#anyway i have to fucking sleep but I HAD to make this

[criminalamnesia]

Hey man, idk if your goal was to make people cry with that Jack Abbot fic but if it was mission accomplished! *finger guns out of the room while sobbing*

10/10 fic would definitely recommend to anyone needing a satisfying story that ends with you crying

I honestly didn’t expect it to get so much love!!! im just obsessed with the Pitt rn and god that man… I need him….

anyways here’s part 2 to this!!

jack doesn’t know what’s going on.

ellis came into the er with a gurney, screaming for robby, and then (if even possible) things in the ED got worse.

people scrambling, muffled sobs from nurses and doctors alike as they pass by whoever robby is currently working on. jack’s brows are furrowed, his eyes squinting to try and get a look across the room, but no dice. he starts to think maybe it’s jake— and fuck if it is.

“dr. abbot,” samira breathes beside him from where she’s hunched over their patient. another red, blood covering their torso— a gunshot wound through the upper chest. collapsed lung, struggling to breathe, struggling to live.

(like someone else across the room. but he doesn’t know that.)

“you’re good, mohan. keep going,” he says, voice even as he glances down at the resident’s work. she doesn’t need him here, really. she was one of the best residents on the floor— next to you, of course.

speaking of you— where were you? even if you’d been sleeping during dana’s slew of calls, he’d figure you’d have cracked an eye open by now. you always complained you tossed and turned at night (he had offered to remedy that in various ways.)

“done,” mohan exhales with a grin as jack’s fingers find the patients carotid, pressing for a pulse. it’s stronger than it was before mohan went to work.

“sound work,” he says, nodding down at her. her grin widens as she straightens up.

“great teacher.”

jack chuckles as he waves dr. walsh over. samira starts to walk away, but before he can even register what he’s doing, he’s got a light grip on her forearm. she glances over at him, obviously confused, head cocked to the side as chaos continues around them.

“check on robby, yeah? make sure that’s not jake he’s got.”

samira nods and leaves his grasp, weaving through gurneys and wheelchairs to reach the other attending.

“got one for me?” walsh has finally made her way over, her eyes assessing the stabilizing patient before her.

“yeah, this one’s good for upstairs,” he responds, eyes glancing once again to robby before santos starts yelling for an attending.

“better go see what she wants before she kills someone,” walsh says, smug grin adorning her lips as she grabs the gurney’s handles. “garcia says that one’s trouble.”

“yeah, yeah. don’t you have someone to cut into?”

“oh my god!”

even with all the clamor in the room, samira’s gasp cuts over the noise loud and clear. abbot’s head shoots up, watching as the resident’s hands fly over her mouth. dana hurries over, a hand landing on the young woman’s shoulder as she pulls her to the side.

“dr. abbot, we need you over at the yellows—” santos is saying as she catches her breath in front of him, her eyes flitting from the scene across the room and back to the attending beside her.

“abbot!” shen calls as he pushes a gurney through the bay doors “got another red!”

“are they dying, santos?” he asks, already starting towards shen.

“well, not actively—”

“get someone else.”

he hears her faint huff behind him, but it’s forgotten as soon as he gets his eyes on his next patient.

across the room, robby is sweating.

it’s awful, profuse, and he feels like he can’t catch his breath. there’s a ringing in his ears.

he’s never experienced drowning, but he imagines it feels a lot like this.

“c’mon,” he mutters, his eyes watching your face, searching for a sign that you were coming back.

your eyes were closed. your skin was pale from blood loss.

your heart had stopped beating.

“robby,” dana says, her voice as soft as it can be as she rests a hand on his shoulder.

“no,” he says, and he doesn’t need to say anything else. he’s tired. his body aches from the past twelve hours, but he can’t stop. this is you. he cannot stop.

somewhere in his brain, he realizes that this is not working. he’s been doing cpr since he lost your pulse, and it is not working. the tube shoved down your throat is helping you breathe. blood is still trickling from your gunshot wound.

your heart is still not beating.

this is not working.

samira is crying quietly behind him. princess has tears on her cheeks from where she stands beside your head, squeezing the bag attached to your intubation tube.

he can’t stop. one, two, three, four. one, two, three, four. up, down. up, down.

he presses down so hard he cracks your ribs. he cannot breathe. he can’t think. he can’t, he can’t—

“way past trauma protocol over there, brother.”

everything comes crashing down around him at the sound of jack’s voice carrying across the room.

he wants to laugh, because doesn’t jack know who he’s working on?

would he still be saying that if he was looking down at your pale face, your bloodstained skin?

robby ignores him. shakes his head as if shaking off the words. he can’t be done with this, he can’t give up on you. he can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

“we use blood on the ones that are gonna make it.”

jack again. robby wants to scream and laugh and cry. he’s turning hysterical, he knows it. this fucking day.

adamson. jake. abbot. you.

he can’t catch a goddamn break and it’s all weighing on him, and he’s about to lose his best friend and his best student and—

a hand on his shoulder. a firm hold, squeezing his skin so hard it almost hurts.

“robby,” it’s dana again. “you gotta let her go.”

he can hear the crack in the steely charge nurse’s tone, and that’s what really breaks him.

“fuck,” he breathes, and tears are clouding his vision. “fuck.”

dana’s hands land on top of his still moving ones. the ones that are physically beating the heart that lies dormant in your chest. she digs her nails into his skin, and that breaks him from his trance, and he finally stops.

someone sobs nearby. he doesn’t look up to see who.

he announces time of death. marks it on the card tied to your wrist.

princess removes the bag from your tube. dana pulls a blanket over your body, tucking it over your head as carefully as she can.

without a word, she and robby wheel you toward the makeshift morgue. you do not deserve to join the other bodies in there. you do not deserve to die.

dana leaves the room before him, and as soon as the door shuts behind her, he sinks to the ground.

“shit,” he cries, shaking hands reaching up to cover his eyes before scrubbing over his face. his trauma gown is covered in blood— some of it yours— and he tears at the thing as he sobs.

“fuck, fuck,” he can’t breathe. adamson, you. langdon and his drugs. jack and his trust. everything, all of it, is overwhelming. a wave too big to jump over or swim under. a current so strong it’s pulling him out to sea before he even knows he’s in the water.

“dr. robby?”

he can’t. his eyes are clenched shut, his hands grasping the chain around his neck. he mutters a prayer his grandmother taught him when he was a kid.

“dr. robby,” the voice calls again, and robby recoils as a hand grazes his shoulder, his eyes shooting open as he pushes the offender away.

whitaker looks distraught, a frown forming on his lips as he stands over the older man.

“we need you out there,” the intern says, his words firm. “you gotta get up.”

and robby wants to smack the kid, but as he finally starts to take deep breaths again. whitaker holds out a hand. robby (after a moment of contemplation) takes it.

and then he promptly shoves whitaker away as soon as he’s on his feet.

the intern nods, and without another word, leaves the room.

robby takes a breath, then another. he reaches for the door handle, but stops just short of turning it. he turns, his eyes landing on your gurney and the sheet hiding your body.

“im sorry,” he says. it is such a guttural and profound feeling, this sadness that overtakes him as he says those words.

but the ED needs him.

so he steps back into the chaos.

[noirscript]

The Fourth

Description: There were three Fami brothers—and one role left unfilled. The mother of their heir. Warnings: Yandere | 3P | Noncon/Dubcon | Breeding | Obsession | Psychological Control | Medical Ethics Violations

Note: I can't sleep. But I have work in few hours. Fuck. (Woke up at 1 am TuT) Anyway, enjoy! LMK what you think. Comment or something? Idk.

Apologies for the odd spacing. Wrote this ij note and only had the energy to remove the space for the early ones. I have to sleep.

Tags will be added later. READ THE WARNINGS!

There were three rules set by the Fami brothers—and they were not meant to be broken.

First: No other man was allowed within three seconds of you. They monitored this without fail, and the few who had tested that boundary quickly learned to keep their distance—some with broken bones, others with broken memories.

Second: One of them was always watching. Whether through the discreet tilt of a security camera, a mirror placed too perfectly in your room, or the flicker of presence just outside your door at night, there was never a moment you weren’t being observed. Studied. Protected. Possessed.

And the third: You were to become a mother. Not just to a child—but to theirs. Theirs alone. No outside blood. No uncertain paternity. You were chosen, and you were claimed.

They never used it on you. Not at first. Not when you were still wide-eyed, eager to please as their maid. You had been selected by their own hands—picked from dozens of seasoned staff for reasons that no one ever explained, except that you “fit.” At the time, you’d thought it was because you were quiet. Obedient. Trustworthy.

They had grown up with you under the same roof. The sons of the globally-renowned Fami pharmaceutical empire, Cav, Maxon, and Neuvi were born geniuses in chemical manipulation. By sixteen, they had already been granted unrestricted access to the family’s private research facilities. By eighteen, they had created Lotus, an aphrodisiac so refined it could bend both the body and the mind. It erased not only inhibition but memory. After Lotus, you wouldn’t just forget what happened—you wouldn’t even realize something had happened at all.

Now, you were starting to wonder.

You had spent years with them, tucked away in one of the family’s private mansions on the coast, where the sea never slept and the wind whispered through the halls like a warning. They were charming in public, terrifying in private. Sometimes gentle. Sometimes not. But always close.

That night at dinner, you knew things would change the moment you opened your mouth.

“I’ve decided,” you said, placing your utensils down with more courage than you felt. “Tonight will be my last night here.”

The silver clinked. The room stilled.

Cav’s spoon hit his plate with a sharp clang, his jaw tightening as he stared at you like he hadn’t heard correctly. Maxon didn’t flinch—he simply leaned back in his chair with that same polished smile he wore during charity galas and magazine shoots, fingers interlocked, eyes narrowed. Neuvi stood.

“Who gave you that permission?” he asked, voice raised and shaking. Not with weakness—but fury.

You straightened. “It’s not about permission, Neu. I’ve worked here for years. I’ve saved enough. I want to see the world like I always dreamed. You know that.”

He slammed his hand on the table, making the cutlery jump. “You don’t get to make that decision without us.”

“She’s not ours to keep, Neu,” Maxon said calmly, though his eyes betrayed something colder. “Not yet.”

Neuvi’s lip curled, and Cav rose without a word, circling behind you.

You stepped back, heart pounding. “I thought you’d be happy for me.”

Maxon rose too, smoothing his suit jacket. “Of course, we’re happy for you. We support your dreams.”

Then he looked at you and said it again. “Always.”

You tried to smile, but their glances, the way their bodies shifted subtly to block the door, told you something else. You should’ve run then. You should’ve screamed. But it was too late. You never saw the cruise coming.

---

They said it was a farewell gift. A vacation. A way to “celebrate your freedom.”

You boarded the family-owned yacht thinking it might be closure—one last memory with the boys who had, in their strange way, been your only family for years.

But once the ship left the shore, something changed.

Your room locked from the outside.

The meals started tasting faintly of something sweet, something… dizzying.

Then came the first night.

They didn’t wait. Not this time.

You were laid out on silk sheets in a room chilled just enough to keep your skin sensitive. The air smelled faintly of Lotus, but stronger now—more refined. You hadn’t even realized you’d inhaled it until your limbs stopped listening to you, until your vision blurred at the edges like a dream sinking underwater.

You felt them before you saw them.

Cav’s voice was first, low and dark near your ear. “We gave you every chance to stay willingly.”

His hand ran slowly along your thigh, pushing the robe you wore aside like it was never meant to be there.

“Don’t worry,” Maxon murmured from above, brushing hair away from your face. “You’ll be safe. You’ll forget this ever happened.”

Neuvi was already between your legs before you could process anything more. His mouth was hot, relentless, and you cried out before you knew why. The pleasure hit like a lightning strike—raw, involuntary. Shameful.

“You belong to us,” Neuvi growled, fingers gripping your hips. “You always have.”

They didn’t rush. They took turns. Then took you together.

Hands pinning your wrists. Teeth grazing your throat. Tongues tasting skin that had never been theirs to touch—but was now. Forever. They moved like parts of one machine—synchronized, ruthless, worshipful in their own corrupted way.

You sobbed. Moaned. Gasped. Everything blurred. Everything bled into heat and scent and the sound of your name on three different tongues.

You were filled. Ruined. Rewritten.

And in the morning, you woke up in fresh clothes, tucked beneath the same silk sheets, smiling vaguely at the soft knock on the door.

Breakfast was served. The sun shone. The sea was calm.

You didn’t remember a thing.

---

By the end of the cruise, your body told a different story.

Nausea. Fatigue. Hunger that came in strange waves. The doctor—one of theirs, of course—confirmed it quickly.

You were pregnant.

There was no question of who the fathers were. The test results showed a genetic anomaly—triparental fertilization.

Of course it wasn’t legal. Of course it wasn’t possible.

But nothing had ever been impossible for them.

You sat in the nursery days later, holding a plush rabbit in trembling hands as Maxon placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. Cav leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, grinning. Neuvi knelt in front of you, pressing his forehead against your growing bump with a reverence that made your skin crawl.

“You’ll never be alone again,” he said, smiling. “We’ll take care of you. Forever.”

And somehow, in the thick silence that followed, you knew it was true.

[too-deviant]

alright, now.

— WITH…JAMES ‘BUCKY’ BARNES!

contains…fwb!bucky, fem!reader, jealous!bucky, 18+ content!, it’s implied that bucky lived at the tower for a while in between tws and cw, fingering, oral (f receiving), john walker hate, slight sassy!bucky and also slight sassy!reader, they love each other but are both too proud to admit it, piv sex

Bucky wasn’t sure when exactly he’d begun to really like you.

It wasn’t when he first met you — 11 years ago, when Steve had brought him to the cozy bakery just down the street from the Avengers Tower to grab something sweet.

“We all come here when we need a little pick-me-up after a hard mission.” He’d said, greeting you kindly like you were old friends. “Nat and Sam especially.”

No, he was too busy brooding at the fact that Steve was making him live with the other Avengers when he had been perfectly fine on the run from the government to even learn your name, let alone like you.

Even when he finally got comfortable living in the tower, when he started to join Sam on his bi-weekly trips to your bakery. When he learnt your name, and bought a cinnamon roll from you — he didn’t think you were insanely insufferable like he did most people, but he still didn’t like you.

Even when you were kind enough to give him shelter when the S.W.A.T teams had come searching after he’d been framed for a bombing in a country he wasn’t even in at the time — he appreciated the help, but he didn’t like you.

Even when he saw you again; after Wakanda, after the blip. After you ran into each other in a bar, caught up over a few drinks — he thought it was refreshing to see you out from behind that counter, but he didn’t like you.

Even when you started to go for drinks with him more often. When he was stressed about Sam and Yori, and you were there. When you had a few too many that one time, one thing led to another, and he ended up staying the night in that little bakery that held so many memories. Even though it was one of the best nights he’d had in decades — he didn’t like you.

Even after that, when he started to spend more nights there. When, sometimes, he would spend mornings there. When he started to trace patterns between the freckles on your legs. When he learned more about you than he ever thought he’d know, and made sure to keep it all stored in the back of his mind lest he forget any detail about you that you shared with him. He liked your company — but he didn’t like you.

Well, that’s what he told himself, anyway.

You guys were old friends. You were one of few people he still had from a time that seemed forgotten now, someone he could go to whenever he felt overwhelmed. When he needed that distraction. There was no liking you involved. There was fucking you. There was watching you sleep. There was saying goodbye in the morning.

But, like he had said in his head so many times before, he didn’t like you.

Not at all.

Not even a little bit.

…

What do you have to talk to Walker about, anyway?

You’d been conversing with him for way longer than any normal person should be able to put up with him for, and showed no signs of stopping. Bucky was confused.

He was also fuming.

He’d invited you to this thing — this stupid charity gala Valentina had put on so she could convince more dumb rich people to give her money — so he wouldn’t be bored out of his mind like he usually is. But there you were, in a dress that nobody else in this room deserved to see on you, talking to Walker as if he ever had anything interesting to say.

And in that moment, as he squeezes the life out of a poor miniature burger some waiter had handed to him, Bucky thinks for a second. He thinks that maybe he does like you. But when did that start? Surely he would’ve realised?

It didn’t matter really, when he started to like you. What mattered was that he did like you. You and your stupid smile. Your kind words. Your cute little bakery. Your fucking dress. Christ, he liked it all.

And he didn’t like Walker being anywhere near it.

So Bucky strides forward — letting the crowd of slightly scared attendees part in order to make way for him. Putting his half-drank champagne flute down a little too forcefully on the poor waiter's tray, not taking his eyes off you until he was in front of you. Then, he looked at John.

“I’m gonna steal her for a minute, if you don’t mind.” He sent a spiteful smile to the man, who furrowed his brow, and took your arm.

You didn’t know where Bucky was taking you, but you also knew you’d get lost if you tried to find a way back to the party, so you let him drag you up some stairs and down some halls. All the way to his luxury, Avenger-made suite.

“Damn.” You whistled, taking in the scene, “Didn’t take you for the bachelor pad type. Was this Tony’s old room?”

“I think it was Thor’s, actually.” Bucky wasn’t looking at you. Too busy loosening his tie and throwing his jacket across the back of the sofa. Walking towards the bedroom and looking at you until you took the hint and followed him there.

“You okay?”

“Why the hell are you talking to him?”

You raised a brow, “What?”

“Walker.” He scoffed the name like an insult, levelling you with a dangerous look, “What good does he have to say?”

“I was just…” You shrugged, “He introduced himself, is all. We were making small talk.”

“Small talk.” He scoffed, “Take off your dress.”

You raised a brow, but did as he asked. He watched you darkly, “What’d you tell him? Did you tell him about your bakery?”

“Yeah…”

“Yeah?” He stepped closer, and you looked up at him, “Is Walker gonna start coming by for pastries now? Is he gonna make small talk with you then, too? What about you, huh? You gonna give him a discount? Smile at him?”

“I smile at all my customers.”

“Well don’t smile at him.” He shook his head, “What else did you say? You tell him about how I fuck you senseless while you wait for the oven to preheat? Huh?”

He gripped your chin, forcing you to meet his dark eyes. You shook your head as best as you could, “No.”

“What about all the times you’ve yelled my name into your pillow? You tell Walker about that?”

“No.”

“You should.” He let go of you then, nodding at you to get on the bed, which you did. “Let him know to stay the fuck away from you.”

You leaned back, palms on the mattress, watching him crawl towards you. He settled between your legs, lips centimetres from yours. But just when he went to kiss you, you moved back slightly, “Why should he? I don’t got a boyfriend.”

Bucky paused. He looked at you, irises swirling. Then, he let out a chuckle, “Okay. You wanna fuck Walker?”

He didn’t let you answer. Before you knew it, he was scooping your legs up from under you and letting you fall flat on the mattress — he was throwing your underwear across the room and wetting his fingers on your soaking cunt. He didn’t let you take a breath before he was shoving two of them inside you, feeling your inner walls and thumbing at your clit.

You were gasping under him, breathy moans coming out in pants while he fingered you. The sight of him using his other hand to take off his belt made you wetter, and he smirked at the sensation. He didn’t stay there for long, though, pulling his hand away and leaving you a whining mess while he undressed himself.

He unbuttoned his shirt with a smirk, “You don’t wanna fuck Walker. He’s an amateur.”

He threw the white fabric somewhere on the side of the bed before diving down into you — his tongue lapped up the wetness he’d left around you with his hand before delving deep inside you and resuming where he’d left off. Your hands found their way to his hair, a perfect length, while his held your bucking hips in place so he could focus on his meal.

He came up for air only for a second, “I’m a veteran. I’m a hundred and ten fucking years old. Ain’t nobody on earth coming close to doing what I can do to you.”

“Oh my god — Bucky.” You pushed his head down right into you and moaned into the air, the cool feeling of his sheets on your bare back making you relax into him. You gasped, choked on air, when his nose rubbed at your clit.

Bucky stopped, and you outwardly groaned. He sat up, mouth glistening, and stared at you, “You don’t want to fuck Walker.”

“I was just talkin’ to him.” You gasped out, pushing your hair back from your face.

“Well don’t.” He unzipped his pants, pushing his boxers down far enough to let his cock spring free. He wiped a hand through your pussy and used your arousal to wet his shaft before wasting no time in filling you up with it.

The snaps of his hips were relentless. For a moment, you didn’t know what to do with your arms or legs, just letting gravity do its thing with you like Bucky was. Then, when he grunted hard into your neck, you gained a little consciousness and managed to wrap yourself around him. His metal hand came down between the two of you, thumbing relentlessly at that sweet spot. The sensation was insatiable — you bit at his neck and bucked up into him with an animalistic desperation.

Bucky sat up, steadying himself on his haunches and watching as his cock exited and re-entered you in fast, hard pistons. Then he pulled out, slapping the side of your leg, “Turn over.”

Your mouth was agape, gasping for breath as you rolled over. Bucky had his moments for sure, but something about the look in his eyes made you not want to stop ever.

Once you were settled on your knees, Bucky’s hand found its way around your neck. He brought you up to him, back to chest, and grunted in your ear, “You’re not for anyone else now, okay?”

“Okay.” You sighed, feeling him fill you up once more. Your eyes fluttered, hands palming at your tits in anticipation. Bucky shoved you down, and you were quick to brace your hands on the top of the bed frame before you head butted it. “Oh — fuck.”

“It’d be rude of me to leave you now.” He said, gripping at your hips. “To make you go back to those stupid guys you had before. I’ll have ruined sex for you.”

His hips snapped back into yours hard, and you had no time to think up a reply before you were rocking back into him with passion. Although your shouts of “Yes! Yes — oh, fuck, yes!” Seemed enough to answer him.

“So it’s settled.” He grunted, hands spreading along your bare back, “I’m here to stay. That good with you?”

“That’s —“ You whined, “That’s so good.”

“Good girl.”

Bucky’s rage translated into his movements and with every thrust, every divot his thumbs made in your skin, every breath hot on your back — you only wanted it more. Your hands went from the bedframe to the mattress, to the wall and back to the bed frame again; your head was looking up, looking down, looking over your shoulder and buried in the pillow. Every movement had you on the cusp and yet you weren’t ready for it to end.

“Please.” You panted, your orgasm creeping up ever so slightly, “Never stop. My god, don’t ever stop.”

And he didn’t. Not even when you let out a guttural groan into the soft velvets that Valentina probably paid a fortune for, hips bucking and hands tightening. Not when you dropped your head out of pure exhaustion, relaxing your body and letting him use you until his own climax peaked.

He slowed eventually, and there was nothing but the sound of your breathless gasps surrounding you. When Bucky pulled out and fell back onto the bed beside you, you were still braced against the bed frame, knees spread and hair a tangled mess around your face. He brought a hand up, brushed your cheek, “So it turns out I like you.”

You grinned, eyes lidded, “I can work with that.”

[adamsrcnan]

Different anon but tagging onto the 'is Jeremy biphobic' conversation, I don't think he's biphobic but i do think he feels some type of way about Jean's bisexuality, and it stems from his own insecurity and his issues with his own sexuality and his family. I think Jeremy feels like Jean will never choose him over a woman because he knows how hard it is to be a man who dates men especially in sport, and he feels if he had the option of girls as well as boys he'd date women bc his family would hate him less and life would be easier, so he can't imagine that Jean likes him enough to date him, a man, when he has an objectively easier option. It's the "it must be easier, liking both" line that convinces me of this, it makes me wonder how many times Jeremy has wished he could just like girls and make his parents happy. I think you're right that there's just been less opportunity to see him get jealous of other men, but I also think there's an element of Jeremy thinking that if HE was bisexual he'd date women for an easier life, so assuming Jean would want to do the same, and he has too low a self esteem to realise Jean loves enough to want him anyway even though it'll make things harder. That is to say I don't think he has an ISSUE with Jean being bi at all, so he's not biphobic, he's just expecting a certain outcome bc he knows being gay is hard and doesn't think anyone would want him enough to choose to be visibly queer in order to be with him when they can just choose to pass as straight instead

oh anon you're breaking my heart here :(((

i never really thought about it like that but i have to say you make a very convincing point. and this also ties in as another reason for why jeremy was so jolted with longing after jean said "i will choose you every time" bc for a man who could have any woman he wants and have his life be "easier" and then deciding to choose jeremy??? he could only wish for it, turning jean's words out of context over and over.

my heart. i could seriously fucking cry.

also probably a little reflective of the men he sleeps around with too because remember all that hiding he did when he was sneaking off with Faser?? yeah.

[jkwrites-m]

Extra Credit

Pairing: uni student!Jungkook x uni teacher!female reader

Genre: smut

Word Count: 9.3k

Summary: Jungkook falls for his professor. She makes the rules - and he loves breaking them.

Warnings: MDNI, Explicit, 18+, smut, cursing, dom!female reader, sub!Jungkook, age gap (both 18+), sexual tension, power imbalance, teasing, fixation, power play, slight emotional manipulation, “good boy” 😮‍💨 explicit: dom/sub dynamics, kissing, handjob, oral (f. & m. Receiving), riding, unprotected sex, edging (!!)

A/N: 2 hours later… heyyyyy anon 🫶 hopefully this is what you wanted, if not lmk! and I’ll work on something else but this just flew out of me. I was in the editing process and added an extra 2k words bc it just felt right 🤭

LINK TO ASK ♡ MASTERLIST

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It started with her heels.

I was already two minutes away from walking out. 

Hungover, hoodie barely on, no clue why I even enrolled in Chemistry 204 when I knew I’d probably flunk it by midterms. This was supposed to be a throwaway class- just some gen-ed requirement I’d forget about the second I passed it.

Then she walked in.

Click.

Click.

Click.

The sound echoed off the walls before I ever saw her. Slow. Sharp. Confident. Like she owned the floor under her. I glanced up- and fuck me, everything stopped.

She was… something else.

Tight blouse, dark skirt clinging to her curves like it had been sewn on her skin, lips painted in a color that made my mouth dry up. She walked like she knew we were all staring, like she’d counted on it.

My pulse was racing before she even spoke.

“Good morning,” she said, voice calm, rich, like velvet dragged across bare skin. “I’m Professor Y/N. This is Chemistry 204, and if you’re here to sleep or slack off, you’ll fail. I can promise you that.”

I felt my ears go hot.

I ducked my head, trying to act like I wasn’t already fantasizing about her throwing me out of class just so I could watch her mouth move again.

Jimin nudged me from the seat next to mine. “Dude. You’re literally salivating.”

“I’m not,” I hissed, even though I was a little.

She started handing out syllabi, walking row by row. And when she passed, her perfume hit me- something warm, like vanilla, but not too sweet. Clean. Dangerous. I stared at my desk like it held the secrets to the universe.

Then her voice. Right above me.

“Mr… Jeon?”

My throat closed. I looked up, and there she was. Looking right at me.

“Y-Yes.”

Her lips curved. Not a smile. Not a smirk. Just… something knowing. “Try not to fail my class.”

And just like that, she moved on. Like it meant nothing. Like she hadn’t just rearranged the entire structure of my brain chemistry with one look and seven words.

Jimin leaned over again, barely containing his laughter. “Ohhh, bro. You’re done for.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

My hands were clenched. My chest tight. She was already across the room again, giving someone else the kind of look that made me want to fight whoever they were.

I had no idea how I was going to survive this semester.

All I knew was that I wanted her to say my name again. That same tone. That same amused edge. Like she already knew every dirty thought racing through my head.

And God, there were a lot of them.

═══════

She wasn’t looking at me.

Not directly, anyway. But every time I dared to glance up from the god-awful list of elements and safety rules in front of me, I swore her eyes brushed over mine. Like she knew. Like she felt it.

My stomach wouldn’t stop flipping.

“You’re so obvious,” Jimin muttered, leaning in. He didn’t even try to hide his amusement.

“Am not.”

“You are literally chewing your pencil and blushing like a schoolgirl.”

I dropped the pencil.

The first lab assignment was some basic formulaic reaction. Something about ionic bonds, but I couldn’t make sense of any of it. The paper might as well have been blank. All I could focus on was the sharp click of her heels circling the lab again, moving from table to table, her hips swaying with every step, her voice low and composed as she corrected some kid for not wearing safety goggles properly.

And then, suddenly, she was behind me.

I felt her before I heard her. A warmth along my back, the subtle scent of that same perfume from earlier- something warm and clean and sharp.

“You’re off by two protons, Mr. Jeon.”

I flinched. My fingers stumbled on my calculator.

“I- I thought- ”

“Clearly,” she interrupted, and then leaned closer. Her hand brushed over mine, adjusting the numbers on my worksheet. “Your aluminum ion is missing its charge. Pay attention.”

Her breath hit the back of my neck. I stopped breathing entirely.

She didn’t step back. Not right away. She lingered there, close enough that I could feel the fabric of her blouse rustle slightly as she moved. Then finally - finally - she pulled away, heels clicking off to the next table like she hadn’t just pulled my brain out of my skull and dropkicked it across the room.

Jimin was staring at me like I’d grown a second head.

“Did she just-?” he whispered.

“I don’t- yeah- I don’t know.”

“Are you sweating?”

“I think I blacked out.”

“Dude.”

I dropped my face into my hands, groaning low. “I’m gonna fail this class.”

“No, bro. You’re gonna die in it.”

When I looked up again, she was standing at the front of the class writing some formula on the board, but her hand paused for just a split second. Just long enough for her head to tilt slightly… toward me.

I sat up straighter, not even thinking.

And then she smiled- barely. The kind of smile you could miss if you blinked. The kind that wasn’t meant for the class.

It was meant for me.

And I was gone.

═══════

The second the bell rang, I was out of my seat- heart racing, mind a total blur. I shoved my notebook into my bag without checking anything I’d written down, which probably didn’t matter because I hadn’t really written anything.

“You were twitching the whole time,” Jimin said as we stepped into the hallway. “Like she was controlling you with telepathy.”

“She wasn’t,” I mumbled, though I wasn’t sure I believed it myself.

“She basically whispered in your ear and adjusted your hand like it was foreplay.”

“Jesus, Jimin.”

“What? I’m not wrong.”

I glared at him but couldn’t argue. The feel of her hand guiding mine, the whisper of her breath against my neck. I could still feel it. Like my skin had absorbed the memory and refused to let go.

We reached the end of the hallway when I realized I’d forgotten my lab sheet on the desk.

“Shit- I’ll meet you at the quad,” I told Jimin, turning around.

Back in the lab, it was mostly empty. A few students still packing up. She was still there, seated behind her desk, glasses perched low on her nose as she reviewed a stack of papers.

I moved fast, snatching my sheet off the lab table, hoping not to be noticed. But as I turned to leave-

“Mr. Jeon.”

I froze.

She didn’t look up at first. Just made a note on the corner of a page with her pen, so slowly, so deliberately.

Then she looked up.

I swallowed hard. “Y-Yes?”

“You forgot your evaluation sheet.” She held up another paper- my lab report, apparently. “Come get it.”

I stepped forward, trying to walk normal. Trying not to let my legs turn to jelly.

She handed me the paper, but didn’t let go right away. Her eyes flicked up to mine, and for a second, the lab was too quiet.

“Next time,” she said softly, “try to stay present. You were… distracted today.”

“I- I wasn’t- ”

Her eyes dropped to the paper. “I left a comment. You might want to read it… thoroughly.”

My fingers curled around the edge of the sheet as she finally released it. I nodded, heart hammering, and turned to leave before I made a fool of myself again.

Outside, I opened the paper and scanned it.

There it was- her red ink looping elegantly across the bottom of the sheet:

“Try harder next time, Mr. Jeon.

Unless you want me to keep correcting your form.”

I stood there like an idiot, eyes stuck on that one sentence, while every part of me ignited.

“DUDE,” Jimin’s voice suddenly screamed behind me. “Tell me she did not just flirt with you on paper.”

I nearly dropped the sheet.

“Were you spying?!”

“I was walking back to get you,” he said, peering over my shoulder. “Okay, holy shit- that’s not even subtle.”

“It’s probably nothing,” I muttered, though my face was on fire.

“Oh, no. That was a coded message. She wants you to flirt back.”

“I can’t flirt with her,” I hissed. “She’s my professor.”

Jimin grinned like the devil himself. “Exactly. So the question is… are you gonna be a good boy?”

I didn’t answer.

Because I wasn’t sure I wanted to be.

═══════

The next class, I walked in ten minutes early.

I told myself it was just to show responsibility, but really, I just needed to see if she’d say something- if last time meant something. I hadn’t slept much the night before, not with that damn note burning a hole in my backpack and her voice replaying in my head on a loop.

She was already at her desk, sipping coffee and flipping through a folder. She didn’t even glance up when I came in. And somehow, that was worse.

I took my seat. Tried to look normal. Breathed slow. One of those deep, calming breaths I practiced before performances. Except none of that helped when she finally looked up.

“Mr. Jeon,” she said, eyes calm, unreadable. “Stay after class today.”

My mouth opened. Nothing came out. Just a tiny squeak of acknowledgment.

═══════

The entire period was a blur. I don’t remember the lab instructions. Don’t remember the worksheet. All I know is that every second felt like it ticked by in slow motion.

When class ended, students poured out, and I stayed seated, hands tight on the edge of the lab bench. My pulse was in my throat.

She closed the door behind the last student and walked back, heels echoing, slow and controlled.

“Follow me.”

I followed her like a dog on a leash.

She led me to the back of the lab where the sink station was. Rows of dirty glassware from the experiments sat there waiting. Beakers. Flasks. Tubes. Endless.

“You’re here to clean,” she said, gesturing with a gloved hand. “You’ve been inattentive. This is extra credit.”

“R-Right,” I muttered, grabbing the soap and nozzle, not daring to look up.

She stood behind me at first, then to the side. Watching. Not saying a word.

The room was dead quiet except for the sound of water and glass tapping gently against the sink. I could feel her eyes burning into me.

After about five minutes of silence, I felt her step closer.

“Are you always this obedient?”

I froze.

“Excuse me?”

“I give you a simple command, and you listen without question,” she said, voice smooth, soft, dangerous. “You haven’t asked what the cleaning is worth. Haven’t asked why. You just… followed.”

I turned my head slightly. “I thought it was an assignment.”

“Is it?” she asked, stepping so close I could see her reflection in the metal faucet. “Or is there another reason you’re so quick to do what I say?”

My grip on the glass tightened.

“I- You said I was distracted. I didn’t want to- ” I stopped talking. My words were unraveling. So was I.

She stepped behind me now, leaning in. I felt her breath again.

“Try not to shatter anything,” she whispered, fingers brushing the inside of my wrist just lightly enough to send sparks up my arm. “Some things are delicate.”

I stood perfectly still.

When she stepped away again, the cold rushed back in.

“Leave them for now,” she said, her voice back to calm. “You’ll come in earlier next week. We’ll continue then.”

“Yes, Professor.”

She walked to the door and opened it without looking back.

“Dismissed.”

I stepped out, legs shaking, barely able to hold my backpack strap.

Jimin was standing just down the hall, leaning against the wall with a smirk like he’d been waiting all day.

“I knew it,” he said.

“Knew what?”

“That you’d start cleaning for free just to breathe her air.”

I didn’t answer.

Because it wasn’t the air I was breathing.

It was her.

═══════

The next week, I arrived fifteen minutes early.

This time, there was no pretending. No “I’m here for extra credit” excuse. I knew what this was. She knew too. I think that was the most dangerous part- how aware we both were, yet no one said it out loud.

She greeted me with a glance. No smile. No words. Just a glance that said, So you came back.

I started cleaning beakers without being told.

Her heels echoed faintly against the tile floor as she moved around the lab, prepping supplies for the day’s experiment. Her silence was more commanding than any speech. I scrubbed, rinsed, dried, my hands shaking slightly despite the repetition. I could still feel her fingertips on my wrist from last time.

After ten minutes, I heard her stop behind me.

“You missed a spot,” she said, stepping forward.

I glanced down at the beaker I was drying. Crystal clear.

“I- I don’t see- ”

She reached over, her fingers brushing mine as she took the beaker from my hands. Then she turned it in the light, her chest barely grazing my arm. I swallowed hard.

“There,” she said softly, pointing at nothing. Her voice dropped. “Or maybe you were just distracted again.”

I couldn’t speak. My entire body had gone still.

“Mr. Jeon,” she murmured, setting the beaker down carefully. “Are you easily distracted… or just easily controlled?”

I flinched.

She smirked. “Interesting.”

Before I could come up with any kind of reply, the first students began to filter into the lab. She stepped away instantly, heels clicking back to the front like nothing happened.

Class went on as usual.

Except nothing was usual anymore.

I couldn’t focus on the experiment. Couldn’t read the formulas. All I could think about was the whisper of her fingers against mine, the way her breath had curled against my neck, the scent of her perfume slowly burning its way into my skull.

When class ended, I packed up slowly, hoping maybe she’d call out to me again. But she didn’t.

I started heading out, heartbeat still a little too loud in my ears.

Then I heard her voice, smooth and quiet.

“Mr. Jeon.”

I turned around.

She was still behind the desk, one hand resting lazily on her notes, eyes calm but unreadable.

“Try harder next time,” she said. “Or I might have to… discipline you.”

My breath hitched.

She didn’t wait for a reply. She bent her head back to her notes like I didn’t exist.

But I did. I existed in every word she’d just said.

I walked out of that room shaking, like my body hadn’t caught up with what my brain had just registered.

Jimin met me outside again. “Well?”

“She said… she might discipline me.”

He choked on his drink. “You mean like… in a grade way?”

I stared blankly at the wall.

“No,” I whispered. “No, I don’t think so.”

═══════

I stared at her office door for a full minute before I knocked.

It was Friday. Cloudy. The kind of gray that sat heavy over the campus, cool air brushing over my skin as I stood alone in the hall, palms sweating despite the chill.

I told myself it was just for help. That I needed to raise my grade. But the truth was, I hadn’t slept right in days. Not since she said the word discipline with that look on her face, like she knew exactly what it did to me.

So here I was. About to walk into the lion’s den like I hadn’t spent all week thinking about her voice in the dark.

I knocked.

“Come in,” she said, calm and clear.

I opened the door slowly. Her office was warm, light filtering in through the half-closed blinds. Shelves of books lined the back wall. Her desk was cluttered in a curated way, like everything had a place, even the chaos.

She was sitting behind it, glasses on, pen in hand. She didn’t look surprised to see me.

“Mr. Jeon,” she said, motioning to the seat across from her. “You’re early.”

“Yeah,” I muttered. “I… wanted to ask about the last lab.”

She nodded, didn’t press.

I sat down.

The chair was low. Too low. Which meant I had to sit up straight to look her in the eye. Which meant I was fully aware of how long her legs looked crossed beneath that desk.

“So,” she said, sliding a paper toward me. “Let’s look at where you went wrong.”

I reached for it, but our hands brushed again.

There it was- that spark.

I swallowed hard and focused on the page. I couldn’t read it. Didn’t even try.

“You need to be more thorough,” she said, voice soft but edged. “You’re sloppy with your ions. Your math is lazy. It’s almost like you’re not trying.”

“I am,” I said quickly. “Trying, I mean. I just- chemistry’s never been- ”

“ -your strength,” she finished for me. Then her voice dropped lower. “I know. That’s why you’re here.”

I looked up.

Her eyes were locked on mine. Unmoving. Calm. Too calm.

The air thickened.

She stood.

Walked around the desk.

Sat on the edge.

Right in front of me.

Her knee nearly touched mine. She didn’t adjust her skirt. Didn’t move back. I could smell her again, something clean and dark, like cedar and sin.

“You want extra credit, Mr. Jeon?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

I nodded, too fast.

Her lips curved just slightly. “Then sit still. And listen carefully.”

I froze.

She leaned in- not touching me, not yet, but close enough that her presence overwhelmed the space between us.

“There are rules,” she whispered. “And you will follow them if you want to pass. Are we clear?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

I blinked.

She raised an eyebrow. “Yes… Professor.”

I swallowed. “Yes, Professor.”

Then she stood, walked back to her chair, and resumed grading papers like nothing happened.

I sat there stunned, fists clenched in my lap, trying not to burst into flames.

“You’re dismissed,” she said without looking up.

I practically ran out.

And I was still hard when I reached the end of the hall.

═══════

It was a different day. A different lecture.

Same obsession.

I’d managed to make it through most of the class without combusting- barely. She’d worn a black blouse today, sheer enough in the right light to show the outline of her bra if you stared too long. So, of course, I stared too long.

She didn’t call on me during the lesson. Didn’t make eye contact much. But I could feel her awareness in the way she moved, in the quiet control she had over the room.

It made me ache.

When the bell rang, my heart was still thudding like it had spent the whole hour doing laps in my chest. I had one foot out the door when her voice cut through the noise like a wire pulled tight.

“Mr. Jeon.”

I stopped.

Turned.

She was still seated, one leg crossed over the other, perfectly still behind her desk. She didn’t look up right away- just tapped her pen against her lips with that same slow, deliberate rhythm that always did things to me.

“I have one more thing for you,” she said, finally lifting her gaze. “Sit.”

I obeyed, because of course I did.

The classroom was already half-empty, the shuffle of feet and zip of backpacks fading into the hallway as I returned to my seat, suddenly hyper-aware of every breath I took.

She didn’t move from her chair this time. Just watched me, eyes calm but piercing.

“We’re going to do an oral quiz.”

I blinked. “A what?”

“Oral,” she repeated, her tone clipped but soft. “Verbal. Spoken. I ask, you answer. No thinking. Just reaction.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

Her eyes locked on mine. “Ready?”

No.

“Yes,” I said.

She leaned back slightly, her voice smooth as silk. “Name the element with the atomic number six.”

“Carbon,” I replied quickly.

“Good,” she said. “And the bond formed between two nonmetals?”

“Covalent.”

Her eyes narrowed just slightly. “What happens when heat is applied too quickly to a volatile compound?”

“It… it expands. Reacts. Possibly combusts.”

Her voice dropped a note. “That’s right. Too much heat too fast… and things explode.”

I shifted in my seat.

She smiled like she’d seen it.

“Name one quality that makes a reaction irreversible.”

“Time,” I said, before thinking. “Or… exposure to heat. Pressure. Contact.”

She tilted her head. “Interesting. Contact. Do you believe in chain reactions, Mr. Jeon?”

I hesitated. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because…” I swallowed, her gaze making it hard to think. “Because one thing leads to another. You can’t always stop it once it starts.”

Her smile deepened. “Exactly.”

She stood, slowly walking toward the door as if to signal we were done. But just before she opened it, she turned.

“You’re doing well. But that last lab… you broke two safety rules.”

“I- I didn’t mean-”

She turned toward me, gaze dark and unreadable. 

“One last question.”

I sat straighter.

“What happens,” she said, voice slow and deliberate, “when someone disobeys lab protocol?”

“I- I don’t know,” I stammered.

She stepped closer again, her body just inside my space. But it felt like she was everywhere. On my skin. In my head.

“Discipline,” she whispered, eyes locked on mine.  “Because I expect you to follow rules. My rules.”

Her smile was slow, satisfied.

She reached out and straightened the collar of my hoodie like it had offended her. Her fingers lingered there, just long enough to make my pulse jackhammer in my chest.

“Good boy,” she murmured.

I didn’t move. Couldn’t.

She opened the door. “That’s all for now. See yourself out.”

And like a complete idiot, I stumbled into the hallway- heart hammering, throat dry, my pants a little too tight and my thoughts a little too wrecked.

Jimin texted the second I hit the quad.

Jimin: you alive?

Jungkook: barely.

Jimin: she kill you or kiss you?

Jungkook: neither.

Jimin: holy shit. that’s worse.

I looked back at the hallway behind me like it might still be on fire.

He was right.

It was worse.

═══════

Two days passed.

Two painfully slow, distracting, blood-rushing-behind-my-eyes kind of days. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. The way her fingers brushed mine. The way she called me “good boy” like it was a reward. The look she gave when I followed her instructions a little too perfectly.

So when I got the email-

See me during office hours, Thurs. @ 3. – Prof. Y/N

-my stomach dropped.

And soared.

I showed up five minutes early again, pretending not to be nervous. Lying to myself.

She was already there, sipping coffee, sunlight pouring in through her blinds like it had been placed there just for her. She wore another fitted blouse, sleeves rolled to her elbows, the collar just a little looser than it should’ve been.

She didn’t look up when I stepped in.

“Close the door.”

I obeyed.

She motioned to the chair. “Sit.”

This was the same chair. The same air. But everything felt hotter this time. Louder, somehow. My nerves were on fire.

“I reviewed your last lab,” she said. “Better. You’re improving.”

“Thanks,” I muttered.

She glanced up finally. Her eyes met mine- and held.

“But your focus,” she added, “still needs work.”

I licked my lips. “I’m trying.”

“Trying isn’t enough.”

She stood slowly, walked around the desk again- like she was circling me.

My heart picked up.

She leaned one hip against the front of the desk. This time, she didn’t sit. She stood close. Her thigh brushed against my knee, intentional or not- I couldn’t tell.

“You need discipline, Mr. Jeon.”

My breath hitched.

“I- ”

“Not punishment,” she said softly, eyes dipping. “Guidance. You respond to structure, don’t you?”

“I don’t know.”

“You follow commands well.”

I shifted. “Maybe I just don’t want to disappoint you.”

That made her smile- barely. It was there and gone like lightning.

Her hand reached out. Not far. Just resting on my knee. Light. Casual.

But not casual.

She leaned in a little. “You like being told what to do, don’t you?”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

She looked down at her fingers on my knee.

Then- 

A knock at the door.

She moved instantly, hand pulling back, body shifting away like nothing had happened.

“Yes?” she called.

The door cracked open.

Jimin’s head poked through. “Yo. Sorry- am I interrupting?”

I nearly choked on my own spit.

Y/N didn’t even blink. “Just finishing up a consult. What do you need, Mr. Park?”

Jimin looked between us, suspicious as hell. “I was just looking for Jungkook. We’ve got rehearsal.”

“Of course,” she said. Perfectly neutral. Professional. “Mr. Jeon, you’re dismissed.”

I stood, face burning, avoiding Jimin’s eyes as I grabbed my backpack.

“Thanks… Professor,” I muttered, voice lower than I meant.

She nodded without looking at me. “Remember what we discussed.”

Oh, I would.

Jimin followed me down the hall, silent for three full seconds before blurting out:

“Did she just touch your knee?”

“Shut up.”

“Bro- are you blushing?”

“I said shut up.”

“She was definitely flirting. I don’t even have a degree in chemistry and I felt that.”

I didn’t reply.

I was still stuck on the way she said discipline like it was a promise.

═══════

I barely slept.

Every time I closed my eyes, it was her.

Professor Y/N.

Not in the classroom. Not in her office. But in shadows. Heat. Movement.

The dream didn’t start like a dream. It started like memory- me sitting in her office again, her voice low, asking questions that had nothing to do with science.

Do you always obey this easily, Jungkook?

Would you let me correct you?

And then… her fingers. On my knee. My thigh. Tracing up.

She whispered in my ear, breath hot.

You like it when I’m in control, don’t you?

God, I did. I do.

Her hands slid under my hoodie in the dream- my skin burning under every ghost of her touch. I could feel the fabric of her blouse against my chest. The press of her thigh between mine. The smell of her perfume on my mouth.

She kissed me first.

Soft. Sure.

Then bit my lip when I didn’t kiss back fast enough.

“Speak when spoken to,” she breathed, and something inside me just… gave in.

I wanted to kneel. I wanted to be under her. I wanted to please her in ways that had nothing to do with school.

I woke up in a sweat.

Hard. Shaking. My sheets twisted around my legs like I’d wrestled with them in my sleep. My heart was racing. My hands were clenched.

The clock said 3:12 a.m.

I didn’t sleep again.

═══════

The next day, I walked into class like a man possessed.

Every breath I took, I swore I could smell her. Every word she said echoed like it had two meanings. Her blouse was burgundy today- deep, rich, tight against her body. I couldn’t stop staring.

At one point, I dropped my pen and hit my head on the desk trying to get it. Jimin laughed the entire time.

After class, as I was gathering my things, she walked past my row- slow, unhurried. She didn’t stop, didn’t look at me, just spoke as she passed by:

“Rough night, Mr. Jeon?”

I froze.

My stomach dropped.

I looked up, and she was already across the room.

But her mouth- God, that mouth- had the faintest smile. That same one from the first day.

She knew.

She knew.

And the worst part?

I wanted her to.

═══════

It started with a text.

Not an email. Not a formal request.

A text.

Unknown Number: Are you free after 6pm tonight? I could use help prepping for tomorrow’s lab. -Y/N

My heart jumped. I stared at the screen like it was a glitch.

She had my number?

She was texting me?

I didn’t respond for a full minute. Then I typed:

Jungkook: Yes. I’m free.

Y/N: Room 4A. Wear something you don’t mind getting dirty.

I read that last line five times.

By the time 6:00 p.m. rolled around, I was already outside the building. Nervous. Excited. My palms were sweating. I’d changed shirts three times and still didn’t know what I was doing.

The hall was quiet. No students. No voices. Just the distant hum of the custodial staff down the east wing.

Room 4A’s door was slightly cracked.

I pushed it open.

She was already there- back turned, hair up, sleeves rolled. She wore a lab coat this time, but it hung open over a tight gray top and dark jeans. A clipboard was in one hand, a box of glassware in the other.

The room was dimmer than usual. Only a few overhead lights flicked on. It felt… intimate. Like the space was smaller somehow. Thicker.

She didn’t look at me right away.

“You’re on time,” she said simply, setting the glassware down on the counter. “I like that.”

“Couldn’t sleep last night anyway,” I muttered.

She smiled at that. Not her professor-smile. Her real one. The one I barely got glimpses of.

“I need to reorganize the distillation setup for the freshmen lab tomorrow,” she said, pulling a drawer open. “You’re here to help. Not talk.”

That was fair.

I nodded and slipped my bag off.

She handed me a pair of gloves and motioned toward the back table. “Start unpacking those. Carefully.”

I obeyed.

We moved around each other for several minutes in silence. She handed me tools. I passed her clamps. We barely touched, but every time our fingers brushed, I felt it. The air between us buzzed.

I couldn’t stop glancing at her. At how effortless she looked, focused, eyes sharp, mouth pressed into a faint line as she worked. She didn’t speak, but her presence filled every inch of the lab. It was suffocating in the best way possible. 

Ten minutes passed. Then twenty.

Halfway through setting up a condenser tube, when I was just starting to relax- I dropped the clamp.

It hit the floor with a loud, sharp clatter.

“Shit,” I hissed, crouching to grab it.

She turned. Looked down at me.

When I stood, she was suddenly closer than before.

Right in front of me.

Our bodies weren’t touching, but they could’ve been.

“You always this clumsy when you’re nervous?” she asked quietly.

I stared at her. Swallowed.

“Only around you.”

That did something. Her eyes changed. She didn’t step back.

“I see.”

The silence stretched.

The lab felt too warm now.

She looked down at my hands still holding the clamp and reached out, curling her fingers over mine. Slow. Deliberate. Not necessary.

“You need steadier hands if you’re going to handle glass,” she said, her voice like velvet with a hidden blade.

I didn’t breathe.

Her fingers lingered.

Then let go.

“Try again,” she said, stepping back.

I did.

But my hands were still shaking.

═══════

It happened so fast I couldn’t stop it.

One moment, I was reaching for the beaker. The next, it slipped.

It hit the floor and shattered, glass slicing through silence like lightning.

“Shit,” I muttered, instinctively reaching down-

“Don’t.”

Her voice stopped me mid-motion.

I froze.

She walked over slowly. Calm. Deliberate. Her heels echoed off the tile with a rhythm that sounded too controlled for how chaotic I felt.

“No gloves,” she said, crouching instead. “You’ll cut yourself.”

I stepped back, watching as she gathered the larger pieces of glass with her gloved hands and the dustpan. Methodical. Controlled.

And then she looked up.

Directly at me.

From where she was crouched.

And suddenly- everything in me tightened.

The angle. Her eyes tilted up. The way her hair had fallen forward over one shoulder. Her lips parted just slightly, breath steady. Calm.

But her gaze?

Her gaze was not .

I tried not to think about it. Tried not to imagine what she looked like in that exact position with her hands somewhere else entirely.

But the thought had already sunk its claws in.

“You’re red,” she said quietly, eyes locked on mine.

I blinked.

“What?”

“Your ears,” she murmured. “They’re flushed.”

I swallowed. Hard.

“I-It’s warm in here.”

Her lips quirked, barely there.

Then she stood.

Not with her usual fluid grace.

She braced one hand on my thigh - my thigh - to push herself up.

Slowly.

Her palm lingered. Pressed. Fingers firm against my jeans.

My legs nearly gave out.

By the time she was standing, I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

She brushed her hands off and looked me over like I was something breakable.

“You always this easy to fluster, Mr. Jeon?”

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

She leaned in slightly- just enough.

“I told you to be careful,” she said, her voice low. “But maybe you like messing up in front of me.”

I exhaled shakily. “I don’t.”

“You sure?” she asked, tilting her head.

Her fingers smoothed something imaginary off my shoulder.

Then she stepped back.

“Replace the beaker,” she said, like we were still just doing science.

But my heart hadn’t stopped pounding since she touched me.

I did what she asked. Quiet. Shaky.

And the whole time, I swore I could still feel her hand on my leg.

═══════

The silence was worse now.

Not awkward. Not cold.

Just… full.

I kept replaying the last five minutes like they were stuck on loop. Her crouched at my feet. The way she looked up at me like I was already undone. The weight of her hand on my thigh- intentional, firm, completely unignorable.

And then her calm retreat. Like she hadn’t just pulled the floor out from under me.

She was across the lab now, rearranging clamps and burners with absolute focus. Like I wasn’t still standing here burning alive.

I turned away. Faced the counter. Tried to look useful.

Then I heard her voice again.

“You follow instructions well,” she said casually.

It wasn’t a compliment.

It was a knife, slipped between my ribs with a smile.

“I try to,” I muttered.

“You don’t question them. You don’t push back. You just… obey.”

I swallowed. “Is that bad?”

“No,” she said, stepping closer again. “It’s just revealing.”

“Revealing how?”

She tilted her head. “Some people follow rules because they fear consequences.”

Her fingers reached for the flask beside me, brushing my arm.

“Others,” she continued, voice lower now, “follow because they enjoy being told what to do.”

I didn’t breathe.

“Which one are you, Jungkook?”

“I- I don’t know.”

She smiled. “I think you do.”

Her hand stayed near mine on the counter. Not touching. Just… there.

“You like when I give you tasks,” she said. “You like my voice when it’s low. Firm.”

I couldn’t deny it.

“You want structure,” she whispered. “Permission. Direction.”

My mouth was dry. My brain was static.

“Am I wrong?”

I shook my head.

“Say it,” she said softly.

“No,” I murmured. “You’re not wrong.”

She looked at me for a long time then. Not smiling. Just… watching.

“I wonder,” she said, almost to herself. “If you’d let me break you. If I told you to.”

She stepped back, finally.

The room felt colder without her body near mine.

“Turn off the burner. We’re done for tonight.”

Just like that. Command issued. Game reset.

I reached for the switch with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking.

═══════

It wasn’t the same night.

It was two days later.

Another text. Short. Controlled.

Y/N: Back lab. 7PM. No distractions.

I stared at the message for a full minute, heart thudding like a war drum. Then I dropped everything, grabbed my bag, and left.

Now it was 7:03, and I was standing just inside Room 4A again, the door closing behind me, pulse in my throat.

The lights were low. Only the overheads near the back counter were on.

She was there.

Wearing black. Black blouse. Black pants. No lab coat this time. Just her. Dark and stunning and sharp as glass.

“You’re late,” she said without looking up.

“Three minutes.”

“Too many.”

I swallowed.

“You want to be here?”

“Yes.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, Professor.”

She finally looked up. Her eyes landed on mine like a slow caress.

“Good,” she said. “Then listen carefully.”

She crossed the room toward me.

Each step deliberate. Soundless.

She stopped close- so close my breath hitched.

Her hand came up, brushing the edge of my jaw, trailing lightly.

“I don’t want to lecture tonight,” she said softly. “I don’t want to correct your form or watch you drop glass.”

I said nothing.

Her thumb brushed my bottom lip.

“I want you quiet. Focused. Obedient.”

“I will be.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Say it.”

“I’ll be good,” I whispered.

That made her smile.

She leaned in.

And kissed me.

This time, I kissed her back with everything in me.

No hesitation.

No fear.

Just months of tension crashing out of me in one dizzying moment of need.

Her hands threaded through my hair, fingers gripping tight. My mouth opened against hers, desperate, hungry, but still waiting- for her. Letting her lead.

She bit my lip, hard enough to make me gasp.

“Too eager,” she murmured.

“I can be patient.”

“We’ll see.”

She spun me gently, pressing me back against the wall beside the door. Her thigh slid between mine. My hips moved before I could stop them.

Her mouth moved to my neck, biting, tasting.

I couldn’t stop the groan that slipped out.

She laughed softly against my skin.

“You like this.”

“I love this.”

She pulled back, eyes dark.

“Lock the door.”

I turned, hands shaking but sure this time, flipped the lock with a solid click.

When I faced her again, she was unbuttoning the top of her blouse- slow, deliberate, still in control.

“You’ve been patient, Jungkook,” she said, stepping toward me again. “Now I want to see how well you listen.”

My mouth was dry. “Yes, Professor.”

She smiled. Dark. Beautiful. Unapologetic.

And then she kissed me again, deeper this time, walking me backward until I hit the lab table.

Her hands roamed my chest, my hips, controlling every inch of the space between us.

And I let her.

No part of me wanted control.

All I wanted was her.

═══════

This was happening.

And I was so far gone, I couldn’t even pretend I didn’t want it.

She kissed me hard this time- no testing, no waiting. Just heat. Her hands tugged at the hem of my shirt, sliding it up, palms skating over my bare stomach.

I shivered. She felt it.

“Cold?” she asked, lips against my neck.

“No,” I breathed. “Not even close.”

Her smile curved against my skin.

“Good.”

She pressed her body against mine, pinning me between the table and her frame. Every part of her was deliberate. Her hips against mine, her thigh back between my legs, her hand on my chest.

And then- lower.

My breath hitched.

She moved slowly, tasting every inch of my throat with her mouth, her tongue, her teeth.

Her hand slipped behind my neck, gripping tight as she kissed me again. I kissed back harder, bolder this time. I couldn’t stop my hands anymore- I reached for her waist, pulling her in, finally touching her like I’d imagined in a thousand sleepless nights.

She didn’t stop me.

She leaned in- more. Pressed her hips against mine, rolled them once, just to watch me lose it.

“You’re shaking,” she whispered.

“I’m not used to this.”

“No one’s ever touched you like this?”

“Not like you.”

She paused at that. Then she smiled, dark and slow.

“Good.”

Her blouse was undone now- button by button falling away, and her bra was dark lace, tight against her skin, and I swore I nearly lost my mind.

“You okay?” she asked, voice low.

I nodded.

“No,” I said honestly. “But I want it.”

“You want me?”

“God, yes.”

“Say it.”

“I want you.”

“Louder.”

“I want you, Professor.”

That was it.

She pushed me back onto the table, climbed over me with nothing but control in her eyes.

My hands gripped the edge. My whole body tense, vibrating, desperate.

She leaned down, nose brushing mine.

“Good boy,” she whispered. “Now be quiet. Let me take care of you.”

My heart pounded in my chest, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps as she slowly lowered herself, her lips brushing mine before trailing down my jawline. 

Her hands, soft yet firm, gripped my shoulders, holding me in place as if she knew I’d try to pull her closer. 

Her mouth moved lower, her tongue tracing the line of my neck, sending sparks of pleasure through my body. I bit my lip to stifle a moan, but she noticed, her lips curling into a smirk against my skin. 

“Shh,” she murmured, her breath hot against my chest. “Let me hear you.”

Her fingers trailed down my chest, light and teasing, before settling on the waistband of my jeans. 

I held my breath as she unbuttoned them, her movements slow and deliberate, her eyes never leaving mine. She pushed them down, her hands brushing against my thighs, her touch sending a jolt of heat straight to my cock. 

I was already hard, my cock straining against my boxers, and her gaze dropped to it, a smirk playing on her lips.

“Impatient, aren’t we?” she teased, her fingers hooking into the elastic of my boxers. 

I bit my lip, my body trembling with need. She pulled them down, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of me, her breath hitching. 

“So eager,” she whispered, her voice laced with approval.

Her hands wrapped around me, her touch firm but gentle, her fingers tracing the length of my shaft. I groaned, my head falling back against the table, my hands clenching the edges as she began to stroke me. 

Her touch was slow, deliberate, her thumb brushing over the head, spreading the pre-cum that had already gathered. 

“You like that, don’t you?” she asked, her voice a sultry purr.

“Yes,” I managed, my voice hoarse, my body already on edge.

She quickened her pace, her hand moving in a steady rhythm, her other hand cupping my balls, massaging them gently. 

“Tell me how much you want it,” she demanded, her voice commanding.

“I want it so bad Professor,” I gasped, my hips bucking slightly against her hand. “Please, don’t stop.”

She chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent shivers down my spine. 

“Such a good boy,” she praised, her hand tightening around me. “But we’re not done yet.”

Her mouth descended, her lips wrapping around the head of my cock, her tongue swirling in a way that made my vision blur. 

I moaned, my hands tangling in her hair but not daring to add any pressure, my body arching off the table. She hummed, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through me, her hand continuing to stroke me in sync with her mouth.

“Fuck,” I groaned, my voice breaking. “That’s- that’s amazing.”

She pulled back slightly, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Is it?” she asked, her voice teasing. “Tell me how good it feels.”

“It feels so fucking good,” I panted, my body trembling on the edge. “Your mouth- i-it’s perfect.”

She smiled, her lips stretching around me again, her hand working in tandem with her mouth. I was close, so close, my body tense, every nerve ending screaming for release. 

But just as I was about to cum, she slowed, her hand easing, her mouth pulling away.

“Not yet,” she whispered, her breath ghosting over my sensitive skin. “Not until I say so.”

I whimpered, my body aching with need, my cock throbbing with frustration. She kissed the tip, her tongue flicking teasingly before she began again, her mouth and hand working in perfect harmony. 

I was a mess, my moans filling the room, my body completely at her mercy.

“Please,” I begged, my voice desperate. “Let me cum.  Please.”

She chuckled, the sound vibrating through me, her hand tightening around me. 

“Not yet, baby,” she murmured. “I want to see how long you can last.”

Her mouth took me deeper, her throat closing around me, her hand stroking in time with her movements. 

I was losing it, my body trembling, my breath coming in short gasps. “I- I can’t- ”

She pulled back again, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “You’re doing so good, baby,” she praised, her hand slowing. “But not yet.”

I groaned, my body aching, my cock throbbing with unfulfilled desire. She leaned down, her lips brushing my ear, her breath hot against my skin. 

“Tell me how much you want to come,”she whispered, her voice a seductive command.

“I want it so bad,” I gasped, my body trembling. “I need to come. Please Professor, let me cum.”

She smiled, her lips curving against my skin, her hand beginning to move again, slow and torturous. 

“Soon, baby,” she promised, her voice a soft whisper. “But first, let’s see how close we can get.”

Her mouth took me again, her hand working in perfect sync, her tongue swirling, her throat tightening around me. 

I was a mess, my body on the brink, my moans filling the room. She edged me again, bringing me to the edge, only to pull back, her hand easing, her mouth leaving me throbbing and desperate.

“Professor,” I whimpered, my body trembling, my cock aching with need. “Please, I can’t take much more.”

She chuckled, her hand wrapping around me once more, her mouth descending, her tongue tracing the head. 

“One more time,” she whispered, her voice a sultry promise. “And then, maybe, I’ll let you cum.”

Her mouth took me deep, her hand stroking in time, her throat tightening around me. I was lost, my body surrendering to her, my moans turning into incoherent pleas. She worked me relentlessly, her mouth and hand in perfect harmony, pushing me closer and closer to the edge.

“Professor, I’m- I’m gonna- ”

Her mouth tightened around me, her hand speeding up, her tongue swirling in a way that made my vision blur. 

I cried out, my body tensing, every muscle straining as I teetered on the edge, my cock throbbing with an almost painful need.

“Cum for me, baby,” she whispered, her voice a command. “Let it go.”

I shattered, my body convulsing, my cock pulsing as I came, my release hot and intense, my moans filling the room. 

Her mouth milked me, her hand squeezing gently, her tongue swirling as she drew every last drop from me. I was in ruins, my body limp, my breath coming in ragged gasps as she finally pulled away, her lips curved in a satisfied smile.

“Good boy,” she murmured, her hand stroking my chest, her eyes soft and admiring. 

She positioned herself above me, her scent enveloped me- a mix of her perfume, her skin, and something uniquely her that made my head spin. Her skirt hiked up, revealing she had nothing underneath, and I felt my breath hitch. 

She was a vision- her body perfectly framed by the soft light of the room, her full breasts rising and falling with her steady breaths.

She leaned back slightly, her hands resting on my chest, her eyes never leaving mine. 

“You’ve been a very good boy, Jungkook,” she said, her tone teasing yet filled with approval. “You deserve a reward.”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “Yes, Professor,” I murmured, my voice hoarse with desire. 

The way she called me good boy made me feel both proud and submissive, a combination that only heightened my arousal.

“Eat me out properly,” she commanded, her voice firm but laced with desire.

She hovered there for a moment, her breath coming in short gasps, her eyes searching mine for any hesitation. I held her gaze, my eagerness evident, and she let out a soft sigh of satisfaction before lowering herself onto me.

The first touch of her warmth against my lips was electric. 

I groaned softly, my hands instinctively moving to her thighs, holding her in place as I began to explore her with my mouth. 

She tasted sweet, her arousal coating my tongue as I lapped at her eagerly. Her hands tangled in my hair, guiding me, her moans filling the air as I worked my way deeper, my tongue tracing patterns against her sensitive flesh.

“Oh, Jungkook,” she breathed, her voice trembling with pleasure. “You’re so good at this. So eager to please me.”

Her words fueled my desire, and I moaned against her, the vibrations sending shivers through her body. 

She shifted slightly, her hips rocking against my mouth as she sought more friction, more pressure. I hummed softly, my hands squeezing her thighs gently, and she gasped, her nails digging into my scalp.

“Do you like that, baby?” she asked, her voice laced with dominance. “Do you like making me feel good?”

I nodded, my mouth still buried between her legs, and she laughed softly, a sound that was equal parts amusement and pleasure. 

“Answer me, Jungkook,” she commanded, her tone firm.

I lifted my head slightly, my lips brushing against her as I spoke. “Yes, Professor,” I murmured. “I love it. I love making you feel good.”

She smiled, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction. “Good boy,” she repeated, her voice a soft caress. “Now keep going. Make me cum.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. 

I dove back in, my tongue working tirelessly, my lips sucking gently as I focused on every inch of her. 

She was so responsive, her moans growing louder, her body trembling with each stroke of my tongue. Her hands tightened in my hair, her hips bucking against my mouth as she chased her release.

“Faster, Jungkook,” she panted, her voice urgent. 

I complied, my movements becoming more frantic, my mouth devouring her as she teetered on the edge. Her breath came in sharp gasps, her body tensing as she neared her climax. 

“That’s it, baby,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

I didn’t. I kept going, my tongue flicking, my lips sucking, until she finally shattered around me, her body convulsing as she cried out my name. Her hands clenched in my hair, her hips pressing down hard as she rode out her orgasm, her release coating my tongue. 

I drank her in, savoring her taste, her scent, the feel of her trembling body against mine.

When she finally stilled, her breath coming in ragged gasps, she pushed herself up, her eyes wild with need. “I’m not done with you.”

Before I could protest, she slid down my body, her hands pushing my thighs apart. 

Her lips curved into a wicked smile as she straddled my hips, skirt bunching up to her waist. I could feel her warmth against my hardness, and I groaned, my hands reaching for her, only to be batted away.

“Hands to yourself, Jungkook,” she chided, her tone low and firm. “Or you won’t get to cum.”

I nodded, my chest heaving as she positioned herself above me, her hands gripping my wrists and pinning them to the table. 

Her eyes locked onto mine, full of challenge and desire, as she lowered herself onto me. I hissed at the sensation, my cock sliding into her tight heat, her walls clenching around me like a vice.

“Fuck,” I groaned, my voice rough. “You feel so good.”

She smirked, her hips beginning to move in a slow, deliberate rhythm. “Do I now? Tell me, Jungkook. How bad do you want to cum?”

“So bad,” I gasped, my body tensing as she rode me, her movements controlled, teasing. “Please, let me-”

“Not yet,” she interrupted, her voice sharp. “You’re not in control here. I am.”

Her words sent a jolt of arousal through me, and I whimpered, my hips bucking against her. 

She leaned forward, her breasts brushing my chest, her lips hovering over mine. “You’re mine to play with, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I breathed, my voice hoarse. “Yours.”

She pulled back, her hands gripping my shoulders as she increased her pace, her movements becoming more urgent. I could feel her tightening around me, her breath coming in short gasps, and I knew she was close.

“Cum for me,” I pleaded, my voice desperate. “Let me make you feel good.”

She shook her head, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Not yet. I’m going to edge you, Jungkook. Make you beg for it.”

Her words were like a spark, igniting a fire in my veins. 

She slowed her movements, her hips grinding against me in a torturous rhythm, pushing me to the brink but pulling back before I could climax. I groaned, my body trembling, my cock throbbing with need.

“Please,” I whimpered, my voice breaking. “Let me cum.”

“She leaned down, her lips brushing my ear as she whispered, “You’re so close, aren’t you? So desperate.”

“Yes,” I gasped, my hands gripping the table as she pushed me further, her body moving in a way that made me see stars. “Professor, I can’t-”

“Shh,” she soothed, her lips pressing against mine in a soft kiss. “I’ll help you.”

She quickened her pace, her body moving in perfect harmony with mine, and I felt her climax building, her walls fluttering around me. 

I groaned, my hips thrusting up to meet her, and she cried out, her head falling back as she came, her body shaking.

“Yuck,” I murmured, my voice thick with desire. “That feels so good.”

She rode out her orgasm, her movements slowing as she leaned against me, her breath ragged. I could feel her heart pounding against my chest, her body still trembling from the force of her release.

“Your turn,” she whispered, her lips curving into a satisfied smile. “But only if you’re a good boy.”

I nodded eagerly, my body aching for release. She shifted, her hands gripping my hips as she guided my movements, her pace relentless. I groaned, my body tensing as I felt myself building, my cock throbbing with the promise of release.

“Y/N,” I gasped, my voice desperate. “I’m close.”

“Not yet,” she teased, her voice playful. “One more time. I want to hear you beg.”

I whimpered, my body trembling as she slowed her movements, pushing me to the edge once more. “Please,” I pleaded, my voice breaking. “Let me cum.”

She smirked, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Say it. Tell me who you belong to.”

“Yours,” I breathed, my voice hoarse. “I’m yours, Professor. Please, let me cum.”

Her smile softened, and she leaned down, her lips pressing against mine in a tender kiss. “Good boy,” she murmured. “Now cum for me.”

Her words were my undoing. 

I cried out, my body arching as I climaxed, my cock pulsing inside her as wave after wave of pleasure washed over me. 

She held me close, her hands stroking my hair as I rode out my orgasm, my body trembling with the intensity of it.

And then it was quiet.

The room hummed with leftover heat. My heartbeat still thundered in my chest.

I lay there, dazed and open, blinking up at the ceiling like it might know what came next.

She didn’t rush.

She just leaned down, her skin warm against mine, and kissed my collarbone- soft and slow.

Then she murmured in my ear, voice calm, unreadable:

“Don’t think this changes the rules.”

═══════

LINK TO ASK ♡ MASTERLIST

♡ requests are welcome ♡

These characters are fictional and do not represent any real-life individuals. Their likeness is used solely for visual inspiration and does not reflect the actual person or their story.

[partiallysame]

crying c’mere so i can smooch your brain 😭😚 my day has been absolute dogshit but freaky slut!simon and poly!141 made me smile

(mini rant: had a menty b in front of my cardiologist that was so bad the entire staff took turns to check on me while i tried to calm down, ptsd from a highly traumatic experience a couple of weeks ago has left me needing medication to sleep bc the american healthcare system is a fucking joke, insurance is fighting me on therapy, and i’m too poor to be mentally ill. oh and i now have to drop about $400 to fix my car 😁 happy birthday to me!!! 🥳)

anyways…back to our regularly scheduled program

johnny turns into fucking bill nye trying to figure out what fruits change the taste of your pussy, which (if any) make you wetter, how the taste changes, etc. he compares notes on what you normally taste like with simon (simon acts annoyed but he has very thorough notes on what you taste like at any given moment including right before and after your period) and use that as his base for his experimenting. he’s squeezing fruit juice in your water, feeding you fruit salad made only with the freshest fruits, the whole nine yards

telling the guys you don’t wear underwear at home kinda short circuits their brains. johnny definitely cums in his pants, kyle is hard thinking about you getting horny at home and your pussy leaking a visible trail down your thighs, out of all the missions and near death experiences he’s had price thinks he’s never been closer to having a heart attack than now hearing those words leave your mouth, and simon is already figuring out the logistics of moving into your place vs just getting a bigger place (he knows you’ll need the space with four big horny men constantly over)

and you? well you’re on cloud fucking nine bc no matter what kink you ask the guys to try they’re always down, no judgement whatsoever. tie you up and take turns? god it felt like the rotation never ended. by the end of it you couldn’t even recall your own name. free use? yeah thank god you don’t wear underwear at home bc those men where fucking you wherever and whenever they felt like it. dp? you swear you were speaking in a completely different language with how stuffed full you were. simon and kyle’s freaky asses took pics of your gaping holes like they just discovered a long lost treasure (note: oop we’ve come full circle with the ghostgaz dp 🤪)

Noooo I’m so sorry to hear about all that. Giving me a stress rash just thinking about it honestly. Sending you big money vibes and fuck the insurance people sending them death vibes

I just know Johnny is looking up aphrodisiac foods too trying to get your body jump started anyway he can. He’s also making a list of all the mundane things the boys do that turn you on. And comparing those notes with Simon too. Taking his shirt off by the back of the neck ok sure. Backing up the car?? Really?? Yes.

Price is reasoning with Simon about whether or not he can put a baby in you bc he needs that “she’s ln birth control cap” “that was not my question Riley”

After the first few kinks you’re making your own list of new things to try and what stuff has been your favorite. Randomly sending them a porn video to recreate and it’s been the sluttiest nastiest group chat they have ever been apart of.

Dp was made for Simon and Kyle. Truly. Whenever one of them is fucking you, you’re reaching out for the other to come help. And the two Johns are mad about it bc why not them too???

[fridgemissionmaster]

I just want to say how much I loove your writing despite having found your blog only recently. The way you write the characters just makes them feel so real somehow

If I may make a request then maybe a little domestic Solomon fluff? I was rereading Nightbringer story recently and the way he's with MC in the begining just feels so cozy and warm and he's so fucking cute

I wish you a nice day!!

Ancient bones creaking, rigor mortis losing it’s grip, numbness faded away a dull and sharp pang of pain shooting through the back and neck, a deep trembling breath of life filling those collapsing lungs.

Slowly the wizard sat up. He kept forgetting how awful he felt after sleeping on his workbench. Slowly he stood, his muscles too stiff for comfort.

What time was it anyway?

Meandering across the room he paused for a moment, standing on his tiptoes, back arched, a great big yawn escaped him, sleepy dewy tears formed in the corners of his eyes, hands held high above his head as he stretched getting some of those air bubbles to make that satisfying pop sound before he continued.

Smacking face first into the wall and falling to the floor with a loud thud.

He didn’t bother to get up.

At least he was awake now, but that meant he could think again. And all that did, was make him miss you.

Even now after, what? Months? Or was it weeks? He couldn’t bother to keep track any more. Every last day at Cocytus Hall he cherished, marked down into his memory, chiseled into his heart. Although even stone eroded over time, at least he tried something to make sure that time stayed with him as long as his mind would allow.

His half hazy body still moved as if he were back there, the layout of that place, he could recall it, make a detailed map of it without a second thought, down to where you usually left your book bag or where you tended to lose your phone.

Not that he didn’t like being here with Simeon and Luke but… it just felt too sudden, leaving that paradise.

Who was he kidding, it always would have been.

He learned long ago how easy it was to simply let go and move on, but not this. He never could, nor did he ever want too. But the price was this wretched heartache.

He couldn’t help laughing.

It was so odd, to REALLY feel like he was human again. Or perhaps STILL human was a more apt wording. How could a man love such a pain so much.

Slowly he made his way out of his room and down the hall for the kitchen and living area. And since he was still dressed from last night, all he had to do was smooth out his shirt. Hopefully nobody would notice the wrinkles that had gotten pressed in from his awkward sleeping position, he didn’t want to needlessly worry his roommates over his nonexistent health… again.

Well, he heard the scrapes of a spatula or something against the pan, now all he had was to hope the scraping was for a breakfast and not a lunch or even worse dinner.

But judging by the delectable smells, it had to be breakfa

.

.

.

Cautiously he drew closer. Wrapping his arms around from behind, squeezing you close, burrowing his face into the crook of your neck. He almost couldn’t believe the feeling of your warmth seeping through his clothes.

“Hey, enough of that, I don’t need you getting a crick in your neck if you haven’t gotten one already.”

And that playful tone. “Ah, sorry. But I’m still so tired.”

He had to be dreaming, your chuckle. “Come on, now you’re sounding like Belphegor.” Turning you head to better face him, he could melt from how soft your skin was against his, your cheeks pressed together. “Now shoo, get to the table. I promised Simeon and Luke I wouldn’t let you blow up the kitchen while they were away.”

“Away?”

“You poor man, you’re still out of it, aren’t you?” No, he very well knew why, he just didn’t think they’d have left this early. But he’d take any excuse to hear your voice just a little more.  “They’ve left for some sort of business in the Celestial Realm, they must have told you about it.”

“uh-huh”

You’re really here? Right now? Just the two of you, no one to interrupt, no one for you to want to leave his side for? No one else who need you?

“But they started getting worried about you, and your recent stint of late-night experimenting.” You looked to him, brow raised getting him to shrink a little on the spot.

“Well, maybe I need someone around to remind me how late it is?”

You scoffed, no bite to it, a delicate smile playing across your lips as you flipped over another pancake. “I’m your apprentice, not your assistant.”

‘your apprentice’

A giddiness came trembling through his whole body. “Yes you are!”

“And I’m also your babysitter.”

“Eh?”

“Dude. Ever since we got back I’ve been hearing nothing but about how you’ve been working yourself down to the bone, staying up late. It’s just… a lot more than before…”

“I see.” Perhaps so.

“And here I thought you might have broken the habit, but apparently you’ve been skipping out on dinner for instant noodles near midnight again.”

“…” He couldn’t. He didn’t need to act afool in front of you again. At least then he had the excuse of alcohol making him loose lipped last time he spilled his guts.

“That depressed without me?” Not that his feelings weren’t obvious without it apparently. “Well, they asked me to keep an eye on you while they’re away.”

He couldn’t help smirking, resting his chin on your shoulder. “So, you’ll be staying the night?” Or was that too hopeful, knowing how possessive Lucifer was, especially over your ‘curfew’.

“The whole time. How else am I to make sure you actually get to bed on time? Now, go take a shower and put on new clothes. I know your tricks.”

“… Maybe I need help showering?”

“HAH! Nice try, but I already took one.”

“I can tell, this bodywash is so nice.”

“Right? I… wanted to find something similar to the one I used… in the past, but they don’t make it anymore… Anyway, get going,” You lightly shook him off, and the man reluctantly letting go. “-breakfast and coffee will be ready once you’re back. Oh,” With the spatula you pointed to the fridge. “I’ve kinda used the last of everything so we’ll need to do some shopping.”

“Alright, I’ll be back in a minuet!” And so he ran off, like some excited child about to go on a trip to the candy store.

“wait, N-NOT A LITERAL MINUET, RIGHT!? NO MAGIC, ACTUALLY SHOWER!”

…

Only because you insist. Besides maybe you’d notice he got the same bodywash too.

And when go shopping, you’d have to hold hands, after all, in this time the streets are much more crowded, it wouldn’t do for him to get separated from his adorable apprentice.

Not again.

A VERY quick, little something. Hope you like it, but if you want something little bigger you can always ask again, it'd just take a lot more time.

[lovergirl-co]

Concussion ?..

————————————————————————

idk..

Masturbate inside me daddy, ugh

Play with my pussy lips ughh

..

Abby x fem!reader

Summary:: You and Abby were fucking and you fall off the bed💔💔

Tags:: scissoring, aftercare (blink and you’ll miss it), strap, reader is idek…, teasing, overstm, fluff at the end

A/N:: I’m bored asf, so I’m writing this… (please laugh about it) (don’t unfollow🙏🏾)

..

You and Abby have been going at it for hours.

She was flipping and spinning you in all kinds of crazy positions, like you were a feather.

“Mm— Abby, it’s to much..” you plead

Your body was half lifted off the bed but your back was still in the mattress, so you were in a pretty painful position. Painfully good position.

She was kissing your cervix just slightly with her 8 inch strap, and mercy hasn’t even crossed her mind yet. She was drunk off seeing yiu like this.

She chuckles, “you can take it, I know you can— if you can be a tease you can take this”

you should’ve just left her alone.

I mean, you were teasing her all fucking day during patrol, whispering in her ear, touching her whenever you got the chance, bending over right in front of her on “accident”

yeah right, you knew what you were doing, and you were damn proud of it.

Her ruthless pace was driving you crazy, and your brain was straight mush.

then she took it out of you and dropped your body, your legs recoil from the sudden movement.

“Abby, no more crazy positions my body hurts— you continued “and I feel woozy”

she laughed, straight in your face, like a joke.

Before you could even process a thought she flipped you around on top of her. She then took off the harness and threw it somewhere in the room, opening her legs to view the pool of arousal between her legs.

you took a sharp breath in “grind your cunt on mine, now” she wasn’t asking, she was demanding you too.

you guys were half way off the fucking bed, Abby’s right legs was hanging off the bed, and you were wobbly on top of her.

This was gonna end really bad.

you lined yourself up with her and started to grind, she was soaked, and the sheets were done for.

and the sounds you guys were making could be out over a porn video and it would look perfectly normal and natural.

“oh fuck, baby just like that” your grind started to get faster and faster, which also cause the bed to creak and the head board to bang against the walls.

the grip she had on your waist was gonna cause bruises for weeks, not like you cared anyways.

your vision has completely blurred and you don’t even know you were moving and you couldnt feel anything in your body.

it just felt so go—

then a loud thud.

“what the fuck?” You said confused, scratching your head. You lifted your head feeling almost dizzy.

you looked up at Abby who’s jaw was wide open.

“oh my goodness, baby are you okay?!” She said panicking.

You looked at her “Wait, what?” “You just fell off the fucking bed and hit the wall!” She screamed.

“oh ouch.” You said sarcastically.

then she started laughing, and you did too, well, you didn’t know wether to laugh or cry, cause fuck, your head was pounding.

your smile dropped realizing the situation , “why the fuck are you laughing I could’ve gotten a concussion, Abby.”

then she looked at you wiping a tear, “I’m sorry but that— she continued to laugh and giggle “that was fucking hilarious.”

you got up almost losing balance, low iron got you bad.

You climbed back in the bed hunching over slightly “whatever, next time you try and flip me over into a crazy position I’m screaming bloody murder at the top of my lungs”

Abby finally stopped laughing and wiped more tears “yeah alright shrimp” you frowned looking at her “don’t make fun of my posture— I got it from you”.

“Lay down and go to sleep, your clearly out of it” Abby chuckled “yeah, cause of you” you answered rolling your eyes. you layed down as Abby pulled the blankets over both of you, she looked at you grabbing your head and landing a slight kiss on your forehead.

Then she pulled away fast and looked at your head in confusion, “what, is something wrong?” You asked concerned “not gonna lie, I think you have a bump on your head” she stated with a straight face”

Your eyes widened, “wait really? Abby are you fucking seriou—“ she laughed “no I’m totally fucking with you”

you punched her arm playfully, “don’t play like that”

She stopped laughing and answered you “ok ok, go to sleep now— I love you”

“I love you too”

————————————————————————

a/n:: ignore how it’s not proofread I’m not gonna do it cause I’m lazy, and the no commas where needed.

@graciedollie @mewl3tte @cloudyorgy @ellieswife4ever @look-me if I forgot you I’m sorry (I forgot half my taglist😇😇)

[ynsbrightorbs]

☾𖤓 Butch sheriff Hange Zoe x femme!Reader one shot . . . .

.｡.:*✧ all fluff and feels, friends to lovers ੈ♡˳ 10.8K words

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

In the back of a sheriff's car - that’s exactly how you didn’t think this day would go. The situation, or more so the altercation, was bad enough, but the cherry on top of this shit sandwich is that it just had to be Hange who received the call. 

They sit in the driver's seat, quiet as ever, and you can’t help but notice the way their fingers grip the wheel so tightly their knuckles turn an awful, velvety white color. In their uniform, they look different. You’ve seen them on the job before but never like this - they’d only pass through the diner in the early mornings for coffee to-go before their shifts, and even then they’d hardly look your way. 

In the back of a sheriff's car, your arms cross and your breathing slows. You trade the sight of them in for the view out of your tinted window, watching the night pass by with rare occurrences of traffic lights and the late night bars still hanging open. 

You hadn’t meant it. That’s what you tell yourself anyways. Truth is, as you close your eyes and lean your head back in your seat, you can still feel her nose breaking under your fist - that can almost make you smile.

“Sleeping it off?” their voice breaks your almost smile, flipping your eyes wide open as you tilt your chin down to catch them peering at you through the rearview mirror. It’s only for a second though, when you find their stare they quickly look back at the road. 

Doing the same as them, pretending not to care as you glance out the window again, you sigh, “Gotta try. I’ll be up all night with this bullshit now.” 

“And whose fault is that?” they’re quick, catching you off guard but you refuse to show it to them. 

“The fucking asshole’s who called the cops.” 

You can’t see it, but you hear Hange huff a small, quiet laugh under their breath, “You mean Nanaba?”

Quickly, your head turns only to find the back of their hair. It’s messy and seemingly knotted in a half assed attempt at a low bun. “She was the one who called?” your brows instantly downturn.

“Technically, I’m not sposed to say,” they start, lingering in a few seconds of silence, “But she said somethin’ about how she’s never seen someone act that way before.”

Your eyes don’t roll, but you want them to. “Jesus, they’re all acting like I fucking killed someone.” 

“Did you want to?” they’re quick with this question, too quick for comfort as they look into the mirror again, catching you for a second before returning to the road again.

You scoff, “No, I didn’t want to kill her, what kind of question is that? And shouldn’t you be saving all this for interrogation? First you’re tellin’ me shit you shouldn’t and now you’re questioning me without a lawyer?”

“You don’t get a lawyer,” they tell you matter of factly. 

“The hell do you mean I don’t get one? That’s illegal?” you sit up now, anger returning to you once again as all you can focus on is the back of their head and their gripping fists on the wheel. 

“You don’t get one because I’m not takin’ you to the station.” 

Finally, you rip your eyes from them and notice, out the window, that you’ve receded into the quiet residencies, not the inner workings of the town. Everything is dark but you can tell by the way the car turns onto gravel that you’re closer to home than to a jail cell. 

“Where are we going then?” the seatbelt eats at your neck. 

“I’m takin’ you home.” and though this should have been a relief, it nearly sinks your heart straight out your ass. 

“No, you can’t take me there,” your voice tilts into something terribly serious, “The station is fine, I’ll spend a night, pay the fucking damage, I don’t care but you can’t take me home.”

Hange pulls the car to a stop in the middle of the road. It’s late night, no one cares, and with the engine buzzing underneath you their hands drop off the wheel and fall into their lap. 

“D’you wanna tell me why?” their face turns towards you, not fully, but only enough for you to get a view of their profile. Their face is long and sharp, that’s one of the first things you noticed about them besides the obvious; the leather eye patch has become as embedded to them as the dark color of their hair. It was a fishing accident, or something to that degree, you’ve heard people say. Though you’ve also heard others say it’s genetic, or bullet shrapnel, or a bear fight even. Hange doesn’t talk much, so when they continue, “Not about goin’ home, I don’t give a shit about that. But why did you hit her?” your chest tightens.

You have a habit of chewing your cheek, but right now you’re saddened to find the entirety of your mouth is raw. Instead, your hands slide up the thighs of your jeans as you brush the entire conversation off with a soft shrug. “To tell you why I hit her would also be tellin’ you why I can’t go back home.”

Hange’s jaw clenches, not enough to pop a vein but enough for you to gauge that they’re thinking. They’re always thinking. You assume that’s why they don’t talk much, why they come and go in the diner with barely a mornin’ to the other waitresses. Why, just like right now, they only offer you a single second of a glance before looking away. 

They turn away, back towards the wheel and their hands grip tightly again. They pull off the brake and ease the car into a steady pace before making a slightly hectic u-turn. “I can’t take you to the station,” they start, and you cut in.

“Why not?” 

“Because I don’t wanna be up all night doing paperwork,” they mutter, “And I apparently can’t drop you off home.” For this, you have no response. No rebuttal. Only silence. “So, what d’you want me to do, y/n?” 

In the rearview mirror, they look at you. You hold their stare and surprisingly they do too, all before your lips begin to softly curl. 

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

There’s only one apartment complex in town, and of course Hange would live here. Their home is quaint, only one bedroom and one bathroom, but it’s surprisingly cluttered. There’s piles of unopened cardboard boxes stacked against the wall in the living room - this living room with one reclining arm chair, one messy end table, and a flat screen on a tv stand - as if they moved in and never unpacked. The carpet is stained with years of traffic and you can clearly see them in the footprints; the trail of under-the-shoe dirt starts at the door and forks its way into the kitchen, to the living room recliner, or to the door of their bedroom - which they walk in before you and immediately close. 

They linger by that door, it’s painted in landlord white, and with nothing but hesitation they look at you. Hange scratches their nape before sighing deeply, “You gotta give me a sec to clean up in there.” 

Taking yourself to the start of the kitchen - it’s small, messy with beer cans and a full sink of dishes - you begin to unload, starting with the shoes on your feet. Looking up at them as you untie, you half smile, “Who said I wanted to bunk in your room?” 

Hange doesn’t undo themself like you. They stand awkwardly with one hand in the front pocket of their black slacks. Heavy boots are still on their feet and they make no attempt at removing them. Even their badge, all gold plated and personally engraved, remains latched over the pocket of their button up at their chest. That shirt's long sleeves are rolled up into a mess of white fabric at their elbows. “Politeness,” they state.

You manage your shoes off and leave them there on the old linoleum. “Well, I’m fine with the…” you mean to say couch, but as your eyes graze over the recliner, you trail, “...chair.”

“Right,” you want to say they speak with humor, with an undertone of sarcasm, but it’s hard to tell. They move for the kitchen, passing you by and heading to the fridge. “Y’want water, or anything?” 

Your clothes are damp. Not with just sweat but with the leftovers of alcohol that was spilled. Removing the flannel off your shoulders and tossing it over the recliner, you peer into their fridge as it opens, “D’you have any beer?”

With one arm hanging on that open door and a hunched back, they look back at you with slight distaste. “Really?”

Your arms cross and you watch as their eye skims over the tank top tucked into your jeans. All you do is shrug before they trudge a hand into the cool racks and pluck two cans from the shelf. 

Hange finds a small, open space on their cluttered counters and pops the cans open, one by one as you’re hit with a flashing picture of nostalgia. It was the summer of your nineteenth that they moved back into town. You’re aware you missed a lot of life when you went to live with your dad, but the way everyone treated them like a homecoming reunion rubbed you so wrongly you thought it was resentment for a long while. They were younger and slightly more talkative and the day they returned it seemed like the entire town came together for a backyard barbecue at Nanaba’s place. For you? Well, you received a welcome home cake from your mother and a handful of hugs that went on for too long. 

They don’t turn with their arm as they hand you a can, they keep themself dead on the counter as you take it. 

Hange’s always been a drinker. Even before they turned the legal drinking age, they’ve always had a beer in hand. When you were nineteen, upon their return from the city as a fresh-cut twenty-one year old with a newfound somber face, they offered you your first beer at that backyard party, the one you’ve grown to envy. They were dressed like a true cowboy with a stained white tee and a belt buckle too large for their own good. It drove you mad as they half smiled, handing you a modelo like there’s nothing wrong in the world.

There’s silence. One so thick it feels awkward and tense as you take a sip. The beer is a mans beer and it makes your face scrunch. Luckily, their back is to you. They do the same, but you’re sure they drink it down like it’s the finest of wines before they clear their throat. 

“I still gotta fill out a report for tonight,” they begin to explain. You almost forgot about it all. “So if you can do me a favor and just give me a brief summary, that’ll do.”

Passing up the empty space for the side of a counter, you lean against the plastic wannabe marble top and sigh so deeply they look over at you. They sip without taking their eye away. 

“Summary is, she had it comin’.” 

“Yelena?” instantly, you recoil at the sound of her name, especially at the sound of her name coming out of Hange’s mouth. 

“Mhm,” you hum and drink, staring down their TV stand which hosts a collection of dvds. 

Hange sighs before they turn. They do the same as you, leaning back against the edge of the counter as the sink turns into a barrier between you. “A motive would help.”

You huff a quiet laugh, “I didn’t kill her,” your voice is soft and certain.

“You broke her nose.”

“And she had it comin’.”

“Why?”

You fumble. You see it in your mind, clear as day: the look on her face when you walked in and saw. Yelena was never meant to be a serious partner, you met her in a slew of other one nighters while she was doing the same. Your mistake was letting her move into your one bedroom and believing she could be domesticated. So, when you received the text from Sasha telling you Yelena was at the bar feeling up another woman, well. Let’s say livid would somewhat begin to describe the anger you felt. 

It wasn’t the first time, however, so maybe it’s on you for staying. For letting her give you hope that it really would be the last time. 

“I don’t get why they called you,” your words softly mumble into your can, slightly echoing due to the fact.

“I really wish they hadn’t,” they admit, garnering your attention with their eye glued to the same tv stand and dvds, “But they did. So, Jesus, just give me one sentence.” 

“Fine.” Your hand drops to your side, letting the can dangle before your mouth starts speaking before your brain can keep up, “She’s been cheating on me for months and I’ve had it, so, her nose is broken and I hope it heals all fucked and crooked and tomorrow I’m throwin’ out all her shit and I don’t care if people think I’m crazy or I’m the problem, they can all go to hell if that’s what they wanna believe.”

You breathe at the end and take a long sip, all while, for the very first time, you hear Hange chuckle. Your head whips to their profile, watching a smile overtake their mouth before they try for a sip on their can. It infuriates you. 

“Why the hell are you laughing?” you’re direct, you’ve lost all your cares for the night, and Hange seems to have never had any in the first place. 

They stop laughing, at least they try to. They pause with one last quick chuckle before they straighten their posture. Their gaze drops to the ground, to the boots on their feet, before they pick themself up and glance your way. Their smile flickers out, “Run on sentence,” they say with a small shrug of their shoulder and your anger comes back to you in full force. 

“Oh, fuck off,” your voice is worn, tired, and it breaks as you nearly slam the halfway empty can down on the counter before pushing yourself off. You move for the recliner, snatching up your tossed flannel in hopes to make an escape, but Hange stops you. 

“Y/n, it was a joke,” their voice is the same, flat and unaffected by anything. 

You stop right before you turn back onto the linoleum to put your shoes on. Staring them down, you don’t say a thing back. All you offer is the sour expression staining  your face. 

“I apologize,” they slouch, “I’ve been told my jokes aren’t really funny.”

Staring at them, you know the anger you hold onto isn’t meant for them. You’re tired and emotionally overused, hell you still have tiny specks of Yelena’s blood on your knuckles. You go to bite your cheek but it’s still raw. You’re still raw, you have nothing left and with that acknowledgement you let your flannel sweep down to your feet before it lands atop your shoes. “You’re funny,” you note, “just horrible timing. And I’m a bit too temperamental for that right now.”

“It’s okay. I get it,” Hange sets their beer down on the counter, right by the sink as they drop their gaze from you to the floor, “I don’t mean to poke fun, I just…I’m not good at this type of shit.”

“What shit?”

“Talkin’. Comforting people.” 

Are they opening? You question as you pull yourself back to the counter, back to your can. You’ve had only a handful of cluttered conversations with them and they’ve always been so surface level. So quick with their one word, simple responses, or quiet as they’d let everyone else take the lead while they impatiently listened. Now, they’re speaking from the heart and you’re not quite sure what to do with that. 

“I apologize,” you offer gingerly, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight. Maybe I am crazy.”

“No,” they quickly counter with the shake of their head, “I’ve dealt with crazy people. You’re nothin’ like crazy. Just a little sad, maybe.”

You toy with the can, you don’t drink. “Sad?” 

“Your…girlfriend,” they struggle to swallow, “It sounds like you got a whole lot to be sad about with that mess.”

Like a knee-jerk reaction, you laugh out loud, “Oh, please, I’m not sad about that shit anymore. I mourned it a long time ago, it just annoys me now. And she isn’t my girlfriend.”

“It’s okay to be sad about it.” Hange’s voice doesn’t inflect anything. It pulls you in as you return to your leaning position across the way of the sink. 

“Yup, but I’m not.”

“Sadness and anger coincide.”

This brings your eyes to them. More specifically, to the large slope of their nose. “What, did you read that off a fortune cookie?” your mouth twists into an amused grin, and theirs does the same; though it’s much smaller on them.

“No, but I did steal it from my therapist.”

This shocks you more than anything. The town is so small there’s only one ‘psychology’ office run by the Ackermans. Surely, if Hange were seeing a therapist, you’d have known. The same way half the town must know by now that you were pulled off Yelena and placed in the back of a sheriff's car. 

“You’re seein’ Kuchel?” you question timidly, you don’t want to pry. 

Hange nods slowly, but they look at you with a seriousness, an expression that befits them more than a smile, “Now, don’t go tellin’ everybody.”

Instantly, you shake your head, “No, I won’t.”

Their eye drags down your face before turning away, “Thanks.”

A moment of that thick, awkwardly tense silence comes again. It sits with you, melting down the floor and over both your shoulders as you think. 

Hange’s been a sheriff for years now, ever since their return. On that, you can relate to them. You were able to get a taste of life outside this town, and what a life that was. The city is nothing like home. It’s busy, careless, and damning. Everything you hate, and even though you enjoyed the expansions of it all, you longed for quiet. You ached for it. They were a big city cop before they moved back home with that eye patch as a token of their travels. From what you’ve heard, and by the little you can still remember, is that Hange used to be able to light up any room they walked into. They weren’t so sullen. Not so quiet. The Hange you know now is both those things and more. So you don’t question the fact that they’re in therapy. It makes sense. What you want to know instead is why.

“I know we don’t really know each other too well, and we don’t talk much, but,” you trail as you swallow a lump in your throat. Maybe, just like them, you’re not so good at this shit, the talkin’ and the comforting, “You can always talk to me. Or confide in me. I don’t know, I’d just hate to think you got no one to talk to.”

“What makes you think that?” they question almost immediately. They don’t look at you, not fully, but they turn their face half an inch as a warning. 

You stammer, “I…I don’t know, just an assumption,” your eyes gravitate towards the recliner, “...and you don’t have a couch.”

They smile at that, huffing one chuckle under their breath. “It was cheaper.”

“Is it comfy?” you smile.

Hange shrugs, “Dunno, it does the job.”

With that, you push yourself off the counter and make way for the recliner. It's large and bulky and full of fluffed up cushions. There’s no cup holder, no special buttons. It’s manual and requires a lever on its side to pop the leg rests up. You run a hand over the suede and look at them, “May I?”

“You’re the one sleepin’ on it,” they watch, drinking the last of their beer as you plop down on the seat with a satisfied ah sighing from your lips. 

Your question is answered instantly. It is comfy. It envelopes you and supports your back well, and it’s perfectly aligned with the tv. You try for the lever, its handle is wooden, but you pull it back and struggle. “I think it’s stuck,” you call out, but Hange’s long hand appears too fast. 

You look up and watch, their eye’s only focused on the lever as they take hold and pull. You’d be embarrassed if it gave right away, so when it doesn’t budge you consider yourself lucky. That is until they squat down, eye level with you now, and you’re forced to stare at the way their forehead creases in their focus. The way their hair frays in small chunks which frame their tired face. The way their lips glisten in the yellow tinted lighting as they briefly lick them down. 

“Fuck,” they breathe, pulling those lips together with a tight jab of another failed attempt. It causes the whole recliner to tremble and you grin so wide that they take one glance and immediately look back down. 

“Cheaper, you say?” 

Squatting, they scratch at the side of their neck in defeat, “Side of the road bogo deal with that goddamn table.”

You belt into a laugh, and it’s vicious. It’s one of those laughs that comes from your gut and aches if you let it stay too long. This makes them chuckle by your side. “See, you are funny.” 

Hange’s chuckle turns into just a smile. Just a grin as their head hangs and their eye retreats to the carpet at their feet. They let the lever go,and by that you know. All that’s keeping them here is you. 

“I’m serious, Hange,” you don’t blurt, you think it through. But the way they look at you is like you’ve just said something completely mind boggling. Their brown eye tries for your gaze, but it struggles. That’s one thing you’ve picked about them, they can’t hold eye contact very well. But it’s odd, every time they talk to others, like Nanaba at the bar, they stare them down like a true detective would. “This is such a weird night, but you can count on me. I swear I’m not always so…hot-headed?” 

“You’re not hot-headed,” they comment in an almost whisper. From this view, they have to tilt their chin up ever so slightly. Their arms rest on their bent knees and their hands, long and tanned and veined, idly reach out for the suede. Something sensory to keep them afloat. 

Fully, you turn in the chair. You sit up and look down at them like you could be God herself. “Can you tell me why you’re in therapy?” 

Their mouth opens like they’re about to instinctually respond, but they stop. Their head tilts as they look up at you, “That’s a very loaded, and…sudden question?” Their face scrunches up with confusion mixed into curiosity; but their mouth twitches with amusement. 

“Like your gun?” your eyes poke at the thing still strapped to its holster on their waist. 

They drop to look at it too, in silence as a grin twitches the corner of their mouth. “I…appreciate your curiosity, but…”

“I get it. It’s okay if it’s too personal. I have a lot I don’t tell anyone either,” you assure them, watching as they offer half their face to you, “But I hope one day, when you get used to me, we can talk about it.”

“You’re so sure about that,” they comment.

“I am.” 

Hange decides to look at you, and maybe that’s their mistake. However, if you could thank them for it, you would, because when they look at you their eye doesn’t reflect yours, it stays on your cheek. Dryly, they swallow and dryly, you lick your lips. 

“I don’t really like havin’ people around here,” their voice makes a sudden change. It’s not exactly flat, it’s nearly whispered and you swear, under it all, there’s a tinge of fear laced between their words as their eye migrates to yours.

“I know,” you admit, “I’ve always wondered that about you. I think I used to be upset with you. Jealous maybe.”

Their brows downturn, softly wrinkling their temple, “Used to be?” 

“Everyone loves you. I mean, they threw that whole party for you when you moved back here, I didn’t get that.”

“They threw a party because they wanted an excuse to get drunk,” they try to brush it off, but you’re no fool.

“They threw that party because they were glad to have you back home. The drinking was just a bonus,” you slightly joke, but Hange doesn’t laugh. They don’t react at all. They return to their solitary demeanor and like sand between your fingers you try to cling onto them, “They love you. You’re the big city cop.” 

They take a second to digest, to process everything you say. They chew it between their clenching jaw and like clockwork their gaze slips from your eyes, now to your nose. “You know…just because Yelena’s an idiot, doesn’t mean you’re worth less than anyone, or anythin’,” they’re so careful with their words, it hurts. 

Sincerity is something you’ve never seen from them. For a second, you question it, if they’re just talking to talk. But Hange’s good eye grazes over your lips before they stand with a sigh. 

“I’m clearin’ the room,” slowly, they step to the door they shut and you watch the way their button up wrinkles against the faint sway of their shoulder blades, “Just gimme a few.”

“Kay,” you call. But the thing is, it’s way too late and you’re used to 5 am wake up alarms. By the time Hange finishes clearing their room for you, they find you fast asleep on the recliner with a head slumped to the side. 

They drape a blanket over you before retreating to their own bed. 

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Of course, the next morning it just has to pour. The rain clacks against the large windows of the diner, sending the world outside into a messy collage of colors and vague shapes amiss a gloomy sky. Spring time - as much as you love it, you hate it just the same. 

This morning, however, you’re gloomier than the weather it seems. It wasn’t a walk of shame, but the way Miss Kirstein looked at you as you left Hange’s apartment just as the sun began to rise would make anyone believe it had been. There was no time, no desire, to go home and change. So you did the unthinkable: it’s Hange’s fault for leaving their laundry basket in the living room. You swiped a battered blue flannel, one you hoped they wouldn’t miss much, and traded it for the slightly sour smelling one you wore to curse Yelena out.

“So,” Sasha’s voice is warm against the cold. It smoothes over the bar as she leans into it, watching you from across as you manage your opening chores of wiping every table clean. “You wanna talk about it?” 

Glancing back for one second, your eyes roll as you return to your rag and bend over the table, trying to get those last few straggling crumbs. “Nope.”

“Ugh,” the girl dramatically sighs, “You know, that’s not fair. You gave me the drama of the century and now you’re refusin’ to talk about it?”

“That must be so terribly hard for you,” looking back, you smile teasingly, watching the same expression explode over her mouth before she rolls her eyes further than you had. 

“Did you break it off at least?” She retreats to the coffee bar, flipping switches as she starts the first pot of the day.

Straightening, you wring out the rag, letting the crumbs collect on the floor to sweep later. “I think the fact that I broke her nose is enough of an answer to that.” 

Sasha laughs from behind, “Cold-hearted, y/n. I love it.”

The front door chimes as you move to the next table. You stare out the smeared windows for a moment before you hear their voice, all gruffed and morning-sick, “Mornin’.” 

Your eyes take a small double-take as you find Hange standing there, in front of the bar like always. Now you know why Sasha started the coffee so early, the imprint of their work car is painted into the watercolor windows by the off red and blue lights on its roof. 

“Mornin’, Hange,” Sasha greets them as you turn away, fully, “Give it a few, I got it brewing for ya.” 

You continue with your chores, awkwardly. It wouldn’t be the end of the world for them to see you, but you hadn’t even had the time to properly wash up. And maybe fleeing from their apartment, never minding their stolen shirt, was a tad bit rude. 

“Thanks,” they don’t intentionally mumble, but everything they say ends up like that anyways. 

It takes less than a minute for you to hear the faint sound of keys jangling and heavy footsteps approaching before you know, they're right beside you. 

“Is that my shirt?” Hange keeps their voice low as you look at them, acting surprised as if you truly didn’t notice they’d come in. 

Your head tilts to catch the blue flannel before you flash an apologetic smile, “Yeah, sorry. Mine was kinda gross.”

This morning, they’re dressed the same. As per usual, they never try to spruce up their uniform. But today it’s colder than usual, so over their white button up, they have a thick brown jacket shielding them. Even their hair, it’s like they make no effort to fix the way it frizzes and strays. Still in that low bun with strands poking out in frantic patterns, they look you over. “If you’d’ve woken me up, I have extra shit you coulda borrowed.”

You shrug, dropping your gaze and returning to your task as you idly wipe the table. “Did you want me to wait up and make you breakfast too?” you look back, catching their focus held steadily on you with a puzzling expression on their straight face. Whether it’s the lighting or not, they look handsome. 

A static call comes in through their walkie. They skim a hand under the jacket at their hip, exposing a cluttered clip of keys latched to their belt loop on their thigh. They unclip the device and pull it up to their ear, stretching its tightly coiled wire. Hange turns away from you, only halfway with a foot still pointing at you. 

Moving away towards the next table, you can’t look at them anymore. Your thoughts turn warm and fuzzy, something forbidden when it comes to them specifically. To your knowledge - which means the town's knowledge - Hange’s never had a partner of any kind. You don’t even know if they’re interested in women, but hell. Looking at them, you know the damn answer. 

“Yeah, be there in ten,” they speak into the walkie before clipping it back on their belt. They sigh heavily, turning back to see you with a pursed mouth wringing out your rag. There’s a notebook clipped to your belt, mimicking them as they notice it and look away before they can smile. “Listen, I gotta talk with Yelena about last night,” they explain and you stop, staring at the ground between you.

“Can you tell her she needs to get the fuck out of my house?” you say it as a joke, but your voice is so dreadfully serious they can’t tell until you grin softly. “Just let me know if I gotta be involved with anythin’ else. If I don’t have to, I don’t wanna hear about it.”

Hange looks you over, and to your utter shock, they reach a hand out and take the cornered front end of the flannel between two fingers. Their brows downturn in a faint focus before they drop it and look you in the eye, “Yeah. Just keep it.”

“Hange!” Sasha calls with their coffee - ready to-go in a styrofoam cup. 

They give you a nod with a tight-lipped, seemingly forced smile before turning around, leaving a five on the counter, and heading out the door with their caffeine for the day. 

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

When your shift ends at 2 pm the next afternoon, you receive a call from the station. However, when that number flashes across your phone screen, you let it ring until a voicemail pops up in your inbox. Silent in your car, you listen:

Hey, uh, listen, I need you down here to go over Yelena’s statement…and I need a better one from you. Call me as soon as possible, it’s urgent. There’s a long pause. This is Hange, by the way. Sorry, bye.

And through all the frustration you feel over your situation, you crack a smile.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

“I said give me a call,” Hange’s leant over their desk, one hand spread atop the flat surface with a pen in the other - stopped mid sentence as they scribbled something down - as they look up at you. 

Thanks to the receptionist, you walk into the back of the station without having to notify them. The place is slightly dark and hauntingly boring. There’s a few other officers at their designated desks, but they all kick their feet up or are too indulgent in paperwork to pay mind to anything else. Walking up to their desk at the end of the room, you pull the sides of your coat together and grip the fabric with your life. 

“At least I’m here,” you give them a forced grin, one just as unpleasant as your mood. When you near them, Hange straightens up. 

In uniform, with that same brown jacket puffing them up, they close their pen with an eye on you. As they begin cleaning up their work, they gesture a hand to the single metal fold out chair by your side. The pegs scrape against the floor as you pull it in and sit down with an overbearing huff. 

“Y’want water, or anythin’?” they ask and your smile, arms crossed as you watch them from below. 

“Soundin’ like a broken record.”

They glance at you with a flat expression before collecting their papers and filing them away. “And again I say…” they start, and when they settle into their chair from across the desk, they finish, “politeness.”

Trying not to prove them right, you don’t roll your eyes. “Can we get on with it?” quickly you add, “Please.” but nothing could have prepared you for this. Hange slides a file they already had prepped on their desk in front of them. They open the yellowed thing and look over their handwriting - it’s messy but to them it makes absolute sense. 

“So, I talked with Yelena yesterday,” this you already knew, “And she had some…colorful things to say.”

Your foot begins to tap. 

“For starters, she only referred to it as an assault. Which, by law definition, it was,” they poke an eye at you, causing you to look away with an annoyed scowl, “said she’d never done nothin’ like this to you, it was unprovoked, everythin’ was fine, bunch of that shit. Basically, she’s claimin’ you attacked her out of the blue,” they swallow, “and she wants to press charges.”

“Of course,” you mutter under your breath. With your head turned away as you listen, it begins to shake softly. 

“Now, don’t go getting pissed, I already-” you cut them off.

“Getting pissed?” your eyes snap back to them and Hange instantly leans back in their seat at the contact. Luckily, the anger Yelena introduced you to is able to fade just as quickly as it erupted. Besides, you don’t want to say anything that could disrupt them. 

You take a breath, breaking away before coming back to them with a softer face. “It’s just bullshit,” you state, calmer, “I know what I did was wrong, but I’m not violent. I know it may be hard to believe that, I’m sorry, this all has just wound me up so tightly, I don’t even feel like myself anymore,” you end in a slightly bittered laugh. But Hange doesn’t even smile.

“I know,” is all they say. So certain, so serious. They move for the file and pull out a document. Their fingers extend over the white sheet as they slide it to you. “As I was saying, I already looked into her. Whereas this is your first, very minor, offense, Yelena’s got shit under the rug.”

The writing is small and printed and goes on for an entire page. 

“There’s a charge that was put on hold, and she has an overdue parking ticket.”

You look at them and you could almost smile. “You’re gonna charge her with a parking ticket?”

“No. I’m gonna get her to drop charges and get the hell out of your place,” at first, you think they’re joking. Your mouth twitches up but drops when you realize they’re nothing but serious. They slide the document back to their folder, looking at as they organize the paperwork again. “If she’s smart about it, she’ll be outta there in a couple days.”

You sit here grappling it all for a long while. They’re able to organize and even put away their pen before they sit back in their chair and cross their arms in a slouch. Leaning in, you just about whisper, “Are you blackmailing her?”

“No,” they’re flat faced with a quiet tone which reads with something more, “I would never break the laws of my job.”

You know immediately. The tiny smirk on their lip just proves it for you. 

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

You’re at the station a few more times before Yelena gets the news. She was livid, but it worked. That’s what Hange said, at least because for the days following you refused to stay in the house with her. Instead, Hange so kindly cleared their room, and the kitchen, for you to sleep for a couple days. 

However, you hardly stayed there unless you needed to. You even refused to take the same car to work in the morning - Hange offered since they need their coffee anyways. Instead, you’ve been hanging out with Sasha after work. You’d go for dinner, on errands, even her dentist appointment because anything was better than having to sit in that apartment with the person who has officially begun to make you fall. 

It’s stupid, you know this. But it gets to a point, when they’re off work and even more tired looking, that you can’t stand to look at them without feeling giddy, just as you had once with Yelena. 

Hange’s room is cluttered just as the rest of their apartment. But, in here, you find a piece of yourself in them as you stare at the bookcase on a wall. It’s wooden and filled to the brim with books and knick knacks and other odds and ends. But your eye catches on one thing in particular: a badge left to collect dust. 

It’s engraved as follows: TOST CITY POLICE DEPARTMENT in blue lettering over the gold. 

Trost city’s where they fled to, and where they fled back from. Hange was a rookie for almost three years before they left. They weren’t fired, neither did they resign. It was a mutual decision, for the betterment of their health. 

You’ve heard a few stories, and as you graze a finger over the cold badge you recall each and every one of them. But Nanaba, your boss at the diner and one of the only people you’d consider one of Hange’s friends, told you what you believe is the closest to the truth. 

Hange was one of the best recruits they had. It wasn’t long until they were put on a squad and sent off into the city. Coming from this place, you know how exhilarating that feels, to finally be set free into such a big open world. But something happened. Maybe not a single event, but many small, and equally as breaking inconveniences. Nanaba claimed the last straw was what happened to their eye. 

You don’t notice Hange’s presence until it’s too late. You’re surprised when they call for you, and your shoulders hardly jump as you turn your head and catch them lingering in the doorway. There’s only the light of their nightstand lamp that’s on, and it dimly tints them wholly warm and yellow. 

You take your hand away from  the shelf, from the badge, and hold them behind your back. “Hi, sorry.” 

“It’s fine,” they shrug. You didn’t even know they returned to the apartment, it was a late night at the station, you assume. “Everythings dealt with, with Yelena,” they break the news softly, “She’ll be gone tomorrow mornin’.” 

A smile flashes on you, staying for a few seconds uninvited. “Thank you, Hange.” 

They give you an infamous tight-lipped grin and break away. They sway in the doorway, debating whether or not to just leave you be. “Just don’t tell anyone, ever, that I did this.”

They pull a soft laugh from you, “I’ll take it to the grave.”

“Yeah…goodnight,” they’re light, but as they turn to leave you call.

“Hange,” they stop, glancing back as the light illuminates half of their hardened face, “After all this, I don’t wanna stop seeing you. Like spendin’ time with you and stuff.”

They take a pause to process, you can tell by the way their gaze drops to the carpet with a couple harsh blinks before they watch you again. Specifically, they watch the way your hands anxiously fall to your sides and run over the sides of your thighs. 

“I’d like that,” they’re fragile. Like they’re afraid their voice may break if they’re any louder.

Over the next few days after Yelena’s leave, they keep your number. In addition to their morning stops at the diner, your small conversations, they call you. You text them. And they tell you goodnight every single night. 

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

You’re left so ecstatic at finally having your own house again that you don’t exactly know who to call first. Sasha says she’ll be over tomorrow, but tomorrow is too late. At 6 pm, you decide to call Hange from your landline for the first time.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

“Y/n?” they answer right as they pick up, defeating your hopes for an element of surprise. 

Your loose smile fades on the other line, “What? How did you know it was me?”

They sniffle softly, speaking through an invisible grin, “You ever heard about caller ID?”

“Oh…well, fuck never mind, do you wanna come over?” 

Hange enters a fit of coughing at this. On the other end, rain pours, just the same as outside your home. “Excuse me?”

“Do you, wanna, come over,” you break it down for them, indulging in the way they stumble as your mouth smiles all on its own. 

The faint sound of embers burning sizzles through the phone, they’re smoking. With lungs tight, they tell you, “When?”

“Right now.”

They take a second, one far too long before their throat clears, “Okay.”

Your smile widens, “Nice. Bring a four pack, and the rest of whatever you’re smoking.”

Hange breathes a laugh through a closed mouth, “Yes, ma’am.” They’re soft and honey-thick as you hang up.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Your house is rented, but it’s yours. You’re everywhere, in the knick knacks which take over the plethora of bookcases you’ve collected over the years. It’s on the couch, in the blanket you crocheted hung over the back rest. Your walls are covered in framed pictures, paintings, photographs, anything really. It’s a one bedroom and you adore it for all it’s worth, and with Yelena gone you’re free to move everything that once was back into place as Hange knocks at your door. 

Quickly you open it, finding them in attire that nearly makes you laugh - not out of amusement, but out of that uncomfortable warmness which comes from knowing they cared enough to make an effort. They’ve traded black slacks for clean cut blue jeans. A navy blue tee shirt tucks into their belt, and of course, there’s that same damn belt buckle which swallows up the button of their jeans. They’re still Hange though, their hair is kept the same as always and it makes you wonder if they ever let it free. The black patch stares at you as they stand on your porch. 

They look you over the same, like you’re painfully aware of the way you study each other. You’re dressed in nothing fancy, something similar to them though you opt for a pullover rather than a tee shirt in this weather. 

Hange holds a cardboard four pack out to you, like a ticket entrance fee, and the veins of their arms prod out as you take it from them with a smile. “Thank you very much,” you’re gleeful, excited even, “Come in.”

The floor creaks and so does the door as they shut it behind them. They’ve never seen the inside of your house before, so all they can do is gawk as you enter the kitchen on your right hand side. “I can order pizza later if you’re hungry,” once you set the four pack down on your neatly clothed table, you look back to see their eye focused on anything but you. They look over the walls as if they’re in a museum.

“Don’t like pizza,” they’re throaty and so low you almost miss them. 

“What the fuck? Why not?” your hands rest on your hips. 

“Too messy,” Hange finally looks your way, catching the disappointment in your eyes, “And I have a growin’ suspicion I may be a little intolerant.”

But your disappointment turns into softness, “A little?”

In the coming weeks, Hange’s started to smile more. They grin before looking away, to the bookshelf on the wall just before the kitchen. “I didn’t know you were into all this.” 

You know your collections well. You know the shelf they’re referring to hosts your mounding plethora of books. “What? Didn’t think I’d like to read?” you step back into the living room, finding your places besides them as you look over your achievement of a collection with pride. 

“Wouldn’t say that,” they mumble.

Sighing lightly, you lean against the back of your couch, crossing your arms with a perked brow, “What would you say then?” slowly they turn and face you, “What did you think I was like?”

Hange shakes their head, just after their eye soaks you in, “I’m not doin’ that.”

“No fun,” your voice lowers with them, just as your eyes move down the tightness of their shirt until you catch the mound poking out of their front pocket. 

They notice, and without breaking away, they reach in and pull it out. A zip lock bag of weed. 

“Jesus, officer,” you laugh through your words of shock. 

Hange tosses it, you barely catch it at your chest. “Keep it, it’s from a bust. Couple of high school kids this mornin’.”

Curiously, you open the bag and take a whiff. The scent is overbearing and strangely sweet. “More where this came from?” your smile halves. 

“Don’t push it.” 

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Two beers down and half a joint smoked, life can’t get any better than this as you - slightly drunkenly - sift through your record collection with Hange sitting, knees spread, on your couch. 

“This one, is fucking fantastic,” you tell them, excitedly besides the tv stand. 

Hange hangs their beer right at their lips, smiling before taking a small sip, “You got a player for those things?” 

“Obviously,” you tear yourself away from the filed stacks. Your record table is a bit of mystery, you see it on Hange’s face as they watch, silently and intrigued, as you pull a lever under your coffee table. The middle piece of wood pops up. You take it and pull to reveal an empty record player built into the furniture. 

“Shit,” their brows lift as they take another sip. 

“What’re you in the mood for?” you turn back to the records, skimming through as Hange studies the inner workings of the table behind you. 

They trade in their beer for the joint left smoking on an ashtray, right besides where the player popped out from. “Surprise me,” they pull in a lungfull without looking at you. They’re too focused on how such a thing exists as you pluck a record out and eagerly pull it from its protective case. 

“I have one condition though,” your fingers work carefully as you set it all in place, perfectly placing the needle on the track you want. Hange raises their eye to you as a response. “D’you like dancing?”

“Absolutely not,” they mutter and you’re quick to groan in dramatics. 

“Come on, have a little fun for once,” the record begins to spin with the push of a button, instantly it fills the room with the oncoming sweet roar of Jensine Benitez’s Sparkle In Your Eyes. 

“You don’t think I have fun?” their lips lock around the joint as they watch you from below, elbows pressing into their knees. 

But you don’t entertain their deflection. You welcome it yourself as you hold a hand out for them to take with a look like a defeated child. “What’s your idea of fun?”

Half of you expected for them to reject you. You prepared yourself so heavily for it. So when Hange takes your hand after a moment's contemplation, you have to try and hide the way your heart begins to pound wildly in your chest.

With the joint hanging from their mouth, they stand at your command. But they’re awkward. Their foot gets caught on a leg of the coffee table and they stumble for a quick moment, all before your hands eagerly grip the sides of their biceps to keep them steady. You smile, looking up at them as their mouth works around the joint to answer, “I like football games, those are fun.”

Your hands slip down from their biceps to their wrists as they straighten. They take the joint from their lips as the two of you take place in an open space besides the couch. “What else?” you ask as you look down. Softly, you tap their foot with yours, egging them on to fix their stance. 

“Uh,” they stammer as you take the top of their shoulder in your palm, “Movies.”

Once their feet are spread enough, you look up and swipe the joint. You hold it between your lips as you take one of their hands and place it on your hip. You inhale once before pulling it away, smoke exits as you speak, “What’s your favorite movie?” their eye locks onto yours with little effort. In the coming weeks, they’ve grown more comfortable with you, as you have with them. 

On their own accord, Hange takes their free hand, the one you hadn’t manually placed, and takes the joint straight from your mouth to theirs as the two of you enter a casual sway. Their brows furrow as they hit it, “Fuck, I don’t know,” they admit, softly and with a small chuckle under their words. 

Your hands seem to have minds of their own. They move from Hange’s shoulders to the nape of their neck. Their skin is warm and flushed when you touch them, tangling the tips of your fingers into the mess of their scattered hair. 

“And you?” they question in return, keeping the joint between two fingers in the hand they connect to the other side of your hip, “What’s your version of fun, since you wanna shit on mine.”

“I am not shitting on anythin’,” you scoff with an amused mouth, “But I do think this is very fun.”

Their hand twitches on you, you feel it as their thumb absentmindedly grazes your side. 

“I also may be a tad bit tipsy,” your words softly jumble together, “So, please just indulge me.”

At this, they fully smile as they look away, before returning to find your eyes surveying everything but their stare. “Okay,” they start, “I can do that.” Like a true gentleman, Hange pushes their slight bashfulness to the side as they reach to take your hand. 

It’s not like the movies. It’s stubbornly real and awkward as they try to spin you. You laugh the whole way before they enclose you into a supporting embrace. Their chest presses into your shoulder blades as their arms hold that hand, and your waist. 

“Does this fancy you?” they ask as smoke trails up, surrounding the two of you but you can’t find a care. Your smile is endless and it would take a stampede to deter it. They speak into your ear, hovering just above one shoulder and it takes a small effort to find them. 

“And you say you don’t dance,” their hands spread open on your hips, one even inches closer to the front of your stomach in a way that makes you weak at the knees. 

Half a grin graces their mouth as they look at you, “I don’t.” 

Only now do you understand just how little is left between you, as their breath skims over your cheek with no effort. They smell of beer and weed and a musk you’ve grown to associate with them. Your hands, like theirs, lose care as they fall to their knuckles. In one hand, you simply cup them, simply feel every vein as it pops with the slow sway you enter. But the other takes two of their fingers into its grip, squeezing softly.

“I think you got it down,” you tell them, as they inch their face closer to remain respectful, to keep your eye contact from behind, “Could use a little practice, though.” 

Instantly, they smile wide, “Fuck you,” they breathe, quietly laughing as your own intermingles.

A crucial moment comes, a moment where you need to make a decision that could easily affect the rest of your life. It seems so idiotic, to refer to their lips as such a groundbreaking event, but this is Hange after all. Smiles fade as the two of you look past each other, through your eyes and directly into each other's secret thoughts - those secret places where desire is held and stored away. 

Hange is the first to break away. They’re the first to trade your eyes in for the swell of your lips. Soon you follow, and soon your closeness becomes suffocating as their nose meanders your way until they achingly touch you. Lightly. Timidly. They’re afraid, as are you as your brows twitch into a needful frown. 

Breathing through an open mouth, your breath touches their lips until a second comes where a nervous twitch of their neck makes their kiss skip over your bottom lip like it’s nothing. And truly, it is nothing. That passing graze of your mouths stops with the song that comes to a sweet end, just as your closeness as the two of you part and laugh it off. 

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Hange texts regularly. They call frequently. And you see each other every morning at the diner. So when the day comes where you pass by their apartment on your way home only to find them packing their car full of boxes, you slam on your brakes. 

The brakes make an awful screech and gravel churns beneath the tires. You barely pull the brake on before you’re swinging the door open. Hange notices, of course, and stops with a deep sigh as they rest their hands on their hips just after plopping another box into their trunk.

“Hey,” you call, lighthearted at first, but the way they look at you - with tired eyes and a look of guilt - makes your stomach drop, “What’re you doing?” you approach with a small smile, crossing your arms at the hood of their car like they’re up to some kinda Hange-thing; you’ve passed by a few times where they’re bent over the engine with oil staining their hands. But Hange’s clean today, in fact, they look about ready to leave.

There’s a cigarette burning between their fingers that they drop and ash. “Packin’.” 

“Packin’ for what?” you cling to your lightness, the same way you cling to the sides of your jacket which you pull together at your chest. 

But Hange’s making it hard to be hopeful.

They look at the ground, at the ashes mixing into the dampened cement from this morning’s showers, and shrug. “I’m movin’.”

Your world doesn’t stop, it crashes and burns. Your skin turns defensive as you lips part in shock, “The fuck are you talkin’ about?” 

With the shake of their head, they try to dismiss you, “Don’t make this harder than it is.”

“I’m not the one making things harder, Hange,” you scoff, “Why are you moving? Where to? Are you goin’ back to Trost?” 

At that, Hange turns, “Don’t talk about that shit like you know anything about it.”

“I’d know if you just tell me.” And you’re right. They know this, by the look on their face, the way it sinks before they look away, they know it well. 

Hange takes a small step towards you, lowering their voice just the same as their eye as they try to level with you. “I apologize, I really do. That shit at your house, us talkin’ and all that, it shouldn’t have happened.”

Your head enters a state of disbelief as it shakes silently as they go on.

“I didn’t mean to drag it on so long.”

“No,” you’re loose. Hollow. You even grin something bitter as your arms drop at your sides in defeat. “Why are you acting this way?”

Hange runs a hand over the side of their face as they sigh, “Actin’ like what?”

“I get that you’re scared of me,” you take a step in, “I get that you don’t like people comin’ around. But this is bullshit, and you know it.” They don’t have a response. They just look at you with that same blank, thinking face they always seem to wear. “Do you even have a place to stay out there? Or is this just some impulse and you’ll figure it out on the road? Is that how scared you are?” your questions turn towards jeers and with another step towards them, they clench their jaw, “You went head to head with Yelena and you’re meanin’ to tell me I’m the final straw?”

The two of you stand there, eye to eye, echo to echo as your words float around the cold air. After another handful of seconds, you turn towards the car and take the handle in your fist. “Let’s go then.” 

“Y/n.” they try, but you ignore them.

You open the door and begin to rearrange the front seat they had begun to pack tight. “If we wanna make it somewhere by night we gotta get goin’ now.”

“Y/n.” their voice grows hoarse, sending your attention over your shoulder. “I’m serious.”

With a stern lip, you bite, “I am too.”

Hange doesn’t give you a warning. It seems like their mind switches from citizen to officer the second they grab you by your arm and begin pulling you towards the apartments. 

“What the fu-” you struggle, trying to pull away as your feet stumble on the pavement leading up to the outside stairs, “What’re you doing?”

They’re fast, and unforgivingly strong. They don’t hold you tight enough to bruise but they don’t need to. You’re a waitress, not a hard laborer. They stop at the foot of the steps and here they finally drop your arm. “Go to the apartment,” they demand without looking at you.

Perplexed, you glance back at your car, still left parked in the middle of the street, right besides theirs with its trunk popped open. Cursing under your breath, you nearly stomp up the first couple of steps, until Hange places a hand at your back, gently pushing you up.

You swat a hand back, shoving them off you, “I fucking got it.” Your temper is explosive, you know but you can’t help it. Not today and not with your heart stuttering in your chest. You continue up the stairs at a rapid pace as you think about how the hell it’s gotten to this point. Weeks ago, Hange was just Hange and that was that. You didn’t look forward to seeing them every morning, you didn’t rely on them wishing you a goodnight. They were someone who had little effect on you until now. 

When you level with the second floor, Hange skips ahead of you, opening the door themself and allowing you inside as you mutter, “This is so fucking ridiculous,” you can’t stop your tongue, but at least their apartment is warm. 

Hange shuts the door as you notice the chair’s gone. 

“Did you toss the damn chair?” you ask, pissed, turning halfway before they meet you with a harsh fist gripping your arm and before you can mutter another onset of pointed comments, Hange does the unthinkable. 

In their apartment, with the door shutting out the world, with no peering eyes left to see, they take you with one hand slipping around your wrist and the other gripping your hip. They pull you in so suddenly you hardly feel it at first; their lips on yours, with no more room to laugh it off. 

At first, your breaths stop. Neither of you move until your hand finds their cheek, slipping over their jaw and down the side of their neck as your mouths open and something horrifying begins. They press into you with little precaution, and their hands certainly are well unaware of their strength. They hold onto you as if you’d break away any moment, but it becomes obvious, as your free arm wraps around their nape that there’s nothing else you want other than this. 

What starts off as sweet soon turns into desperation as they try to find the will to stop. Their own hand skims over the base of your neck, simply holding you there as if they could ever find it in them to strangle it out of you; that thing, whatever it is inside you which makes you tick so fast. It drives them insane, in that way only you can. In that way that’s been eating at them since the day you snapped in the back of their car.

For you, this release comes in small waves; like their hands, their breaths running ragged under your nose, or their mouth which tastes of tobacco and mint. Hange is scruffed, wounded, and rough around the edges. Everything from the clothes they wear down to the grating texture of their palms. But the thing is, you’re not a stranger to coarseness. You’ve existed in it for far too long. So when Hange kisses you - as if they’ve gone years without water and you are the plentiful oasis - the only way you can describe it is soft. Tender. They lull a whimper from you like they were placed on this earth just for the task. 

Quietly, and with words muffling into your mouth, they break in between those soft, tender kisses, “I want to tell you,” they purse, “Everything. I’ll tell you everything.”

Breathless, you smile against them, pursing into them the same, never wanting to let go, “Tell me,” they eat your words, “That’s all you have to do, Hange,” their forehead meets yours as your kiss dies down, “You don’t have to pack up and leave.” with this, you allow a breathy laugh. It’s unserious, and it’s contagious across their mouth.

“I’m a bit, uh,” they can hardly put a sentence together, “Temperamental. Like you.”

“Good,” your hand runs down their cheek, soothing them as their breathing slows, “We can understand each other then.” 

They shake their head, vigorously. As if they’re trying to prove to themself it’s okay. Those fraying hairs which crown their face stick down on their skin. Your fingers become caught on their patch every few moments, but you don’t stop. Hange stands in your grasp as if they weren’t the one to pull you in first. 

For the second time and by your own avolition now, you lean in and press your lips to theirs so gently that they’re the one to quietly whimper. They’re the one whose fingers tremble and grip you like the wheel of their car. You’re sure their knuckles are white and velveted. 

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

[orangepeelknives]

will smockey needs to have at least one boston guy (of some kind) around him at all times!! bare minimum!!

genuinely genuinely yes he doessss

i understand that this is a silly jokey ask, buttttt imma ruin that vibe hahaha!

he literally does need to constantly be surrounded by people he loves / who loves him. and theres the normal level of hockey codependence, like thats just what happens in hockey, thats the way programs are structured, teams are structured, they push the team is your family bond, they want to develop off ice chemistry, they want you to see yourself not as an individual but as a cog in a machine, but will takes it to another levelllll genuinely.

will has never been alone. deadass that boy has never been alone. growing up playing hockey with his boston friends always. living with leno and vote for the program with their moms rotating to stay with them and mother them, no billeting for him!! college with his two best friends, also rooming with one of them, taking the exact same classes and everything. living with the marleaus which he has said how much he valued over and over, mom and dad coming to san jose to visit constantly. toff saying hes on facetime with someone every 5 mins even if they just finished hanging out. and then obviously the mack of it all.

usually theres a point where you start to kind of separate from your family, branch out and make new friends, outgrow some of the old ones. college for example! except wait no because he went to school like a 45 min transit from his family, with his sister and best friends. ok well when you go to the nhl and move across the country! except no because a smith hockey is spotted at practice or games like every other week. i'm not saying this is necessarily a bad thing, he's only 20 lol and i'd argue that its comparitavely better than whateverrrr mack and his parents have going on, but still there is certainly a convo to be had about the fact that WSH cannot function independently!

couldnt do his own laundry vs mack all by his lonesome at 14! cant sleep alone, staying close friends with all his undrafted boston losers to the point where theyre flying to sweden for him, straight back to the boston comfort zone after being homesick all worlds instead of a eurosummer victory tour! seriously, he couldve gone to santorini, dubrovnik, the amalfi coast, corfu, marseille, and where does he go??? straight back to boston, straight back home. the second he's in those hotel doors, drunk on champagne and victory, and it's straight into his mom's arms, immediately.

i dont think im cornplating too hard here when i say he was miserable and homesick in fuck ass herning denmark! and he plays his best games, the semi and the final, with his mom and dad and will fucking vote in the audience! m said it first, but i would not blink an EYE if the smith hockeys are revealed to have purchased a house in the bay area next season!

meanwhile mack has his parents a 45 min drive away and legit when is the last time robyn was at a game? mack was in covid bubble at shattuck at 14, alone save for aiden who was in a different bubble. mack was independent enough to be at college at 17, and his brother is there but theyre separate people with, at this point, separate career trajectories. and you drop mack friendless and alone in sweden and he immediately can perform because that's what he's used to, he's used to doing things alone, he's used to being independent, it's okay for him! whereas for will it was foundation shaking!

anyways. worlds left me with lotssss of thoughts about this. esp seeing now that will went straight back to boston???? get under the microscope, boy!!!

[bluem1lls]

can you do a non squid game au, where the reader is thanos' younger sister and is friends with se mi. he's really protective of the reader cause she's sweet and he believes people will take advantage, so she secretly dates se mi.

then thanos (and maybe nam gyu cause we love) come to vists the reader, and find se mi already there. just some comedic reactions from the boy(s) and him trying to be all intimidating, while se mi fights back and the reader tries to keep the peace.

can you see me using everything to hold back?

best friend! se-mi x reader

- summary: you've been her best friend for years, and that's alright because at least you have her in your life.

it doesn't matter if she doesn't see your longing eyes when she's with her girlfriend. but what happens when her girlfriend sees them?

- content: angst!! bff! se-mi and brothers best friend! se-mi, fluff too bc why not, cheating (i mean kind of??), mostly angst tbh!, thanos is your brother!

- author's note: i think the request was meant to be something short and silly but i ended up creating THIS. anyways i love friends to lovers trope soooo here we are! tysm for requesting and reading! i hope u like it lots! ilysm!!!

i wake up with a shaky breath in bed, my chest panting as i stare at my brother and his best friend at the foot of my bed.

i bite my lip as i grab my phone—2 a.m. i sigh and call her, one tone, then two.

"what happened?" a groggy voice answers.

"nightmare…" i reply softly.

"where are thanos and nam-gyu?" she asks, stirring.

"at the foot of my bed, drunk and knocked out," i whisper, a small smile escaping my lips. "can you come over, please? i can't sleep"

"yeah, i'll be there in 20" she says with a groan, getting out of bed. i can hear the shuffling of her changing. "want me to stay on the line or should i hang up and call you when i'm there?"

"no, it's fine. just let me know when you're here," i say, rolling over in my bed.

"i love you, be there in a bit." she says with a hoarse voice.

"i love you" i reply, hanging up.

i can't remember a day when it wasn't me and se-mi.

ever since we met at 16, we became inseparable.

it started when she became my older brother's best friend, when he tried to flirt with her and she made fun of him. clearly, everyone could see she was a lesbian... except him.

once he introduced her to me as "se-mi, the girl i tried to flirt with but laughed in my face" i knew instantly how much we'd click.

she quickly became part of the group; nam-gyu, my brother, min-su, gyeong-su and i.

we spent every afternoon hanging out together, mostly after we got our own apartment with my brother. apparently, everyone seemed to move in too. they even had a key!

i hear the front door open softly. after 5 minutes, she knocks once on my room, very quietly. i get out of bed to open the door, hugging her as soon as i see her. her arms wrap around me, pressing me against her body.

"you okay?" she caressed my face, staring into my eyes as i nodded.

i pull away, grabbing her hand to pull her into my bed. she stares at the guys and snorts quietly.

she lays beside me, covering our bodies with the blanket. my back is against her chest. her hand sneaks to my waist, hugging me and pulling me closer to her body.

"do you wanna sleep now?" she whispers in my ear, making my heart beat unnervingly fast. i close my eyes as my hand finds hers.

"yeah. let's sleep."

"se-mi! we’ve talked about this!" i hear a voice and a small groan coming from beside me.

"go fuck yourself," se-mi mumbles, half asleep. i don't even turn when i hear a small 'auch' coming from her.

"move! that's my little sister!" my brother's voice can now be heard clearly.

"and my best friend!—fuck— oh, you're on. you loser—" i hear her reply back to him.

i do turn when i start to feel the bed moving, along with mumbles and curses.

nam-gyu is standing to the side with messy hair, rubbing his eyes as he tiredly looks at my brother, who's grabbing se-mi's hair while she’s also grabbing his.

"i told you to move!" su-bong screams as se-mi pulls harder.

"i was sleeping with my best friend!" she shouts back.

as they keep pulling each other's hair, i sigh and get up from bed. i stare at nam-gyu, who points at the door with a sigh. i laugh, following him.

we go into the kitchen to get started on breakfast.

"do they ever get tired?" he mutters, still hearing their screams as i chuckle.

"apparently not" i shrug as i pour some coffee into my cup and his.

he sips and hums in agreement. he seems like he wants to ask something, but is hesitant to do so.

"hey, but like..." he trails off as i lift an eyebrow. "you... you're not really into se-mi, right?" he asks. the question leaves me breathless.

i mean, no, not really.

because, like, it’s normal to think about kissing your best friend sometimes or… thinking about what your life together would be if you dated her… right? i bet everyone does that.

or staring at her for too long when you're hanging out together until she catches you and smirks, pushing you away with an eye roll?

it's not my fault!

i started thinking about this stuff ever since she was my first kiss because she didn’t want any 'douche with no experience' to take it.

"it's just practice," she laughed as i stared at her anxiously.

"and what if i'm bad at it?" i mumbled as she cupped my face in her hands.

"i don't care. i just..." her eyes trailed my face, falling on my lips.

and i don’t know who kissed who first; i just know we practiced for an hour.

and don't get me wrong, i wasn't even her first kiss. she might be a big loser, but she still had girls.

and that's all i knew. until one year, everyone started talking about how good she was in bed.

and then i knew more than i wanted to.

"she has a fucking tongue piercing!" lisa hit my arm as i winced, confused.

"huh?" i replied, staring at her.

"se-mi has a fucking tongue piercing!" she whispered to me, hitting my arm in excitement.

"w-wha—how do you know that?" i asked, even more confused. lisa is my best friend and se-mi is my complete opposite best friend. they never got along—how would—

she fucked her.

i stared at lisa with wide eyes, still not believing it. she shrugged in response, faking innocence.

"well, you've heard the rumors! i couldn't stay behind. besides, we've talked about it. you told me you didn’t like her, right?" lisa asked.

and i mean, yeah.

there’s no way i’d ever be into se-mi.

she's my best friend.

i nod along as lisa hums.

"so i tried it by myself! god she's.. god. i can't believe you haven't tried it" she nudges me. "she's so good! she does this thing with her tongue that had me tre—

"that's too much! that's too much!"

i mean, after hearing what they're saying, i guess it's normal that you also wanna try how good your best friend could fuck y—

"you don't... right?" nam-gyu carefully asks again, pulling me out of my thoughts as i stare at him.

"huh?" i blink. "oh... no. of course not!" i chuckle dryly as i chug my coffee to change the subject. "it's se-mi. there's just..." i trail. "no way."

and he looks like he wants to say something.

maybe the same thing everyone says.

'but you two are so close! and you guys treat each other so differently than usual friends.'

yeah, that's what i thought —until one afternoon, i met se-mi's girlfriend.

"see you guys!" mi-na smiled at us. she looked at se-mi, and finally left a peck on her lips.

like it was... an everyday thing.

a normal thing going on between them.

my blood went cold.

i turned, disbelief written all over my face, as mi-na walked away.

my mouth was agape as my best friend turned to stare at me. her eyes lingered on my face. she softly hit my arm, smirking and rolling her eyes, then snuck her arm around my shoulders, hugging me.

"what the fuck?" i asked her as we kept walking. she just let out a chuckle. "i'm serious! what the fuck?" i asked again.

"i dunno, it just happened" she shrugged it off. "why? you jealous?" she teased as i rolled my eyes.

"mi-na? out of everyone?" i ask, struggling to carry my books as she sighs and grabs them from me.

"don't do that. she's actually cool if you try to get to know her," she says, defending her, as i bite the inside of my cheek.

for some reason, i don't find her cool.

he doesn't get to say anything though, because se-mi and my brother walk into the room in some loose shirts and sweatpants (both wearing clothes i'm sure are nam-gyu's, given how he rolls his eyes at the sight of them).

my brother sits beside his best friend as i turn to prep the eggs, feeling a pair of arms wrap around me. i smile at her usual scent.

"what's for breakfast?" she asks, resting her head on my shoulder as i giggle.

"same old. eggs and toast," i reply with a hum, still feeling her warm embrace.

maybe we're just different than other friends.

maybe we just have a closer friendship, that doesn't have to mean anything.

i see thanos on the side grabbing a small object i can't even identify and throwing it at se-mi's head.

"not my sister!" he says as the object hits se-mi. she turns with a cold stare, mumbling something under her breath as she gives him the middle finger, but she still pulls her arms away from me, suddenly leaving me cold.

she stays besides me, leaning on the counter as i finish breakfast. i take one plate, and she takes the other. we leave them both on the table.

the four of us sit down to have breakfast. she sits beside me and grabs my leg, putting mine on top of hers.

the small gesture leaves my heart fluttering, but i choose to ignore it.

my brother turns on the tv as i scroll through my phone, and se-mi does the same with hers.

the guys start talking and i look up, trying to hear them, but it’s hard with the tv so loud.

fucking bong-su.

i roll my eyes at him as i try to grab the tv controller, but someone beats me to it

se-mi is quickly grabbing the control and turning down the volume.

i can only stare at her as she winks at me.

she knows me better than anyone. she knows my quirks and twists, she knows what i like and what i don’t.

i wish the next time i get a girlfriend, she’ll be just like my best friend.

i hope the next girl i meet is exactly like se-mi.

i take a piece of toast with some egg, quickly biting into it as my stomach growls. i can’t even remember if we ate anything last night—

i suddenly feel her thumb at the corner of my lips, wiping away some crumbs that fell there.

our eyes meet and she smiles once she sees my cheeks turn red.

"you're such a messy eater," she says, sipping on her coffee as she pulls her gaze away, like what she did was nothing.

i let out a big sigh and move my eyes away from hers.

and even if i'm not looking, i know nam-gyu is staring at me.

and i know what he's silently asking.

i’m asking myself the same thing, too.

se-mi: its saturday

se-mi: do u know what that means?????????

she types again before i can reply.

se-mi: get drunk and play.

me: i think i know

me: since im the host.

[se-mi is typing]

se-mi: :D

se-mi: see ya babe

and she definitely meant that, because not even three hours later, se-mi is sitting on the floor of the living room, nam-gyu on the single couch and min-su are on the single chairs and me and my brother are on the big couch. we’re all surrounding a small rectangle table.

se-mi is prepping the board game as thanos opens the beer and other drinks.

"you're taking too long and doing it wrong!" nam-gyu jumps in to neatly put the pieces together as se-mi and i snort, and the guys watch with amusement.

"you're such a pain in the ass," she rolls her eyes and watches him place everything together.

once he's done, he pulls away, revealing the game put together.

but—

"it's not color coordinated," se-mi says, rolling her eyes as she takes one of the pieces. nam-gyu stares at her, confused.

"and you're a messy bitch, so why do you care?" he says, as she rolls her eyes and starts to put them together.

"because if it's not color coordinated," se-mi says, biting her lower lip with concentration, placing the last piece with a smile. "she can't play. it makes her nervous." she looks at me.

my eyes find hers, and i can't believe she still notices every little detail about me.

and if the guys hear her, they don’t say anything. but you can tell on their faces.

i hear her tho.

so i smile, wrapping my arms around her as she gives me a forehead kiss.

"so, who's starting?" she asks, looking around at everyone in the room.

it doesn’t take long for everyone to start drinking and playing.

i think about my next move as my brother moves his piece, but everything gets interrupted when we hear the doorbell ring.

"i thought gyeun-su wasn't coming?" min-su asks confused, as se-mi gets up to answer the door.

"oh yeah, it’s probably not him" she dismisses him with a smile as she opens the door.

and once i see the strawberry blonde hair as se-mi lifts her up and gives her a kiss,

i know damn well who it is.

we all sigh in defeat as mi-na comes into the apartment, tangled up with se-mi.

as se-mi goes to the kitchen to grab another drink, i stand up too to follow her.

she opens the fridge as i place my hand on it and close it, leaning against the door as she stares at me. once she sees my expression, she smirks.

"why is she here?" i whisper annoyed as opens the fridge again with a teasing smiling.

"she is my girlfriend, you know?" she replies without even looking at me, searching for a drink that mi-na likes.

"that doesn't include her in our gaming night!" i whisper-shout, groaning.

"it actually does, because she wants to spend more time with me and also make sure i don’t cheat. and i don’t do that anymore, so here’s the— there you are!" she says, grabbing the drink for mi-na and closing the fridge. giving me a soft smile while rolling her eyes. "don’t be a sour ass, it’ll be fun" she kisses my forehead, leaving me standing there alone with a heavy heart as she takes the drink to her girlfriend.

a long night is coming, apparently.

i hear her annoying giggle every time she moves a piece and the annoying way her girlfriend — and my best friend — hugs her and kisses her cheek when she wins the round.

and somehow, even though i think my brother doesn’t know anything, the way his hand rests on my shoulder and squeezes it when se-mi whispers something on mi-na's ear that makes her blush tells me enough.

“okay okay, who’s next?” i say dryly, trying to get them to hurry up and play.

se-mi's eyes find mine. she scans my face for a minute. when she's done, she stares away, finally moving her piece.

“happy?” she says sarcastically as i scoff.

mi-na’s eyes follow us.

and maybe i’m not inside her head, but everyone in the room can read her mind.

the way she sees how se-mi's eyes always end up leaving hers to find mine.

even now that we're bickering, i know she’s saying something snarky, but when her soft eyes meet mine, i also know she doesn’t mean it.

i’m so caught up in our small argument that i miss the moment mi-na stands up.

“what’s your problem?” she asks, and the whole room goes silent. se-mi and i stare at her, but mi-na’s eyes are locked on me.

i look at her, confused, raising my eyebrows.

“excuse me?” i reply with a disbelieving chuckle.

she crosses her arms in front of her chest. “i asked, what’s your problem?” she repeats.

se-mi stares at her in disbelief and tries to quickly intervine, placing herself on the middle of us. “baby—”

“no." mi-na says, pushing se-mi aside and standing in front of me. "don’t you think everyone notices how much you hate me? you’re pathetic. all of this... over a girl? if you have a problem with me, make it serious. i’ve never had anything against you." my blood runs cold. "don’t you think all of us notice how you stare at her?” she says, now looking straight at se-mi.

that’s when my heart drops.

i gulp, trying to speak, but nothing comes out.

“the only thing i ever did to you was date se-mi.” mi-na says. “and apparently, that’s the worst thing i could’ve done, right? because you love her.” she pauses, like she’s daring me to deny it.

“you pretend you don’t, but we can all see it.” she gestures around the room. “and this pathetic puppy game you’re playing? it’s fucking dumb.” she grabs her stuff to leave.

the guys are standing there, shocked. and so is se-mi.

i want to say something. i want to say anything that would make her turn around and slap me.

because i deserve it. i’ve always been a bitch to her.

and all for what?

dating...

the girl i’ve always loved?

she opens the door, but stops herself mid-way. se-mi is behind her, grabbing her arm, trying to talk, but mi-na pulls away mad.

she turns to stare at me with hatred. “se-mi knows,” she says, and whatever thoughts were in my head just vanish.

what?

she scoffs, mocking me. “of course she knows! even before i said all of this, she knew. but she didn’t tell you anything."

she nods, biting the inside of her cheek. “so yeah, you’re pathetic. instead of confessing, all you did was hide under your ‘little hate act.’”

and with that, she leaves, closing the door behind her.

i just stand there as all the guys quietly excuse themselves, heading to their rooms, one by one —leaving me and se-mi alone.

nam-gyu walks past with his head down, min-su trailing behind him.

my brother lingers for a second, just staring at me. he sighs and gives me soft pat in the back before disappearing down the hall.

se-mi stares at the door and slowly turns to me. her eyes find mine, and i can see she doesn’t even know what to say.

but i do. and i’m mad.

maybe not at her.

but it’s easier if i pretend it’s her fault, right?

i move closer. my hands press against her chest, pushing her, hitting her softly as a few tears slip down my cheeks. i stare at her, furious.

“you knew! you knew this entire time and you never said anything! you kept bringing girls around like it was nothing! like i was nothing!” i shout, my voice breaking.

our chests rise and fall with heavy breaths. the air is thick —so tense, i don’t think anyone in their rooms dares to move.

“of course i knew!” she replies, throwing her arms aside and stepping closer. her voice rises. “how could i not? when you look at me like that? when you keep looking at poor mi-na like that?” her words cut deep, because i’m staring at her in disbelief.

“you’re unbelievable.” i mutter under my breath, her eyes burning into mine with fury.

we’re so close our chests touch, and i can feel her breath on my lips.

and then suddenly, it hits me.

it hits me as i stare into her eyes —eyes that, even filled with fury, are still soft for me. eyes that almost whisper 'i love you'.

she closes them with a big breath and pulls away.

“you never rejected me,” i whisper. she avoids my stare as she huffs, sitting on the couch and grabbing her head with her hands. “if—if you knew, and didn’t felt the same, you would've said something. i know you.” i say, stepping closer.

i watch the rise and fall of her chest, the way she can’t even look at me.

she stands up, trying to say something, but she can't find the words.

our eyes find eachother.

“you love me too.” i whisper, getting close enough to feel her breath on my lips.

and she seems like she wants to deny it, but her own mind betrays her.

she opens her mouth once, twice, but no words come out.

sadness crashing over me —i can’t even describe the flood of feelings. “w-why didn’t you say anything? you knew! and you... why didn’t you—” i ask her, confused, but she doesn't even let me finish.

“because i can't! b-because i don’t know how to be here without you! because i wouldn’t know who i am without loving you! i don’t even remember who i was before i was 16, before meeting you! but i do fucking know that everything— fuck. everything made sense once i saw your face." she says raising her voice, leaving me cold. i can feel my body trembling, only one word away from breaking. "and i— i wouldn't know what to do if-if... if i ever lost you" she lowers her tone to almost a whisper. her eyes never leaving mine. "i wouldn't survive so… i forget. for a while, i fuck other people and i try to not think about the way you'd.." she closes her eyes, taking a deep breath, just like i'm doing. "i try not to think about kissing you. about having you" she opens her eyes with a sigh. "because if i ever had you, and i lost you, i'd loose myself. you wouldn't be here with me anymore. not like my.. g-girlfriend. not like my best friend. you just wouldn't. and i can’t take that" she says, grabbing her jacket as i’m standing there, cold and without moving. "so yeah, i'm a coward. because i've loved you since we're sixteen, and i still love you so much, that i’m not ready to risk to losing it all" she says putting on her jacket and walking towards the door.

i blink for a second before running to stand in front of the door, blocking the way out.

"you won’t- you can't leave." i mutter in shock. "not after saying.. all that" i stare at her with pain in my face as she shakes her head no.

i can feel her hands on my waist and for a second, i think she might kiss me, and i think she does too, by the way she stares at my lips.

but her eyes shut close as she softly pushes me out of the way and opens the door.

"i fucking love you" she says, biting the inside of her cheek as she avoids my stare. i don’t even have to stare at her to know she's about to cry. the shake of her voice tells me. "and that's exactly why this? can't happen." she says, quickly leaving my apartment. i stand alone with tears rolling down my cheeks.

and i don’t even hear the door, but my brother is now standing besides me, holding me in his arms, caressing my hair as i sob.

i sob for all the years i didn’t allowed myself to.

and all he does is comfort me, but i don’t think anything could ever be enough.

because what are you supposed to do when the person you love the most, leaves because she loves you too much?

[noctiva]

What's slenderman like to you? Any headcanons for him? Does he truly run a cult or is like just being forced to listen to the demonic God like creature type thing?

OOH OKAY!! let me yap real quick!

so I have a soft spot for slender being this like, parent/boss figure that just oversees this mansion of misfits bc like, that’s what I grew up on so you won’t ever catch me dissing that shit

BUT that is not my personal belief. I like things a little fucked up, kind of realistic, kind of gritty, and especially having consumed way too much marble hornets content I view him as a lot more of just this… force of nature.

so I like for me personally slender is just this like,,, malevolent eldritch entity. no one knows where he came from and no one even knows what his purpose for existing or goal is. if anyone had to guess, it would just be that he doesn’t have a goal. he’s just chaos incarnate, brought forth just to toy with humanity like a bunch of pawns.

He’s a master of mind games and mental manipulation, those are his main abilities. For me, I like to think that slender doesn’t actually have the capability to physically harm humans himself (maybe he’s an apparition of sorts?), and I ALSO think that people with like.. a strong mind I suppose? are hard for him to get to at all, that’s why he creates his proxies - as an extension of himself to do the dirty work. It’s not that he’s just sitting back just for shits, he quite literally needs them or shits not getting done efficiently.

‘slender sickness’ is what happens to any human who comes in close contact with him. how long you stay in contact with him determines the severity - and 9/10 once he latches on to you there’s no way to free yourself until he gets what he wants (your submission). Ringing in your ears, static filling your thoughts, brain fog, periods of blacking out, and nosebleeds are the first stage so to speak - each symptom happening one after another. Once you hit the nosebleed stage it’s already too late.

Then the hallucinations - which is usually how he gets people bad. Anything in his power to absolutely destroy you from the inside out. Every time you eat turns into worms or gore right before your eyes, leaving you starving and delirious. Images of your dead relatives. Images of your living relatives dead on the floor before you. Dreams about killing them yourself. Once you’re starved, sleep deprived, and so weak you can barely even think for yourself - that’s when he lands the final blow.

He’ll reach his claws in and warp your thoughts. Appear to you in your dreams, behind your eyes when you blink, outside your window, behind you in the mirror. Making sure you know who’s doing this to you, and that there’s no place to escape from him. He owns your mind, and how the hell are you supposed to hide from something like that?

It’s easy to warp a mind once you’ve broken it, to rebuild it back into something new. I mentioned in a post awhile back that that’s what he did to Toby. Got him so broken down and defenceless, then used a mixture of hallucinations and subliminal messages to convince him that killing is the only way for him to regain control over his life. All he has to do is wait for you to make your first kill, after that it’s cake. What choice do you have other than to give in? You can rot away in jail, or keep your ‘freedom’ as long as you abide to his wishes. It’s usually an easy choice for people to make when they’ve spent the past few months being relentlessly tormented, and now have blood on their hands.

I don’t think he communicates with the proxies in anyway concrete. Just like nudges to keep you in the right direction. Migraines and static in your ears if you stray too far from what you’re supposed to be doing. Images of him in your peripheral just to remind you that he’s always there. Putting images of gore and violence into your thoughts when he wants you to kill.

I also think I mentioned this in another post but to me slender and his proxies work kind of like… okay so say slender is a fungus, and all of the proxies are the mycelium. No matter how far away they are or how careful they try to be, slender will always know if an outside force is fucking with any of them. and as I said, he owns their minds inside out, so if that outside source is a distraction he’ll find out pretty much immediately. I know I write about Toby being with a civilian s/o most of the time, but in the reality of how I view things that would not fucking work LOL not in the long haul anyway!

because slender sickness is also contagious! contagious in the way that the moment he figures out who’s sticking their nose in places they shouldn’t he’s gonna start back at square one with them - nosebleeds, hallucinations, whole shebang - until they’re just like the proxy they had come into contact with.

I feel like a lot of the proxies do not fucking like him lmfao. maybe they did at first, depending on what circumstances they came from (Toby did at first because of the freedom and power it gave him) but the novelty grows old quick once they learn that they’re not truly free at all. more like a dog on a leash, kept on a tight restraint that chokes them out any time they stray too far from the yard.

it’s hard to like, actually live a fulfilling life as a proxy but slender really does not give a rats ass - in fact, I don’t think he feels at all. just an apathetic force who views humans as nothing but tools to wipe their own race out.

and maybe that’s his entire goal all along, to just watch humanity crumble. when it’s all over and the world is in ruins; he’d probably have the proxies kill each other too.

[bitecks]

I've seen the "Oscar looks at Carlos like he took his virginity and never called back" sooo many times, so here is my take on this.

(i also should be writing my thesis rn and not this😩)

"If he can move on, so can you." told himself Oscar. Many times. Every time he sees Carlos actually. And the truth is he tries, he really tries and he wants this, he even needs this. But he can't. The feelings inside him are all over the place. One moment he hates the guy with all his might, the next he is pitying himself and before he could realise the thoughts are straying. Thinking back to that night. The touches and kisses and whispers and everything. And he still remembers the night in great detail. Every moment. Thinks about it when he closes his eyes for sleep, first thing in the morning, second thing in the morning, while brushing his teeth, getting ready, driving. Thinks about it almost every time. Except when he is racing. So that is what he does every free minute he has. It certainly doesn't help that Carlos races too. But at least he could blame him for the mistakes on track. Does not make things better, but at least helps a little with taking the steam off. And at the end of the day he tells himself again "He has moved on, your turn." He doesn't.

And it absolutely pisses him off how Carlos makes it seem like it isn't a big deal. And what Oscar knows it may have not been. It's Carlos that took Oscars's virginity not vice versa. The fact that Oscar has a crush on Carlos since the beginning of times also does not help his case. But to be fair who doesn't. He was still questioning his sexuality when he first saw Carlos in Torro Rosso, so he immediately decided he is bi, which morphed into gay in less than a year. And when we talk crush, we downplay it for the sake of Oscar. Because it is embarassing enough already as it is that the guy who took his virginity, when he was a reserve driver for Alpine and McLaren, acts like he don't exist, don't need to add to that the angsty love he feels. It's not like it's been 3 years since then (it's been). He can't move on. He can't find love in other place, because he still dreams of the one he cannot have.

So yeah, Oscars's life really. At least he could still call him out on the track.

"Mate, is Carlos blind or what."

"Typical Carlos. Nothing changed i see."

"He just turned into me like i didn't exist."

And it hurt so fucking much, because he did exist, and it hurts because he really really has a crush(notlove) on Carlos, who just doesn't acknowledge him. He doesn't feel better after all this pulling by pigtails he did with Carlos. He hurts so much he has seriously considered begging him to at least look at him some times the same as that night.

Today was another eventful day, as in race day, as in he again bickered on radio about Carlos. Actually it wasn't even something worth mentionig, he just did because he could. Carlos had a lock-up somewhere in the middle of the race and Oscar felt the need to push the radio button and say "What is wrong with this guy, can't he drive." The silence on the other side was telling enough, and if it wasn't the daggers Carlos sent him post-race were an absolute giveaway. Oh well, someone must have told him about it. Anyway, not a terrible race per se. P5 is nothing good, but he qualified poorly so he did his best. Carlos on the other hand just missed on a podium, so his mood was worse, it could be seen by the way he talked and how he just wanted to get out of there. Frankly, they all did.

It was already extremely late when Oscar left his driver room, he could not find strenght to go to the hotel. He waved to some mechanics who were still wrapping up some things and made his way towards his parking spot. It was greatly illuminated so he could see a figure leaning against his car. A familiar figure. Carlos' figure. He swallowed nervously as he aproaced his car.

- What is your problem? - asked the man, still leaning on Oscars's car, crossed arms, frown face and all gorgeousnes present. Oscar watched the mouth move, then hea heard the question, delayed. What do you even mean is my problem? You are my problem. You and your shitty attitude, and all the pretending Oscar doesn't exist, and your full lips and big brown eyes and nice hair. But he doesn't say that, he says...

- What? - because what. That question can mean anything, so lets not get ahead of things, maybe Carlos is not here to fight him. At least they are talking now. You could say it is an acknowledgement.

- What.is.your.problem? - accentuates the older one every word. Oscar felt a digit point in his chest at every word, even if Carlos' hands stayed crossed on his chest, and oh boy what arms are those. The face Oscar had on was probably one of confuse, because he heard a sigh, and that made him look back at the mans' face, where there was no frown anymore just an exasperated expression. - Oscar... - oh boy, it happened, he, after three years heard his first name from those lips, not Piastri, not that McLaren, but Oscar. He genuinely could not care less about what was Carlos about to say, at least they are on first name basis now. Well Oscar always was, he held into that one with a dead grip, it was the only thing he could have of Carlos. - Do you even hear me?

- What. Oh sorry, mate. I probably spaced out. You said something? - he could not hear a single word after his name. Phatetic, he knows that. So what, sue him if he is in love has a crush.

- Don't mate me. - ouch harsh, it's not like he said something bad, what could he have said instead. - I do not get you. One time you call me a bad driver and now i am your mate? Can you make up your mind already? Are we enemies or are we "mates". - well it's not really his place to decide, Carlos decided all on his own already, so why is he complaining.

- What does it matter what i call you? It's not like you even acknowledge my prensence. For your information, i am also a racer, not some staff member you never saw, who you could just pass and not even nod. - it sounded more hurt that he planned, but that doesn't matter, he is hurt after all.

- How is that my fault? - asks the man in front of him, now on a slightly higher tone.

- Want to tell me it's mine? The first two months that i was in the paddock as a rookie driver i smiled and nodded to everyone, i even tried to fist bump you two times, but you ignored it and walked away. So i don't think it is my fault, mate.

- Come on, Oscar, we both know it started before your rookie year, even if you like to pretend it did not happen. - and what, rewind that again, he likes to pretend it didn't happen? It being the sex or is Oscar reading it wrong.

- I like to pretend it didn't happen? - those were some news.

- Don't pretend to be a fool, we both know you are a smart boy. - THAT did not help Oscar concentrate, just made him horny. Damned praise kink.

- No i am not. Pretending i mean. I literally don't know what you are talking about.

- The night we had sex? - the man said it with a raised eyebrow and oh fuck Oscar is starting to blush. He may not be still a virgin, but he still blushes like one.

- No, that i know. What do you mean I am the one to pretend like it didn't happen? I just told you that the next time we saw each other, you didn't even nod back, just completely ignored me.

- Because these are your words?

- My words? - could only repeat Oscar.

- Yeah, that night you told me, and i quote "please, pretend it never happened". - What, because what. He does not remember that, and he remembers everything from that night. The "Hi, i am Carlos. Hi i know. I mean i am Oscar. Nice to meet you." The whole converstation at the party. The drive to the hotel. The "i am a virgin". The "we can stop if you want". The ferm "no". All the prep work, the prelude, the sex, and the aftercare. Okay that one is a little bit rusty in his memory, but can you blame him, he just had the most amazing orgasm in his life, he spaced out a little. And then he remember waking up to an empty hotel room, no Carlos, no note, no nothing. So no he does not remember these words.

- I didn't! I never could. - he hates how his voice cracked up and betrayed him like that, but it was true, Carlos was his first love crush and only, because he could not fall in love with someone else, if he have not falled out of love.

- Oscar, i am not lying to you. - the mans' voice softened up a little, like he was about to hug him, even if that was not posibble, right? - I promise i am not lying, i remember that night very well. I was wiping you up with a wet cloth and you told me to pretend it didn't happen. I asked you again, because i thought i heard you wrong just for you to repeat the same and add that it is embarassing. - No, no, no it cannot be right, he must be lying because, he remebers Carlos wiping him because he refused to move and get a full bath, and there were no such words OHFUCK there were. But not how Carlos interpreted them. - Yeah, i see it on your face you remebered now, so if you could from now on refrain from trashtalking so much i would be delighted.

- No, wait. - Oscar stopped him by the forearm, when Carlos was about to leave. - Please, it's not like that, i mean i didn't mean it like that. I could never be embarassed by having sex with you. I mean i was embarassed because you know first time and with the man i had a crush on since forever, so i hoped i wouldn't ruin something. But when you were umhh...when we finished i told you i was in love with you since i was fifteen, and so THAT was the thing i was embarassed, not by you. - So that was a misunderstanding, and they could have been talking all the time till now? Damn him. They even could've been friends by now.

- Oh. - It's not Carlos' place to say oh, it's Oscars' because he js the one who confesed his love since he was fifteen twice. As if it was not embarassing enough the first time. - So, you are not embarassed by me? - Oscar shook his head so violently it hurts. God, never. - And you don't feel the need to pretend like it never happened? - again, because he already said too much, he now only feels the need to keep his mouth shut. - And if i want to kiss you, i can? - he started to shook his head again, until the question was delivered to his head and that made him almost pop his eyes out of orbit.

- What.

- I said can i kis-

- That i heard i mean why? - he must've gotten deaf, because there is no way Carlos said that.

- Because i' ve been craving to do so since i first saw you in the paddock as a reserve driver and that night only amplified the want. You have no idea how much i want you. Even if you are a brat.

- No.

- I can't kiss you? I thought you said you were in love with me. - IAM.

- No, i mean i am, but no it can't be happening. - he could feel his eyes filling with water as he heard the words he imagined every night for years. But he was a big boy so he would not cry. Now.

- Me liking you? - asked the man confused.

- That. - his head was spining, he was on a roller coaster, better yet, he was dreaming, he must have fallen asleep in his driver room, because that cannot be happening. Even if he imagined that in great detail. So what. He has a great fantasy

- But i do. - he feels strong arms steading him, rubbing a little up and down on his own arms, huh he didn't feel the cold night air till now. - Why do you think i aproached you at that party? I saw you and remembered seeing you in the paddock and thinking you are cute, so i decided it was nice to speak to you, at least after it was announced you would drive for McLaren. I especially liked the statement you posted. And when speaking i saw your bunny teeth and rosy cheecks and i absolutely adored it. I feel like it was a mistake going to the hotel first and not a first date, but what's done can't be undone. So now, when we established that i like you and you like me, can we go on a date?

- To a hotel? - he could't pass the opportunity to make fun of Carlos, even when he just confessed to him. And frankly he got what he always wanted.

- I take back everything i said, except when i called you a brat, go on a date alone. - the man started walking towards his car, when Oscar embraced him from behind.

- I am sorry, i just love teasing you. But yes we can go on a date and you can kiss me, see if it makes me shut up.

- Lucky me i like doing that, but i also like you loud.

There was a long way ahead of them in their relationship. Whatever that is. But they already wasted two years, they are not gonna waste any more.

[chaoticcreative14]

Hey everyone! I have been obsessed with Manny since watching The Last of Us and had to get my horny thoughts out. Anyways, if you too are horny for Manny Alvarez, this fic is for you!

Manny Alvarez x F! Doctor Reader

DESCRIPTION: You’ve had a really shitty day and your boyfriend Manny helps you relax.

WARNINGS/TAGS: Smut 18+, Dry Humping, Established Relationship, Sweet Manny, Fluff

WORD COUNT: 2528

You slammed the door to your room behind you, frustration coursing through your whole body. Isaac had been a royal asshole today and you were beyond done. You got he was stressed about everything that had been happening with the scars but it didn’t give him an excuse to take it out on you.

You were one of very few doctors that the WLF had which meant that you were very valuable. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean that Isaac didn’t like to take his issues out on you. What set him off this time was your failure to save a patient.

You had treated quite a number of patients since this war with the scars had begun, more than you and your limited staff could handle really. This patient wasn’t the first you had lost, and you were sure it wouldn’t be the last.

Today, Issac had brought you a soldier that had been shot by several arrows. As soon as you looked at him you knew the arrows had pierced several vital organs. There was very little you could have done for him. Still, you had tried to save him. You had spent several hours in surgery trying to fix all the damage but it was too much.

Maybe back when the world was normal you could’ve done something about it, but with the resources you had here there was no way. Unfortunately Isaac didn’t see that way. He had spent almost an hour after surgery berating you and questioning why you were even here if you couldn’t save lives. Suffice it to say, you were more than pissed off, Isaac apparently expecting you to work miracles.

You were actually a very good doctor. You were able to save a lot of people, ones most people wouldn’t be. Of course Isaac never appreciated that though. He only ever focused on your failures. When he had finally let you leave after his little rant you had made a beeline for your room. All this to say, you felt that you had a perfectly good reason to slam your door.

You let yourself lean against said door for a moment and closed your eyes. After you had gathered yourself, you kicked off your boots and flopped down face first on your bed. All you wanted to do was go to sleep and forget everything that had happened today. You had just about fallen asleep when you heard the door open and then shut again.

You didn’t lift your head, already knowing who it was. Your suspicions were confirmed when you felt the bed sink beside you and a strong hand rubbing your back. “Hey baby,” Manny said, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the back of your head. You let out an incoherent greeting, still refusing to lift your head from where it was pressed into the bed.

“Damn, your day was that bad?” he asked, noting the signs of your stress. You finally lifted your head slightly, turning it to make eye contact with him.

“Isaac is a fucking dick,” you said before plopping your head back down. Manny continued to rub your back as he answered you with a simple “When is he not?” and honestly, you couldn’t argue with that.

“I know this is nothing new for him but I swear to god the man was on a tear today,” you complained, Manny humming in acknowledgement.

“I heard, I’m sorry,” he said, sympathy clear in his voice. “How are you doing?” he asked me. “I know losing a patient is always hard for you.” You finally turned your body so your back was on your bed and you were facing him.

“I’m okay,” you promised him. “Or as okay as I can be considering,” you added. You always felt horrible when you lost a patient, but you had learned to accept there was only so much you could do and you tried to move on. Isaac yelling at you, however, hadn’t done you any favours.

“Have you eaten?” Manny asked you. You shook your head no. You had come right back to your room after talking with Isaac, food being the furthest thing from your mind and you told him as much.

“I’ll eat later,” you promised, which seemed to placate him for now. “What about you? Have you eaten anything?”

“Yeah,” he assented. “I ate with my dad a little while ago,” he explained. You smiled at that. Manny’s father wasn’t able to eat by himself anymore so Manny always made sure to help him. His dad was the sweetest, even when he made fun of his son’s facial hair. “You know, he was asking about you,” he said.

“Oh yeah?” you questioned with a slight laugh.

“Yeah,” Manny confirmed, laughing along with you. “He noticed you hadn’t eaten with us in a while and he accused me of screwing up in his words ‘the best thing that could’ve possibly happened to me.’”

“Well, your father always was my favourite Alvarez man,” you said, smiling at him. He raised an eyebrow and placed a hand over his heart when he heard this, acting like your words physically hurt him.

“You wound me,” he said. You fell into a comfortable silence after that, smiling at each other as Manny rubbed his hand over your ankle, anchoring you to the moment. Eventually, looking at you wasn’t enough for Manny and he grabbed your hand to get you to sit up. “Come here,” he said softly.

You went willingly, standing up so he could take your place leaning against the headboard and then settling yourself on his lap, pressing a quick peck to his lips before resting your head in the crook of his neck. “A man can only go so long without holding the woman he loves,” Manny said, explaining why he felt the need to move you both into your current position.

You lifted your head and raised an eyebrow, shaking your head slightly at him. “Wow, you’ve reached new levels of cheesy,” you exclaimed. He gave as much of a shrug as he could with his arms around you.

“What can I say, you bring it out in me,” he defended himself. You gave him another smile at that before leaning in to press a kiss to his lips. You let out a deep sigh and sank into him, feeling the stress of the day start to leave your body. Manny hummed in contentment as his mouth met yours and when you pulled back slightly he used it to his advantage. He slipped his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss and you let out a slight moan at the feeling. You felt Manny move his hands to your hips and pull you closer to him, pressing your bodies together so that there was no space left between you. “I missed you today,” he whispered against your lips when you both broke away for air.

“I missed you too,” you replied, connecting your lips to his once more. You felt heat course through you as the hands on your hips settled you in his lap, your core brushing over the outline of his cock. You let out another moan at the feeling and Manny groaned in response.

“What do you need?” Manny asked softly, his forehead pressed into yours. He wanted you but he also knew how exhausted you were. You knew that if you said you wanted to stop now and go to bed he would do it, no questions asked. Despite your exhaustion, however, you were burning with arousal and you needed something to make the heat low in your belly dissipate.

“I don’t want to stop,” you said immediately, your need evident in your voice. “But maybe,” you started, looking into his eyes, “maybe we could just do this,” you finished, grinding yourself down onto his cock. Manny tilted his head back slightly at the feeling before letting a grin spread across his face.

“Yeah, yeah baby, we can do that,” he said with a husky voice, kissing you again with renewed vigour. Your tongues tangled with each other, moving in an intricate dance you’ve both done many times before. One of Manny’s hands tangled in your hair, angling your head where he wanted it. The other stayed on your hip and he used his grip to grind you down onto him. You broke from the kiss to gasp, throwing your head back in the process and Manny took the opportunity to begin pressing kisses to your neck.

He started right under your year, sending a shiver down your spine. He moved further and further down your neck until he hit a spot that made you cry out. “Sensitive cariño?” he asked teasingly.

“You know I am,” you said, giving a particularly hard thrust against Manny’s hips as he sucked a mark into your neck. You were silent for a few moments save your breaths and Manny’s humming as he continued his assault on your neck. You basked in the attention he was giving you, feeling the stress from your day begin to fade away. You sank further into him, the movement of your hips creating a delicious friction that caused the heat in your stomach to flare.

Manny felt it as you began to relax into him and grinned, pulling away for a brief moment to speak. “That’s it baby, I’ve got you,” he said, moving his hips to rub harder against you. The movement caused the tip of his cock to press into your clit, driving you even more insane.

“Manny,” you cried out as he brushed against your sensitive bundle. “You feel so fucking good baby,’ you whined, chasing the feeling growing inside you.

“Fuck cariño, just like that,” he said, resting his forehead against your own. Both hands were now on your hips, dragging you harshly against him, his own release building inside him. Your hips began to lose their rhythm slightly, the pressure on your clit sending sparks through your whole body. Manny recognized it as a sign that you were getting close and he doubled his efforts, grinding you into him while grinding his own hips up into you at the same time.

You were unbelievably wet at this point, your arousal had soaked right through your pants and was now creating a damp spot in Manny’s lap. He loved how messy you got for him. The more wet you got, the closer it meant you were so Manny knew you were right on the edge. He wasn’t gonna be able to hold on much longer himself, the way you looked with pleasure coursing through your veins above him threatening to make him lose control. “Are you gonna cum for me baby?” he asked, mouth pressed to yours but not kissing you.

You wanted to, more than anything, but you couldn’t quite get there yet. “Fuck, I’m so close,” you said breathless, trying to chase the high that has been evading you. “I just need — I don’t know, just something.”

Manny knew exactly what to do to send you over the edge for him, knowing you liked a little bit of pain with your pleasure. He moved a hand back to your hair to give it a sharp tug just as he gave an especially hard grind against your clit and you felt the cord inside you snap. You let out a sob of his name as euphoria rushed over you, clinging onto Manny and digging your nails into his back.

“Fuck,” he moaned, still moving against you as he helped you ride out your orgasm.

“Manny,” you whimpered as you moved through the aftershocks of your release.

“It’s okay,” he said, still trying to stave off his own pleasure and closing his eyes. “I’ve got you cariño, I’ve got you,” he promised. As you came down from your high you felt a pleasant fog take over your brain. You still noticed, however, that Manny hadn’t let go yet.

“Hey Manny,” you whispered, pressing a hand against his cheek and getting him to look at you. He opened his eyes which at this point were completely glazed over, Manny lost in his lust. “You can let go now baby,” you said to him. He didn’t seem to hear you at first so you brushed back the hair that had stuck to his forehead in the time you had been tangled up in each other. “Manny, baby, cum for me,” you said and this time he listened.

“Oh fuck,” he said as he let out a groan that could only be described as wrecked, attaching his lips to yours in an all consuming kiss as he finally found his release. His hips stuttered against yours, eyes closing again as he worked through his pleasure. Finally, Manny relaxed pulling you close to him, pressing your face into his neck and a kiss to the top of your head.

You were both silent, the only sounds filling the room that of your heavy breathing. Manny had one hand on the back of your head cradling it and the other on your back rubbing soothing circles into it. After a while, you lifted your head to look at him, seeing a tired smile on his face. “Hey,” he said, voice hoarse.

“Hey,” you said grinning back at him, contentment and affection filling your body.

“Are you okay?” he asked, brushing your hair out of your eyes, always concerned for your wellbeing, especially after an intense orgasm like you had just had.

“I’m okay,” you promised him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Are you okay?” you checked.

“I’m great,” he replied, stroking your hair. After another few moments of silent contentment you started to fall asleep when, suddenly, Manny moved forward and shifted you off his lap, causing you to let out a groan of protest. “I know, cariño, I’m sorry, but we have to get cleaned up before we fall asleep.

You hated to admit it but he was right so you both stripped yourselves, wiped yourselves off, and changed into fresh clothes. Well, you did at least, Manny preferring to sleep naked because in his words ‘there’s no need to dirty our limited clothes just to sleep in.’

On your part, you had thrown on a fresh pair of panties and Manny’s shirt. After you were dressed you turned off the light before crawling into bed beside him and throwing a leg over his, resting your head against his chest. Manny wrapped an arm around you as you settled against his side and pressed another kiss to the top of your head.

Laying here in Manny’s arms, you managed to forget all about the horrible day behind you, his presence always making everything better. You could tell he was almost asleep so you whispered softly so as not to startle him, “Hey Manny?”

He hummed softly in acknowledgement before replying. “Yeah baby?”

“Thanks for taking care of me,” you said softly.

“Always,” he promised. “I love you, cariño,” he said.

“I love you too,” you echoed before finally drifting off to sleep, feeling at peace in Manny’s arms.

[sunsetmaneuver]

yearn, baby, yearn - bradley bradshaw x reader

omg hello! my first ever post on here! hooray! no better way to start off than with a little yearning. i haven't written for a fandom in so long, so forgive me if i seem a little rusty! trust, i'll get back into my groove soon lol. lmk what you think, i hope you enjoy <3 requests always open!!

length: 2.3k words

warnings: swearing, beginning stages of a panic attack, probably some grammar mistakes lol, pining and yearning

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You know when you have a secret you've been keeping for so long, it starts to eat away at your insides? Starts to physically hurt to force it down? I am usually a very inconspicuous secret keeper; I have been all my life. But for some reason, this one crawls up my throat and begs to spill every single time he's near me.

His mahogany eyes boring into me whenever we're together, the way his laugh coats every fibre of my soul and tugs on my heart, that cocky little grin that's somehow always present on his face. All of it, all of him, makes it damn near impossible to keep it to myself. Bradley Bradshaw is, in the simplest, yet somehow most incredibly complex way, everything to me. But I can't shake the feeling that to him, I'm just his best friend; someone he met some odd years ago at a bar, both of us far too intoxicated for a casual Tuesday night. I can still remember the hangover and text messages that came the following morning. From that day forward, our friendship solidified and blossomed into something I never could have anticipated. How could someone be in love with their best friend without risking blowing up years of friendship if it ends badly?

I glance over at the clock on my bedside table for what feels like the hundredth time tonight, "2:47 AM" burning back at me in a bright red glow. I've been tossing and turning for almost four hours, reeling over every interaction I could recall having with Bradley, the most recent being the casual dinner we shared last week at his apartment. Sharing a meal together isn't unusual for us, but thinking about it makes my skin burn with frustration and lust I had no business feeling.

"What are we watching tonight?" Bradley asks as he shuts his apartment door, a box of pizza balanced on his arms. He sets it down on the coffee table and moves into the kitchen, grabbing plates and napkins. I can't help but take note of how his shirt lifts up ever so slightly, tanned abs peeking out at me, as he grabs the plates from the cabinet. I will myself to pull my eyes away from him and turn my attention back to the TV screen.

"I don't know, there's nothing good," I mumble, flipping through movies on Hulu with my legs tucked up underneath me. Bradley reemerges from the kitchen rather quickly, setting the plates on the table and plopping down next to me, lazily draping an arm over the back of the couch. The action is so casual, so instinctive, like he's been doing it all his life. My breath catches in my lungs. Suddenly very aware of our position, I clear my throat and click on whatever movie the remote has landed on. The large man next to me lets out a soft chuckle, his knee bumping mine ever so slightly.

"Gnomeo and Juliet?" He doesn't even try to hide his teasing tone or the way his eyes flick from my eyes down to my lips for a fraction of a second. I roll my eyes and lean forward to take a slice of pizza from the box-- green peppers and olives, my favorite for reasons Bradley "just didn't understand". But he always got it anyway, and always ate it with minimal complaints.

The night went smoothly, the occasional laugh coming from Bradley, our plates long discarded and swapped out with a couple of bottles of beer. Sleep tugged at my eyelids, and, eventually, my head found Bradley's shoulder. He let me sleep pressed against him, a protective arm around me, drawing circles on my shoulder, until the movie was over. Then he dropped me back off at home, and I spiraled.

Groaning a quiet "fuck this", I shove my comforter off me and swing my legs over the edge of my bed, hastily putting on the slippers that sit in a neat pair beneath me. Throwing my glasses on, I stride to my house robe, draping it over my pajamas, which consist of one of Bradley's old Navy t-shirts and a pair of loose-fitting sweatpants. I don't bother brushing my hair, but obviously, my appearance is the last thing on my mind. The only thing I can think of is Bradley, and Bradley's stupid mustache, and Bradley's stupid smile, and Bradley's stupid lips. Bradley's stupid lips on mine.

It's like I'm on autopilot -- swiping my keys up from the bowl by the front door, barreling towards my car before climbing in and driving East. I don't even bother to turn on the radio; the only sounds swirling around me are my thoughts, my unsteady breaths, and the bumpy road under my tires. After 15 minutes of driving, I pull up behind that all-too familiar beat-up, blue Bronco I've watched and waited by my window for countless times over the years.

"What the fuck am I doing?" I whisper into the air, but I don't stop myself. Unbuckling my seatbelt and slamming my car door shut, my body starts to tingle, starting in my feet, inching to my fingertips, and finally reaching my face. I'm on fire but ice cold at the same time. The feeling of wood beneath my knuckles suddenly pulls me back down to earth. It doesn't take long for Bradley to appear at the door, confusion and sleep settled deep on his face as he all but pulls the door off its hinges. The chain lock, thankfully, prevents him from losing his security deposit.

"It's fuckin' 3 o'clock in the morning--" Bradley grumbles, eyes barely open as he squints at me through the cracked door. It must register with him that it's me in front of him, because his confusion only seems to grow. His hands come up to rub the sleep from his eyes.

I can't breathe.

"I have something to tell you." I blurt out. My voice sounds foreign, straining to get the words out, garbled and distorted. It feels like I'm watching myself from outside my body, standing at my best friend's apartment door, spewing nonsense at three in the morning. Bradley's eyebrows pull closer as he shuts the door, unlocks it properly, and opens it fully, revealing his nearly naked appearance. A pair of black sweatpants hang loosely on his hips, like he had just thrown them on in a haste to answer the door. I try not to stare too long at his abs, or his biceps, or the hair on his stomach that trails down to his--

"What is it? Are you okay?" His tone dances on the line drawn between sounding concerned and sounding annoyed, but his eyes soften at me. I can't feel my fingers or my nose, and my teeth feel like TV static. I nod my head slowly, sneaking a glance at my hands to make sure they're still there. I look back up at Bradley and clench my fists, trying to feel my nails dig into my palms. He steps aside to let me walk through his doorway, gesturing for me to come in, but I don't move. My feet stay firmly planted on the carpeted hallway of his apartment complex.

Here goes nothing.

"I'm not good at this," I begin.

"Good at what?" He yawns.

"Two years ago, when your favorite mug went missing from your cabinet for a few days-- that was me. I accidentally dropped it while you were in the shower one day, so I bagged up the pieces and shoved them in my purse."

The mug, as ugly as it was, meant a lot to Bradley. Bought at a rest stop in Missouri with his mother, Carole, almost two decades ago. The faded words "There's no place like home" encased within the dark outline of Missouri's state borders on one side, and a huge cornfield on the other. A small chip in the handle. Ugly little thing. He told me the story every time he drank out of it, how his mother had spotted it on a road trip and laughed until tears came out of her eyes, thinking it was the funniest, ugliest thing she'd ever seen. It was the hardest she had laughed since his father died.

Carole Bradshaw has been gone for some years now, so Bradley drinks his morning coffee in that mug every day and replays that memory, hoping to remember her laugh forever. I never miss the way Bradley's cheeks and nose burn a deep crimson while telling that story, or how he grows quiet for the next fifteen minutes after he's finished.

"Okay..?" His brows shoot up, puzzled and a little annoyed. I silently curse my brain for deciding to have this epiphany at the ass crack of dawn. My tongue darts out over my lips, and I continue.

"I felt so awful, I called out of work that whole week, and I drove there. To Missouri."

My hands shake by my sides as I finally get the courage to walk forward into his apartment. I start to pace as he shuts the door, leaning his back up against it with arms crossed over his chest. His eyes burn with something I can't name, and his lips part. I take his silence as a cue to continue.

"I went to nearly every rest stop until I found it, that ugly fucking mug that you love so much--"

"Wait. Slow down. You-- You drove to Missouri?" Bradley's voice rasps, full of shock and bewilderment. I can't stop the word vomit that's about to escape, back turned away from my best friend. I pace and pace and pace before turning back around to face him.

"And when I got back home, I chipped the handle as best as I could to match the original. Then I came here while you were at training, and I put it in your cabinet. I don't know why I did that. Any of it. Friends don't-- friends don't do things like that. They don't drive 50 hours round trip for a stupid coffee mug, and that scares me because I don't know why every time I'm around you, I want to do things like that for you, and I just want to make sure you're happy all the time and I know I sound crazy and I don’t know what’s wrong with m--"

Bradley pushes off of the door and stops in front of me, hands dipping to gently cup my face up towards him. The moonlight seeps in through his windows, hitting the side of his face in a way that makes his eyes appear lighter than they are. He stares at me as I stand there, chest heaving, trapped by his touch, and a silence washes over us. He’s searching for something on my face, frantic and unknowing. He keeps opening his mouth like he has something to say, but it closes not long after. I’ve never seen him like this before. He was usually so calm and collected, the voice of reason, the confident one. But now, for the first time since I’ve known him, Bradley Bradshaw is speechless.

Biting my lip as tears sting my eyes, I swallow my pride, and, finally, the words that have been on the tip of my tongue for God knows how long tumble out.

"I'm in love with you, Bradley Bradshaw. And it is killing me." Words so quiet, so pathetic, but so certain. He doesn't say anything for a few seconds, and fear rises up in my chest. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe this could've waited until the morning, or until I figured out whatever the hell my problem was.

Just as I'm about to plead with him to say something, anything, he leans down and lets his lips hover over mine, eyes flicking up to meet mine for less than a millisecond before he connects us.

The kiss is tender and genuine, and everything I'd imagined it would be like. We stand there, lips moving in sync and hands exploring, before Bradley pulls away. He rests his forehead against mine and lets out a shaky breath, bringing his hand to rest on my face. I lean into his touch instinctively.

"Do you have any idea how long I've been wanting to do that?" He breathes out, thumb brushing my cheek gently.

"Probably not as long as me," I quip back with a tiny giggle. He exhales a laugh out of his nose as a smile grows on his face, then moves his hands so they're wrapping around my body in a tight hug. My arms find their place around his waist as he begins to rock us back and forth softly.

"I love you, too." This has me pulling away again so I can see his face in all of its bashful glory. Even in the darkness of the living room, I can make out the flaming pink blush on his cheeks. I grin wildly at him before pulling him down by the neck and catching his lips again.

"You know, I should've known," I mumble against him.

"Oh really?" He muses back playfully, hands sliding down my back, eager to roam.

"Yeah. There's no other reason you'd willingly eat my bizarre pizza." Bradley's laugh breaks our kiss, but I don't mind. The way he's looking at me right now, like I'm the only thing that keeps him tied to this planet, the only thing that matters, is more than enough for me.

"That pizza is truly God awful." And with that, he plants a kiss on my forehead, grabs my hand, and leads me to his room.

We fall asleep shortly thereafter, my body pressed into his side, head on his chest, with an arm draped over his stomach. Bradley draws circles on my shoulder as he holds me close, our legs tangled together under the sheets.

Bradley Bradshaw is everything to me, and I am everything to him. No doubt about it.

[opossumxo]

headcanons and dynamics for my au from last post, very messily put together (i dont think i need to specify but i will anyways, this is all just about the dsmp characters i dont care about the irl people please please please)

Tommy (now Thalia, ty @idiot-mushroom for your amazing hcs always) is trans, realized not long after exile ended but only had the time and energy to commit to transitioning after the final confrontation. She doesn't strictly identify as transfem, it's a lot more complex than that, but settles with the label trans and does whatever the hell she wants. Ranboo helped a lot a lot with the transition

Tubbo and Ranboo are still the only two married; not that they'd be against the other two joining. Thalia's just still figuring herself out and not ready to focus on that part of her life, and Purpled doesn't feel like he's been with them long enough to take the step. Someday though

Thalia and Purpled aren't as close with each other as with others, not very emotionally or affectionately close. They tend to be each others caretakers when in need though

On that note, Purpled has not spoken about his brief alliance with Dream and Punz. At this point, he doesn't plan to.

Ranboo is probably the most affectionate with all of them evenly, they spend more time in everyone else's rooms than their own.

Tubbo is the primary caretaker of Michael, though they all pretty evenly split duties. He just likes to have the kiddo nearby, and Michael acts more and more like him as he gets to being an adolescent.

Less relationship wise and more individual characters :3

Thalia

Sharper features as she's gotten older, her facial structure changed from repeated malnutrition (pogtopia, exile). She doesn't mind though, it kind of reminds her of Niki or Jack. The gooduns

Spends the most time out of the house, still making efforts to try to clean up the server and 'find herself'. Unclear to everybody what exactly that means, but if digging around in the dirt is what she needs then so be it.

Still pretty religious, its a comforting stability after everything. Overall, she's pretty happy.

Tubbo

The messiest of them in most applicable ways. Has a hard time upkeeping hygiene, usually takes reminders to do so. It's a point of shame for him, but its hard to get in the mindset to start perceiving that stuff.

Got a fake eye made by Foolish a long while ago, he can't recall exactly when. He'd like to replace it at some point but is not in a rush- if it works, it works.

A lot a Lot of nerve damage, he doesn't have much feeling in the right side of his body. A couple of fingers are amputated and prosthetic. Tends to injure himself while welding and it freaks Ranboo the fuck out lmao

Ranboo

Memory loss and sleep problems are quite a bit worse, they don't leave the house very much because getting lost is a problem nowadays. The ender state is less of a problem at least, they've learned ways to manage it and the others have gotten better at recognizing it before he wanders off.

Terrible vision, they have glasses but lose them quite a bit. Purpled put one of those straps around the back that make it harder to just slip them off without thinking; this did not help much.

Does most of the interior decoration, they have a certain vibe they enjoy and the others do not care enough one way or another so let them have at it lol

Purpled

The fall off the Needle caused bad permanent damage to his legs, he walks with braces and a cane now. It's a sensitive thing for him, he put a lot of worth into his physical capability. Still coming to terms with it; Puffy helps him with physical therapy.

Very antsy, he has a lot of unfinished projects that he picks up and discards at random. Some are builds, some are skills he's trying to hone, sometimes its just stupid challenges. He tries to make it competitive, Thalia's the only one that really takes that bait.

Possibly greyromantic, he doesn't have any specific labels because he doesn't care, but yeah