob's heart. And makes him angry.

"Stop being selfish and just--" the ex-boyfriend continues. Hob means to cut in and diffuse the situation. Tell him to leave in a reasonably professional manner.

Instead he punches him in the face.

Ex-boyfriend's nose goes crunch in an extremely satisfying way, and he reels back with a shriek, hands going to his face. Dream startles back, hands clutched around his art portfolio.

"What the FUCK!" yells ex-boyfriend, voice nasally from the blood running down his face. "You can't just-- this is assault! I'll call the cops!"

Oh he wants to go there, does he? "You wanna talk about assault?" Hob says, voice rising in volume. Dream edges behind him, though Hob's not sure he's fully aware he's doing so. "You want to get police involved, that's really what you want?"

Ex-boyfriend looks from Hob to Dream and back, hesitating. That's fucking right, Hob thinks. Not so easy to kick someone around when there's consequences, huh?

It helps that Hob is visibly stronger than Dream, and spends all day physically moving people around. If ex-boyfriend tries anything he's going to get put on the ground.

Finally he retreats, though with a look of rage towards Hob. Once he's gone, Dream finally seems to relax, some of the tension easing from his shoulders.

"You did not need to," he murmurs.

Hob shakes his head. "No one gets to come and threaten you here. Particularly not that dickhead."

Dream huffs a small laugh. Then he picks up Hob's hand, studying it. Hob winces. It's certainly going to bruise.

"Now you will need physical therapy," Dream says, lips twitching. Hob's glad for the humor in his voice.

Hob laughs. "Worth it."

"No one has..." Dream starts, slowly, "done something like that. For me."

It hurts, to think that no one's stood up for him. Or even let him know that someone should stand up for him.

"If he comes back I'll do it again," Hob says, and gets a tentative smile from Dream.

Then asks, "Does he know where you live?"

Dream frowns. "I do not think so."

"Want me to walk you home?"

He doubts Dream's ex-boyfriend will come back to the office now that he knows Hob's willing to deck him, but that doesn't mean he won't try to corner Dream elsewhere.

Dream deliberates, then says, "Would you?"

"'Course, love. Just let me lock the place up."

He doesn't realize what he's said until he's already turned back to lock the door. Shit. Today has already gone so far beyond what he's supposed to do as Dream's physical therapist, and now...

In the end, Dream doesn't call him out on it. But he does stick close to Hob's side as they walk, and occasionally when Hob looks over at him, he catches a tiny smile on his face.

[beachbxtchforev]

Stagecoach Diary

your friends had organized the perfect weekend, but you’re forced to share a space with your enemy Drew.

pairing: Drew Starkey x fem!reader

word count: 1.6k

warnings: 18+, smut, oral (fem! receiving), curse words, close proximity trope ish, enemies to lovers, slow burn

country music. the desert. drinks. friends.

you were so excited to experience your first Stagecoach. growing up, your Midwest summers were always accompanied by country radio, so the opportunity to see all of your favorite artists in one place was one you couldn’t pass on. Maddie organized the whole thing; plane tickets, festival passes, and a gorgeous house just outside of the festival grounds.

it was also your first time traveling with your group of friends.

when you guys finally arrived at the airbnb, Maddie explained how she planned the sleeping arrangements. her and Carlacia in one bedroom, Madison and Mariah in another, Chase and Austin sharing, and you in a room by yourself. your single room had a catch, however. Drew, who was sleeping on the air mattress, would need to use the bathroom attached to your room since it was closest to the bonus area that was being makeshifted into a bedroom for him.

while you wouldn’t think this would be a big deal, it was.

you and Drew were not friends. you could probably be classified as acquaintances, mutuals maybe, but definitely not friends. and you really don’t know why you guys aren’t close. when you were first introduced to the friend group, he smiled, introduced himself and then acted as if you didn’t exist. you deemed him as rude and childish, wondering what you did in five minutes to push him away.

so, it became mutual. neither of you communicated and you made an awkward tension for the rest of the group.

“y/n is that okay? I know it’s not ideal but it was the best house available for the weekend” Maddie reasoned with you, treading lightly to test out your feelings regarding the living situation.

“yes, totally fine! Drew and I are adults, we can share a space for the weekend” you said, convincing her that you were brushing off your differences for the time being. which was partially true, as long as you didn’t really have to interact, it wasn’t a problem.

you roll your bag to your room, eager to start getting ready since it’s Friday morning, tonight being the first of the festival.

Maddie hired a glam team for the girls, so really all you needed was to put together an outfit. researching Stagecoach beforehand, you noticed it was a major fashion event among influencers and celebrities. you have a small following just from being associated with the cast, so you know you had to do it big.

you opted for a sheer tie front tank, lace midi skirt, chunky belt, and boots. given that the festival is multiple days, you can really experiment with different styles.

thankfully, the girls and guys had separated for this part of the process, so you and Drew weren’t running into any problems regarding sharing the bathroom. the boys moved to the backyard of the house, getting their drinking started early and playing corn hole while you girls gathered in the living room with the professionals.

after doing some professional photos out back and inside, it was time for the group to head to the festival. you were tipsy from the pregame, swaying and singing on your walk over, hand in hand with Maddie and Carlacia. the group laughed and giggled at you guys, taking some candid photos and videos that you know are bound to make it in the photo dump.

you guys had VIP passes, but stopped frequently to talk with fans, get drinks, and make sure the group was still together. finally, Morgan Wallen came onto main stage and had you singing and dancing your little heart out. what you didn’t notice in your drunken moments was the fact that Drew couldn’t keep his eyes off of you all night. the way you moved your arms to reach for one of the girls, the way your hips swayed when you danced, especially because of your cheeky bottoms. he became infatuated by you, the way he always had been.

the show was over and you guys made your way back to the house. you had sobered up a lot by now and were ready to get in the shower to wash the day’s dirt off of you. walking into your bedroom, you gather your things for a hot shower. you didn’t realize that the bathroom door didn’t close all of the way when you stripped to get under the water.

the mix of the warmth and pressure instantly relaxed you as the water pelted your sore body. so relaxed that behind the noise of the water running, you couldn’t hear Drew knocking on your bedroom door and ultimately letting himself in when you didn’t answer.

you also didn’t notice that he caught a glimpse of you behind the clear glass wall of the shower through the crack in the bathroom door. he couldn’t tear his eyes away, even if he tried. you were lathering soap on your body, running your hands over your chest and down your arms. he could feel himself growing in his pants at the sight of your simple movements, and it wasn’t until he dropped his shampoo on the ground that you noticed his presence.

“Drew?” you gasped, “how long have yo-“

“sorry! sorry, I-“ he quickly put his head down, trying to grab the bottle off the floor, flustered.

he finally picked up his things, about to turn and leave when he hears your voice, “wait!”

he doesn’t know where to look when he turns back around, awkwardly acknowledging the fact that you just caught him staring at you naked and he’s fully clothed.

“you can get in if you want to shower. I haven’t even touched my hair yet and I will probably take forev-“ you start rambling, but notice he has now stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. you watch closely as he begins to remove his clothes, biting your lip when he starts to reveal himself.

you don’t know what you were thinking when you offered to let him in the shower with you, but you were enjoying the view. when he steps out of his jeans, you see his cock for the first time and wonder if you have ever seen one prettier than his. it’s hard, and long, probably due to the fact that he has been looking at your boobs for the last five minutes and imaging the rest of your wet body.

you make room for him when he steps into the stall. “hi” you say sheepishly, as it comes out in a whisper. it felt like if you used your full voice it would pull you out of the moment.

he grins down at you, instantly relieving you of any awkwardness that could be happening. his eyes scan down your body, “you’re so beautiful y/n,” he murmurs as he bring his hand up to caress your face, “and motherfuckin’ sexy too” he adds.

you giggle, shocked to hear he feels this way about you. you nuzzle your head into his palm that’s attached to your cheek, taking a step closer to him so that your nipples are grazing his abdomen. the contact makes your take a sharp inhale. you’re so wet just at his simple actions, hoping he makes a move.

his thumb swipes back and forth, tracing your cheekbone before moving over your lips. you can’t help but open your mouth, running your tongue over it and sucking.

he groans, “shit baby, you’re playing with fire,” his words making you clench your thighs as your tongue swirls around the pad of his finger.

you release it from your mouth, “and what’re you gonna do about it, Starkey?”

his response is clear when his mouth comes down on yours, teeth slightly clashing, tongues fighting for dominance. all of your built up tension coming out in a kiss. you moan into his mouth as he brings his left hand to your chest, keeping the right locked around your jaw. he pulls away as his fingers tweak your nipple, “this okay baby?” he asks to which your fiercely nod your head.

“I need words sweetheart,”

“y-yes, please. more.” you moan out.

he chuckles, “good girl” then returns his lips to your neck. you feel his tongue meet the junction between your neck and shoulder before moving lower. replacing his hand, his lips close around your left bud. sucking and nibbling, getting another moan from you before moving to the right side. your hands grip his hair, trying to keep yourself upright while letting the pleasure takeover.

his lips move lower as he gets onto his knees in front of you. ghosting over your bellybutton, he grips your right calf and swings your leg over his shoulder.

“such a pretty pussy y/n,” he says, eyes quickly glancing up to meet yours, “so wet for me baby”

“yes, all for you Drew” you respond. breathless and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

“I’m gonna taste you, okay?”

“yes, yes! please” your hand in his now wet hair pushes him toward you, waiting to feel his mouth on you.

he licks a stripe over your slit, before his tongue rubs circles against your clit. the noises coming from you encourage him to wrap his lips around your bud and suck. you swear your knees might give out.

he moves his tongue to your hole, thrusting it in in a quick motion. you let out a scream, hoping the whole house doesn’t realize what you two are doing. your back is now pushed against the glass, cold feeling good against your hot skin as he tongue fucks you. “Drew! I’m gonna cum!” you breath out.

“cum on my tongue baby, let go,” he responds ready to catch your release. your whole body jolts as the band in your lower belly snaps, gushing onto his face.

“if I would have known this is how it was going to go, I would have walked in on you a lot sooner”

-

let me know what you think! 🤍✨

[haine-kleine]

dunno if I should call this a headcanon or a theory and I know Horikoshi just went with what looked cool but the more I think about Dabi's initial design when he came to the League in the context of what we learned about him and what we saw happen to him during the second war, the less sense it makes that his body was already in that state.

according to the anime, he was learning by watching Endeavor's videos online. before Sekoto, he wasn't learning from any source at all and went about his training intuitively, but after Sekoto I strongly doubt he would be actively practicing his quirk, for a multitude of reasons. his body was still healing from the skin transplantation, the trauma associated with accidentally burning himself to death, plainly not having a place to train a fire quirk, which tend to be flashy and to use your quirk in public, having a provisional license is required, otherwise he risks getting arrested. he did a very good job staying out of the public's eye for the 7 years since he escaped AFO, who was also implied to be unaware of Touya surviving for so long.

so as far as we know, all he did for those 7 years is lay low and be very online. which makes his remark to Spinner hilarious ngl, at least Spinner sprung up to action as soon as he saw something that had inspired him, while Dabi had spent 7 whole years sitting on his very personal trauma and not going to therapy.

when Giran brings him to Shigaraki, he doesn't share any information about Dabi save for him being very invested in Stain's ideology. no criminal records, maybe, but not even a word of his absurdly strong quirk? no mentions of arson at all? they did discuss Toga making it to the news, so Dabi being left out like that was a bit weird in the context of the conversation, like him seeking out Stain's contacts was enough reason to let him join the League. he won't be useful to you, Shigaraki, but he's got the spirit. please take him in, he has nowhere else to go?

if you really look at the way Dabi uses his quirk until MVA, it's noticeable how he seems to have no idea what he is doing. there's no technique, no finesse to his moves, just throwing out huge blasts of fire with his hands and hoping for the threat to leave him alone.

when Shigaraki attacked him (fully provoked) his reaction was too slow to summon any flames at all, and if it weren't for Kurogiri, that would have been it for Dabi.

When he is fighting Geten and starts going beyond his limit, he scares himself with the increased fire output. because, yup, overusing his quirk by accident was the source of his trauma.

the databook puts his technique as the weakest of his stats. his power is huge and eventually allowed him to become the strongest fire quirk user in the BNHA universe, but his technique was extremely lacking.

all of the above just doesn't paint the picture of someone who has been consistently mastering his quirk for 7 years. rather, it gives the picture of someone who had just started using his quirk for the first time in years, having background training from his childhood.

it's not even that Dabi isn't hardworking as hell or doesn't have the potential to be trained, because he's a complete opposite. continuously going beyond his limit, despite his own body getting in his way, mastering Enji and Shouto's complicated techniques they have worked for weeks/months/years on in a matter of minutes after just observing it. surely, he has been watching Enji and learning the way his father uses his quirk for years, but putting theory to practice? i doubt he even had the chance, before joining LOV.

he had to wait, because starting to actively use his quirk sets the clock into motion, counting down the time he has left. he is like a candle, destroying himself with his fire, until nothing is left at all. he had to make sure his plan of revenge will have a chance to succeed before fully committing to the 'Dabi' route, a slow and agonizing process of cremating himself by continuously using his quirk. because when he really starts using his quirk for long stretches of time? this is what happens to him.

to conclude this post, I know why the final design was chosen (because it's cool as fuck) but after analyzing the crucial points of Touya's story and his relationship with his quirk, I really think him joining the League with post-coma design would have made more sense. once he had started really using his quirk, his body would slowly degrade to the state Dabi's was in, because his fire literally melts his skin. but his body already having 40% surface third degree burns, when he didn't even use his quirk the entire time, perfectly holding up up until the first war arc and then quickly starting to burn down? idk, seems a bit inconsistent?..

anyway, i love the concept of Dabi's skin slowly and inevitably burning down after he had joined the League. him losing more and more skin until there's barely anything left, when he reveals himself to his father and is bitter at the lack of recognition, because burning himself to the point of being unrecognizable was one of the many sacrifices he had made to be finally seen by Endeavor.

also, more of this. because this was bittersweet as hell