#but also i keep looking in the tags and there's not much there | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vingtetunmars · 1 day ago

Text

A New Heartbeat

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Joel Miller never thought he'd get another chance at building a family—especially not at his age, especially not after everything.

Tags: Fluff, pregnancy fic, domestic fluff, birthday surprise, emotional feels, warm, age gap (reader is early 30s, Joel is 58-59), set between season 1 and 2, jackson!Joel Miller, soft joel miller. No physical description of reader. No use of Y/N.

A/N: Thank you @dedicatedfangirl2001 for inspiring me! So this is technically a continuation of this fic, but it can also be read as a stand alone. If you have any requests, suggestions, or thoughts, feel free to send me a message. Reblogs are appreciated. Please do not steal or cross-post it on another platform without asking. Thank you.

Word Count: 3.3k

masterlist

You didn’t think much of it at first.

Between the early mornings at the stables and the evenings spent passed out on the couch beside Joel, days had started to blur into each other. Your body always felt tired this time of year—mud season clinging to your boots, cold air snapping at your fingertips even under gloves. You’d chalked the nausea up to bad stew from the dining hall. But when your headache lingered past the usual, when the scent of hay and leather turned sour in your nose, it hit you.

You hadn’t had your period.

You stood in the feed room, half-empty bucket of oats dangling from your hand, the realization sitting heavy in your stomach. The math rolled around in your head, tumbling over itself. It had been… what? Over a month? Maybe more. You weren’t exactly counting days when every morning looked the same—Joel sipping black coffee, Ellie stealing bits of toast, and you rubbing sleep out of your eyes as you layered up for work.

But now, standing there, the silence of the stable around you, something clicked. You set the bucket down on the ground a little too quickly, pressing your palm to your stomach. No pain. No bloat. Just… a quiet sort of stillness.

The horses shuffled in their stalls. One of the younger colts let out a soft snort. You leaned your back against the wall, heart hammering in your chest.

You weren’t sure. But something deep in your bones told you—you already knew.

You didn’t tell anyone where you were going that morning.

Said you had errands to run—needed new gloves, maybe stop by the library. Joel didn’t press. He’d kissed your cheek, grumbled something about checking in with Tommy about a busted water heater, and told you he’d see you for dinner.

You walked to the clinic with your hands jammed deep into your jacket pockets. The cold bit at your cheeks, and every step felt heavier than the last. Not from dread exactly, but from the weight of maybe.

The clinic wasn’t much to look at. Two rooms, patched-together equipment, and a nurse named Carla who used to be a vet before the world ended. She was kind, though, and knew how to keep her mouth shut. You told her you wanted to rule something out. She just nodded, handed you a cup, and pointed toward the bathroom.

You stared at the strip of plastic on the counter like it held your whole future.

Five minutes. That’s all it took.

Carla didn’t say anything right away. She just looked down at the test in her hand, then back up at you, her expression soft.

“Well,” she said, “you’re pregnant.”

The room didn’t spin. It didn’t crash down on you, either. Instead, everything went still—like the moment before a horse takes off into a gallop. Heart pounding, lungs full of something sharp and sweet.

You were going to have a baby.

Joel’s baby.

Carla asked if you were okay. You nodded before you really even felt it, voice rough when you said, “Yeah. Yeah, I think I am.”

The walk back home was slower. Like you were afraid to jostle the news loose, or maybe afraid it still wasn’t real. But your hand drifted down to your stomach more than once, resting there in quiet awe.

Now, all that was left was telling him.

And with his birthday just a few days away, you couldn’t help but wonder how in the world you were going to tell him.

Joel didn’t like birthdays.

He never made a big deal out of them before the world ended, and now… well, now they just felt like reminders. Reminders of what he’d lost. Of how much older he was getting. Of how goddamn long he’d been carrying around all this weight.

He’d never forget waking up on that birthday—the one that split his life into a before and after. Many years later, the world had changed, but the ache hadn’t. Not really.

Still, this morning started like any other. The early light crept in through the crack in the curtains, soft and gray-blue. Beside him, you were curled under the blanket, one arm slung across his stomach, your face tucked against his shoulder. Warm. Familiar. Home.

He didn’t move at first. Just lay there, eyes on the ceiling, listening to the quiet. The muffled sound of someone in the street. A rooster off in the distance. You breathing slow and steady beside him.

You made it better—this day, this life. You had a way of pulling him back from the edge without even trying. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve that, to deserve you, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to take it for granted.

Your fingers twitched slightly against his chest. You were starting to stir.

He turned his head just enough to watch you, that soft haze of sleep still in your features. He found himself smiling, just a little. The lines in his face stayed, though. The ones that came from time and sorrow and holding it all in for too long.

You blinked up at him.

“Mornin’,” he murmured, voice low and rough.

“Happy birthday,” you whispered back, eyes warm and knowing.

He groaned, turning his face away slightly. “Don’t remind me.”

You gave a quiet laugh, but didn’t tease him for it. You never did. You just leaned up to press a kiss to his jaw, fingers brushing along his ribs, gentle and grounding.

“I’m makin’ you pancakes,” you added softly. “Don’t fight me on it.”

He huffed, but it wasn’t real. “‘Course you are.”

He didn’t need gifts. Didn’t want anyone making a fuss. But if the day started like this—your warmth, your voice, your lips on his skin—then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Even if he still carried the ghosts, this morning... it felt different. Like maybe something was waiting on the horizon, and he wasn’t sure what—but he trusted you’d tell him when the time was right.

You flipped the last pancake onto the plate, steam rising as you added a handful of thawed berries—ones you’d carefully saved from the last supply run. They weren’t exactly fresh, but they were sweet enough, and they made the stack look a little more festive.

Birthday pancakes.

Joel would pretend to grumble about it, but you knew he appreciated it. The small gestures. The quiet kind of love. You’d learned early on not to make a big deal of his birthday. Not out loud, anyway. But that didn’t mean you’d let it pass by like any other morning.

“Damn, something smells good,” Ellie mumbled as she shuffled into the kitchen, hair sticking up in five different directions, sleeves too long for her arms. She plopped down at the table, blinking slowly. “Is it somebody’s birthday or somethin’?”

You smirked as you slid a plate in front of her. “Could be.”

Joel followed behind her a second later, moving slower, like his body hadn’t quite forgiven him for being nearly sixty.

He rubbed at the back of his neck as he sat down across from her, eyes drifting to the plate you set in front of him.

Pancakes. Berries. A little dab of honey. No candles, no singing—just the kind of breakfast you didn’t make unless the day meant something.

He glanced at you, brow raised.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he said.

“I wanted to,” you replied, brushing your hand over his shoulder as you passed. “Don’t argue with me on your birthday, Miller.”

Ellie shoveled a bite into her mouth. “Holy shit,” she mumbled. “Are these the blueberries?”

Joel chuckled under his breath, fork already in hand. His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before he took his first bite. You saw the tension ease in his shoulders, just a little. Maybe the day still carried shadows for him, but right now? With a warm plate in front of him and people who loved him on either side?

He was okay.

You sat down beside him, resting your hand on your lap, feeling the thrum of nerves underneath your skin.

A knock on the door broke through the calm.

Joel looked up, chewing his last bite with a quiet grunt. You stood up to answer it, already guessing who it was. Sure enough, when you opened the door, Tommy stood there with a crooked grin and two hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets.

“Mornin’, birthday boy,” he called past you, stepping inside without waiting for an invite. “You look real good for a hundred.”

Joel let out a groan, dragging a hand over his face. “You had to come by, didn’t you?”

“You think I’m missin’ the one day a year I get to remind you I’m younger and prettier?” Tommy grinned, clapping his brother on the back as he passed by.

“Debatable,” Ellie chimed in, still chewing. “And you missed the berries.”

Tommy’s eyes lit up. “Berries?”

“Yup,” you said with an apologetic shrug, walking back to the stove. “Saved 'em for Joel. There’s still pancakes, though.”

Tommy sniffed the air like a bloodhound. “You spoil this man.”

“Someone has to,” you quipped, already grabbing another plate.

You served him a healthy stack—no berries this time, just a bit of honey and some leftover butter—and slid into your seat again. Joel was watching you, his eyes soft beneath the usual weight. He hadn’t said much, but you could feel it in the way his hand drifted to your knee under the table. Just a gentle touch. A quiet thanks.

Tommy shoveled in a bite and made a loud, satisfied sound. “Hot damn. You better marry her before someone else do.”

Joel raised an eyebrow. “You wanna lose a tooth today?”

You laughed, elbow resting on the table, chin in your hand. The teasing, the warmth, the way Ellie rolled her eyes and asked if she could have seconds—it all made the house feel full in a way you never took for granted.

Still, under it all, the secret sat in your chest like a fluttering heartbeat.

You’d give it a moment. Let them finish breakfast. Let Joel have this calm before you turned his world upside down.

In a good way, you hoped.

The house felt quieter once the door shut behind Ellie and Tommy. The laughter lingered in the walls for a moment, then faded, replaced by the gentle creak of wood and the soft clink of dishes as you rinsed them off.

Joel was still finishing the last of his coffee, sitting back in his chair, watching you. He looked more relaxed now—shoulders looser, lines around his mouth softened. Birthdays were hard for him, but this one… it hadn’t been bad.

You dried your hands on a dish towel, heart thudding steady but loud. You knew you couldn’t wait any longer.

“Hey,” you said softly, stepping toward him. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

His brow knit slightly, but he nodded, setting the mug down. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“No,” you breathed, sitting down across from him, your hands resting in your lap. “Not wrong. Just… big.”

Joel leaned forward, elbows on the table. You reached for his hand without thinking, grounding yourself in the warmth of his calloused fingers.

“I didn’t know how to bring this up earlier. Didn’t wanna spring it on you in front of everyone,” you started, voice quiet. “But I’ve been feelin’… off. The past few weeks.”

His expression shifted—concern flickering behind his eyes, guarded like always. “You sick?”

You shook your head, a nervous smile tugging at your lips. “No. I went to the clinic yesterday. Ran a test.” You swallowed, heart climbing to your throat. “Joel… I’m pregnant.”

The words hung in the air like dust caught in sunlight.

Joel blinked. Once. Twice. He didn’t say anything—just stared at you, eyes wide, unreadable. Then slowly, without a word, he stood up from the table and took a step back, hand resting on the edge of the counter like he needed something to hold onto.

“You’re… you’re sure sure?” he asked, voice hoarse. “I mean—are they sure?”

You gave a soft laugh, heart aching with affection. “Yeah. They’re sure. I’m late, the test was positive, and… I feel it. I know it.”

Joel let out a breath like he’d been holding it for years. His shoulders dropped as he sat back down, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

“I just—I didn’t think—I mean, hell, at my age?” he muttered, almost to himself, eyes wide and almost dazed. “I didn’t think that was even possible anymore.”

You reached for his hand again, thumb brushing the top of his knuckles. “Well… apparently it is.”

He looked at you then—really looked at you. And something shifted in his face. Like the ground underneath him had tilted, but he was choosing to stay standing anyway.

“You’re… you’re okay with this?” he asked quietly.

You nodded. “I wouldn’t have told you today if I wasn’t. I know it’s gonna be a lot, but… yeah. I’m okay with it. More than okay.”

Joel’s eyes started to glisten, and he cleared his throat hard, blinking fast as he turned his face away for a second. When he looked back at you, his voice was thick.

“Thank you,” he said.

It broke something open in you.

“For what?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“For this. For you. For givin’ me a reason to think there’s still more life out there for me than just survivin’.”

He reached out, cupped your cheek with a rough hand, his thumb brushing just under your eye.

“I didn’t think I’d get a second chance,” he murmured. “Not with someone like you. Not like this.”

You leaned into his palm, smiling through the tears that started to slip down your cheeks.

“Well… surprise,” you whispered.

Joel gave a breath of a laugh, then leaned in and kissed you—slow, steady, reverent. The kind of kiss that said everything his words couldn’t. The kind of kiss that promised he would be here for all of it.

For you.

For the baby.

For the life you were building together, one quiet moment at a time.

Sunday dinner was loud in the best way.

Tommy and Joel had spent the afternoon repairing one of the water lines near the edge of town, and both were still rubbing their lower backs like old men. Maria was bouncing little Benji on her knee, spoon-feeding him mashed carrots between exaggerated airplane noises, while Ellie recounted an incident involving a runaway chicken and a pitchfork.

You’d always loved these nights—long tables, shared food, laughter that made the walls feel smaller in the best way. But tonight, your hands kept drifting to your lap, nerves curling in your stomach even though you’d done this a dozen times in your head.

Joel’s knee brushed yours beneath the table.

He glanced at you, gave a small nod.

It was time.

You reached for your glass and gently tapped your spoon against it. “Uh… can I say something real quick?”

The table quieted. Benji let out a soft squeak and tried to grab a carrot off Maria’s plate.

Joel cleared his throat. “We’ve got some news.”

Maria looked up first, brows raised. Ellie paused mid-chew.

You smiled nervously, heart thumping. “I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, no one said a word. Then—

“What?” Ellie blurted, voice cracking halfway through the word.

Joel chuckled low under his breath, his hand slipping onto your thigh, grounding. Ellie set her fork down slowly, blinking like she hadn’t quite heard you right.

“You mean like… an actual baby?” she asked, eyes wide. “Your baby?”

You nodded, leaning closer to Joel's side. “Yeah. Our baby.”

Ellie opened her mouth, closed it, then reached for her water like her brain needed a reboot. “Holy shit.”

“Language,” Joel murmured.

“I’m gonna be a big sister?” she asked softly, blinking hard. And then her face cracked into a smile—wide and kind of watery. “I’m gonna be a big sister.”

Tommy leaned back in his chair and let out a low whistle, grinning ear to ear. “Joel, buddy. You still got swimmers at your age?”

Joel groaned loudly. “Tommy, I swear—”

“I mean, damn! You’re nearly sixty and still makin’ babies? What’s in the water over at your place?”

You laughed, covering your mouth with your hand. Joel muttered something under his breath, but he was smiling, too, shaking his head as Tommy clapped him on the back.

Maria just laughed and leaned her cheek against Benji’s soft hair. “Honestly, I had a feeling.”

Joel looked at her sideways. “You did?”

“You turned down a glass of wine at dinner last week,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “You. You never turn down wine.”

You shrugged with a grin. “Was trying to be subtle.”

“Well, I’m glad you told us now,” she said, smiling warmly. “Benji’s gonna need a little buddy to boss around.”

Benji cooed like he somehow approved.

Then Maria stood and crossed the space to pull you into a hug, tight and full of warmth. Ellie joined a second later, throwing her arms around both of you, mumbling something like “I’m not crying” even though she very much was.

Tommy wrapped an arm around Joel with a playful shake and muttered, “Old man,” while Joel just rolled his eyes and let it happen.

In the middle of it all—arms tangled, laughter echoing, and that familiar scent of home-cooked food still hanging in the air—you felt it.

Family.

Not perfect. Not always easy. But real. Rooted. Growing.

And you were bringing another piece into it.

Dinner had long passed. The dishes were done, the laughter faded into memory, and Ellie had gone back to her room with a final hug that lingered just a little longer than usual.

Now, the two of you were tucked beneath the soft quilt, the chill of Jackson’s night air kept at bay by Joel’s familiar warmth beside you. The house creaked gently, like it was settling in for the night too.

You lay on your side, facing him, his arm already around you. The bedside lamp was off, but the moonlight spilling through the window was enough to catch the faint lines on his face—the quiet, thoughtful ones that only ever appeared when he let his guard down.

He hadn’t said much since the others left. Not out of hesitation, but the way he always got when something mattered so much it felt sacred.

His fingers brushed your stomach lightly under your shirt. Slow. Careful.

There wasn’t much of a bump yet—just the slightest swell, barely there—but his touch was reverent, like he was afraid to miss even a second of it.

“That’s really ours in there,” he said quietly, more to himself than to you. “Whole little person. Just... growin’.”

Your hand covered his. “Yeah. They’re in there.”

He shifted closer, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then just above your temple.

“I keep thinkin’ I’ll wake up,” he murmured. “That this is some dream I’m gonna lose. But then I touch you, and it’s real.”

You turned your face to kiss the underside of his jaw, voice soft. “It’s real, Joel. You’re here. I’m here. We’re here.”

He nodded, throat tight. His palm stayed resting on your belly, like it anchored him.

“I ever tell you how much I love you?” he asked, voice thick with quiet emotion.

You smiled. “You show me every day.”

“Gonna say it anyway,” he whispered, kissing you again. “I love you, darlin’. More than I got words for.”

The two of you fell asleep like that—his hand over the life you were building together, your fingers laced with his, hearts beating steady in the dark.

And for the first time in a long, long while, Joel Miller didn’t feel haunted by his past.

He felt ready for the future.

#kar's fics ☆#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller #the last of us #tlou #joel tlou #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal

406 notes · View notes

higglety · 8 hours ago

Text

you are 100% correct, but also overlooking a much simpler reason why AO3 doesn't need and will never implement a "disllike" button: "dislike" buttons work in conjuction with "like" buttons to train an algorithm.

As you pointed out, AO3 is a ARCHIVE, not a social media platform (or a streaming service). There IS no algorithm. You dont have to tell the magic box what you like and dont like so that it can feed you more of what you like. (Or, more accurately, what you find engaging or boring, so it can feed you more of what you interact with.) In fact, it doesnt feed you anything at all - YOU have to ACTIVELY SEEK OUT things to read. All of the ways that currently exist to interact with the site are either personal tools to curate your reading (bookmarks, collections, tag exclusion) or ways to communicate with the authors. If we're going to be precise, AO3 doesn't have a "like" button either! it has a "kudos" button. Hitting that button doesnt mean you're more likely to see fics by that author, or in that fandom, or using those tropes that are tagged, it just means you've flashed the author a thumbs up, to make them feel good. Commenting on a fic doesnt train a mysterious force to show you more of the thing you're commenting on, like it does on Facebook or tiktok; it's literally just showing up in the author's inbox to talk with them.

Social media has infiltrated our lives and shaped the way we interact with the world in such an insidious, all-encompassing way. Young people, i promise im not just being "old man yells at cloud" about this - as an older millennial, I watched it happen, and I remember the difference. There's an assumption now that a website will feed you what you (theoretically) want to see. Social media sites will use your activity to train an algorithm to feed you up more of the stuff you engage with more. Service websites will use AI chat bots to feed you information. Spyware watches your browsing and purchasing habits to feed you ever more targeted ads. Everything in the modern hyper-personalized and hyper-comodified internet is framed about pushing things AT you to keep your eyes where the corpos want them, so they can wring every last penny out of your attention.

AO3 is a holdover from the old internet. From a time when you had to go looking for what you wanted to see, instead of being trapped in a place where you only see what the algorithm wants you to see. It has an entirely different design philosophy, and therefore, a different set of tools. There will never be a "dislike" button. It is irrelevant, but more importantly - as OP points out, it is antithetical to the very ethos of the site. AO3 exists to serve AUTHORS. it exists to give authors a place to host fic. By extention, it also gives readers (to the extent that these are two different groups) a way to find fics to read. Authors are not served by seeing statistics of people who don't like their work. Fandom as a community is not served by tracking these metrics. The only function it eould have is to give readers an opportunity for cruelty and spite. Nobody needs that.

heard someone say archive of our own should install a "dislike" button and I thought I should say this: no, there's absolutely no need for archive of our own to install a "dislike" button.

why? because archive of our own isn't tiktok or youtube or twitter/x where users can monetize their content. archive of our own is a nonprofit site run by fans for fans, which means every content — every fanfic — you see on archive of our own was made out of pure love and passion from the artists/authors.

ao3 authors write because writing about these characters is their happiness and passion. they write for themselves, but they were generous enough to share with you their creations.

they're not "content creators" the way tiktokers or youtubers or instagram models are. they don't "make content" for views and engagements that can be monetized.

so no, you don't get to "grade their works" unless they specifically and directly ask you to.

you don't get to "say what you dislike about their works" unless they specifically and directly ask you to.

you don't get to "dislike" works that are not made specifically to please you in the first place. you're just a guest in someone's house, a house in which they let you in because they were kind, you don't get to roam around their house and say what you dislike about their furniture. you don't get to roam around their house and say you "dislike their house".

of course, you can have your opinion about the house its host invites you in. but if it's a negative one and you find yourself not liking the house, the polite things for you to do is excuse yourself and leave without telling them you dislike their house.

and just because you personally dislike the house doesn't mean the house is "ugly" either. the house you dislike could be a favorite, most luxurious place to many others.

my point is, don't be entitled by wanting the rights to voice your disapproval of things that you get to enjoy for free. don't be entitled by wanting the rights to voice your disapproval of things that were made out of love and passion — things the artists made for themselves for fun.

it makes you look like an entitled jerk with main character syndrome. the universe does not revolve around you.

now repeat after me: don't like don't read. no one forces you to continue reading a fic you don't like. quietly leave instead of being rude to authors who write for free because writing is their source of comfort.

people are so used to contents that were made because it's a trend / contents like tiktok that were made with the main purpose of reaching high engagement and making profits that they forget sometimes things can be made out of love and be made just for fun. sometimes things are supposed to just be for people to enjoy, and if some people don't enjoy them, then they can simply leave without being unnecessary unkind.

22K notes · View notes

goomyloid · 3 days ago

Note

After reading the Noelle kissing Kris manga, I just had to talk about the tearjerking and heart-warming moments about it all.

I found it adorable yet also pretty telling that it took Noelle several attempts to get the kiss right with Susie with all the preparations, and the environment being perfectly set up for them to do it, but she nailed it perfectly on her first attempt to kiss Kris in that moment, with no prior build up. I also liked what compelled Noelle to kiss Kris, was them expressing their happiness for Noelle and Susie, while also seemingly intentionally excluding themselves from the equation altogether. Which leads me to talk about tearjerking moments.

When I read it all, from the look on Kris's face, it really did feel like they were genuinely trying to exclude themselves from Noelle and Susie's happiness, while trying to do everything they could to ensure they were both happy. It's like they had a face where they were genuinely happy for Noelle and Susie, talking about how great a pair they were, but also putting up a front to hide the pain of thinking, they'd be better of if they weren't part of the dynamic, which I think Noelle pick up on.

When I look at Noelle kissing Kris I think of it as a twofold kind of thing. Noelle says she was just in a kissing mood, but I genuinely do believe she acted on her subconscious desire to show Kris that level of affection when the opportunity presented itself, especially considering she wanted to kiss them again under the impression that she didn't do it right, and also appeared to want to tell them something but stopped upon seeing Kris's blushing face.

Whereas Kris has now been made aware that Noelle does in fact have deep feelings towards them, and doesn't know how to handle the revelation. Honestly I think it's pretty awesome that for all of Kris's talk about them Noelle and Susie being great pair, and getting closer, Noelle just expressed, unintentionally or not, that she also wants to get closer to them in the same manner.

this was AWESOME to read, i felt like you put into words everything subtle i tried to convey with that comic… its perfect

i enjoy the idea that like, as much as kriselle feels like It Shouldnt Be Happening (with suselle being the obvious endgame, probably) (or just the fact that it’s “obvious” at all) it simultaneously feels like its fated or meant to be. it’s not what the story is pushing towards, but realistically, it seems like the most viable option long-term (imo). underneath all the baggage, kris and noelle are super comfortable with each other, shes the only non-family member to really understand them, and vice versa, they dont have to put up any fronts. i suppose that kind of ties into susie and noelle’s “messy highschool romance” kiss vs. kris’s and noelle’s “accidental this-has-awakened-something-in-me weirdly perfect” kiss. just the fact that noelle turns around and kisses kris after susie feels like “it shouldnt be happening” (i know we all want polycule here but lets pretend they’ve barely entertained that idea yet) and makes things needlessly complicated, but suddenly, this seems like the more interesting path…

“forbidden” romance not in the sense that theres something actually wrong with it, but instead its simply not the path that the narrative is pushing towards (something something the forbidden path starts with ice magic…)

noelle choosing to kiss kris in that moment also kind of reflects what it is she likes about them, like you said. a tag i got a really long time ago on a reblog was “noelle’s image of kris in her mind is a kind one.” underneath all the pranks and goofs, they always mean well in the end. but when kris expresses that kindness by saying noelle and susie would make a good pair, noelle, who knows them so well, can still see past their words — more as a gut feeling than anything else — because the mere gesture of trying to hide their feelings to maintain her happiness is ALSO kind of them.

i keep saying that kris is the kind of person to run from their feelings all the time because i really believe it’s the case. theres only so many ways you can achieve that kind of stoicism lol. they hide and repress and keep those feelings locked away (both good feelings and bad ones) because they dont want to be a burden and mess things up for everyone. i think this was definitely a product of their home life, too — things get so chaotic that no one has the time or energy to pay more than surface-level attention to you (with asriel being the one genuine exception i think). it eventually just becomes easier to shut up and cut off all the emotions that might make you dare to Feel Real Things out of fear of rocking the boat. all of this is to say that how kris feels about noelle is just another thing they have sealed away, eventually just internalizing as genuine care for her wellbeing, with Something Else still hidden deep inside. and noelle kissing them undid all of their many many years of careful feelings-control because “oh shit oh god noelle no you cant kiss me havent you considered the Consequences??? the ramifications?? noelle the rammies. Tje consequences ive made up in my head”

and again like you said everything is incredibly subconscious on noelle’s end and she barely notices it. part of it could be from genuine Lol That’s Kris thats My Friend! without taking 5 seconds to think deeper about everything and unpack her own feelings. she Feels her feelings but is too mentally preoccupied to understand what they mean. i actually made this diagram just last night to convey basically exactly this

ultimately the whole shoujo romance thing makes the stakes way lower so now things are like, Oh no someone’s feelings might get hurt rather than Oh no the entire world is actually going to end. (maybe part of why i internally set it to take place multiple years in the future where they’re all in college or something and the dark world stuff is behind them LOL)

im gonna stop myself before this post gets too disgustingly long but man i have so many thoughts about them. sometimes i fear i treat them more like ocs so i have to realign myself and think “ok this still lines up with canon right.” but everything ive said is just what “feels right” to me i guess

#mailbox #thank you again for this ask!#deltarune spoilers #long text

189 notes · View notes

hiraizyo · 3 days ago

Text

shall we look at the moon?

pairing: megan skiendiel x female reader

synopsis: in the days leading up to the anniversary of your death, megan spirals in the worst way. she swears she has dealt with her grief, but how can she move on when even in death your presence is constant?

tags: ghost!yn. heavy angst. hurt/comfort. major character death. implied drowning as cause of death. themes of grief. flashbacks / dreams in italics.

a/n: tried experimenting with writing such a heavy topic, despite never having dealt with grief in my life. my poor bby megs :( i’m so sorry y’all, i’ll write fluff for her soon <333 also i’ll try nd attempt continuing the fake dating megan series 🤞this is longer than most fics i write, so get comfy 💞💞

[tuesday, 10:46pm]

the shower water is cold against megan’s skin.

she clenches her hand around nothing, tightening her hand into a fist. her pruned skin rubs against itself. its an odd sensation, and usually she’d stop immediately, but she does it for now. she does it for herself—anything to help her feel.

the icy water is supposed to shock her awake, give a jolt to her system, but it seems like no use. her chest still feels weighed down, her body empty, her mind numb.

megan reaches for the soap. she scrubs away, hard and unrelenting. she’s cleaned herself about three times now, but still—she scrubs and scrubs and scrubs.

megan isn’t sure what exactly she’s washing away, the filthy sweat from practice, or the ghostly grip you had on her soul.

it seems, even in death, you haunt her.

“fuck,” megan hisses as the soap slips from her hands. she reaches down to pick it up, but it slips from her hands again. she tried once more. for a third time, the soap slides out her grasp.

usually, megan would laugh.

normally, she’d smile and find the scene oddly comical.

instead, megan scoffs under her breath, angry. stupid, fuck ass soap! this is why lara shouldn’t buy their toiletry products! whether she’s angry at the soap itself, lara, or at herself, she isn’t sure.

but soon, that hot, burning anger she feels turns into an ache that has a vice grip on her heart.

megan breathes.

her body stills, she waits.

waiting for a crash out feels like watching paint dry, it feels like the calm before the storm. megan knows she deserves this, needs it. she’d fought long and hard the entire day to keep the tears at bay.

god, today absolutely sucked.

the wait doesn’t last long. tears brim the bottom of her eyelids, threatening to drop. the first few that fall mix with the water, until eventually, she isn’t sure what streams down her face— the salty tears or the freezing water.

they’re both the same to her, anyways.

the first sob that escapes her is quiet, as if she’s testing the waters. as if she needs to make sure no one in the house could hear her agonizing cries.

the second sob is louder, heavier. it wracks through her whole body like a piercing stab. it knocks her down, till her knees buckle and her body falls back. she leans against the shower wall, cold water still running.

the third sob feels like a punch to the gut. her breathing labored, her lungs feels like they’ve been cut through. her supply of oxygen is lacking, making it increasingly difficult to breathe.

between her choked weeping, the stinging water, the tears that now burn her eyes, megan hasn’t noticed anything happening around her, until the water stops. only droplets now remain, falling from the shower facet.

a towel is placed over her shoulder, the material soft against her skin.

megan doesn’t notice the voice whispering against her ears, she doesn’t care either. everything is too much—the feelings, her clouded mind, her trembling hands. she grips onto whoever is holding her, grounding herself.

and soon, when megan’s eyes open, the tears now gone and her vision clear, she sees your ghost-like figure standing in the corner of the bathroom. you’re watching her solemnly, a pained look on your face. your hand twitches at your side, itching to reach out to her.

she watches you, silently.

her heart breaks all over again.

sophia pulls her tightly against her, kissing megan’s temple, and tightens the towel around her younger band member. she holds her, grip unrelenting, letting her know she wasn’t alone. and she doesn’t let go until megan’s exhausted herself, passing out in sophia’s arms.

that night, megan’s sobs rattle the walls of the house. it haunts each member, an indefinite scar embedded deep in their lives.

₊˚🎧⊹♡

[wednesday, 11:04am]

for megan, the day starts with peeling the blanket off her body. a simple task, and yet she feels it takes a strenuous amount of effort.

today is a break in the kats’ schedule. grateful for having to do no work, megan takes slow steps as she exits the room. lara is nowhere to be seen. she isn’t in their room, isn’t in the bathroom. megan checks each room of her members. first, she finds yoonchae asleep. then, much like lara, sophia isn’t there either. finally, she discovers manon and daniela’s room is equally as vacant.

she trudges along the hallway of the house. its quiet, oddly quiet. the silence is so deafening to megan, her thoughts scream louder in return.

“morning,” a voice startles her.

megan looks up. she sees daniela, who’s sitting comfortably on the couch. a blanket covers her legs, an opened book perched in her lap.

megan waves, small and timidly.

before daniela can say anything else, megan mumbles an “i’m okay” in her direction. she hopes it’s enough for her member to not worry, hopes that it’ll put daniela’s mind at ease after last night.

daniela watches as megan smiles at her. its unconvincing, doesn’t reach her eyes. like megan is a moment away from another breakdown. the younger member walks on, and daniela continues to follow her with her gaze. megan looks lost, like she’s floating miles away.

daniela sighs, shoots a quick text to sophia.

megan makes quick work of preparing a cup of her coffee. she almost burns herself when pouring the hot water, and yet, it doesn’t sting as much as when she hears your voice.

“you should talk to one of them.” you tell her, voice low and quiet.

megan stirs the spoon in the cup. “i told dani i’m fine, because i am. okay, yn?” her words have a harsh bite.

“you don’t seem like it. i know you aren’t alright, megs.” you respond as delicately as you can, eyebrows creased together.

you’d been in this position before—watching megan carry on as if her world wasn’t crumpling around her. you had to admit though, she does a pretty good job at avoiding such a difficult situation.

“jesus—i’m fine.” she tells you, her tone leaving no room for discussion. and finally, she looks up at you. your transparent-like figure greets her, and megan feels her body run cold.

you swallow down another reply, opting to stay silent.

you can tell her seeing you like this brings an unimaginable amount of pain. it stings in your own chest, like your soul was tethered to hers, even if your heart no longer beats.

megan’s hands shake. she drops the spoon, and it clatters along the kitchen counter, echoing around the room.

she lets out a shuttered breath.

“i’m sorry, yn, i— i don’t mean to push you away.”

she watches as you nod, soundlessly. your fingers dance around each other, holding onto your own so that you ignore the itch to reach for megan’s. even if you did reach for her, you’d never be able to feel her in any case.

“i want to talk about it, i do. but i can’t find the words. i only have this hollowing feeling, like a void is in me, and everywhere around my body.”

megan inhales a sharp breath and turns away, back facing you. her coffee she made leaves her mind as she walks away from the kitchen and back to her room, once again catching the attention of a concerned daniela.

the room is cold. megan leans against the door and thumps the back of her head on it, biting down on her lip so hard she draws blood. she walks over to her bed a moment later, and falls into it. the comforter feels itchy against her skin.

megan doesn’t have to look up to know you’d followed her back to the room. she feels your presence, permanently there.

back in the lounge, daniela listens to the door shutting.

she doesn’t follow immediately. instead, she waits. quietly and carefully.

dani gives her the time, the space. she understands it’s what megan needs the most, what megan has stressed to her members countless times before. but this isn’t just giving her space, this is her letting megan drift further away, so far that daniela fears none of the members would be able to pull her back.

she stands from couch, slow and deliberate. her footsteps are light against the floor as she makes her way to megan and lara’s shared room.

she knocks once, no answer.

when daniela opens the door seconds later, she finds megan kneeling on the floor, her body slumped against the side of her bed. her arm is wrapped around her waist tightly, holding herself. daniela comes closer, kneels down along with her and places a tentative hand against megan’s shoulder.

“‘m f-fine.” megan whispers, but her voice is caught in her throat and she looks as if breathing alone hurts her.

“you don’t have to pretend, megs.” daniela tells her, gently coaxing megan into letting her in. “i know it’s hard, it’s a difficult time. but you don’t have to go through it alone.”

at her words, megan crumbles.

the dam breaks, the pressure too much. megan’s sob is loud and raw, the grief clawing at her chest finally rips free. its ugly, intense, harsh.

megan collapses in daniela’s arm. the latina catches her immediately, leans megan’s head in the crook of her neck. she doesn’t care that the younger wets her skin and t-shirt, doesn’t care that megan’s nails digging in her side is hurtful. she simply holds her, keeping megan up as the grief knocks her down.

time moves strangely in that moment.

neither daniela nor megan is sure how long they sat on the floor. daniela is certain her knees were bruised by now, but still, she rubs a hand up and down megan’s back—until her sobs turn into quiet whimpers, until her breathing evens out.

megan sighs, “thanks.. for being here.”

“always.” daniela locks her hands with megan’s, squeezing it gently.

megan tightens her grip. dani doesn’t let go.

₊˚🎧⊹♡

[thursday, 05:37pm]

the afternoon sun pans through the house, warming each and every corner. it’s a pleasant summer day, and the streaks of golden sunlight sets megan in a much better mood.

she’d spent the day lounging around, catching up on some episodes she’d missed over the busy weeks of katseye’s newest comeback. getting into a change of clothes, playing some games, listening to her favorite artists—anything to make her feel better and release her from this slump. you watched from the sidelines the entire day, glad she was taking a step in the right direction.

earlier, she noticed the messy heap of clothes thrown around her room, and the equally messy space in her closet. so, she decided she’d clean.

the sight that greets lara when she enters their room is her roommate, on the floor, folding some t-shirts and stacking them atop on another. she also sees there’s already two shelves thats been rearranged and organized, a small smile gracing her features.

“i take it you’re feeling better.” she says, smoothly crossing the room and flops onto her bed.

megan looks at the girl over her shoulder. “yeah, a little.” she nods, and continues folding some tops. she packs the finished pile onto the shelf, and begins folding again, starting another pile.

lara tilts her head to the side, “that’s good.”

the look in her eyes is less pity and more one of empathy, her gaze burning into megan’s. it makes the younger’s chest hurt, having seen this look for three days now. she tears her eyes away from lara and swallows down a lump in her throat.

they continue to sit in silence, being in one another’s presence as they each do their own thing.

when megan’s finished up with organizing her shelves, she stands up and moves over to open the other closet doors. hoodies and jackets laying on her bed await her, needing to be hung in the closet. she makes it through a couple, before she catches sight of one particular jacket—yours.

her hands become taut around the fabric.

megan’s stilled movements are caught in lara’s peripheral vision. she looks up, studying the chinese girl. her eyes were unblinking, like she’d been frozen in time.

lara doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t speak.

megan didn’t mean for the words to fall out, but when they do, they’re heavy with a kind of sadness that could break a person.

“she used to wear this all the time.”

lara looks at the jacket. it’s a beige color, and she can tells its old from the way the zipper is almost breaking away from the interlocking teeth.

“i mean, it’s cute. i can see why she’d always wear it.” lara replies, without any hesitancy, as if it was a normal interaction between the two.

you’re watching them from megan’s bed, sitting against the pillows. “tell her it was my favorite.” your smile was crooked, some humor in your tone.

“it was her favorite, y’know.” megan repeats, quickly looking up at you. the smile she sees in your face lights a fire in her. it’d been a while since either of you had smiled.

“i’d love to hear more about some of her other favorite things,” lara told her band member. quickly, she adds, “some day.”

her words have you gasping, looking at megan with excitement in your eyes. “ooh! you’ve got to tell her about my favorite spot back home! and also, my favorite movie, it’s a classic. my favorite band —mh, what else?— don’t forget my favorite marvel character!”

megan lets out a quick breath. this was all too much. too many feelings, voices, thoughts. she hears your words, but she isn’t taking them in. instead, her mind is far away, the jacket having unlocked a memory she hadn’t thought of in years.

you’d been sitting in megan’s room for quite some time now. an was an episode of spongebob was playing on her laptop, but she hadn’t been paying much attention.

megan tapped her fingers against her thigh, visibly bored and tired of binging cartoons. she looked at you, chuckling at the way you’re engrossed in the show. she sighed.

“let’s go out!” she yelled, quickly getting off her bed and walking around to get a pair of shoes.

“what? megs, it’s almost eleven p.m.” you replied, looking between her and the laptop.

“so?” she shrugged, tying her laces.

you furrowed your eyebrows, pausing the show and sitting up straighter. “what could we possibly do this late at night?”

“go to a park? get some food?” she offered, grabbing that beige jacket out her closet and throwing it on the bed. “i don’t know! but i’m bored and i fear i have a case of cabin fever.”

you laughed, shaking your head at her. “alright.”

following in her footsteps, you got off the bed and slipped on your shoes. when you were done, you turned around and that’s when you noticed the jacket megan chucked out the closet.

“hey, wait! is this mine?” you asked, looking up at megan while holding the jacket in your hands. the girl turned away sheepishly. “i’ve been looking for this for weeks!”

your mouth hung open in shock, thinking you’d lost the jacket somewhere at school. meanwhile, it’d been in megan’s closet this entire time.

“you had it all this time, you… you thief!”

megan’s already out her bedroom by the time she answered you, giggling to herself. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

later that night, while you two sat in the park and the chilly air whipped past you, megan shivered. she tried to hide it, but you noticed anyway. you’d unzipped your jacket, and even though she protested, claiming you’d catch a cold, you easily slipped it in her, making quick work of zipping up the jacket and gave her your signature smile.

“there, heat up. your nose is all red from the cold.” a scowl was present on your face, but the anger wasn’t serious in anyway. “looks better on you.” you proclaimed.

you stare lingered, warmth in your eyes. it was a look that megan had seen many times, a look that managed to say i love you without ever uttering the words.

a hand on her shoulder pulls her back, firm. stable. grounding.

it isn’t lara’s voice that reaches her ears. instead, it’s yours. you’d gotten off the bed, now standing beside megan. “hey, megs..” she can feel your gaze boring into the side of her head. it stings. she looks away, but your eyes never leave her.

she blinks, not even realizing the little tears that managed to gather in her eyes. megan sniffles, coughs lightly, and places her hand over lara’s. it’s a small gesture, a thank you, her way of saying that she’s grateful lara is here with her.

“i’m sorry,” megan whispers. “i was just— i remembered something.”

lara doesn’t say anything at first. she takes the jacket out megan’s hands, places it back on the bed and sits down. she gently tugs megan to sit with her, and when her body hits the mattress, she feels the weight of everything.

“god, i miss her so much.” megan’s voice is thick with emotion. “i wish i could go back, spend more time with her. tell her how happy she makes me, that i love her. that she’ll always be my best friend.”

lara listens attentively, rubbing a hand over her roommate’s back.

by now, you’ve stepped back. far back into the corner. her words hit you like a punch to the face. she could still tell you this, still talk to you. why had she felt the need to go back?

“those memories, though it hurts to remember, they’re the kindest ones. warm and comforting. hold them close to you, she’d want you to remember the good times.”

megan closes her eyes.

she thought the grief had been over, but now, sitting there, she felt as if this was a wound she’d never heal from.

this torment, agony, it took up space. space she didn’t have room for.

₊˚🎧⊹♡

[friday, 04:20am]

it was late and dark, the air chilly.

there was a large commotion that rang through the streets of megan’s childhood home. she had heard them from outside through her bedroom windows, frowning lightly.

megan looked out her window across the street. your undrawn curtains greeted her, giving her a clear view of your bedroom. the light was off, the room vacant and had no sign of you. she slowly searched for her phone in her bed, wondering where you were at this time of night.

maybe you were in the bathroom? perhaps doing your nightly routine. but megan knew you well, she knew you’d always leave your room light on when getting ready for bed.

she typed out a message, hitting send.

she watched as the message delivered. it wasn’t out of the ordinary for her to wait on a response from you, but something gnawed at her chest, an unsettling feeling that raised her anxiety.

megan tapped on your contact to call you, the ringing loud as she held her phone against her ear. the sounds of blaring sirens distracted her for a moment and she looked away from your bedroom window.

the call went to voicemail, so megan tried again.

that dread she felt settled deeper in her chest. she rose from her bed and walked out the bedroom door, phone still tight in her grip.

when megan reached the living room, she noticed the front door was open. her brother was out for the night, so the only person to have opened the door would be her mom, but why?

her heart began to race. another unanswered call from you.

megan stepped out the door, trudging slowly. down the road, she saw flashing blue and red lights. people gathered on their front lawns, looking out in curiosity.

what the hell was happening?

megan tapped her phone to call you again. this time, she prayed for you to pick up. she thought maybe you would have the answer as to why the neighborhood was so invested in something that clearly didn’t concern them. you always kept up with street gossip, surely you would know why everyone was rattled and out their homes.

she wasn’t sure when she began to walk out into the street, but soon her legs were carrying her to the end of the road. a large group of people stood around, she tapped on a random person’s shoulder to ask them what this was all about, but the person merely shook their head and sighed.

megan quickly spotted her mom and hastily made her way over, eyes frantic. “what’s going on?” she asked. her mom looked at her with deep sorrow, and megan felt terror struck her heart.

her mom eyes were wet with unshed tears. “it’s late dear, go back home. we’ll talk in the morning.”

“talk in the morning? about what?” megan questioned, a frown present. she looked over the crowd of people. “yn isn’t answering any of my calls, and i don’t know where she is.”

“oh, megan…” her mom shakily breathed out.

she peered at megan with something that the chinese couldn’t decipher. was it pity, or was it sympathy? and why was her mom a second away from breaking out into tears?

megan’s head whirled around. she pushed past the people, ignoring the calling of her name. it was difficult to shove through the crowd, but she managed until she reached the front. she let out a huff of air. policemen stood there, trying to assist the crowd. one lightly pushed on her shoulder, his gaze stern.

“miss, you need to step back.” he told her, and megan shoved his arm away. she didn’t mean to be so rough, but no one was telling her anything, and her anxiety was slowly creeping up on her.

“i’m looking for my friend, i need to—”

“this is a private matter. for your safety, please, i need you to step back.” he said calmly, despite the glaring look megan was giving him.

she swallowed down her frustration, nodded silently, and once his attention was elsewhere, megan moved along the barricades that were set up, trying to get closer to the ambulance van that seemed to entrance everyone.

she still had yet to find you.

as she weaved past the people, megan could feel her body go cold. she wasn’t sure if it was from the cool air of the night, or the worrying feeling that seemed to grip onto her, but something was wrong.

a body was laid out on a stretcher, white sheet covering the person. she watched as a medical team rolled the stretcher towards the ambulance as quickly as they could.

then, she saw it.

the hand that hung off the side of the stretcher looked strangely familiar. megan knew every part of you, even your hands. hands that she’s held in her own, hands that caressed her face with such gentleness, hands that she’s kissed over the years from scratches of accidentally hurting yourself.

megan refused to believe it. this person wasn’t you. this person was dead, and you were alive, somewhere out in the world, alive and breathing, and certainly not the one being rolled up the ramp of the ambulance.

it couldn’t have been you. no, megan refused to let such thoughts be thrown around in her head. it was purely coincidence that tonight was the one time she couldn’t get hold of you.

it wasn’t you, right?

her breathing quickened. that dreading feeling she fought so hard to keep at bay seemed to crack through the surface.

megan pushed away the barricade, the object scraping against the road caught the attention of some of the working officers as one made their way over to her. she moved swiftly towards the van, tears beginning to gather in her eyes.

“no, no…” she mumbled, not even realizing the approaching officer. “no! god, please don’t let it be her.” a force pushed her back as an officer tried to hold her down.

“miss, you need to calm down.”

megan looked at him in scrutiny, eyes squinting together as she tried to focus her blurry vision. she vigorously fought against his hold. his voice had an authoritative tone as he spewed out words that flew past megan’s ears. a ringing echoed in her ears, disconnecting her from everything around her. her body weakened, muscles going limp as she let out a wail.

“hey, no! i need to get through. it can’t— it can’t be yn, not my yn!”

she gasped out, pushing hard against the arms that engulfed her. her throat felt dry, her mind had no other thoughts but to get to closer. she struggled, but ultimately the strength of the man overpowered her.

all the panic she felt denied her the truth, but as she looked around, she saw your mom, weeping into the arms of your dad.

time seemed to stop in that moment.

she knew then, it was you. she felt it deep inside, like her soul had been ripped from yours, like someone had teared her apart.

“YN, NO—!”

megan jolts awake with a pant, her body and clothes drenched in sweat.

her legs are tangled in the sheets, the blanket half off the bed. the room is dark, and eerily silent. she sits up, pressing a hand on her chest as she breathes deep to calm her racing heart. the chinese looks to the side to see lara laying soundlessly asleep in her own bed, unaware of the torturous dream that her roommate had just endured.

megan blinks away remaining sleep in her eyes, running a hand through her damp hair. there’s some difficulty in trying to see in the unlit room, but she manages as she slowly peels the sheet off her and gets out of bed. she saunters out the door, moving about the quiet dorm towards the kitchen.

she’s in desperate need of water, gulping it down as if she’s been deprived of it her whole life. water droplets fall down her chin and neck as she drinks messily, breathing heavy and quick through her nose. she closes her eyes to calm herself once again, but all she could see behind her eyelids was the remains of her dream.

“it happened again, didn’t it?”

megan jumps, startled. she places the glass down and looks to her right, head titling up as she stares at your ghostly figure sitting atop the counter. you’re almost transparent, a mix of white and grey glow surrounding you.

she sighs, “yeah.”

“how many times is that now this week?” you ask, frowning at her in concern.

megan shrugs lazily and walks to the sink to place the glass there. “i don’t know. i stopped keeping track.”

you don’t reply as you observe her. megan’s hands are clenched at her side, the skin of her knuckles turning white. her body is hunched over, shoulder blades peeking through the back of the t-shirt that clings to her body. she raises her hands to grip onto the edge of the counter for some form of stability, letting out a shuttered breath and swallows the swell in her throat.

“have you spoken to your mom?” your voice rings through the air, tapping your finger against your hand.

“what’s with all the questions?”

ignoring her, you continue to talk on. “you should call her. the one year mark is coming up since…” you pause, a deep sigh leaving one you realize your words. “since the night it happened.”

megan shuts her eyes. “stop talking, please.”

“okay.” you mumble somberly, averting your gaze to the floor.

guilt begins to flood in your veins. the last thing you want is to upset her further, but as you look over her, you can tell she’s barely hanging on and all you crave is to comfort her.

megan turns back around to face you, though her eyes are trained on the floor. she took in another deep breath, and walks off. she finds herself in the living room, switching on the tv in hopes to distract her mind. silently, your ghostly body follows after her.

you aren’t sure how exactly any of this was possible. to be able to still be with her, that is.

you’d returned to her three days after your death, a week before the funeral. megan rememberers how she was lying in bed, eyes to the ceiling as she pat her hoodie sleeve against her cheeks to dry them. she’d been crying nonstop. she recalled how she let out a shriek at the sight of you sitting atop her desk, as if your body hadn’t been dragged out before her eyes days prior.

at first, she thought she’d gone crazy. how the hell were you still here?

she assumed it had to be her grief stricken mind, struggling to cope with the quick and sudden loss of her best friend. but time passed on, and you stayed with her. it was difficult and a little weird at first, because how was megan supposed to explain that she could still see you? how was she supposed to answer her mom’s questions of dealing with your death when you would be sat right beside her?

it’s a weird phenomenon that to this day neither you or megan would be able to explain. still, you’re glad to be around, even if megan grew older and you were stuck at seventeen.

the sound of the friends intro playing on the screen was is heard. megan had put the volume low enough so that she wouldn’t wake anyone.

you cross your arms over your chest. “skip this episode, i hate it.”

“but it’s one of my favorites.” megan argues, keeping her stare on the screen.

“let’s just watch the next one.” you sink further into the couch, groaning out loud. your head rolls to the side as you glance up at her.

“i’m not listening to you.” she retorts and moves the remote away from you. (as if you’d be able to touch the object anyways.)

“why? because i��m dead?”

“because you’re annoying.”

you snort out a laugh, and for a brief moment megan feels a smile grace her lips.

“it’s nice to see that,” you mumble. “your pretty smile.”

megan chuckles, a larger smile forming. half of it is out of happiness, the other half from the deep sadness that settles in her heart.

seconds later, the smile drops. “i don’t have much to be happy about these days.” she responds, turning back to the tv.

“thats such a lie. didn’t your newest song just drop?” you remark, sarcastically rolling your eyes.

“yeah, but..” megan bites on her bottom lip. the show does little to distract her. “you aren’t here to experience it with me.”

“i am here.” you say, voice firm.

“not in the way i want.”

her voice goes quiet, not entirely there. trembling and hollow. the base of her throat throbs from the truth now laid out bare.

you flinch, her words soft yet razor sharp.

you look away and down at the tiny gap between yours and megan’s legs. they aren’t pressed against one another, and still, you feel the pressure of her being there.

she moves her hand down. it’s now laid out on her thigh, palm facing upwards. her fingers are flexed out, loose. slowly, unknowingly, you reach down and place your hand above hers. then, you lower it down as if you were intertwining your fingers.

your hand passes through hers. there’s nothing but cold air.

your mouth parts, breath catching on the inhale. suddenly, you felt out of place. like you didn’t know where to belong. like being here with megan hurt more than letting her go.

the rawness of the situation hits you both. megan folds into herself, crumbling. her eyes don’t water, she’d cried enough this entire week. but her body feels dark and empty and numb. and you, you’re aching. not only for yourself, but for megan too. you’re witnessing her shattering, but you can’t hold her. can’t feel her. can’t hold her up as she breaks like porcelain.

so, you sit in it.

the hurt. the grief. the misery that’s made a home in both of you.

₊˚🎧⊹♡

[saturday, 02:30pm - the anniversary]

the park bench digs into the exposed skin of megan’s legs, and the heat of the sun runs across her body. she exists, quietly, leisurely.

the outside is bright, a colorful hue that contrasts the darkness of her mind. but still, she basks in it, reminds herself that she will be okay.

you’re beside her, as always.

neither of you talk. you’d been giving her space after a long phone call she had with her mom moments prior. her mom asked how she was, told her to come home, visit your grave. megan declined, she didn’t think she had it in her. she doesn’t thinks she ever will.

the year that passed weighed dense on her shoulders. there’s an ache in her bones, a blurry picture of how she managed to make it a full year without you.

except, she’s never without you.

megan thinks, perhaps, the grief sticks to her like glue because you’re still there. perhaps, if you weren’t in this form—a ghost, a figment—she’d move on quicker, easier. but in the same thought, she doesn’t want to let you go. not yet.

not when if she were to lose you again, she’d be losing a piece of herself. permanently.

you let the time pass, not making a sound. if there was one thing about you and megan, it’s that silence was a language you were both fluent in.

but the quietness stretches further, minutes turn into hours of unspoken words.

the sun burns her skin now, blotches of red on her legs. megan breathes, deeply, fully, and exhales. this time, she releases the heaviness thats been her companion for far too long.

that pain she felt, you’d felt it too. every day. all over you. but you keep it to yourself, megan shouldn’t have to deal with your pain too.

not not.

not ever.

yall icl i had no idea how to end this one im sorry :/ also yes i edited and revised all this but if you see any typos pls excuse its like 2am rn im fried 💔💔

#Spotify #katseye #katseye imagines #megan skiendiel #megan x reader #megan skiendiel imagine #girlgroup #gxg

209 notes · View notes

steddieas-shegoes · 1 day ago

Text

three things

for @switcheddieweek prompt 'spit' (a little) and 'non-verbal negotiation' (mostly this one tbh)

rated e | 5395 words | also on ao3 | cw: under-negotiated kink | tags: switch eddie, switch steve, friends with benefits, bisexual steve, bondage, banter, frottage, spit kink, anal fingering, anal sex, dirty talk, choking, not actually unrequited feelings, open ending but we can play clue together

⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕

Steve’s jittery and it’s making Eddie fucking jumpy. From the second he walked in the door, Steve’s been bustling around, moving things he doesn’t need to, taking sips of Eddie’s drink, knocking into things. Eddie’s ready to tie him to a chair and—

Well, that’s an idea.

Just as he considers acting on it, Steve groans.

“Do you think I’m too high strung?” He asks as he paces the floor anxiously.

“In this moment or in general?” Eddie has to tread carefully here. Whatever’s got Steve on edge like this needs to be taken seriously. One wrong word and Steve will shut down and it’ll be a long fucking night of trying to pull him back in.

“Like, always? Or most of the time.” Steve stops pacing, sets his gaze on Eddie where he’s sitting comfortably at the kitchen table. “Do you think I think too much about little things?”

Eddie’s brow furrows. Where the hell is this even coming from? Steve’s not usually high strung. He gets anxious sometimes, like when he knows they have to do their annual check in with the government doctors, but that’s not unreasonable. If he knows one of the kids is flying, he gets a bit nervous, but Eddie just keeps him distracted as best he can and it passes.

“Suzie mentioned that sometimes I get stuck on small problems and they ruin my day,” he continues. “Do you think that’s true?”

Suzie is going to school to be a therapist and likes to psychoanalyze her friends. It’s equal parts fascinating and annoying, especially when she talks to Steve. He takes everything she says seriously, even though she isn’t licensed yet and probably shouldn’t be giving her professional opinion to him anyway.

“I think that you do what every normal human does sometimes and catastrophize a little when you worry. It’s probably the trauma,” Eddie shrugs and stands, moving close to him, but leaving him space to get away if he needs to. He’s acting a bit like a cornered animal right now. The last thing Eddie needs to do is actually corner him. “If you think it’s harming you, maybe you could talk to a licensed therapist.”

“Suzie’s as good as licensed.” Steve folds his arms across his chest. “And she said I rely too much on you.”

“Did she?” Eddie scoffs. Steve doesn’t. Steve doesn’t rely on fucking anyone. He’d be better off if he did rely on someone more. “What made her come to that conclusion?”

“Apparently I talk about you too much. She thinks you’re my only friend.” Steve sighs. “Now that I say it out loud it does sound wrong. I have friends.”

“No shit.” Eddie grins, leans in until he can smell the cologne Steve always wears to work. “I’m just your best friend.”

“Other than Robin.”

“Other than Robin,” Eddie agrees. He straightens his back and nods his head back towards the chair he was sitting in before. “You wanna sit while I heat up leftovers?”

“Oh, not sure I can stay.” Steve suddenly won’t meet his eyes. “I uh, I have a date.”

Eddie ignores the way his heart clenches in his chest, painfully tightening. Steve’s still antsy, he can tell. He’s gonna go to his apartment and pace and worry until he has to pretend to be fine for his date. And the date won’t realize he’s faking it, that he’s pretending to be fine when he’s not. Eddie can’t let that happen.

“You should cancel.”

Steve gives him a look, one that says he knows what Eddie’s doing and he isn’t gonna fall for it. He has before, though. He probably will this time.

“She’s nice. I’m not gonna cancel just for us to fuck around. What about that guy you saw last month?” Steve snaps his fingers while he tries to remember the quite frankly unremarkable guy Eddie sucked off at a club. “Jeremy? Joey? James?”

“Isaac.”

“I was close!” Steve claps.

“Alphabetically, sure,” Eddie groans. “He was boring. Didn’t even fuck my face when I told him to. He’d probably run screaming if I showed him my plug.”

“I almost ran screaming when you showed me that thing,” Steve laughs. “I’m gonna head out. You find someone more interesting than Isaac.”

Eddie could beg. He’s done it before.

He could go along with it and wait for Steve to inevitably show back up at his place later when he didn’t get what he wanted from whoever this woman is. He’s done that before, too.

He could turn on the waterworks and guilt him into staying. That’s not something he’s tried before. Bound to work, though.

Before he can muster up the fake tears, Steve is walking around him and staring at the chair.

He looks back at Eddie and squints, then back at the chair.

Eddie waits because that’s all he can do. Steve’s either gonna leave and go on his date or he’s gonna stay and they’ll fall into their comforting pattern of being the only people who understand what the other needs.

Steve walks to the phone on the wall, grabs a piece of paper from his wallet, and angrily dials.

“Julie! Hey!” Eddie rolls his eyes, mouths Julie and makes kissy lips while Steve’s back is to him. “Sorry this is so last minute, but they need me to close tonight. Maybe next week?”

Eddie watches as Steve’s shoulders slowly relax. Julie’s probably letting him off the hook, thinking he’s such a hard worker for staying when asked. Maybe she thinks he’ll be up for a promotion, making the big bucks soon.

Eddie knows that Steve’s gonna fuck him up tonight.

He doesn’t hear the rest of the conversation, only focusing back in when the phone drops back on the hook and Steve laughs.

“You should get the ropes.”

It’s not a suggestion as much as a demand, and Eddie doesn’t hesitate to do it. Steve doesn’t like getting tied up, not even if Eddie’s the one doing it, but he loves tying intricate knots around Eddie’s wrists and ankles, sometimes his chest and neck if they have time. It helps ground him, keeps his mind from wandering into anxious territory.

It’s perfect for tonight.

Eddie keeps his ropes in his closet, hung up so they don’t get tangled together. He grabs all of them, in too much of a rush to make a decision about which ones to use.

Steve’s pulled the chair to the center of the room and he’s wringing his hands together like he needs something in them. Robin mentioned getting him a keychain that doubled as a silent clicker so it would keep his hands busy when he needed it, but Steve turned it down. Maybe Eddie can convince him later.

After.

Eddie sits, holds the ropes in his lap, and waits.

Steve circles him like a predator circles their prey before they attack. He’s hot and his heart is racing, and he hopes that he can be forgiven for being selfish enough to get Steve to stay.

He kneels in front of Eddie, grabs his face in his hands, and grins.

“You wanted this.”

It’s true. But he never said it explicitly. Steve just knows. It’s why they work so well.

“I wanted you.”

It’s a bit too honest for them, but Steve doesn’t stop to take Eddie’s words in. He’s up and grabbing the rope from his hands, shoving his shoulder back until he’s almost worried it’ll bruise. Eddie’s pale and Steve’s rough and as much as he likes the reminders of what they do, he’s going to visit Wayne this weekend and doesn’t wanna risk him seeing it.

“Hey. Easy,” Eddie says with just enough bite to make Steve pause. “No bruises.”

Steve nods, apologizes, but continues his work. Eddie lets him.

He closes his eyes and breathes.

There’s something peaceful about letting Steve tie him up, making him helpless in the middle of his own apartment. He knows he’s safe, they’re both safe. He doesn’t have to feel the emptiness inside that he feels when Steve’s not with him.

He feels full, even without the plug.

“Eddie. Look at me.”

Eddie does. His eyes feel heavy for a moment and then he sees how dark Steve’s eyes are, how blown his pupils have gotten. How long has Steve been working on him? Seconds? Minutes? Hours?

“Too tight?” Steve asks, for what must not be the first time. Eddie shakes his head. “Okay. I’m gonna grab the plug.”

Eddie’s not sure why, but he knows it’ll come to him eventually. He nods and waits. Steve’s only gone for a moment, familiar enough with where Eddie keeps everything to be quick.

He sets the lube and plug on the table, then turns to Eddie.

Eddie’s a bit in love with him, he has to admit. It’s pretty terrible to be in love with your best friend, especially when it’s a guy who has made it pretty clear he’s never gonna be ready for a relationship with any man, let alone Eddie.

But he drops everything to do this with him, and he comes here right after work even when he’s exhausted, even if it’s just for a few minutes, even though it’s two miles out of his way. He sleeps in Eddie’s bed when they get too high for him to get back to his place, curled up into his side or around his back. He uses Eddie’s soap in the shower and wears Eddie’s shirt when he forgets to bring the clothes he keeps here home to wash them. He leaves notes around the apartment for him to take his meds and to call Dustin and take out the trash. He does everything with love and it’s hard for Eddie to separate it sometimes.

Steve straddles his lap and waits.

It’s Eddie’s turn now. Focus.

“Gonna be good and listen to me?” Eddie asks him, voice rough.

Steve shivers in his lap. “Yeah. Tell me.”

Eddie uses all his strength to sit up a bit straighter, appear bigger. Steve loves when he’s tied up and bossing him around. He loves being told what to do while Eddie’s like this.

“You gonna stay dressed?” Eddie asks, not caring much either way. Might be hard to get the plug in, but they don’t have to do anything with it if Steve changed his mind.

“For now.”

“Then touch yourself.”

Eddie watches as Steve runs his hands down his chest, skims the edge of his shirt, slides them underneath. He wants him to strip it off, wants to see the way his nipples harden under his own touch, the way his chest hair darkens as sweat beads on his skin the more worked up he gets. He doesn’t make any noise when he pinches his own nipple, just lets out the breath he must’ve been holding for a while.

“Now the other one.”

Steve listens, stays quiet and obedient, just the way Eddie likes him.

“Feel good?” Eddie asks, but he already knows it does. Steve’s nipples are sensitive. He loves having Eddie’s teeth on them, tugging and sucking them into his mouth.

“Yeah, but I want more.”

“Greedy, but fine.” Eddie glances behind him, sees the bottle of lube. “You planning on using that or no?”

Steve follows his gaze, hands never leaving his chest. “The lube or the plug?”

“Either. Both.”

Steve shivers. “Maybe. Rather you do it later.”

Eddie’s not opposed. He likes watching Steve, but if he gets to have his hands on him later, have his plug in him, then he can wait.

“You gonna get yourself off like this then?” Eddie thinks he might be able to if they play their cards right. He’s never come just from playing with his nipples, but it doesn’t seem impossible. He’s riled up right now. On edge in every way. It might be time to try it out.

“Don’t think I can,” Steve admits, pouting his bottom lip out. It should look ridiculous, but it makes heat coil in Eddie’s stomach. He wants to bite it, suck it into his mouth and taste the spit pooling on his tongue. He wants to make him bleed so he can taste that too, find out if it’s as sweet as the rest of him. “Not without a hand on me.”

“I think you can.” Eddie laughs when Steve groans at him. “C’mon. I’ve seen you do harder things. Find a way.”

“Don’t have to be mean. I canceled a date for you,” Steve bites out, pinching his nipples again and scooting forward in Eddie’s lap. His dick is hard in his jeans, but he’s not gonna find what he needs with the way Eddie’s chest and stomach are pulled back with the ropes. Not unless he gets real close. “I’m not doing it all by myself.”

“You tied me up,” Eddie snorts. “I assumed that meant you were gonna do it yourself.”

Eddie’s own dick is straining in his jeans. It’s getting a bit uncomfortable, but he knows Steve will be pissed if he asks him to unbutton his pants. He’s supposed to sit here and take it, and Steve will sit there and do what he says. That’s how this works.

“Sit still then.” Eddie hasn’t moved, but he wants to now that Steve’s made the demand. He scoots even further up, so his dick is rubbing against Eddie’s stomach. It’d feel better if he took his pants off, but he’s stubborn. “I’m gonna get off like this.”

He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself as much as he’s trying to convince Eddie.

“I’ll wait.” Eddie smirks when Steve narrows his eyes at him. “Go ahead. I’ve got all night.”

His legs are a little numb from being tied and having Steve’s weight on them like this. The dining room chair isn’t exactly comfortable to begin with. He’s a little shocked it’s holding both their weight like this.

Steve ruts forward once, twice, groans before he drops his head to Eddie’s shoulder. He isn’t gonna get as much friction as he wants like this, but he can get the job done.

“That’s it. You just need something to rub your dick on, huh? Anything would work,” Eddie teases, voice low. “So desperate.”

He tries to sound annoyed or uninterested, but he knows he sounds a bit awed. Steve’s hips move faster as he talks, the room gets hotter, and the air gets thicker. Eddie gets impossibly harder in his jeans. If it’s possible to break a zipper, he may do it any minute.

Steve whimpers as he bites down on Eddie’s shoulder. He’s a bit sweaty from the day, and he knows his shirt can’t smell or taste good. Steve doesn’t seem bothered.

“Can’t believe you tied me up just to hump me like a dog,” Eddie grins around the words. “You know there’s better ways to do this.”

Steve pauses in his movements, but doesn’t sit up or move his face away from Eddie’s neck. It’s all Eddie needs to know that he can keep going like this.

“So stubborn. I should make you use the wall next time.” Steve whimpers and ruts forward. “You’d love it. I could sit here and watch. Probably hurt after a while, huh?”

Steve nods, but doesn’t say anything. Eddie smiles to himself.

“You like when it hurts though. That’s why you can’t stop what you’re doing now.”

“Mhm. Like it when you hurt me, though.”

Eddie bites his lip. God, he does love hurting Steve. He’s so good at being hurt. Takes it so good and then gives it right back to Eddie as if he isn’t covered in bruises and scars left by Eddie’s teeth and fingers.

“I like it too,” Eddie allows himself to say. It’s important to keep the boundaries there, but sometimes he can be vulnerable. If Steve starts it, he can follow. “You gonna let me touch you?”

“Maybe in a minute.”

“You’re only hurting yourself, baby.” Eddie rolls his shoulders, breath hitching at the way it tugs the ropes tighter around his wrists for a moment. Baby is allowed. Steve said it first months ago, one of the first times they did this, and it stuck. It’s fine, especially when it’s slightly mocking like this. “I could make it feel so good. You know I take care of you.”

Steve tenses, almost like he’s going to come, then groans and pulls his head back, looking at Eddie with wide eyes.

Eddie looks back at him, calculating, trying to get a read on what’s going on in his head.

He’s still unsure what truly caused his panic earlier, other than Suzie’s words. Something had to, though. He’s still sifting through it, not quite over the tension.

And then it hits him.

His date.

Steve hasn’t had a real date in months. He’s definitely done questionable things in bar bathrooms, but he hasn’t taken a girl out since…

Since they started this.

Eddie rushes to think back to what Suzie told him, thinks about things Steve probably left out of his explanation. How quick he was to cancel the date once he knew what was on offer.

Steve struggles with being the one to call the shots. Not just in bed, but always. He always asks others to choose what they do, and usually tries to leave another adult in charge as often as he can.

Other than life or death situations, Steve Harrington likes to follow someone else’s lead.

This thing they have, whatever it may be, it works. Eddie calls the shots a lot, but there’s still times when Steve’s in charge. Like now, when Eddie’s tied up, completely at his mercy. He may be encouraging Steve to do things, but he’s not the one making the decisions, not really.

It’s Steve’s safe place to call the shots. Eddie’s his safe space. Not this girl he was going to take to dinner or a movie or back to his place.

“Hey.” Eddie wants his hands free, but it’s selfish. His mind is reeling as he thinks of a way to do this without making Steve lose the control he has. “You’re gonna do something for me.”

It’s another demand, but he knows Steve will listen.

“What?” Steve asks, flushed and struggling not to find any more friction.

“Tell me three things you want me to do.”

Steve’s shaking and Eddie doesn’t know if it’s from being so close to the edge or from nerves or from being overwhelmed with all of it at once. He’s never looked so unsure when they’re doing this, not even the first time when they hadn’t figured out how to communicate yet.

“Like…now?”

“I want you to answer now, but it can be stuff you want me to do later.”

Everything shifts again; A whine marks the moment that Steve gives in.

“Can you-”

“No.” Eddie leans in, gets close enough that he can feel Steve’s breath against his own lips. “Don’t ask me. Tell me.”

Steve lets out a shaky breath, closes his eyes, and relaxes his shoulders. Eddie watches, waits patiently. His legs are starting to get tingly, almost painfully so. The feeling comes and goes as Steve shifts in his lap, moving weight from one leg to the other and then settling on both.

“Open me up.” Steve says so quietly Eddie almost asks him to repeat it. “I want four fingers.”

“Four? You sure?” Eddie’s never given him four. Steve’s never given himself four as far as he knows.

“Yeah. I can take it.”

“Okay. That’s one,” Eddie wants to kiss him, but he won’t. He can’t. Even if he weren’t tied up, he wouldn’t. “Another one.”

“I want you to fuck me.” Steve pauses like he’s going to say more. Eddie waits again, less patiently now that he knows what the next hour might entail. “In your bed.”

The silence that follows his request is louder than their breaths, louder than the thud, thud, thud of their hearts beating in their chests.

They don’t do that. They do a lot of shit, but they don’t do that. They fuck on the couch, the chair, against the wall, the shower, the floor. Never the bed. Not Eddie’s, not Steve’s.

It’s like kissing, in a way: silently forbidden.

Steve tenses when Eddie doesn’t respond. He starts to scoot back to get up, but Eddie lets out a noise close to a whine. He wants to move his hands, grip Steve’s hips so hard that there’s no way he doesn’t have bruises in the shape of his fingertips in the morning.

“What’s the third thing?” Eddie asks, making sure he knows he needs to stay right where he is.

Steve doesn’t say it. He’s pushing Eddie, seeing how far Eddie will push back. He could get up right now, go to Eddie’s bed, and they’ll forget all about the third thing. Eddie will let it be left in this room, never to be mentioned again.

“I’ll tell you later.”

He should insist on it now, but he won’t. Steve’s taking the reins now.

“Untie me.”

Mostly.

Steve works quickly, letting the ropes fall to the floor as Eddie slowly moves his limbs to get feeling back. He shivers when Steve’s fingers brush against his wrist, pulse speeding up under his careful touch.

“Anything hurt?” Steve asks, checking in the way Eddie showed him to the first time. Eddie taught him a lot of things. “Need anything?”

“No, baby, I’m good,” Eddie smiles, a real one, a soft one. Something almost too gentle for what they’re doing. “Let’s get in bed.”

He almost forgets to grab the lube and plug on the table behind him, but remembers when he watches Steve adjust himself in his pants and awkwardly half-waddle out of the room. He wants to use them when they’re done, after Eddie’s fucked him until he can’t talk.

Steve’s finally undressing, leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor. It feels like they belong there, like they could find a home in Eddie’s laundry basket, and then in his closet. Like pieces of Steve could stay.

Steve looks good in his bed, on his back, parting his legs. His hand cups his balls, lifts them as if he’s showing off exactly where he wants Eddie to go. Eddie’s dick leaks at the thought of being inside him.

He could probably lick him open and shove inside him with no argument, even though it would be uncomfortable and probably a little too painful even for Steve’s taste. He likes feeling the pinch of too much, the drag of skin that should be wetter. Maybe next time.

Eddie’s not gonna be mean like that, but he is gonna be quick. He’s not patient enough to take his time the way Steve may have thought he would.

He spits on Steve’s dick as he settles between his legs.

“Keep touching yourself. Don’t come,” he orders, pouring lube onto his fingers. “If you come, we stop.”

Steve whimpers and nods, accepts the challenge for what it is. His hand moves slow, languid in finding the perfect level of pleasure to keep him on the edge but not sending him over.

Eddie starts with two fingers, a happy medium between the pain Steve likes and the pain Eddie wants to try someday. It’s still enough to have Steve tighten around him, letting out a noise he’s never made before.

Eddie pauses and raises a brow up at him. Steve relaxes. Eddie continues.

He’s not gentle, but he could be a lot rougher. He has one purpose: open Steve up. He doesn’t even try to find his prostate until he’s ready to add the fourth finger that Steve wanted so bad.

Steve’s barely moving his hand anymore, just squeezing the base of his cock like it’s the only thing keeping him on earth. He’s burning up inside and out, sweat building on his thighs, darkening the hairs just enough to be noticeable.

As soon as Eddie pushes the fourth finger into him, Steve goes still and silent. Any sign of the anxious mess of a person who was pacing his kitchen floor earlier is long gone.

Eddie only gives him a second before he moves, pulls his fingers out and pushes them back in. It’s tight, really tight.

“Gotta relax or I can’t fuck you like you wanted,” Eddie reminds him. He looks down at where he’s stretching Steve, watches his hole flutter around his fingers as he desperately tries to relax. “Bet I could get my whole hand in if I used more lube.”

Eddie’s actually not sure he could with how tight Steve is now with just four, but Steve pants, nods like he agrees. Maybe they can try that, too.

Now that the bed is an option, Eddie could try a lot of things. So could Steve. Eddie thinks feeling his entire hand inside him might be enough to send him over the edge, dick untouched.

Steve finally relaxes enough around him so he can move and there has to be a direct connection between his fingertips and his own dick with how it jumps when he stretches his fingers. He’s sweating now, too, using his free hand to brush the hair off his shoulder for a moment.

“Your hand’s so big,” Steve whines, lifting his legs back further with what little strength he has left. ”So much.”

Eddie agrees. He’s watching how much he’s stretching him out and thinks it should be impossible.

He feels lost right now, shocked into watching what he’s doing rather than doing what the logical next step is: getting his dick inside Steve. It’s mesmerizing.

“Eddie?” Steve’s voice is unsure. “Look at me.”

Eddie’s eyes snap up to his face, unblinking.

“You need me to tell you what I want?” Steve asks, letting his legs fall to the bed. The new angle shifts his fingers so they brush against Steve’s prostate. He bites back a moan, but so does Eddie. “Let me.”

Eddie nods. He can’t fucking think for himself right now. Some switch flipped when he saw the way Steve took him, and he’s not sure he can switch it back by himself.

“Touch yourself. Get yourself wet.”

He does it. How can he not when Steve is taking deep breaths to keep himself calm? How can he not when he’d do anything that Steve asks of him?

He misses Steve around his fingers, misses the heat of it, the warmth that ran from his hand to his chest. The direct link is gone, even if just for a moment.

Eddie spits on his hand, makes the glide of his hand easier. He knows not to come, but he knows he could. Steve’s eyes are on him, watching and assessing, figuring out what he’ll do next.

Steve isn’t the type to drag this on. He doesn’t like delaying his own pleasure. He’ll make Eddie come inside him the way they both want, he knows that.

But he still worries this will be the time he can’t hold back, that Steve will watch him until he comes and then the night will be done.

“Just the tip.” Steve’s words make Eddie whine. It’s not enough, but it might be too much. “Take it slow.”

Eddie leans down, lines himself up. The moment he’s inside Steve, he groans and his brain resets, focuses.

He waits for Steve to say he can give him more. He wants to give him more, he needs-

“More.” Steve is barely holding it together at this point, Eddie can tell from the way his voice shakes and his hand grips Eddie’s shoulder like his life depends on it. “Slow.”

Eddie goes slow. One inch further, one degree warmer.

Another inch and Steve’s grip is harder, bringing him back to earth.

He shares a look with Steve, sending the message that he’s good, he wants to take things from here. Steve will let him.

“You’re so good,” Eddie groans against his mouth as he kisses him, pushes in until he feels tight heat surrounding him completely. “Always so good for me.”

Steve tightens around him, legs wrapping around Eddie’s back and tugging him closer. It feels too much like something he can hold onto, something way more than what it’s supposed to be. He doesn’t comment on it. He can’t.

Steve tilts his head back, lids heavy as he begs Eddie for something only Eddie can give him.

He wraps a hand around Steve’s throat, squeezes once, and fucks into him hard.

Steve’s hand moves to Eddie’s wrist, his silent permission to keep going, understanding of what he has to do for this to keep going.

They’ve never properly talked about this. It’s stupid and Eddie knows he needs to be careful.

He is. He’s always careful with Steve.

He only does it twice more, but it’s enough to have Steve pushing back against him, asking for more. Eddie removes his hand, grazes it down his chest, grips at his chest hair and tugs.

Steve yelps and Eddie smirks. “Thought you liked when I was mean,” he says to be extra mean. “You beg me to be rough all the time.”

“Be rough. But slow.”

Eddie is too close to go slow, but he thinks Steve’s in the same boat. He can probably get away with a few minutes of being rough before he comes.

“Wanna taste you,” Steve says, and it sounds like it might be the third thing he wanted. Eddie’s not sure what he means, though. They don’t kiss so it can’t be that. “Please, let me taste you.”

Eddie holds his chin, considers his next move as he fucks into him once, twice, grinds into him until they’re both breathless. He digs his fingers in, keeps Steve’s jaw open.

He leans in close enough to feel Steve’s breath in his own mouth.

“You wanna taste me?” He whispers.

“Yes.”

Eddie licks Steve’s bottom lip, so quick he could almost convince himself it didn’t actually happen.

Then he spits. Right in Steve’s mouth, watches it pool on his tongue.

Steve swallows it without being told to, closes his eyes and groans. He looks blissed out, cheeks red and forehead shining with sweat. He’s never been more beautiful, never made Eddie want to devour him quite like this.

It’s hard to keep things slow after that, but god, he tries. He would do anything for Steve, but he’s only human. He can’t be this close for much longer.

Steve’s eyes open and he doesn’t have to say anything for Eddie to know he’s too close to keep going.

They come seconds apart, so close Eddie’s not even sure who got there first.

Eddie fucks into him until he physically can’t anymore, wincing when it’s too much for his softening dick. He always pushes too much.

Steve lets out a laugh as Eddie falls to the side, grunting when his cheek smacks against Steve’s arm. He sighs and rests his lips against the skin there, scared to bring attention to it, but not wanting to put space between them yet.

It’s quiet for a while, their breathing evening out slowly as they come down. He still doesn’t move, but his brain’s starting to catch up and he’s left wondering something. He probably shouldn’t ask.

“What’s the third thing you want me to do?” Eddie asks anyway.

Steve is still, and Eddie thinks he hears his breath hitch.

His other hand comes up, resting gently on Eddie’s head. It’s a heavy weight on him, making him hotter when he’s already overheated. A comfort when he’s been giving and taking so much.

“Love me.”

Eddie should be more surprised to hear it maybe. He doesn’t even have a reaction at first, just soaks in the words.

Loving Steve Harrington has been easy so far, even though it’s been in silence. Understanding who he is, what he likes, what makes him tick, all of it has been a gift.

Even when he overthinks things, even when he’s high strung.

But loving Steve Harrington loudly, in the way he needs, the way he craves, might be even easier.

So he lets his lips pucker, kisses Steve’s arm.

“Is that all?” He asks, looking up at Steve with a smile.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #switch eddie week #switch eddie munson #switch steve harrington

154 notes · View notes

erwinsvow · 2 days ago

Note

Omg let’s talk Robby’s shy wifey!!

Is she shy with him? I picture she’s open with him and comfortable but he can easily make her go all shy and bushy if he wants to esp with sex stuff

Also he is the perfect guy to cling to if you’re feeling shy in a public setting ughhh he’s so big and beautiful and I love him

Also, I clocked your tags girl & I love it! She’s comfy with jack ofc 💖

i think she's really shy with him at first.. he's pretty intense even when he's trying to be normal like the eye contact and probably trying to diffuse and calm her down because she seems skittish and whatever he's doing isn't working. it'd have to be a non medicine setting so idk how to explore this relationship when he's not at the hospital like what context he'd see her in... maybe if she is a florist or owns a bakery or whatever cute tropes we love to give our readers and he's a regular.. why is he a regular at the florist i don't exactly know but assuming this man comes in regularly for his- okay interrupting myself mid thought because her being a baker makes much more sense. bakery with good coffee near the hospital and you're always the quiet one baking in the back and if no one's there you have to check him out and give him his large hot coffee labeled michael in your pretty handwriting and whatever sort of pastry you made. hmmm this makes much more sense to me. when you look up at him and then look back down quickly and avoid eye contact and it sucks because he's so cute and becomes a regular but you're just soooo not the kind of girl who flirts up customers, because normally you don't even talk to customers. one day you're not there in the back organizing the displays like you normally are and he asks where you are and ooo boy is that a mistake. the other workers tease you until you're ready to hand in your apron and quit altogether from the sheer overwhelmedness of it all. start calling robby your boyfriend like "oh your boyfriend's about to walk in. i'm gonna go take my break, you got this, right?" like making you talk to him. however... nothing happens besides a slightly prolonged conversation though you get better at eye contact over time and he kind of paints a picture of the sort of girl you are in his head—definitely way too good to be with him. and then you get into an accident with a hot tray or a frosting knife and they take you to the emergency room and you're with one of the residents but robby sees you and maybe takes over your care.. cue exchanged glances between everyone.. dana stopping by to see what all the fuss is... people staring at robby tenderly wrapping you wound while you stare up at him with huge wet eyes and he's being quiet and telling you you'll be okay, kid and back to baking in no time. and then you have to be like "michael?" "yeah kid?" "why is everyone staring at us?" [shuts curtain quickly]

okay that was a loooot. i do think though he's the type to pick your head back up and hold you in place if you bury it into his neck or a pillow because you can't hold eye contact during sex. veryyyyy eyes on me, kid. kind of breaks through the shyness because he has a very dirty mouth and you kind of are forced to break through because you enjoy it so much and you don't want him to stop. shy sweetheart wife has layers and he peels them all away. goes from girlfriend to wife really quickly, like, surprisingly quickly. it's because of the type of girlfriend she is, the waiting at home with dinner and dessert and making his house feel like a home with the smell of cookies and just really bringing warmth into that old man's bones. lots of you're killing me here, kid, when you're just staring up at him confused because what did you even do???? (gave him the reality of a life he thought he'd never have or be able to keep). an anxiety emotional shy girl.. lowkey perfect for him. lets him decompress and breakdown after a really bad day and wipes away his tears and somehow ends up crying too which just makes him smile because he knows how much you love him. i'm sure she brings in treats from the bakery to the hospital all the time around five thirty when the store closes, and she can be found hiding behind robby while he tells someone to bring it to the break room and thank his girlfriend (turns into don't forget to thank my wife real quick though). but it's endearing to robby. it's endearing to jack too, but that's for another time.

#sorry just gave you random lore when i should be talking about how he loves breeding her raw i'm so sorry #michael robinavitch #jack is happy for robby but he almost can't believe you're robbys in a sense #but robby is a very sharing guy. jack shared the roof with robby. he can share his wife with jack.

123 notes · View notes

neodymiumcuilz · 3 hours ago

Text

Hello, did you know people in Gaza have to live with the knowledge that they could be bombed and killed at any moment?

And could you imagine planning your entire day around getting some food and water, or using a toilet?

Imagine constantly hearing planes and drones?

Could you imagine what living the the most inhumane and horrid conditions?? Trying to care for your children?? Imagine living through deliberate starvation, and being forced to go to one of these aid centres that kills starving people, and risking your life for food, because you don't get enough donations...

This is a reality for Ahmed ( @samirahmed125 ), and he is from Gaza and needs out donations. He has been reaching out to me, and he describes his suffering. I cannot even fathom it.

I look at the small amount of donations, knowing that $300 is needed for them per day. And I fear Ahmed would have to go back to that "aid" distribution centre.

Please, keep sharing and keep donations flowing, they need $300 per day and can hardly raise more than $30.

Ahmed also needs donations to save his son Samir, Samir's condition is dire and his life could be severely effected by slow donations. Samir was shot in the abdomen, and due to lack of supplies, he cannot get the medical treatment he needs in Gaza. They need donations to travel and recieve treatment.

Please, if you have a blog with alot of followers, please share this fundraiser. Even with a few words you can bring so much awareness.

tagging to reach the algorithm:

@palestinegenocide @sar-soor @akajustmerry @annoyingloudmicrowavecultist @tortiefrancis @feluka-blog-blog @flower-tea-fairies @tsarizu-archive @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @visenyasdragon @belleandsaintsebastian @ear-motif @kordeliiius @brutalia @raelyn-dreams @troythecatfish @theropoda @tamamita @4ft10tvlandfangirl @queerstudiesnatural @northgazaupdates2 @skatezophrenic @awetistic-things @camgirlsurvivalguide @baby-girlsx @nabulsi27 @thejasontoddarchives @anarchafemme @sweet-honey-bunnies @lesbiansforglados @dxppercxdxver @sheepory @elb4ckfl1po @millenniumidol @heart-forge @infectiouspiss @baweiii @butchfeygela @fox-guardian @oars @wolfythewitch @technofeudalism @pizzat-i @theomenroom @unearthprisonpanopticon @sealsdaily @ashwantsafreepalestine @ubernegro @bugmatics @kingoftheironcity @checkadii @wolf-tail @thi4f @mt-travaii @redbuddi @plasticduck @risoria @mollysunder @sister-lucifer @punkeropercyjackson @immediatebreakfast @khizuo @nevert-the-guy @ahaura @chanafehs @yourpersonaltimebomb @wolstinien @neechees @ankle-beez @webdings4 @silicacid @schroedingers-mooneater @lonniemachin @dykesbat @charlott2n @watermotif @yeetsintovoid @momorikoz @determinate-negation @girlinafairytale @yugiohz @rebel-girl-queen-of-my-world @painfully-unoriginal

STOP SCROLLING, SAMIR AND HIS FAMILY ( @samirahmed125 ) need urgent help !!

As I said, Samir's family have been working unbelievably hard to try collect donations. They are broken and tired and seeing Samir in pain is unbearable.

Together, we can help save Samir's life with donations, please let us come together and have our hearts and humanity come together. It's abhorrent to me how many people (especially with bigger platforms and pages) don't post or talk about Gaza, people could find a fundraiser and help because YOU shared.

Please, take part in helping save Samir, donate here, 38% of the goal has been raised. VERIFIED BY @/gazavetters (#428) and by various other accounts.

Samir needs his spleen removed, he is also in a coma and risks having his foot amputated.

(Please share the QR codes scan to donate !!)

tagging for reach:

256 notes · View notes

trippinsorrows · 20 hours ago

Text

grief

authors note: if you not tryna cry or be mad at me, just go on and skip this.

no tags at all, cause i ain't tryna traumatize anyone.

words: 800

warnings: angst

Their arrival is something felt more than anything.

The way the guards who keep a good but safe distance suddenly stand at attention, shoulders straight, chin jutted in the air, mouths set into perfect lines.

Acknowledgement.

Solana uses the pencil in hand as a makeshift bookmark, closing the the sketchbook. Usually, she has no qualms about her children seeing her artwork. Never has. She’s always welcomed the sharing, but this….this is different.

Personal.

Hers.

Using her hand to shield from the sun, she makes out the three bodies that walk towards her. Each wear white, Leya’s long dress floating and waving with the wind. Lina’s is short and more form-fitting. It’s Tama’s matching white shirt and shorts, however, that make her take pause. From the moment she held Tamasa after giving birth, she saw him. Something that’s continued over the years. When he was just a toddler, then a boy, but now as a man, it’s all she sees.

Roman.

She sees Roman.

She has to ignore that weight in her chest that’s been present for now exactly a year to the day but even heavier this day.

She focuses on the items in hand of her children. Flowers for Leya and Tama, the ula fala for Lina. Hers.

Roman’s.

“Mama.” Her eldest son calling for her pulls Solana from yet another memory. Tama moves to one knee, hand gently resting on her shoulder. “You alright?” She can see it, the way he closes his eyes and looks down.

The way he mentally answers his own question.

Of course you’re not.

Solana offers a warm smile, offering reassurance, even when today, of all her grief riddled days, she's struggled the most. “As long as I have you all, I’ll always be okay.”

The same thing she’s repeated to herself every day that’s passed where she wakes up to the other side of the bed being cold, untouched, and empty.

That she’s woken up without her best friend.

Kisses to her temple from her three eldest children who then redirect their focus to the reason all of the children, grandchildren, and in-laws have gathered here at various points in the day.

Leya is the first to speak, stepping forward and carefully laying down the flowers. “Hi, daddy...”

Tama follows, clearing his throat. “Hope this wasn’t too much socialization for you today, old man.” He also lays down his flowers, stuffing his hands in his shorts afterwards. “Though something tells me you wouldn’t have mind.”

“No,” Lina speaks up, voice soft as she moves towards the headstone, hesitating slightly before gingerly laying the ula fala across, fingers glossing over his name. “He wouldn’t have.”

Solana says nothing, and neither do her children. Together, they sit in this shared grief, a first of many, an anniversary no one ever wanted to think about but a time that’s finally come.

The first anniversary of Roman’s passing.

“What do you think he’s doing up there today?”

Leya’s question is quiet, hesitant almost.

Tama scoffs, reaching over and taking his sister’s hand. “What he does everyday probably.”

“Acting a damn fool.”

A smile breaks across Solana’s face at Lina’s answer. Same with Leya.

“Him, Uncle Dwayne, Uncle Matteo. I can only imagine the trouble they cause.”

Tama shakes his head, also smiling, running his hand over his bearded face. “Man, if there was ever a case of people getting kicked out of heaven, it would be those three.”

“Especially daddy,” Leya joins in, the small smile previously on her face settling into something unspoken but also felt by everyone. “I—I miss him.”

At that, Solana looks over at her daughter, sees the way her irises expand and minimize, the slight tremble of her bottom lip, the way she turns her head, lifting her hand to her mouth. While Lina and Tama move to comfort her, Solana moves to stand, Tama, naturally, senses her movement and offers his arm, helping her to her feet.

Tama keeps his arm around her, Lina turning and angling her body as well as Leya’s, who cries quietly.

She shakes her head, offering unnecessary apologies for showing what everyone else is feeling. “I’m sorry, mommy….”

Solana eases towards her, lifting her hands to her daughter’s face, never once missing the way Tama and Lina, so alike, so much like him, work to hide the unshed tears in both of their eyes.

Unlike their sister.

Unlike Solana.

The mother of nine shakes her head, pulling her little girl into a hug, holding her the same way she did so many years ago.

“I know, baby.” Her voice breaks, eyes shutting, emotions cascading. “I miss him, too.”

#roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns fic #roman reigns #arisnotebook

99 notes · View notes

andcars · 1 day ago

Note

Ollie Bearman on a Land Rover, 1A1D1F-0304061316, for a race weekend!! Also, I just wanted to say I love all the designs you make, everything looks so cool!

ON PEDESTALS ━━ OB87

﹙ 87 ﹚ ─────── like an active sinner, again and again

being a driver's manager is tough, especially if he's trying to fuck you when you're years older than him.

relationship(s) ollie bearman/you tags top reader, dominant reader, daddy kink, age gap, praise kink, unprotected sex, anal sex wc 800+

౿ MASTERLIST ⠀REQUEST ME ⠀ TAGLIST⠀ PATREON GUIDE

radio "comments and reblogs are much appreciated!"

▶︎ ❝ oww. ❞ halo boy, bubble

Trying to manage a man like Ollie Bearman is tough. He’s the kind of kid who says what he wants, does what he wants, and expects no bad results in the media. For most of the time, he's right. There's nothing bad about him in the media.

It's out of it, you're worried about.

“Take it—fuck—slow!” You gasp out, Ollie pinning you to the wall. It's almost inspiring how he has no sense of direction, and yet it feels good anyway. He makes it too good, in fact, that you forget that you shouldn't be doing this. “You're too eager,” you say, shirt being taken off to almost the point of tearing it.

Ollie giggles. He reaches past your belt and mouths your arousal. “I think you're just getting old, old man."

He's been hanging out with Gabriel too much.

You think of telling him off. You think of seriously putting a stop to this… thing. He pulls you out of your thoughts when his teeth bare at your bulge.

“You little brat!" He laughs at your outburst. So, you man up to your decisions, and bring Ollie to bed with him hanging off your shoulders.

It's like Ollie wants to be disciplined. You're not exactly surprised if he craves to be disciplined. The bed thumps as you both fall into it, a fit of giggles becoming an echoing sound. “You're a little brat," he laughs as you tickle him to submission, probably the opposite of what he thought would happen.

“Oh my god—!" He pushes you off, knees up to his chest. “Stop that! Just get the lube and fuck me already, please?”

Ollie is a very persuasive person. You think that if you keep giving in to him, he’ll end up with a bigger head than most Formula 1 drivers.

Humming, you reach into the hotel drawers. “Every day, you really do test my patience, hm?” The lube is cold, and you warm it up with your fingers. “Little Ollie just has to be a demanding little piece of shit.”

“Mhm,” he puts his legs around your waist, “But Daddy likes it when he has to make me obedient, does he?”

Fuck yeah, Daddy does.

It doesn’t take long until Ollie clung around you, clutching onto the mattress, and moaning like no one can hear him. It’s almost virginal how tight he is. It’s been too long since you guys fucked and shit can you feel it. You lean towards his collarbone, making marks lower than any shirt can expose him. His nipples are perked up from the A/C of the room, and you pinch them to make them look pinker.

“Fuck, Daddy,” he drawls out, the accent almost ridiculous. Yet you can’t shake off the fact that this has turned you on more than anything has in your life. “Right—right there, fuck, yes m-more!”

“Such a good boy for me,” Ollie moans like a pornstar. “You love having your daddy fuck the shit out of you, don’t you?” He mutters out a string of yesyesyesyesyes like he’s too entranced by the feeling of your pistoning cock inside of him. “Like being down and dirty with someone like me? Someone old enough to be your Daddy. Such a perverted boy, baby. Such a cute little thing.”

Every word you say, he takes it as gospel. He prays your name over again in a spill of calling you his daddy. It doesn’t matter if there’s gonna be grey in your hair, or that your body is way larger than his lean one. It doesn’t matter that you’re going to walk him to the paddock next week, and that you’re leading him around with a rough hand on his neck.

Ollie’s going to scream, “‘m gonna cum, ‘m gonna cum, please Daddy let me cum!” like there’s nothing else that matters in the world.

“Make a mess, baby,” you tell him, one hand going to pet his hair. “Make a pretty mess for Daddy. He wants to see how much of a wreck he’s made you.”

Ollie whines, “Kisses, please?”

“Only for good boys.”

You lock your lips together, tongues testing each other before you shove yours inside his mouth. His moans are muffled into your mouth as he soon climaxes all over his stomach. It’s not long until you fill him up either. The warmth of being inside of him, the rawness of it, it’s all getting to your head.

Fucking your cum deeper in him, you slow your pace. He’s practically writhing as he calms from his orgasm. “Mmm,” he hums, throwing his head back, “Not bad for an old timer.”

You pull out of him, watching your cum drip out of his pink hole. “I seriously need you to stop hanging out with Gabriel,” he only laughs as you attack his neck with kisses. This is bad, but you’re going to do this all over again the next opportunity you get.

@Delululeclerc @hiireadstuff @rtorresblog @Jamie2305 @nichmeddar @vannylen2144

73 notes · View notes

guiltyasdave · 2 days ago

Text

marry, kiss, or kill me

pairing: Dave York x Carol York

summary: Dave and Carol's kinky origin story (which is canon, thank you).

word count: ~2.6k

tags/warnings: explicit smut -> mdni, young carol and dave, fluff, flirting, dirty talk, talk about kinks and boundaries, unprotected p in v, nipple play, ass and titty slaps, hair pulling, a bit of rough sex, alcohol consumption

a/n: written for @thatcorporategirlie's never have i ever challenge, kiwi babe i'm sorry for being so late and also for stealing @sizzlingcloudmentality's man and prompt lol <3 (and of COURSE thank you daphne for holding my hand through this as always!!!)

follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for fic updates and find my full masterlist here :)

dividers by @saradika-graphics 🤍

In truth, Dave feels a little too old to play a game like Never have I ever. But here he is, surrounded by people he barely knows. Sitting in a loose circle on the floor, his legs crossed, Carol leaning into his side.

They’d only been dating for a couple of weeks and honestly, he was a bit surprised when she invited him along to a housewarming party of one of her friends.

He likes Carol. He really, really likes her. She makes him laugh all the time. She’s much smarter than him. She wants a family, just like he does. Things feel easy with her. Right, somehow. And maybe it’s too early for that, but he could see himself build a life with her. So, he took it as a good sign and accepted the invitation.

Most of the people around have been part of her friend group in high school, and he sees her turning into a different version of herself. A little less mature, a little more reckless. Giggling with her girlfriends, sipping on cheap wine, not like the ones that the both of them pick out together now. It makes him wish that he had already known her back then. It has him feeling a little younger himself, makes him forget about the pressure that his life is now shaped by.

He’s been letting Carol pull him along, letting her introduce him to her friends. He’s been pretending that he doesn’t notice the appraising glances that are thrown his way, the variations of more or less subtle expressions on their faces aimed at her.

Someone had suggested to play drinking games, for old times sake. The mere idea had been met with wild giggles and enthusiasm. So that’s what they’re doing.

Carol’s hand is resting on his shoulder with a casual possessiveness that he likes. Sometimes her fingers slide upwards to play with strands of his hair. She’s slurring her speech a little when she whispers into his ear, and he thinks it’s adorable.

He also has to admit that the game is much more fun now than it was in his high school days. Everyone is a bit older, a bit more experienced, so the most harmless confessions don’t lead to scandalized gasps and embarrassed laughter like back then.

The guy on his right side thinks for a moment, then comes up with, “Never have I ever had a sex related injury.” There’s a second of contemplating, with no one touching their drinks just yet. Dave’s saying a quiet prayer of gratitude that he hasn’t, because he’s heard stories from a buddy of his, and well—

Then, Carol pipes up from beside him.

“Do bruises count?”

There’s another moment of stunned silence, and he feels a charged kind of heat traveling up his nape, where her fingernails are now teasingly scratching over his skin. She exchanges knowing looks with a few of her girlfriends, who are beginning to giggle again.

“Like a hickey, you mean?” a young woman across from them shyly asks, obviously unaware of any other indication. Carol smiles at her warmly.

“Yeah babe, like a hickey.”

Her lips curl around the glass when she takes another sip from her wine.

It’s late in the evening when they stumble into Carol’s small apartment, both just on the right side of tipsy, enough that they could barely keep their hands off each other on the cab ride. Dave keeps kissing her hungrily as he’s walking her backwards to the bedroom, dimly lit with the yellow glow of a lamp on the nightstand.

He’s paying special attention to her neck, knowing that she likes the way his end-of-the-day stubble scratches over the sensitive skin there. The breathy moans that she responds with are music to his ears. Dave waits until they’re surrounded by soft sheets, with her hands buried in his hair, until his mouth gets more demanding.

His lips are traveling down, his teeth sinking into the skin beside her collarbone, sucking it into his mouth, his tongue pressing hard against her flesh. She mewls underneath him, nails digging into his scalp, trying to pull him even closer. When he finally lets go, he can already see the purple bruise beginning to blossom under her skin. He looks up to find her looking at him, her eyes glinting knowingly in the low light.

“What did you really mean? About bruises?” he asks, pressing a softer kiss to the abused skin.

“Who says I meant anything more than this?”

Her tone is teasing, challenging him.

“Me.”

He pushes himself up until he’s at eye level with her, placing kisses on her mouth, her cheeks. She laughs softly, cupping his face with one hand, kissing him back and holding him against her for a moment.

“Okay,” she concedes, her fingers gliding over his shoulders and down his biceps. He suppresses a shudder at the goosebumps that follow her touch. “I— I sometimes like it when things are a little… rougher?” She shrugs, her expression just shy of embarrassed. “Rough enough to bruise, I guess.”

Dave inhales sharply. The suggestion had tugged at the back of his mind all evening, obviously, but to hear her say it… His cock strains hard against the fabric of his pants and he lowers himself down just a little, giving himself just a hint of pressure against her thigh. Of course, she zeroes in on it like a huntress onto her prey. Her grin would be sharp enough to cut him if she tried.

“Do you like that, too?”

He gives something between a shrug and a nod, gratefully accepting another kiss when she pulls him down towards her lips again. “I— maybe. I’ve never—”

“Would you want to try?”

And fuck, does he want to try. Just— It always left him feeling kinda fucked up, when he jerked off to another porn video labeled rough sex or hard spanking or punishment. Wasn’t he fucked up for getting off to that? And sure, the women in the videos were getting paid for it, but would any of them really… want this?

“Are you sure?”

It’s the opposite of how he wants to be right now, his voice all timid and unsure of himself. He wants to be powerful, in control, but in this second, it rather feels like the opposite.

Carol laughs softly and nods, gripping his shoulders and motioning for him to move. He goes willingly, watches her take off her dress and straddle him in only her underwear. The bruise he sucked into her skin is an uneven shape in the semi-darkness, a mark that he left on her. Fuck, he’s gonna leave more if she really wants him to.

“Okay,” she coos against his cheek, peppering his skin with kisses. “I’ll tell you what I like, and if you want to, you can do that. Deal?”

He can only nod, his throat bobbing as he swallows.

“I like being slapped.” Her voice is soft, her breath ghosting over his chest. “On my ass, my tits. Pinched, too.” Dave’s hips buck into her and she moans into his mouth. His hands find her waist, holding her tightly.

“What else?”

She grins at the tone, at the way the question comes through his gritted teeth. She leans down, her mouth right next to his ear.

“I want you to fuck me, so hard that it hurts. So hard that I’m sore the next day.”

Her teeth nip at his earlobe while her hips bear down on him, a soft moan escaping her when he meets the movement with his own.

“Okay.” His voice is husky to his own ears, already breathless with arousal. His cock is throbbing in his pants. “You’ll— you’ll tell me? If it’s too much?”

“Of course,” she promises. Her hands dip under his shirt, gliding over his naked stomach, up to his chest. His muscles quiver under her touch. “Get this off?” The words land on his lips along with her warm breath and he lets her push the fabric upwards, revealing his bare skin to her. He feels like he’s already burning up, his body hot under her fingertips, eager for what’s to come.

Dave’s own hands find his belt buckle, hastily opening it and pushing both his pants and his underwear down in one quick motion. His cock is already leaking, hot and heavy when he pumps himself once. Carols reaches back and opens her bra, letting her tits spill out and right into his waiting hands.

He has always liked playing with her nipples. Liked how it made her squirm, how needy it made her moans sound. He starts like this, with what he knows. She shifts around in his lap, sighing his name. The soaked fabric of her panties rubs against him, teasing him.

With his eyes trained on her face, he scrapes a fingernail over her nipple, watches her mouth fall open and her eyes squeeze shut when he pinches the hard nub between his thumb and pointer finger and tugs. Just a little bit, just to try, but the reaction spurs him on.

“Again, please,” she sighs, her own fingernails digging into his chest.

“Yeah?” he breathes, both hands finding her breasts now and tugging simultaneously, a bit harder this time.

Carol’s moan reverberates through the room and her back arches, pushing her breasts into his hands. It elates him, to be able to make her feel like this, to elicit this reaction from her.

Impatient now, driven by hot need pulsing through him, he pushes her underwear to the side and thrusts his hips up, sinking into her. She meets him halfway, with a cry of his name on her lips.

Her slick warmth engulfs him as her tight walls open up for him, making room for how his cock snaps into her. One of his hands is still toying with her nipple, teasing and tugging, and his name falls from her lips in needy little whimpers. He loves to watch her like this. And there’s more, more she allowed him to do, things he wants to—

He hesitates for a second, taking her in, the bliss on her face, the movement of her body. Then, as if his brain finally short-circuits, he gives in to the desire. His hand connects with her ass cheek in a satisfying slapping sound. A loud, surprised moan tumbles from her mouth, in time with her nails digging into his flesh and her walls clenching around him so tightly that it takes all his willpower to not come then and there.

“Fuck,” he grits out, his hand coming down a second and a third time before he can stop himself. It’s a strange thrill, letting himself loose like this. And to see Carol take it all, to know that she asked him to do this, that she likes it—

He thrusts upwards with all the force he has while she bears down on him hard, crying out his name again. He wants, needs more. Gritting his teeth, he anchors her to himself with one hand on her hip while the other connects with her breast. It’s intoxicating, seeing the way her flesh bounces under his touch, seeing a shudder of pleasure ripple through her, seeing her throw her head back in reaction.

He wants to do it again, see it again, so he does. His hand colors her flesh red, marking her, bruising her, adding to the spot by her collarbone.

Without thinking, his fingers tangle in her hair, giving it a light tug. She reads the question on his face without needing words.

“Fuck, please.”

Her grin mirrors his when he fucks up into her and fists the strands tighter, pulling her head back and exposing her neck. Her nails scramble for purchase on his chest, probably leaving her own red marks on him.

Her walls are engulfing him impossibly tight, her thighs are trembling, and he feels his climax approaching dangerously fast. With one hand still in her hair, the other trails down her naked body, groping where he can, until his fingers find her clit and press down with practiced ease.

“Wait,” she gasps, and he stills instantly, letting go of her hair like he’s been burnt. Was he too rough, did he hurt her, read her wrong?

“Are you okay? I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

His hands cup her face, searching her expression for any indication of what might be wrong.

Carol shushes him gently, her lips connecting with his, her tongue slipping into his mouth for a short moment.

“I’m okay.” She allows herself a grin and a nip to his bottom lip. “I just thought, maybe we could—” She hesitates, a hint of a blush coloring her cheeks. “Maybe you could fuck me from behind?”

“Fuck,” he murmurs, kissing her back more urgently now, his own teeth sinking into her lip in retaliation. “Move, then.” A playful slap lands on her backside, making her giggle.

She scrambles off of him and to her knees, taking off her underwear in the process and flinging it across the room. When Dave gets to his feet, she’s already kneeling on the mattress, her bare ass presented to him, her back arched and her legs spread, giving him a perfect view and perfect access.

“So hard that you’ll feel it tomorrow?” he asks, leaning over her and leaving kisses over her shoulders.

“So hard that I’ll walk funny tomorrow,” Carol quips back, making him groan.

Hooking his hands over her hips and holding her steady, he fucks into her in one hard stroke, making her cry out. Pistoning into her, making sure that she feels him as deep as possible, that he’s staking his claim even inside of her. He slaps her ass again as well, a few times in quick succession, mesmerised by the red that’s blooming across her skin almost instantly and the sweet sounds of her moans in his ears.

She has sneaked one of her hands between her legs and he feels her clenching around his cock over and over, covering him in her wetness with every thrust that he punches deep inside of her.

“Come for me,” he demands when he feels her becoming almost impossibly tight, feels her walls beginning to flutter, his hand finding her bruised skin once more.

Her scream of his name is muffled into the sheets, but the wild trembling of her body and the rhythmic squeezing of his cock hit him with full force, pulling him over the edge right along with her.

Her hand blindly reaches for his at her back and he links his fingers with hers, spilling his own pleasure into her. His whole body feels shaky, the orgasm spreading through his whole body, down to his fingertips. He already knows that he’s gonna be addicted to this.

Gently, he maneuvers her body onto the mattress and lets her pull him down beside her. She looks wrecked, but the smile on her face is dazzling, making him want to kiss her beautiful mouth until his lips are raw.

“Was— was this okay?” he breathes out, his chest heaving and his skin damp with sweat, but his expression probably matching hers perfectly.

“More than okay,” he assures him, running her fingers through his hair.

It’s stupid, but looking back later, Dave swears that he knew at that moment that he wanted to marry her.

thank you for reading! reblogs and comments are love <3

#janas fics #dave york #dave york fanfiction #dave york smut #dave york x carol york #the equalizer 2 fanfiction

67 notes · View notes

this-acuteneurosis · 2 days ago

Note

I just found Don't look back (and first of all I love it, you are brilliant, I am barely finished the first fic but I am invested) and I spent some time digging through your tumbler for mentions of obi-wan/leia....because from these beginning interactions I have sense something and I am now invested and kinda confused????

Was this intentional...? Is this going somewhere...? There are no tags for their relationship but by other asks I see on your blog I'm not alone in this thinking.....

I hope she finds happiness. In the beginning I was hoping for some warped way for Han to join her because I love them together so much, but I also do love obi-wan and I am pleasantly hooked on their relationship now

I've answered asks similar to this before, but I keep getting them and we're far enough into the story that I think I can say some things more certainly without spoiling anything, or the plot magically changing on me. So here we go.

So. Like Fire in Our Bones. Leia and Obi-Wan meet for the first time, and I was happy with the scene, and then I posted the chapter and a whole mess of people popped out of the ground were like, "Romance?!?!?!" Keep in mind that this was before the Kenobi show was released as well, so we had no canon where Leia knew Obi-Wan as a child. DLB runs under that assumption.

So I was all, "Oh, surprise," but I'm a very ship and let ship sort of person, and once people pointed it out, I was like, yeah. Sure. They can have this vibe. They would, honestly. I've got a pretty strong head canon that Obi-Wan has been flirting to survive for decades at this point, and Leia is socially savvy enough to roll with that kind of behavior as long as it's not distasteful. She also saves him, and they bond, and I don't have a problem with people reading into that. I think it's reasonable. It's pretty textual at this point.

HOWEVER.

Once upon a time I also thought this story would be 200k words, max. I thought Leia would end the series having reconciled that Anakin wasn't Vader, but wouldn't be close to him. I though Satine would never make an appearance and Cody would be the first clone to like Leia instead of the last, and yeah. A lot of things started changing once I was actually writing the story.

At the beginning of the story, I knew I didn't want to write Leia a romance. A) because I wasn't sure who it should be with and, B) that was way past the where I expected her to be healing wise in her grief. But the story kept getting longer and she and Obi-Wan kept having moments, and I was like, I mean...maybe? Maybe something happens? I can't say no for sure anymore.

BUT!

We're far enough into the story now and I have a much better sense of how this last arc is going to handle the remaining grief Leia is dealing with, and also how much time she'll spend with Obi-Wan. I have no intention of doing a romance for her in this arc. Look how long it took me to get Anakin and Padmé together. We do not have time for that. So I've left Leia with no romantic pairing tags. Officially, the story will not be about her having a committed, happy, healing romantic relationship at this point. It will be about what it always was: cooperation and unity beating back the darkness, and how you have to fight for those things so you don't lose them when you need them most.

But if it makes your heart happy to imagine that all the remaining scenes with her and Obi-Wan are a prelude to something that happens later, feel free to enjoy them that way. Write as much of your own fic or draw as much of your own art as you want. Feel free to share it with me too. I've enjoyed reading the other divergent fics people have done of this story.

Just everyone, please be nice to each other. :)

#Don't Look Back #We Will Not Wear Chains #not spoilers exactly #just setting expectations #official Leia/Obi-Wan Q&A post

55 notes · View notes

lumiileth · 2 days ago

Text

CHAPTER 2: let you break my heart again

CHAPTER 1

pairing: Shanks x Marine!Reader, Garp’s Daughter!Reader, Familial!Luffy x Reader, Familial!Ace

tags: Bittersweet, Angst, Unrequited Love, Angst, Non-Sexual Tension, No Use of Y/N, (Extra info on the replies!)

Egghead spoiler warnings

word count: 7.200

summary: She was an anchor, foolishly reaching for the tide, but Shanks was the sea—vast, restless, and never meant to be caught.

or: She realized that Shanks and Luffy were the same - both too wild and free-spirited to be held back, they were always going to chase their dreams, while she just had to accept being left behind.

Foosha Village

12 years before canon

Luffy had said something that made her stop in her tracks, something loud and offhand, like most things he said, but this one stuck.

“Ace is the Pirate King’s son!”

She blinked. At first, she just stared at Luffy, deadpanned, assuming it was just another one of his dramatic exaggerations. But the more she thought about it… the more it made no sense. There was a purge of newborns after the Pirate King was executed, but somehow she realized that Ace did bear a faint resemblance to Roger, with a hint of feminine features.

“You sure he’s Roger’s kid?” she asked, trying to keep her voice flat, feigning indifference. But her heart was already racing with a strange excitement. She hadn’t spoken much to Ace since he’d shown up; most of her time was still wrapped around her Marine duties. And when she came back, it felt like Luffy had already found his own family.

“Yeah!” Luffy nodded emphatically, mouth full, rice flying. “He hates it, though. But that’s just stupid!” he declared, banging his cup on the table. “His dad is COOL! ”

“But I’ll be cooler!”

She couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips as she set down a plate of meat in front of him.

And then, just like that, it was gone and Luffy scrambled.

“I’m gonna go!!!” Luffy shouted, shoving the last of his food into his mouth before bolting out the door with the speed only a boy like him could manage.

She looked down at the empty dishes he'd left behind.

Her chest twisted.

It was a strange ache, half-hurt, half-warmth. Luffy had found his brothers. (brother, she reminded herself of the loss, brother, she repeated) He didn’t wait for her to come back to give him a family. He’d found one on his own.

And even if it stung a little… It also made her proud.

She decides to try and talk to Ace if given the chance.

Dadan called out her name.

“I didn’t know you were back!” Dadan said, despite her fear of Garp, she had always liked his daughter, she might even say that she thinks of her as her own daughter.

“Been here a few days,” she replied, gently pulling away from the hug. “I just didn’t have time to drop by. Sorry.”

Dadan lit a cigarette, leaned against the rickety door frame of her house, and exhaled. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks. You’re glowing as always.” She laughed dryly.

“Hah! That’s the alcohol,” Dadan smirked. “So, are ya hanging for a while, or just passing through?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she looked out toward the trees where distant laughter echoed, Luffy’s, maybe Ace’s too.

“Not sure, my transponder snail is a bit lethargic, so I left her alone” she said at last. “If I’m getting calls from work, I wouldn't know.”

A silence settled between them before she broke it again.

“So. Ace and Luffy.”

Dadan let out a small laugh, flicking ash into the dirt. “Thank you for taking care of them, I know it’s hard, It’s probably like holding back two hurricanes with a wet mop.”

“You’re not wrong.” Dadan smiled, her expression softening. “But they grew on me. Those boys… they’re gonna tear the world apart someday. In the best way.”

“It’s weird seeing you openly be affectionate of these boys,” She smirked at Dadan, who widened her eyes, looking like she was caught red handed, “So you do care!”

“I DON’T!”

“AUNTIEEEEE!”

Luffy’s voice rang out across the clearing like a cannonball, full of mischief and raw enthusiasm. His rubber arms shot forward, grabbing at her shoulders as he launched himself toward her with a force that would’ve knocked any other adult straight off their feet.

She caught him, barely. Her boots scraped back against the dirt trail as she braced herself.

“Luffy—ow! That’s my shoulder, not a slingshot target,” she grumbled, but she didn’t push him away. If anything, she allowed herself to smile just a little at the boy now clinging to her with the kind of desperation only Luffy could muster.

“Come on, come on, pleaaaase train Ace and me!” he beamed up at her, eyes sparkling with that wide, reckless hope of his.

She raised a brow. “Isn’t Garp training you guys?”

“He’s not here! ” Luffy complained, flailing his arms with cartoonish dramatics. “And when he is, he’s scary! He punches too hard, and he threw me into a mountain last week!”

“That sounds tamer than when he trained me,” she said dryly, crossing her arms.

“But you’re better! You’re cool! And you don’t yell as much!”

He gave her that look. That stupid, effective look. Big round eyes, quivering lip, like the entire world would end if she said no.

She sighed and glanced past him to where Ace stood a few feet away, arms crossed and expression unreadable. But there was a flicker in his eyes, curiosity, maybe? Or a silent challenge.

“I don’t know…” she started, only for Luffy to up the ante by grabbing her hands with both of his and practically shaking her. “Pleeaase, Auntie! We’ll be so good!”

She stared down at him, then she turned toward Ace. “What about you? You okay with this?”

Ace shrugged, but there was a spark of something almost eager behind the casual tone.

“I don’t care, I just want to get stronger,” he said. “If you’re gonna teach us anything, I’ll take it seriously.”

She folded her arms, pretending to consider. “I’m not going easy on either of you.”

“YEAHHHH!” Luffy whooped, already running circles around her. “You’re the best!!”

Along the way, they had realized, maybe, just maybe, her training was slightly harsher than Garp.

“You’re worse than Gramps!” Luffy cried through a mouthful of food, crumbs spilling onto his lap as he stuffed his face with roasted meat.

“You’re the one who kept slacking off,” she muttered, unfazed, casually tossing a fruit toward Ace, who caught it one-handed.

The three of them were seated around a small fire, the meat they’d hunted sizzling faintly on flat stones and as per usual, Luffy fell asleep after taking in almost all of their food, he was now sprawled out on the grass, his stomach round.

“So, Ace,” she started casually, “I hea—”

“Why’d ya become a Marine?” Ace interrupted, sharp and unexpected.

She blinked, the firelight casting flickers across her face as the question settled between them. It wasn’t an accusation, but it was laced with curiosity. A question he probably couldn’t ask Garp, especially not to Luffy.

“As much as Garp yells at us to be Marines, I don’t think he can force us,” Ace added, picking at the edge of the eaten watermelon, eyes not meeting hers. “You’re strong. You could’ve just said no. Become a pirate. Do whatever you want. Was being a Marine your dream? Who in their right mind dreams of being a Marine?”

She exhaled slowly, watching the embers dance in the pit. “You’re asking a lot of questions tonight.”

Ace shrugged but went quiet, waiting.

“…To answer you,” she said at last, her voice even but distant, “I couldn’t throw away everything Garp gave me. As much as I wanted freedom, I couldn’t walk away from the man who raised me.”

She thought of Garp’s face when Dragon left. The grief buried under fury. The quiet in the house that followed.

“I don’t agree with the system. I’ve seen its ugliness more than most. But Garp… he believed in the good parts. He wanted me to be safe. To be strong. I joined for him… and because I thought maybe I could do some good.”

Ace stayed still, his expression unreadable.

“But my best… it’s not something big or heroic,” she continued, a small, bitter smile tugging at her lips. “I realized I can’t change the world. I just try to keep the people I love safe.”

She hated being a Marine, but she loved her family more, even when it sometimes felt unreciprocated.

“So you’re okay with me and Luffy becoming pirates?” Ace finally asked, quieter now. Less defiant. Seeking something, permission, maybe. Understanding.

She looked at him, really looked, and saw the way his jaw tensed, the flicker of worry in his eyes despite his tough exterior. He wanted her blessing.

“I want you both to be free,” she said softly. “No matter what path that is. If being a pirate gives you that freedom… then I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Ace turned to face the other way, but she can tell that he was flushing from the way the tip of his ears turned red.

If Ace can ask questions, she can too. She was always curious if what Luffy had told her was ture or not.

“Say,” she began gently, testing the waters, “I heard something from Luffy.”

Ace shifted where he sat, not looking at her. “Yeah?”

She hesitated for a moment, then continued, “That your father was Gol D. Roger… Is that true?”

The change in Ace was immediate. His shoulders tensed, his jaw tightened, and the flicker of peace in his eyes vanished. “Luffy told you that?” His voice was low, guarded.

“Yep,” she said, almost playfully, as if trying to soften the blow.

“That loudmouth…” Ace muttered, burying his face in his arms. Shame crept into his voice. “Of course he’d blab to someone else.”

She watched him carefully. The shift in his body language. The fear. The instinct to hide.

“Before you get angry,” she said calmly, standing up as she sat herself closer beside him, close enough that their knees almost touched.

“he wasn’t trying to out you. He was just rambling. Bragging about wanting to be Pirate King, like always.”

Ace didn’t respond.

“Go on, then,” he muttered bitterly after a long pause, eyes still downcast. “Say it. Say you don’t believe it. Or that someone like Roger shouldn’t have had a kid in the first place. That I’ve got the devil’s blood or whatever crap people like to throw around.”

Her heart ached for him. This boy, so full of fire and will, still carried the weight of a name he never asked for. She ponders on what she should say next.

“I knew your father,” she said softly.

Ace’s head snapped toward her. “...What?”

“I was a stowaway on his ship when I was young and he took me in right then and there! An idiotic move seeing that my dad was Monkey D. Garp, not that he knew, anywaaays…” She rambled on.

Ace said nothing, but his gaze didn’t move from her face.

“I don’t know what you went through, Ace,” she continued, “truly. But you should know this, if your father had known you, if he’d had the chance… I think he would’ve loved you with everything he had.”

“A demon like that could never love his own child,” Ace muttered, his voice rough with a mix of anger and something quieter, something close to doubt.

But even as the words left his mouth, they didn’t settle like truth. They felt… empty. The kind of thing you say over and over until you start believing it. Except, for the first time, Ace wasn’t sure he did.

She didn’t speak right away. Just sat there, letting the silence work its way through the heaviness between them.

“You don’t sound convinced,” she finally said, quiet but firm.

Ace scoffed. “I have to.”

Her gaze flicked toward him, sharp yet gentle. “Why? Because it’s easier to hate him than to wonder what could’ve been?”

Ace clenched his fists in the dirt beneath them, jaw tightening. He looked like he wanted to yell, or run, or break something, but he didn’t. He just breathed. Shaky and uneven.

“You’re the first person,” he said slowly, “who’s ever talked about him like that. Like he was a person. Not a monster. Not a pirate king. Just... a man.”

“I didn’t know him long,” she admitted, “but I knew enough. He laughed too loud, ate too much, trusted people too easily, and risked his life for his crew. He wasn’t perfect. He was far from it. But he loved this world, and that’s why… he would’ve loved you, too.”

Ace blinked hard, head turned away as his voice cracked, “I don’t know if I could’ve loved him.”

She gently nudged his shoulder. “You don’t have to. But maybe, you can stop hating yourself because of him.”

He looked at her, really looked at her, and for a moment, he seemed so much younger than he usually let himself be.

“Thanks.” It was curt and mannerless, but she knew he meant well.

“Don’t mention it, kid.”

Oro Jackson

30 years ago

“Say, Lass,” Roger called out, his voice booming warmly as he approached the girl seated cross-legged on a barrel near the ship’s edge. The salty breeze tousled her hair, but her gaze remained locked on the ocean. “Aren’t ya gonna tell me where you came from?”

She didn’t look back, only shrugged. “You never asked, old man.”

Roger barked out a hearty laugh. “Fair enough! So? Where’s home?”

“The East Blue,” she replied simply, her voice carried on the wind.

Roger whistled, his grin widening. “Well, I’ll be damned. What do you know, we’ve got more in common than I thought!”

“You’re from the East Blue?” She finally turned to face him, eyes wide with disbelief. The man on his way to becoming the best pirate this world has ever seen, hailed from what is considered as the weakest blue?

“Born and raised,” he said proudly, jabbing his thumb to his chest. “Loguetown. Polestar Islands.”

Her mouth parted slightly. “Foosha Village. Dawn Island.”

Roger chuckled. “Now that you’ve had a taste of the world, the East Blue must feel a little smaller, huh?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her eyes wandered back to the sea, shimmering beneath the moonlight. But something in her expression had changed, a flicker of awe, of longing, of possibility.

“The sea feels alive,” she murmured. “Like it’s calling.”

Roger smiled at that, his expression softening beneath the shadow of his hat. “That’s the pull, Lass. The sea only calls the wild ones.”

“Wild, huh?” she echoed, her lips quirking upward.

“You wouldn’t be on this ship if you weren’t.”

“Guess that’s true,” she murmured, her voice lighter now, like the sea breeze itself.

Roger leaned against the railing beside her, arms crossed as he watched the same vast sea. “You wanna sail your own ship one day?”

She blinked, surprised by the question. It hadn’t crossed her mind, not really. Not seriously.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly, her legs swinging off the barrel now. “I don’t think I’d make a good captain.”

Roger glanced sideways at her, but didn’t say anything. He just nodded, understanding in his silence.

“But I think about it sometimes,” she admitted, “A ship of my own. A crew. But where would I even go? What would I be looking for?”

“Freedom,” Roger said, like it was the easiest answer in the world, his smile brighter than the moon in the sky. “That’s what we all want, isn’t it?”

She smiled at that, soft and tired. “Then maybe I already found it.”

Roger laughed again, deep and genuine. “Don’t be so sure. The sea’s got a way of making you chase after more, even when you think you’ve got everything you need.”

She didn’t respond right away. But as the waves gently rocked the Oro Jackson beneath them, she glanced out at the world again and wondered.

Maybe one day, when she wasn’t just a stowaway or a tagalong, when she wasn’t behind closed doors surrounded by white uniforms, when she wasn’t faced and burdened with a father’s dream, maybe the sea would call her in a different way.

“Maybe,” she said quietly. “One day.”

“Ms. Marine-chan,” Makino’s voice called out gently through a knock on the wooden door. The teasing nickname lingered in the air, soft and familiar. “Ace is about to leave. Aren’t you going to come see him off?”

“That’s early,” she responded from within, though her voice came out raspier than intended. She held back a cough, stifling it with the back of her hand. The last thing she wanted was Makino’s worry. “Yeah, I’ll come. Is Dadan still pretending she doesn’t care?”

Makino gave a knowing smile just as the door creaked open, revealing the older woman with a faint sheen of sweat on her brow.

“She’s still in denial,” Makino laughed lightly, adjusting the basket in her hands. “I brought something. I peeled one of your tangerines earlier, by the way. It's sweet!”

She handed over the basket and watched as the older woman took it with a small, amused smile.

“That’s sweet of you. Thank you,” she said, plucking a slice and popping it into her mouth before turning to place the basket gently on her table.

“Alright,” she said, exhaling softly as she reached for her coat, “Let’s go see Ace.”

They walked towards the outskirts of the forest, Ace ventured out not on the official harbor of the island, not when people don’t know who he is.

“Take care, Aceeeee!” she heard Luffy shout, his tiny arms flailing wildly as he waved with every ounce of energy he had.

“Yeah!” Ace called back, just as loud, grinning from ear to ear as his small dinghy drifted further down the river. “See you, Luffy! I’m heading out!”

“I’ll be a lot stronger when I leave in three years!” Luffy yelled with bright conviction, the kind only a child with a dream could have.

Ace’s gaze lingered, now not on Luffy, but on the woman standing quietly beside him. The woman who wasn’t his mother, but who had done more for his heart than most ever could. She had believed in him. Spoke kindly of the father he once despised. Showed him warmth, understanding.

Ace shouted her name.

“Thank you… for everything you’ve done!” Ace shouted suddenly, his voice cracking through the air.

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. She smiled, but it wavered.

“Dadan raised you more than I did, boy!” she shouted back, voice rough with unshed emotion. She tried to wave him off with a scoff, like this was just another casual goodbye, but the lump in her throat was impossible to swallow.

“Ya both did!” Ace yelled. “Thank you again!”

“Good luck, Ace!” she called, the words almost breaking in her chest.

“Bye, Ace!” Makino and a few others chimed in beside her.. “Don’t catch a cold!”

“You just wait!” Ace’s voice rang out once more. “I’ll make my name soon!”

And just like that, just like Shanks, just like Dragon, another person she loved disappeared into the horizon.

Another piece of her heart left to chase the sea.

“You’re leaving?”

Mayor Woop Slap stood at the doorway of her small home. It had always been quiet, always a little empty, but now it felt hollow, it was far emptier than usual.

“I’m a Marine,” she replied simply, folding a shirt into her half-packed bag. “I’m always leaving.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” he said, the weariness in his voice sharper than before. He stepped inside and slowly lowered himself into one of the rickety wooden chairs by her table, watching her methodically stuff the rest of her belongings into the bag. Essentials.

He exhaled. “What happened, lass?”

She paused for a moment, hand still on the bag. Then, in a quieter voice:

“Luffy didn’t cry.”

Mayor Woop Slap blinked, confused.

“When Ace left,” she clarified, her voice strained but steady. “Luffy didn’t cry.”

She wanted to. She nearly did. If she had blinked, the tears might’ve slipped free. But Luffy? He was smiling.

Big, wide, bright-eyed.

Excited about the future, about setting out, about becoming stronger.

She remembered a time when he cried. When Shanks left, he’d cried. That memory was seared into her mind: the small boy with the straw hat too big for his head, screaming on the dock towards a man she had affections for.

But that wasn’t Luffy anymore.

That boy had grown.

Now, if she left, he wouldn’t cry. He’d see it as a challenge. As a step closer to the sea. He’d chase her, not to hold her back, but to find her out there. To cross paths, to brag about his crew, to laugh and share stories with Ace under the sun.

“He’s grown.” She whispered it to no one in particular, but her heart squeezed around the truth and for the first time, she realized—

He didn’t need her anymore.

“So now, ya leaving for good?” Mayor Woop Slap leaned back in his chair, arms crossed as he studied the young woman before him, the one who used to run barefoot through the village, covered in dirt and mischief, now dressed in something neat, her pressed Marine coat not worn, it was folded and on her bed.

She paused.

“I wouldn’t say for good,” she said finally, her voice steady, but she couldn’t look him in the eyes. Because even she wasn’t sure she believed it.

“You’ve always said you’d settle down here someday,” he reminded her gently.

She smiled. “Plans change, Mayor.”

“Luffy woul—”

“Luffy wouldn’t mind,” she cut in quickly, almost too quickly. A soft smile bloomed across her face as she turned her gaze to the window, where the wind rustled the trees outside. “He’s got his dream now. A crew to find. Seas to conquer. Who am I in his grand adventure?”

Mayor Woop Slap studied her. “Does Garp know?”

Her breath hitched. “Huh?”

“Does he know?” he repeated, more quietly this time, his voice weighed down with understanding.

She gripped the edge of the table and swallowed hard.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she muttered, her tone just a little too rehearsed.

The room was quiet, filled only by the creaking of the wooden beams above them. Woop Slap didn’t press further. He just nodded, slow and grim.

“Makino’s worried too, you know,” he added, softer now. “She said you haven’t been by in weeks, just coming in and going, just to buy a drink for yourself.”

“I’ve been busy,” she said with a half-hearted shrug. “Marine work.”

“She thinks you’ve been avoiding Luffy.”

Her mouth tightened. “Maybe I have.”

“You know,” Woop Slap said after a pause, “that boy’s not stupid.” He paused again, realizing he’s wrong, “Okay, he’s an idiot and loud, wild, even more, but something about that boy means well..”

She walked over to the door and picked up her bag, slinging it over her shoulder.

“That’s fine,” she said, turning the knob. “He’s gonna find me someday and he’s gonna introduce me to his beloved crew and I’d probably cry from being too proud of him or something, I thought of this, y’know.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she opened the door to the cool dawn air and stood in the doorway for a moment, as if trying to remember something she couldn’t quite grasp.

“Take care of them, Mayor,” she said, not turning around. “Take care of my home.”

Mayor Woop Slap knew she didn’t mean her house.

Everything changed, just from one simple mistake.

Isolated, alone, just like she liked, but why is this man in front of her, at her stay?

“Dragon,” she breathed, as if tasting the name for the first time in years. It sat strangely on her tongue, familiar, yet distant. “Why are you here?”

An exasperated sigh escaped her lips. Even breathing has become a chore these days.

“Luffy isn’t with me,” she added, her voice flat. “But he’s fine. Wants to be a pirate. Good for him.” She paused.

“I’m not here for Luffy,” Dragon replied, voice as steady as ever, but she could hear the undercurrent of something else. Concern. Guilt. Maybe both. His eyes, usually unreadable, watched her too closely for her liking.

“Then?” she asked coldly, unwilling to entertain hope.

“I’m here for you.”

She scoffed, sharp, bitter, disbelieving. “Don’t give me that crap,” she snapped. With a shaky exhale, she pushed off the bed, staggering slightly before finding her footing. Even now, she refused to appear weak in front of him. Especially in front of him.

He had been her first heartbreak—not as a lover, but as a brother.

He chose the Revolution over their family. Over her.

She coughed harder, lurched forward in a way Dragon had never seen, he stilled as he stared.

“What?” she said, voice laced with venom and weariness. “Surprised the girl Garp trained like a damn warhound turned out like this?”

There was a pause. Then Dragon said, quietly but firmly, “Garp would’ve never let what they did to you happen.”

That struck something deep. Her jaw clenched, eyes burning—not with tears, but something colder.

“What do you know?” She clenched her hands that were on her side.

“You weren’t there,” She said, barely a whisper. “Neither of you were.”

She clenched her fists tighter and ushering Dragon to come into the humble abode, it was small, it wasn’t a proper house even, but it was enough for her to get by. She glanced at Dragon, who just stood there, looking at her as if she was some form of entertainment.

“How did you know I was here?”

“It took awhile, but I have eyes everywhere.”

Silence filled the air once more, she hated this, hated that Dragon was calculating something in which she had no idea of, the air around started circling while the rain turned thunderous.

“Stop that,” She glared at her older brother, even then, they could still be bickering like siblings, no matter how long time has passed, and contrary to what she thinks, Dragon had always had the best interest for her.

“Also,” she snapped, finally lifting her gaze, eyes blazing, “stop staring at me. Tell me, why are you really here?”

Dragon didn’t flinch. Instead, his voice came steady, deceptively calm, “How was everyone at the village?”

Of all the questions, that was the last she expected.

He was still Dragon, still the stoic, calculated revolutionary. But for a moment, she could see through the cracks. He missed it—home. Their village. The peace they once thought would last.

At least, that’s what she hoped.

“They’re fine,” she replied, voice clipped, unwilling to give him more than he deserved. “They’re doing fine.”

But her brows furrowed. Why ask about the village now? Unless—

“A close confidant of mine died a while back,” Dragon said slowly, the shadows in his voice sharpening. “She was captured by the Celestial Dragons. Died from an experimentation’s side effect… She was someone’s… eighth wife. Before she passed, she left behind her child, she’s growing up with the same side effects.”

She didn’t respond at first. Only stared, a distant memory tugged at her, half-forgotten and buried deep.

“When she escaped and called,” Dragon continued, slower now. “Your name came up.”

That made her blink. Once. Twice. Then a bitter sigh escaped her lips.

“I’m not in cahoots with them,” she said. “If that’s what you’re asking.”

But Dragon wasn’t satisfied. He moved suddenly, grabbing her hand, holding her with more desperation than force. His voice dropped to a growl, “You know exactly what I’m asking.”

“No,” she hissed, trying to pull back. “I wasn’t a wife. I wasn’t subjected to something that cruel.”

It was a lie. Or, at least, a half-truth.

She was the other thing.

And she would never say it—not to Dragon, not even to Garp. Especially not to them.

Dragon stared at her like he was trying to pull the truth from her soul.

“Are you like this because of what they did to you?” he finally asked, voice low.

“No!” Her voice cracked on impact. Raw. Furious. Desperate. “It’s entirely different.”

But even as she said it, her hands trembled. The kind of trembling that doesn’t come from weakness, but from the exhaustion of holding back too much for too long.

“When was the last time you went back to the village?” Dragon asked, his arms folded, voice calm but edged with something deeper. “You told me you didn’t want Luffy to be alone… so why are you here? Come with us. Join the Revolutionaries. We can change things, bring justice to places no one else dares to see.”

She didn’t answer right away.

Instead, she rose from the bed slowly, her bare feet brushing against the cold floor. With trembling hands, she grabbed the front of Dragon’s worn green cloak, clutching it as if she could somehow shake the hypocrisy out of him.

“How dare you,” she said, voice thick with disbelief. “How dare you talk about Luffy being alone.”

Her fists clenched tighter around the fabric. She looked up at him, eyes swimming with unshed tears, not weak, never weak, but exhausted.

“You say that like you weren’t the one who left. You left everything. You don’t get to say that to me,” she spat. “ Me. ”

The last word echoed between them like a punch.

“You only ever cared about the Revolution,” she continued, her voice rising. “If Ginny—” her voice faltered at the name, and it tasted bitter on her tongue, “—if Ginny hadn’t said my name, would you even be standing here right now?”

Her nails dug into the fabric of his cloak. “After everything I went through, everything they did, you think I’d just come crawling back to your cause?” Her voice cracked.

She had once hoped that, just once, someone from her family would come for her .

But Garp had his unwavering loyalty to the Marines, a system that built itself on silence and suppression. Even if he didn’t participate in its cruelty, he never stopped it either.

And Dragon… Dragon had the Revolution. Justice on a grand scale. Justice for the world. Never just for her alone.

And Sh—

“I’m not the only one Luffy has,” she said suddenly, voice quiet, a shift in tone.

Her hands loosened, releasing his cloak. She stepped back.

“He found his own family,” she continued, almost fondly. “You didn’t ask, but… he has brothers. Two of them, I guess… One now.”

She smiled softly, sadly.

“I’m just his aunt. And no matter how much I tried, no matter how much I raised him, nothing will compare to the bond he has with those two boys.” Her voice trembled slightly. “He’s going to be a pirate. He’ll leave when he’s seventeen. I can’t stop him.”

She didn’t need to say it, but it hung there anyway.

Just like you. Just like all of you.

Another person she loved, destined to leave her behind.

She remembered all the little moments Luffy had chosen others over her. The times he chased after Sabo and Ace, leaving her behind in the trees. The nights he rambled on and on about Shanks, eyes glowing with hero worship, until she wondered if he even remembered how she used to sing him lullabies when he had nightmares.

And in those moments, the truth settled in like fog.

She wasn’t the person in his life.

But Luffy—oh, Luffy—he was everything in hers.

“I can’t stop him,” She reiterates, clutching own shirt, over her heart, a feeling of heaviness washing through her. “And I won’t,”

Oro Jackson

30 years ago

“Hey,” Shanks started, his voice light with curiosity as he stared up at the sky. “If you could do anything in the world… what would it be?”

They were lying on the deck of the Oro Jackson, the ship gently rocking beneath them as it sailed through calm waters. The stars above glittered like a sea of fireflies. Buggy snored a few feet away, limbs sprawled out in a mess of blankets and dramatic snoozing.

“Hm…” she hummed thoughtfully, brows furrowed in concentration. “Anything in the world?”

“Yeah. Anything,” Shanks grinned, rolling onto his side to look at her.

“Then I guess…” she trailed off, eyes locked on the stars above, “Anywhere.”

“‘Anywhere’ isn’t something you do, stupid,” Shanks chuckled, reaching over to ruffle her dark hair with affection.

She pouted and swatted at his hand, but not too hard.

“I don’t care,” she admitted, voice soft. “As long as I’m with you guys, it doesn’t really matter what I do. Anywhere would be enough.”

Her eyes sparkled beneath the starlight, and for a moment, Shanks forgot how to breathe.

“The sea sure is pretty,” she added.

“Yeah…” Shanks murmured, though he wasn’t looking at the sea, his gaze stayed fixed on her, his expression a little more serious now, a little softer.

“It’s pretty alright.”

Blood coated her hands. It dripped from her fingertips, splattered across her boots, and soaked through the once-pristine white shirt she was wearing. Crimson trailed along the cracked cobblestones beneath her feet.

The air was thick, still, eerie in its silence. There were no screams, no sirens. No approaching Marine warships, no hurried footsteps of panicked bystanders.

Just bodies. Dozens of them. All fallen in grotesque stillness, twisted mid-motion. Among them, one stood out: a man slumped at the base of the desecrated fountain, clad in the unmistakable attire of a Celestial Dragon. His glass helmet was shattered, the remnants glinting like ice around his pale, lifeless face.

The sun hung low, casting long shadows across. It should have been beautiful, serene even, but the bloodied scene turned it into something else. Something wrong. The stench of iron and ozone lingered in the air.

“Boss?” Lucky Roux’s voice cracked through the silence, uncertain. Even he, always the cheerful, carefree one, looked disturbed, his eyes wide as he took in the carnage.

“You guys stand back,” Shanks said quietly, his tone hard in a way rarely heard. He stepped forward, slowly. Deliberately. His crew obeyed without hesitation. “I’ll handle this.”

She stood at the center of it all, alone, shoulders tight, breath shallow, her face turned slightly toward the dying light of the sky. Her knuckles were scraped raw, arms trembling from restraint more than fatigue.

And yet, the moment she heard his voice—

“Look at this,” Shanks called her name gently, as if afraid he might break her with too much weight behind the word. “What happened here?”

She turned slowly.

Her face, once furrowed with fury or grief, or perhaps both, softened in recognition. That voice. That familiar drawl, steady as the sea and just as endless. It had been years since she'd last heard it, but time did little to dull its comfort.

She dropped the Celestial Dragon’s body like it was nothing more than trash.

Shanks didn’t flinch. He never had, not even when she got like this. But something about the way she looked now, standing ankle-deep in blood with her hands still faintly glowing with Haki, made his heart twist.

No Marines. No Cipher Pol. No Navy dogs on the horizon.

Not even an admiral.

And yet a Celestial Dragon was dead.

“Shanks.”

Her voice was quiet. Hoarse. Almost like it hurt to say it.

Only now did she seem to fully register the chaos surrounding her , the mangled bodies, the blood drying on her clothes.

She was suddenly hyper aware of every breath she took. But still, her eyes didn’t waver from the red-haired man before her.

That hair.

It reminded her of them . It wasn’t recent that she found out about Shanks, she never knew Shanks came from there. Not until much later. He knew her kin, her pain, and still never told her. That betrayal sat bitter at the base of her throat, but this wasn’t the time.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice was still clipped, tight.

“Can’t I greet my favorite Marine?” Shanks offered with a half-hearted grin. It was lighthearted on the surface, but not a single muscle in his body was relaxed. His stance was measured. Ready. Even his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Long time no see, Ms. Marine, how are you?”

He walked forward, and with each step, the air thickened with the pressure of Haki, his own Haoshoku clashing faintly against hers. It wasn’t hostile, but it was undeniable. The ground beneath them groaned as if to bear witness to what could happen if they didn’t tread carefully.

Shanks sensed that some of his newer crew members collapsed behind him on their ship, unable to bear the weight of it.

“You’re leaking too much,” she muttered, not looking back at the chaos behind him.

“Right back at you,” Shanks replied dryly. “Half my men are face-down and we haven’t even talked yet.”

Silence again. Not awkward, just... heavy.

“I didn’t think you were the type to kill a Celestial Dragon out in the open like this,” Shanks said eventually, his voice low, gesturing with a small nod toward the bloodied corpse slumped on the stone pavement.

She didn’t look away.

“Didn’t think I’d go this far, to be honest,” she muttered, her breath still unsteady, “Something snapped, I...”

Around them, the air still hung heavy with the iron scent of blood. It was eerily quiet now, but still she realized that this wasn’t a place to linger.

She finally glanced down at her hands, still faintly glowing with the remnants of her power, slick with crimson. Reality began to settle in. The Celestial Dragon lay still. Dead. The world government wouldn’t let this go unpunished.

“It’s not safe here,” she murmured, wiping her palm against her coat with a grimace. “I have to go.”

Shanks looked at her hands, still bloodstained, trembling with something deeper than exhaustion.

“Come with me,” he said suddenly.

She stared at him. “What?”

“Not forever,” he clarified. “Just for a while. You need to disappear. At least until the heat dies down.”

“I’m not afraid of this.”

“I know,” he said, his voice gentle. “You were never afraid of anything, were you?”

Shanks smiled sadly. “But you think I want to watch them erase you? You think I haven’t seen what happens to people who stand up to them ?”

She didn’t respond. Her jaw tightened. Her whole body was wound tight, like the wrong word could make her snap.

But Shanks didn’t move closer. He just let the weight of his words hang between them, steady as the sea.

The sea he had chosen over her.

“Shanks,” She had whispered, loud enough for Shanks to hear, “I’m dying.”

Shanks’ smile faltered.

Just slightly.

Enough for her to notice.

The weight of her words settled like lead between them. The battlefield, the blood, the bodies, suddenly all of it dimmed beneath the gravity of what she had just confessed.

“I’m dying,” she said again, this time with a strange calm. Not a plea. Not even sorrow. Just… fact.

Shanks’ brows pulled together. “What are you talking about?” Shanks’ fists clenched at his sides. “Have you told anyone ?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

Of course she hadn’t.

“That’s why you’re doing all this,” he said, looking at the carnage around them. “You think if you go out swinging, it’ll mean something.”

“No," She shook her head, but gave no explanation, "you wouldn’t understand even if I told you.”

Shanks stepped even closer now. Close enough to see the cracks in her mask, the tremble in her lips, he wasn’t sure if that was from adrenaline or some sort of weakness.

“You always felt too much,” he said softly. “Even back then. That’s what made you beautiful.”

“Don’t even start, Red-haired,” She spat out, not wanting for old feelings to resurface, but she knew why Shanks was saying nonsense, “Why are you even here, go back to your precious Red Force,”

“I’m not letting you die here,” Shanks said with finality. “Not like this. Not alone. Not in blood.”

Her eyes met his. And for a brief moment, she looked like that girl again. The one who laughed too loud. Who dared to dream, even when dreaming was a crime for herself at that time.

“Shanks, that’s not why I told you.” She closed her eyes, feeling too much.

Her voice was low, ragged, as her bloodied fingers curled into the fabric of his coat, dragging him closer. Her breath ghosted just shy of his lips, had the moment been different, it might’ve meant something else entirely.

“I’m not your captain,” she said through clenched teeth, each word laced with bitterness. Her grip on him tightened. “I will never be your captain.”

Shanks didn’t speak. He understood. This wasn’t a moment for argument, this was her flare, her fire still burning even as her strength faded. Letting her talk was the only right thing to do.

“Don’t you dare,” she rasped, drawing in a breath that trembled, “don’t you ever dare let my body fall into the hands of those World Government bastards. Do you hear me?”

Shanks’s expression darkened, but he remained silent, his eyes steady on hers.

“Shanks.” Her voice cracked, and something unfamiliar flashed across her eyes, grief, anger, betrayal. Something raw. “As much as you hurt me… as much as you humiliated me…The times where you forced me to even think about leaving Foosha for good, but even then…”

She faltered, her knees buckling. Shanks caught her before she could fall.

“I trust you more than anyone,” she breathed, almost like a confession. “More than Dragon. More than Garp.”

"So that's why I want you to—"

And that was the truth that broke her, Shanks widened his eyes at the revelation she had just spat out.

This woman, the Vice Admiral feared across seas, the sister of the world’s most wanted man, the grandchild of a Marine legend, was strong. She wielded all three forms of Haki. She had once sailed under the Pirate King (Though as a mere stowaway)

She was strong.

Until she wasn’t.

As the tears finally fell, they didn’t fall from weakness, but from the weight of everything she was never allowed to say. It cascaded to her bloodstained cheeks, she faltered.

All that strength, the kind that had carried nations on her back, that had stared down gods and monsters, trembled now in the space between her and Shanks.

“I have no idea how and why you’re here, but I trust you , Shanks,” she whispered again, as if saying it louder would make it too real, too dangerous. “So don’t… don’t let them get their hands on me, don’t you dare let them near me…”

Shanks swallowed hard. Her grip on him was iron, trembling but stubborn.

“I won’t,” he said at last. “Not a damn bone of you will be theirs.”

Her head dropped forward, resting against his shoulder now, the weight of her frame sinking into his. She wasn’t unconscious, but she was tired. Soul-tired.

“You always did talk too much,” he murmured into her hair, voice low, trying to steady her. His coat draped itself around her shoulders like instinct, like memory. “You could’ve just said you wanted me to stay.”

“Shut up,” she muttered weakly, and he almost smiled.

The air around them was heavy still, tainted with blood and silence, but it was no longer suffocating.

Behind him, Lucky Roux and Yasopp kept their distance. Not out of fear. But reverence. They knew better than to interrupt this kind of moment.

“Don’t fall asleep on me just yet,” Shanks whispered. “We’ve still got a ship to catch.”

She let out a broken chuckle.

“I just…” she rasped, a trail of blood leaving past her lips, trembling with every word she had forcefully spat out. “Wished I could see Luffy, just one last time.”

And just like that, Shanks’ composure cracked. Just for a second.

Because he knew he wouldn't be able to fulfill her wish.

And so, without another word, he held her tighter. As if that could stop the inevitable. As if memory and history and pain could hold her here.

And for the first time in a long, long while—

Red-Haired Shanks was afraid.

#i ended up continuing it LOL #shanks x reader #ace x reader #luffy x reader #marine!reader #its going to be 3 chapters #extra info on the replies!#reader has abandoment issues and it shows #it was supposed to be a lil tiny bit #but oh wow she has problems

59 notes · View notes

paperstorm · 10 hours ago

Text

thanks for the tags @henrygrass @pimento-playing-hopscotch and @annoyingcloudearthquake!

“Baby, what are you doing?” TK’s voice asks, soft and concerned.

Carlos shakes his head. He can’t explain it, but he’s also not sure he can get up from the floor. He tries, but the signals from his brain misfire and his limbs stay motionless and heavy. Without looking up, he asks, “Just give me a minute, okay?”

He prays TK will listen. Ideally, TK would just nod and agree and walk away, go have a quick shower or unpack his work bag or something and leave Carlos to wallow in misery unwitnessed for a few minutes so that by the time he comes back Carlos will have managed to pack all this back up and they can just pretend it never happened.

It’s a silly thing to hope for, Carlos knows that. If there’s one thing he knows – and ultimately, loves – about TK Strand, it’s that he rarely does what people want him to do.

“Carlos,” he says again, voice a little closer. “Why are you …”

He trails off, and even though Carlos is neither touching him or looking at him, he can feel the moment when TK gets it.

“Oh,” he whispers, and Carlos clenches his jaw and wants to cry.

“Just give me a minute,” he says again, this time through gritted teeth. Maybe TK will listen if he understands how much Carlos needs it.

Slowly, TK steps toward him. Out of the corner of his eye Carlos can see TK’s jeans moving as his legs bend and he lowers himself down, crossing his legs once he’s on the floor and leaning back against the kitchen cabinets with Carlos.

“I’ll give you as long as you need,” TK murmurs, reaching out to take Carlos’s hand and thread their fingers together. “But not alone. You’re not alone.”

Carlos shudders through an exhale. As always, it’s sympathy that threatens to break him more than anything else. Suddenly it’s as if that music is playing here in their home, a lively beat and jazzy trumpets blaring. The sweet smell of cookies is in his nose, his head throbs as if the wound is still fresh and oozing. It’s only for a moment and then it’s gone, but it’s enough to make Carlos want to curl in on himself and sob until his throat is raw.

“I’m having …” he begins, but the words get caught in his throat.

TK waits, patient and sweet beside him, stroking his forearm. He’s so steady, so kind and understanding and wonderful, and it puts a pit in Carlos’s stomach. He doesn’t want to need so much understanding.

He swallows, trying again despite everything inside him screaming at him to shove it all down and lock it all away and never admit it even to himself.

In a miserably shaky voice, Carlos closes his eyes and whispers, “I’m having trouble not seeing the inside of that kitchen. When I close my eyes.”

“Baby,” TK whispers back, fingers curling into Carlos’s long-sleeved shirt.

“I thought …” Carlos sniffs and chokes again, for a moment, on words he wishes he never has to say, “I thought maybe if I just sat here for a bit, against the cupboards like where she had me tied up, it might force me to face it, and then it might go away.”

TK exhales slowly. “And?”

Carlos shakes his head, screwing his eyes up and fighting back tears. “I can still smell her perfume.”

TK shuffles in closer, gripping Carlos’s hand tight enough to bruise and resting his head on Carlos’s shoulder.

“It’ll stop, I know it will,” Carlos says, assuring himself as much as TK. “I just need to keep trying.”

“You don’t need to do anything. Except let me sit here with you.”

“Don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere, I told you. We’re getting married. That means you never have to be alone.”

Carlos sniffs and lets his head lilt to the side, temple resting against TK’s soft hair.

“You haven’t been cooking,” TK says softly.

Gritting his teeth, Carlos feels his whole body tense. He hates that it’s true. He hates that TK noticed. “I thought maybe I was playing it off.”

“You love cooking for me. Of course I picked up on it.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to – ”

“Baby,” TK interrupts gently. “I’m not asking you to start. Not if it’s bringing back bad memories. I just don’t want you to hide from me.”

Tagging @theghostofashton @reyesstrand @strandnreyes @eclectic-sassycoweyes @carlos-in-glasses

@bonheur-cafe @actual-sleeping-beauty @herefortarlos @heartstringsduet @alrightbuckaroo

@goodways @lightningboltreader @emsprovisions @freneticfloetry @liminalmemories21

@reasonandfaithinharmony @ladytessa74 @never-blooms @sanjuwrites @orchidscript

@jesuisici33 @kiwichaeng @hereghostslive @thisbuildinghasfeelings

@just-inside-her @firstprince-history-huh @captain-gillian @tellmegoodbye @ironheartwriter

@butchreyes @anactualcaseofthetruth @ditheringmind @whatsintheboxmh

@afiendishthingynisba @chicgeekgirl89 @carlossreaders @denizoid @everlastingday

@rangersoup @ambernotember

@certifiedflower

Want to be added or removed from the list? Lmk

#911 lone star #wip wednesday #911ls fanfic #missing moments

45 notes · View notes

man-i-love-fanfiction · 22 hours ago

Text

Dead Dove (Do Not Eat)

- Hozier x Fem!Reader

Summary: You, Andrew, and the band get together and play a drinking game involving fanfiction. what could go wrong?

Tags: Fluff, friends to lovers, drunken confessions, drunken kissing, no use of Y/N, FIC DOES NOT CONTAIN DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT CONTENT, it was just a title i swear, written for fem!reader but could be gender neutral

Word Count: 3139

Author's Note: THEY CALL ME A CHIROPRACTOR THE WAY I'M BACK‼️‼️‼️ like for realsies. i know i keep coming back like once a month and saying "i'm back" but i mean it now. anyways! i wanted to thank @cervidaewasteland and @sillycartoonhozier for coming up with this concept, as well as @deprivedmusicaljunkie and @uprightpillar for betareading!!! hope you enjoy because this is lowkey a crackfic. also yes i know the format of the texting is weird, tumblr hates me

read on ao3!

as always, fic under the cut :3

Touring with your best friend since your late teens was genuinely a dream come true. The moment Andrew first offered you a spot in the band, over ten years ago when his debut album was released, you’d said yes. Your love of music (combined with your looming crush on Andrew) made the job as easy as breathing. You wouldn't trade this job for anything, no matter how routine being on the road might get.

Another concert wrapped up. Another mostly flawless performance (Andrew flubbed the words to Cherry Wine, but what else was new). Another stay at a hotel that you never would've picked if you had the choice. And most importantly, another bed with too-soft pillows that was calling your name. That was, until Larissa called it first. You turned to look at her from down the hallway, pausing as she sped up to meet you. Once she reached you, you continued your pace towards your hotel room.

"The band’s gonna go to Andrew's room, have a little celebration since we don't have to hit the road until the morning. Are you coming?" She walked beside you as she explained. You could hear the eagerness in her voice at the possibility of your presence. However, at the moment you were much more enthralled with the idea of getting a good night's sleep.

"I think I’ll have to pass. I'm pretty tired, I —" your sentence was cut off by a yawn, like your body was proving your point. "I might just turn in for the night.”

"Please? We're playing your favorite game!"

You stopped in your tracks upon hearing the teasing of your favorite pastime on tour: an admittedly juvenile game that the band had dubbed “Fanfiction Book Club”. One member of the band would find some outrageous fanfiction written about Andrew — usually one written with grammar mistakes and plot holes galore — and take turns reading it aloud. You laugh, you drink. More often than not, it resulted in tour buses full of hangovers the next day, but you never regretted a second of it.

Your favorite part was the fact that it made Andrew squirm. It was consensual, of course; half of the time playing the game was his idea, and you were sure that tonight was no different. He seemed to enjoy it as much as anyone else, laughing and blushing and sometimes even muttering an That's actually a good line.

"Hmm... oh, alright. I'll be there in a few minutes, just let me get changed so I'm not still in my concert attire.” You finally gave in, gesturing to your all-gray outfit left over from the performance less than an hour ago. Larissa didn't seem to care when you showed up, her eyes gleaming with excitement the second you agreed. You said farewell for now and rushed back over to your hotel room, texting Andrew on the way there.

Hey. U ready to read some teenage girl’s flawless writing about u?

This is what i was born to do

Of course I’m ready.

I’ll bet you € 20 they misuse Gaeilge

I’ll bet you €30 there’s only

one bed

You got changed into a much more comfortable outfit, a simple old t-shirt and some shorts, something you knew you'd soon change out of. It seemed that by the time you entered, all the other members of the band had already arrived, and you took the only empty spot. All squished into Andrew's hotel room, you were all sitting in a makeshift circle, going across the floor and onto his bed. Everyone already had a drink in hand, and feeling a little left out, you went to grab a can from the room’s mini-fridge. Andrew was already sitting in front of it, ready to distribute drinks to those who asked. He handed your drink to you instead, and you wanted to kick yourself over the fact that your heart fluttered when your hands brushed.

You quickly scanned the room, noticing the only empty space to sit was between Alex and Melissa. Sitting criss-crossed on the carpeted floor between the two, you watched as Alex stood up from his spot, commencing the events of the night.

“Welcome to Fanfiction Book Club, my fellow musicians. I found tonight's selection on the modern day Library of Alexandria: Wattpad.”

Alex was almost always the ringleader, being an absolute menace and finding the fanfiction. Andrew supplied the drinks and the hangout space. Everyone else brought their spirits. Everyone had their small habits to make the reading more enjoyable. Deepening their voice drastically whenever they had to read for Andrew. Making sure to pronounce every spelling error just as it's spelled. Giving “Y/N” the most outrageous name possible, so that Andrew was about to go on a date with “William Shakespeare”.

The story of the night featured the main character being Andrew's backup singer who was a decade younger than him. They hated each other at first, but after a night in which they shared a hotel bed (you owed Andrew that money later), feelings were beginning to be reconsidered. The band especially had fun with tonight's pick, with jokes ranging from cradle snatching to HR violations. Andrew laughed along with them, taking everything in stride and even taking quite a few drinks of his own. The phone got passed around, and you had made your way through more than one drink already from the sheer amount of fun you were having.

Andrew seemed especially flustered when the phone got around to you. You read out loud about how the main character had confessed her undying love for Andrew in a rainstorm, despite only knowing the man two months. Her pining couldn't even compare to yours, you thought as you read. Two months versus almost two decades. Unfortunately, there was also a pang of discomfort you could feel, as some of the words you were reading aloud actually resonated with your situation. It almost gave you shivers to read someone describe how “in love” a character was with Andrew, and express thoughts that had crossed your mind daily. I love your smile. Your eyes are the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen. Your kindness is overpowering. How dare words on a screen — likely written at two in the morning by someone with nothing better to do — relate to your situation so deeply.

You were able to keep it together and not laugh, likely thanks to your comparison between the fanfic’s story and your own. You passed the phone back to Alex, who was much more inebriated than he was at the beginning of the game. By the time his phone got back to him, his words were slurring.

"Everybody listen! Here's where it gets good," Alex yelled, effectively shushing the room and capturing everyone's attention. You leaned over his shoulder, trying to get a sneak peek at the next few words as Alex read them. You couldn't resist a laugh as Alex read. "'Andrew leaned in, and as his lips met yours, he kissed you with the burning passion of a thousand suns—' Oh my god," Alex read before being stopped by his own chuckles. Poor man couldn't even finish the sentence. When your gaze jutted over to Andrew, he looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die. He had thrown the hood of his zip-up over his head, like his thought process was if you all couldn't see him, he couldn't feel the shame. Alex had no aversion to making Andrew cringe like this, and a shit-eating grin was plastered on his face as he read out the next segment.

“‘You never would have known it, but Andrew could touch a woman just how she wanted to be touched, and look at her like the way she's always wanted to be looked at.’ Want to teach me your ways, there, Andy?”

“That's kinda hot, actually,” you joked, turning to Melissa as you took a voluntary sip of your drink. Andrew coughed, followed by dropping the hood and taking a deep breath. This caught your attention; you assumed he had just had a moment where he was choking on his drink. You raised an eyebrow, wordlessly asking Are you alright? He held up a thumbs up to reassure you, using his head to nod back towards Kellen, whose turn it was.

“Okay, here we go. ‘Your kissing quickened, until eventually his large hands were…’ oh, I don't think I can read that aloud,” Kellen said. He flashed the cellphone screen to Alex, who scanned the words on the screen, his eyes getting cartoonishly wide at the contents.

“And then they start having sex, so that, my friends,” he said, snatching up his phone from Kellen’s hands, “— is where we have to cut the story off.” This was met with groans, everyone upset that the game had come to a close.

“Additionally, if we go any further we run the risk of Andy turning the same shade as a stop sign,” Alex teased, gesturing to Andy who, true to Alex’s word, had now turned a bright shade of red. Eventually, the group conceded and began to leave the room, congratulating each other and laughing on their way out, sometimes mumbling a witty remark.

“Same time next week?” Rory asked as he left, followed by an agreement from Andrew. His exit meant you were the only two people left in the room. In the moment, you decided to make yourself at home, sitting at the foot of his bed and plopping your back onto the mattress.

“So… that was… quite the story, huh?” you said, stretching your arms out before crossing them over your chest. Andrew chuckled, nodding as he walked over and sat down beside you.

“Tell me about it. That had the grammar of someone who’s never heard the words ‘spell check’ before.”

"Plus, the way they wrote about you? It was like some... some cheesy BookTok romance novel."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

You scoffed, accompanied by an eye roll. Maybe it was his ego, or his intoxicated state, but he really couldn't see how absurd those words were.

"C'mon, Andrew. 'Kissed you with the burning passion of a thousand suns'? Be for real. You would not kiss like that," you explained. Your sentence dissolved into a chuckle towards the end, likely because you had been made more giggly thanks to the alcohol in your system. Your laughs subsided when he asked you a question that was without a doubt a result of the alcohol in his system.

"Wanna put that to the test?"

You laughed again — now from nerves and not from amusement — and shook your head in disbelief. Did he actually just say that? Fully sitting up now, a confused look came across your face.

"Andrew, what do you mean by that?"

"What I mean is that you keep saying those descriptions are inaccurate. You don't know that.”

Could he really not see that those words were completely asinine?

“You really believe you… what was the line… ‘touch a woman just how she wants to be touched’ and all that crap?”

“Well, y’know, any man would like to believe that. Won't know until you try,” he said with a nonchalance to it that made you almost angry. It felt like a life or death decision was being thrown into your lap, and he couldn't care less.

You thought for a moment, weighing your options. It was just one kiss. Just to prove some stupid point. If anything more happened, it would be blamed on the alcohol. Even the worse outcome to saying ‘yes’ still meant you got to kiss the man you had been longing for. What did you have to lose?

“Fine, Andrew. You can kiss me.”

He nearly lunged at you, grabbing the sides of your face and smashing his lips into yours. You felt a jolt down your spine at the sudden sensation, kissing him back.

Holy shit, he really was kissing you with the passion of a thousand suns.

Kissing Andrew, your best friend as well as your boss, was, to put it lightly, playing with fire. There was something about his lips on yours that felt like burning. You were more than willing to step into the fire and let it consume you.

His tongue ran across your bottom lip, asking you for permission to enter, which you happily gave. His tongue explored your mouth, hungry to memorize every inch of you that was available. You relished in the feeling of his touch, letting him pull you closer. He grabbed onto your hips, your lips still interlocked as your hands made their way to his untamed curls. Trapping his legs between yours, you accepted as he pulled you into his lap and let you straddle him. A soft moan escaped you as you felt Andrew's sudden grasp of your ass, and you wanted to do something in return, but you came to a realization.

Andrew probably thinks there's no feelings involved.

As much as it pained you to do it, you leaned back, pulling away from the kiss.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait.”

Andrew blinked up at you, his lips now red and slightly swollen. If you didn't know any better, you’d say he looked a little worried.

“What's the matter? Did I not meet your expectations?”

“No, no. It was great, but,” you watched his lips curve into a cheeky smile. Grabbing the sides of his face was the only way you could get him to focus. “Andrew, wipe that smirk off your face. I’m trying to be serious here.

“I’m sorry, but it's hard to be serious in this position,” he replied as you looked down at him (for the first time, thanks to your height difference now being reversed). You paused in hopes of taking a mental picture of the image to save it in your psyche forever.

“Yeah, well, try your best.”

A sigh left you. Your brain tried to articulate how to tell him what you needed to get off your chest. Thanks to the alcohol, even when you did speak, it came out much more simplified than you had hoped.

“Okay. I like you. I really like you, and I have for a while. I feel so stupid for saying it, but I do. I couldn't let this continue without letting you know that.”

To your shock, Andrew's reaction to your confession was to… burst into laughter. It felt as though your heart could escape your chest at any moment, the nerves now hitting you all at once. Hastily, you said your thoughts out loud.

“You're laughing. Oh no, you're laughing. Shit, I’m an idiot, aren't I?”

“No, no, you're not, I promise,” Andrew replied, shaking his head. He took a deep breath, composing himself before meeting your gaze with a new sincerity in his eyes. “I’m only laughing because I’ve felt the exact same way. Also for a long time. Just never knew when the right time to tell you was. And tonight… the opportunity just arose.”

You gave him a calculating look, like you were trying to make everything make sense in your head.

“So we’ve both liked each other for close to a decade, just said nothing about it for years, basically wallowing in our own self pities, until you decided you had enough liquid courage in your system to finally hit on me? Because of a fanfiction?”

Andrew exhaled, giving you a defeated nod after essentially he had been called out.

“Sounds about right."

The situation was almost comical. Really comical, actually, and you now understood why Andrew’s first instinct was to laugh. Your forehead rested on his shoulder as you laughed into his hoodie. Of course he had liked you the whole time, how could you have been so oblivious? Once you fully composed yourself, you pulled away, shaking your head in disappointment. “God, what a couple of idiots we are.”

“A right pair of knobheads.”

Andrew smiled up at you, a dumb grin like an idea had popped into his head. When he spoke again, his voice was lower.

“I wanted to ask you this when we were much more sober, but I guess no time like the present, right?” Letting out a small sigh, he continued. You could see his cheeks flush again, like whatever he was going to say would make him more flustered than the fact that you were sitting in his lap. “Would… ehm… would you want to go out sometime? I don't need an answer now, if you want to just let me-”

“Yes. Yes, please. I would want nothing more than to go on a date with you.”

The goofiest grin spread across Andrew's face. You couldn't help but think he was adorable.

“Grand. I don't know what I would've done if you said no.”

“Shoving me off of you would've been the best option.”

“Yeah, probably.”

You both laughed together once again, before your giggles where cut off by a yawn. Seemed that the tiredness you were feeling before the whole ordeal was beginning to catch up to you.

“I guess that's a sign I should retire to my bed chambers, huh?” You lifted yourself off of him, moving so that you were now merely sitting next to him. Looking over at Andrew, you could tell he had an idea forming.

“Maybe you could just… sleep here tonight? No one needs to know, and if they question anything, I’ll just say you passed out and I didn't want to wake you.”

Another way your night began to overlap with fanfiction: there was only one bed. Sharing a bed with Andrew was an offer you simply couldn't refuse. You nodded.

“Let's get comfortable, then,” you mumbled, shimmying back until you took up one side of the bed. Andrew maneuvered himself backwards to get comfortable. You watched him lay down, both of you on opposite sides of the bed. Buried underneath the covers, you gazed at him as he did the same; he looked perfect. He raised an eyebrow at your staring and gestured for you to come closer. If you nodded any quicker, your head would’ve fallen off. You let the both of you get fully comfortable with one another, shifting to find the best position to cuddle in for the night. Once you found a way, Andrew made it work. He enveloped you, holding you to his chest with one arm and cradling your face with the other. You placed a hand on top of his.

“I always did like when they mentioned how big your hands are,” you murmured jokingly, your eyes already fluttering. In reply, Andrew rolled his eyes before placing a kiss on your forehead.

“Good night,” he whispered.

“Good night, Andy,” you responded.

You had never felt more at peace.

#hozier #hozier x reader #andrew hozier byrne #writing #fanfic #hozier fanfic #see if you can spot the personal callout

47 notes · View notes

mc-tums-fog · 2 days ago

Text

Felonies, Facades, and Another Word that Starts with "F"

Fic Summary: When you started out as the newest member of Hans Gruber's gang, there were some things that were to be expected from the job. Other things you hadn't prepared for. They all led to one thing that you realized you wanted more than you let on. But was that the case for Hans?

Pairing: Hans Gruber x GN! Reader

Content Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Mild Blood, Smut (To get into specifics: Praise Kink, Suit Kink, Blood Kink (if you squint), Hand Kink (also if you squint), Voice Kink (sure basically) Rough Sex, Ambiguous Penetration (This is dependent on how you project the gender to be so its either Anal or Vaginal Sex/Fingering I STUCK WITH THE GN)

Notes:

There's a lot of thoughts that I have about this being my first attempt at smut and sharing it with others to read, I did not think this would ever happened. But I don't want to keep you waiting too much for it. I put my thoughts on ao3 if you wanna check but also if you've been keeping up to date with my ramblings/tags you could see my thought process on it all. Just again to preface a few things; 1) It's gender-neutral but in a way I feel is easy to project 2) There's German words and phrases that I did my best with in spelling and usage.

Read on Ao3 or below the cut:

Today, you reminded yourself, getting the equipment you needed into the car. All you had to do was get through today, and you could get a break from your work. Get a break from being around him.

If either of you had a different occupation, if it was under different circumstances, if either of you were different, you wouldn’t be dreading having to be by Hans Gruber. You’d enjoy the feelings that he’d stirred within you and likely would have made a move sooner. However, being that the two of you were professional thieves working to commit a heist today, that wouldn’t happen. For you, this was hardly the time and place to be acting like a child in grade school who had a crush on a fellow classmate.

You scoffed at yourself as you began driving.

Crush.

The word “crush” wouldn’t be the correct term for what you felt for him. That word implied something pure. This wasn’t. What you felt was a deep, lustful attraction that made your insides burn with an intense, raw desire that kept you up at night. Nothing about any of these emotions you felt towards him classified as anything pure. It’s not like you wanted to go out on public dates, hold his hand, or kiss him goodnight. What you wanted to do with him- no, to him, and what you wanted him to do to you could keep a priest in a confessional booth busy for a week.

You nearly missed the turn to the rendezvous point from even entertaining those thoughts. You let out a frustrated groan as you tried to collect yourself and rerouted.

As you finally made it to the discreet parking spot, you grabbed out your duffle bags and casually walked to the average looking moving truck you all would be driven in. Your breath got caught in your throat as you could recognize Hans standing by the trucks pull up doors.

When you were recruited into his gang, and upon meeting him for the first time, it was easy to think to yourself that he was an attractive man. Tall, clean, professional- bonus points for him wearing a suit, you did always like that. Overall, he had a constant air of this refined elegance that would draw you to a simple conclusion; He was good-looking. But it wasn’t a profound observation, anyone who was smart could recognize that. Which you are. You wouldn’t have gotten into the gang otherwise.

Today was no different in terms of his appearance. He dressed himself up nicely, and to any unsuspecting civilian, they wouldn’t think much of him. You found that amusing. There’s no doubt in your mind he used his good looks to get away with things or be able to pull the strings that he needed to.

He noticed you and hit the truck once, signaling someone to open it up and let you in.

“Do you have everything?” Hans questioned as the door rolled up.

You barely gave him acknowledgement as you simply lifted the duffle bag and nodded and climbed into the truck.

A few of the other men were already inside. You didn’t all want to show up at once to draw suspicion. A couple were already at the location to get things started. But you were missing a few.

“Where’s Karl and Tony?” You asked as you kneeled and opened the bag. You already had double-checked that there was enough ammunition and that the radios worked. But you needed to distract yourself. It had been easy at first to brush off Hans’s looks, as you could say that a good amount of the other men within the group were attractive too.

“Not here, clearly.” Marco remarked. You shot him an unamused look, who gave you a shit eating grin.

Some weren’t as classy as Hans though, you thought.

“Likely arguing about who’s going to bring the spare cars. They wouldn’t shut up about it at the last meeting.” Heinrich said, as he leaned against one of the boxes.

“They better keep that brother rivalry to a minimum this time,” Franco commented, as he went to close the door again for the time being. “Or we gotta cut one loose.”

“Then there will be an argument on who has to go.” Hans muttered right before it shut.

You hated how your ears only perked up at the sound of his voice. You felt you could lose yourself in it. Whenever he spoke, either discussing the inner workings of the target buildings or the step-by-step instructions, it didn’t matter; You could sit and listen for as long as possible.

Though now, “listening” would be an exaggeration. Of course, there were times when you had to pay attention, but focusing too much on his voice led your mind to other things he could be saying to you. It was a shame. Seeing his mind at work, carefully planning heists, him having this sense of preciseness, it was a wonder to witness. It did end up aiding in that attractiveness, along with his voice. But initially, you rationalized to yourself that you were just feeling lonely. This line of work wasn’t easy to have a partner on the side. Unless they knew what you did. And rarely did they ever.

You wish you could do what you did during those early weeks of starting off and paid these other factors of attractiveness no mind. Believe that you just needed to get out, connect with the more ‘normal’ friends you had. Have a few one-night flings if you are that lonely.

Not long after, Hans hit the truck again. Franco got up to open it.

“Quick for thirty make a bet on who lost.” Marco said.

You and Uli said “Karl” in unison while Heinrich and James said “Tony” without missing a beat.

“I’m going Tony.” Marco said, then pointed to Franco, who ignored him and opened the door.

It was Karl.

Being ninety dollars richer was chump change compared to what the expected take was going to be. But it was amusing to see Marco slam his fist against the truck’s walls.

Once Karl and Hans got in and the doors closed, the truck began moving and Hans quickly ran over what was going to happen. You already knew the intricacies of the plan. But your mind had focused on the fact that you would have to be working closely with him throughout this heist. Compared to the last heist, which was your first, there were going to be more security guards. He needed someone to watch his back, he told you. You agreed to it, but in your mind, your thoughts were racing on how this was going to be a difficult time for you.

Not because of lack of skill. But because of what happened during your first heist with them. After having occasional but easily dismissible thoughts about Hans during those months of planning. Once you saw him at work for the first time, you knew at once you were completely, utterly fucked.

His commanding presence he had during the planning was pushed to the max. His calculated and confidence he had over his control over the whole situation. And by God how he could use his gun.

You recalled when things had slightly gone awry, and he had to kill someone. You saw him shoot the man without hesitation. The man had fell forward onto him, getting some blood on his clothing. He pushed him off, and you could hear him mutter in irritation about how he didn’t want his suit ruined. In staring at him, your immediate thought was how you wanted to be the one to ruin his suit.

You wanted to immediately shoot yourself for that thought and having it during the job no less. You hoped and prayed to whatever you could believe in that moment that it wasn’t one of those “Freudian Slips” you heard about. It was a tense situation, seeing that the kill caused a disruption in the plans. Your mind must have been trying to work through it. That’s all. Nothing more.

But throughout the whole heist, those kinds of thoughts didn’t go away; They only got worse.

His commanding voice over the radio telling you what needed to be done. The way he still tried to keep up his perfect appearance such as fixing his hair over the course of the robbery. The small moments where he raised his voice in both English and German when things were starting to get intense. And when it was over, when all of you got out of the building and he sent a wild, dangerous smirk to you, knowing that things went according to plan, it cemented in your mind that your thoughts weren’t one off.

The sigh of relief you had once the mission was completely over had not been for the same reason that the others let out sighs. For you, it meant that you could get away for a little bit to regain your control over your thoughts and feelings. Of course, that went all out the window when Hans pulled you aside to congratulate you on a first job well done with him.

Safe to say you had practically released yourself once you barely made your way through the front door of your home and went to bed in shame.

You worried in the back of your mind that this job was likely going to result in the same outcome as that night, only tenfold.

After moments of driving, you all could feel the truck come to a stop, signaling that you were near the location. One of the more upscale banks in the city. You had already passed out the equipment to everyone, and so Franco opened the door again. One by one you all exited the truck.

A rush of exhilaration hit you, making you remember why despite the dread of having to come back to work with Hans, you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. You loved this line of work. So, the day after your initial heist, you made use of your skills in deceit and acting to bury any of those feelings deep down to maintain an appropriate relationship with him. Only speaking when spoken to, offering polite but short conversations with him. Never went out of line to what was considered professional.

However, your heart began pounding for a different reason, as you all began to disperse into the groups that were made during the planning. Karl, Franco, Marco and Uli were set to go in the front to cause the controlled chaos to distract the unsuspecting patrons and security guards. James and Heinrich were set to take the sides to make sure no one had tried to make an escape while looking out for the police. Alexander was to quickly run interference with Theo and Eddie, who, if things had gone smoothly, were already in the building, and then came back to Fritz who was running the truck. They would both be waiting for Tony and Kristoff, who would have the spare cars, who would also start to load the truck with what had been in the bank vaults.

It would be up to you and Hans to secure the route from the back.

The two of you waited by the back entrance, Hans began to set his radio to the channel frequency that the guards had on, as Theo told him in the days prior and was hopefully at this point listening in on the channel as well. You prepared by getting your gun out and making sure the magazine was loaded.

Looking back up, you caught the brief second of Hans looking over to you, or more towards your hands as you worked the gun. Just as quickly as you caught it, he looked up to meet your gaze.

“Bist du bereit?” He asked.

There were practical benefits to being around him. You were able to catch onto German phrases and words he said at times. And being a fast learner, you would say you were efficient enough in it.

You nodded. “Ich bin bereit.”

He got the gleam in his eyes that he had during the times that he was planning for this. You knew well by now that he was just as excited as you were, despite the calm demeanor he always kept on.

That’s one of the things that intrigued you to him and found increasingly attractive. Despite the professional appearance he kept on, how he always seemed annoyed by the others when they acted out, you could tell he enjoyed the chaotic nature of this work. He was in his element. And you realized this quickly as he often sought out your company. Which often ruined your attempts to try to maintain that professional, appropriate relationship.

You were certain it was because you were new in his gang, and he wanted to know what assets you brought. And you could say you brought a lot. For this heist he had asked you for aid in planning it out. Throughout the times you were with him, he valued what you had to say, always maintaining eye contact, never shooting down your ideas. It was nice to know your talents weren’t going to waste. Still, that proximity whenever he invited you into his office to work with him was rough. You constantly had to fight down the thoughts of wanting to jump at him and have him on his desk.

Just like now, you were fighting an urge to lunge at him. You just looked ahead at the door. Not long after, from the distance you could hear the faint gunshots and shouting, then soon after the yelling from the guards. Hans quickly switched over to the channel that Theo had planned to be on.

“Go ahead.” You could hear the upbeat manner in Theo’s voice over the radio.

Hans made his way first and you followed suit. Security guards were likely to be trying to deal with what was going on in the front, but it was likely they were making their way through to secure all of the exits. So, the two of you had to be quick and careful. Not that either of you would’ve mind having a body count by the end of this, but it would make things easier not to.

The building would normally have gone on lockdown by this point, but with Theo having gotten here early using well-made ID’s, he made sure the back exit wasn’t. You could imagine he was sitting in the security room, feet on the desk while watching over the cameras and having control over the locks. Including the bank vaults.

In no time you made it to the bank vaults, seeing the extra bags Eddie had placed in a discreet location on the morning of when arriving with Theo to get this heist started. Seeing that there was now extra room in your personal duffle bag, you placed it down onto the table and waited for the clear ahead to start opening the vaults up.

Hans took note of what you were doing. “Quick thinking. Now our projected take could increase if we make haste.”

Despite your best efforts to maintain that professional and appropriate distance, you couldn’t help at times to engage with him, just to get a rise out of him and to satisfy yourself. But other times he was also good company to engage with. Always having something to say yet never wasting his breath. It felt like a good engagement of your intellect whenever you talked with him.

“No, it will still be the same.” You spoke.

“How so?” He furrowed his brows.

“Simple. This duffle bag has been mine for years. So, whatever I put in there will be mine.”

You weren’t serious, as much as you wanted to be. And he could see that, as he sent an amused grin to you. It wasn’t often that he cracked a smile at anyone else. At least anyone that he knew. The strangers Hans would have to snake his way through with a polite smile and fake laughter. Really the only person you ever saw him smile at was Theo during your time in the gang. Perhaps something about your sense of humor was compatible with his, as you could make him laugh during the times when you were able to keep down your more perverse thoughts about him.

Though, at times, the more perverse thoughts were preferable. Because in those moments when he did laugh, or even smiled genuinely, you could feel your heart leap a bit. As time went on, you found yourself staring at him and getting an urge to find out what made him tick. To know him more intimately.

These thoughts that you couldn’t pinpoint, or even wanted to, were a lot more embarrassing somehow. At least the lustful thoughts were straightforward. But the other feelings you got when you looked at him weren’t. It was ridiculous. As you waited for Theo’s signal, you had to remind yourself that this was not the time or place to have any kinds of feelings, impure or otherwise.

Luckily, Theo gave you the clear ahead to get started and you and Hans began to quickly open the vaults and start stuffing the bags as much as you could.

Even actively knowing you had to fight off the urges and focus on the tasks at hand, you couldn’t help but sneak glances in his direction. Unsurprisingly, you found yourself facing the same problems previously. Only now, you were getting a better view than the previous heist, on a lot of things. You could see the payoff of those times he explained how he was to execute his plan. See him actively work, watch his hands move meticulously, see his face contort to pure concentration to the tasks at hand.

You had to keep subtly hitting yourself as you packed to bring you back into reality and to quit leering at him.

After adequately stuffing your own duffle bag, you figured that you would quickly make your way to the truck to place it in there. You would need both of your hands to carry the extra bags that had already been brought.

You didn’t waste time informing Hans what you were doing. If he got angry at you for not giving a heads up, it wouldn’t have been the worst thing truth be told. He did look a little hotter when he was riled up.

With that in mind-as much as it shouldn’t be this time around- you made your way back to where you two had made a clear path. The gunfire and shouting were muffled, so you knew the guards were still occupied. Quietly yet quickly making your way, you were glad to have made the choice to go to the truck with just this first as it was heavy. But nothing you couldn’t manage.

Exiting out the back, you found Kristoff waiting by the truck. He saw you and expertly caught the duffle bag when you tossed it.

“I’ll count this, and if I find you pocket any of it-” He began to joke.

“Yeah yeah shut up load it.” You rushed back to the exit.

You were never afraid to have a bit of a bite within this group. Most of the other men did with each other, and even towards Hans, much to his annoyance. So, you did as well. It made it easier to be curt with him and end the conversation as soon as you felt your thoughts getting better of you. He reacted just the same whenever you were like that, waving you off or dismissing you. Though recently he had been challenging you back, which made you weak. But then you just do the same thing he’d done to you and leave. Overall, you felt that you were doing a well enough job at keeping the feelings down.

You admit, your thoughts were sidetracked on Hans once more. So, when a straggling security guard that either managed to get away or was already somewhere else when the heist began got the jump on you, you were quick to be embarrassed with yourself. Already imagining Theo laughing his ass off first and then telling Hans what was going on next.

You could accept the brief mockery from Theo after you guys got finished, but any form of insult from Hans might just do you in. And not in the sense that your ego would be bruised.

Now the idea of Hans being insulting towards you almost made you want to be poor at handling this guy.

Sadly, not the time or place. Adrenaline kicked in and you got him off of you as quickly as he jumped on you. Your gun flew out of your sling as you had maneuvered him off, so you had to be quick with your hands. His gun fired but you had been able to grab it right before it went off. The intense ringing in your ear was nothing new, but you still had to push through. Getting the gun fully out of his hand and punching him hard in the face, you didn’t waste time shooting him in the face.

He dropped dead to the ground instantly. And you suddenly wanted to hit yourself on the head. That would’ve been the perfect time to get injured and be forced to take leave off of work.

Before reprimanding yourself, you realized Hans was standing just a few feet in front of you, bags in both of his hands.

“Were you just watching me?” You asked, hoping that the flush in your face wasn’t too noticeable as you picked back your gun up, or something that could’ve been brushed off.

“I was waiting. There was not enough space to walk by as you two fought.” He stepped over the body and moved past you, instantly understanding that he let the bag hit you on purpose as you quickly caught his grin before he made his way down the hall. “Now there is.”

“Backpfeifengesicht!” You called out to him, and you could hear his faint chuckle echo through the halls. You huffed and went back to the safes.

After a few minutes of stuffing the next bags, you saw Hans enter in to load up the last few ones. Right before however, he almost casually rubbed down and patted at your shoulder.

“Good work.”

It happened so quickly that you nearly didn’t process it. But you had to snap yourself back into reality and just made quicker work in loading the bags. You paid the compliment no mind verbally, instead just telling him that you were nearly done with loading up the two bags by your side. On the inside however, you started to beam and become even more frustrated at the same time. You expected this job to be harder, yes. But having to experience more physical contact with him was something you hadn’t prepared your mind for. Sure, if he had needed to direct you somewhere he lightly guided you by ever so faintly placing his hand on your shoulder, that made sense.

This one however felt… more. Was the best way to describe it. Which was objectively true. He didn’t need to place his hands onto people unless he had a point to make, like pushing them away or directing them to a location. This wasn’t something to be expected of him.

And to be paired with a compliment…

You were much quicker in leaving the safe room, carrying the bags. Of course you would have to come back to cover him, as he needed. But you needed a moment to have air to yourself.

Not long after coming back from handing Tony the next bags, Hans was also about ready. You grabbed one of them so he could have a free hand. Theo radioed in.

“Just when I’m working on getting the security footage out, I get notified by one of the guards that the police are closing in. So, hurry it up.”

Hans, once again to your surprise, placed a hand on your shoulder to get your attention. Keeping your cool, he handed you the other bag.

“Take this out to the truck and get a car secured. I am going to signal to the front group that it’s time to go.”

You nodded and began to quickly make your way to the back. It was about halfway through that your brain suddenly got onto the latter part of what he asked. Having to drive one of the cars was to be expected, that wasn’t what caught your attention. What caught your attention was how it sounded like he was going to join you.

You had to have been overthinking that detail. You knew Eddie and Theo would have their own cars as they had planted themselves to just be simple bystanders and patrons within the bank. With Alexander, James, and Heinrich likely splitting off to join either one in the car, seeing as far as you knew, no one saw them. Tony and Kristoff were likely going to stay with Fritz to keep eyes on both the money and the roads, with Karl more than likely joining them to be safe. That still left one of the other three at the very least to get into the car with you.

Just as you expected, Karl managed to leave quickly before the others and already be by the truck. You handed him the two bags, him being quick to load it up. Kristoff took the passenger seat of the truck and Karl and Tony got into the back and shut the door. But not before Karl gave you the keys to either car. Of course, they were the first to leave, needing to secure the money after all.

You decided to pick one of the more subtle cars, which wasn’t all that subtle, Hans still had taste. To get the other car ready you at least unlocked it for them and placed the key inside. You were quick to get to the other car and onto the driver’s side, already starting it up so it was ready to go. Soon after, Hans was exiting out to the back and saw you, making his way over to the passenger side.

“I didn’t take you as the type to drive a getaway.” He remarked as he got in.

“If it needs to be done, I’ll do it.” You closed your door.

“Then start driving.”

Oh, fuck me, of course, you thought. Of course, you two had to have this car to yourself.

You didn’t let that falter you as you made your way out of the bank area as discreetly as you could. At least you could focus on the roads to distract your mind. That and the faint police sirens also served as a good distraction as well.

Although you still had to listen to Hans as he directed you on which roads to take. Now that there had been a more stable environment where you could get a solid look at him, his appearance was a bit disheveled. You had to find a quick and effortless way to tune him out and only process what he was saying that was of immediate importance.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to be out of earshot from the sirens. You found yourself relaxing a bit.

Which wasn’t a long time relaxing as you heard Hans let out a breathy laugh, and out of the corner of your eye caught him re-adjusting his hair.

“Das hast du gut gemacht.” He said with that same gleam in his eyes as before you started the heist.

You felt your brain had a short circuit, not immediately answering him back. Fighting to get your mind out of the gutter so that you two didn’t land in a gutter from crashing the car, you quickly thanked him. You hoped your delay in speech would be taken as you focusing on the road. Same with you gripping the wheel just a bit too tightly.

Even when giving your attention onto the road ahead, you could feel his intense stare on you. Before you could ask yourself why he had been doing that, it was answered quickly as you felt a soft cloth on the side of your face.

You flinched, looking over to him, not hiding the confusion in your face. He had a handkerchief in his hand, which now you could see was starting to turn red.

“What are you doing?” Like you couldn’t put it together.

“There’s a cut on your cheek. I’m wiping it off on the chance a passerby notices or the police pull us over.” He stated.

You were quick to grab it from him, putting pressure on the cut. It must’ve come from the stray bullet the guard shot.

“The police won’t pull us over.” You said.

A beat of silence. Hans moved his hand away.

“You’re supposed to drive with both hands.”

“Please.” You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “I’m an expert at driving with one hand. It’s not a problem for me to keep the other busy.”

You hated how easy it was to walk into those dirty thoughts of yours and had to stop yourself from going any further.

“I’ll remember that when you crash the car and we land in a ditch.” He said.

You made a show of waving the handkerchief and then tucking it in one of your pockets, like you were getting back at him for insulting you. But really, you figured you were going to wash it out first before giving it back to him. You were a criminal, not a monster.

With both your hands back on the wheel, you focused back on the road that would eventually lead to the current hideout. Which, now that this heist was complete, wouldn’t be one much longer. Hans has described previously that within the next few weeks they would move the base of operations somewhere else.

When arriving back, the sun had begun to set, and you could see the truck already in the lot. Parking, exiting the car and going into the warehouse, you and Hans didn’t have to wait long for the rest to come back. He began distributing the cut to each of you, with delighted cheers and hollering. You were all satisfied, though that tiny part of you wished you were able to keep just a little extra from your bag. Still, you began to catch on that after a heist was committed, it would call for a slight celebration of your victory and spoils. “Slight” for some of the men meant they had one too many drinks.

Not to say that you didn’t have a few, but you certainly weren’t as bad as some of them.

You would’ve drunk more, but even just a few in you could tell you were beginning to be careless, sneaking longer glances at Hans as he drank a glass of wine of his own. You were about ready to squeeze your glass so hard that it could break if it meant that you stopped your thoughts.

It wasn’t your slightly buzzed brain or imagination that he was lost in thought. Or- not lost in thought, but rather intensely focused on something within his mind. Rarely did he speak when the last celebration occurred. But this felt like a different kind of quiet. It was like how he was thinking over a plan in his mind. You wanted to keep looking at him, as if you found the answer through your staring. But you had to pay attention to yourself, and resort to glances as he took sips. The brand left much to be desired, but you were starting to wish you were the glass.

You had to take a few moments to yourself from time to time to get it together and sober up. Which were inconspicuous as the others had to constantly leave and piss from the amount of alcohol they were drinking. Marco nearly took it out to go right in front of everyone at the table, much to you and their yelling for him not to.

And you had a reason for leaving at least one time, properly washing the dried blood from your face, and cleaning out the handkerchief in a sink. You chuckled to yourself as you looked at it. Hans seemed the type to carry one around. You never saw him use it though.

That made you stop and think. This one did look particularly clean. At least, before the blood. Newer is a better description. Despite the purpose of a handkerchief, this didn’t look like one you would want to get dirty. Just a piece of fabric you carried around to show people you had it as some kind of symbol. Yet he used it to wipe up your face.

Thinking about his excuse, your mind couldn’t see how it made any sense. Being that the other side of your face was towards the window. Sure, if someone squinted really hard from the other directions, it was possible they could see the cut. And there was still that chance the police could’ve pulled you over; they will pull anyone over for anything. But a cut to the face wasn’t exactly suspicious.

You felt your mind a bit too clouded in what little alcohol you had, as well as your dirty thoughts, so it wasn’t easy to try to piece together what all that meant. You looked down at the piece of fabric and decided it was going to get as clean as it could get. You soon joined back with the others. Who, once again, had continued to try to stop Marco from going onto the table.

While they had done that, you went over to Hans and wordlessly placed down the handkerchief. His look of focus faltered as he quickly took note of it and looked up at you. You were already starting to walk back to your own spot.

“No gratitude?” Hans asked.

“You should be showing me gratitude for cleaning it.” You said without missing a beat as you relaxed back into your seat.

He didn’t. Instead, he studied you with the same stare he had before you interrupted him. You paid him no mind and used your drink to cover your face, and just kept watching the men wrestle Marco off the table.

It was clear to many of the members as time went on, it was time to call it a night and return to their own place of residence. One by one, or two, if the other needed a driver that badly, they left. You found yourself hardly focusing on what state people left in as you could feel Hans watching you. You wanted to go up to him and tell him to take a picture instead.

You didn’t think that would go over well, so instead, you soon planned to be one of the ones to get back home before it got too late. Taking your duffle, which had your cut, you were ready to leave, nearly walking out the door when Hans called out to you. Hearing him say your name somehow was a lot more intoxicating to you than any alcohol that was here. You stopped and turned around, seeing what he needed.

He walked toward you with a purposeful stride and you couldn’t help but eyed the way he moved. His suit still looking clean and pronouncing his figure well. His speaking made you focus back on his face.

“I’m going to be looking over new locations; I’ll need your assistance.”

“Why me?” You curtly asked.

“You’re the only one who is not completely inebriated.” As if on cue you could hear Karl break something and cheer drunkenly, causing his brother to shout at him to stop while Theo instigated him on. Hans could only give a look of annoyance in their direction and look back at you.

“Good point.” You conceded.

He began to make his way to his office, gesturing to you to follow. Before entering the room, he shouted at the other two to take Karl home before he broke anything else.

That would just leave the two of you left in the warehouse.

The idea of being left alone with a man like Hans would terrify anyone who wasn’t in the same line of work he was. And to a certain degree, it did terrify you. However, that was hidden underneath the feeling of exhilaration that you were fighting off as he let you in first and closed the door behind him. You couldn’t count on blaming the alcohol if you slipped up and said, or God forbid, do anything.

You prayed that this would be quick.

He got to work on describing what locations he thought best to move to, pulling aside a map of the downtown area. He showed you the places that he and his crew had already occupied before, with him explaining how he would like to stay away from the same locations. At least, away from it for a good amount of time.

Your mind tried it’s best to listen to what he had been saying, as it was important. But other parts of you were focused on the way his hands moved and where you’d like to have them at.

You constantly had to stop yourself and actually pay attention to what he was saying and asking of you. At least throughout the heist, you had plenty of excuses to not listen to him or directly respond to what he was saying, being that you were so focused on your own thing. However, you didn’t have any excuse to not listen and barely respond to him now. The quietness of the place would make it easy enough to catch any lingering pauses or delayed responses. You needed to be on high guard on your behavior, as you had been the prior times you collaborated with him in his office.

As you gave your suggestions on the locations he had in mind and tossed around your own ideas, you could tell that despite you looking down at the map, he was watching you. This kind of watching you had grown more accustomed to, even expecting this of him. You felt he was the kind of listener to give his undivided attention to whoever was speaking. And he had done so when you met with him prior.

But with how the lighting in his office was dim just enough to set a mood. How close the two of you were physically by his desk. Feeling the heat coming from his body. Smelling the expensive cologne he had on. It was making you dizzy.

After some time, with him narrowing down a few locations that had seemed to be the best and easiest to relocate to, and seeing that it was getting much later, you figured now you’d be able to make your leave.

“Glad I could be of assistance,” you said, as you began to make your way to the door. “I’ll make sure we can get a truck to move our things.”

Just as you were opening the door, you felt Hans come up from behind and closed it back gently, with his hand on yours. You turned your head to face him, trying to hide your shock with mild confusion.

“There is also another matter I want to discuss with you.” He stated.

“What is it?” You turned your body to him more, moving your hand away from him and expecting him to take a few steps back. However, he didn’t, which only left at least half of a foot between you two, if at that. His hand being still on the door, leaving not much room for you to move anywhere else.

“Did I offend you in any way?” His accented voice was low and purposeful. You could already feel the heat creeping up your neck, among other areas.

But you were genuinely confused now. “What?”

“Did I offend you in any way?” He repeated.

The question had baffled you so much that you couldn’t help but answer genuinely. “Not that I can think of.”

You knew his jabs from earlier today were made in playful fun, as were yours. “Why?”

“You seem to be quick to end conversations with me compared to the rest of the group.”

Despite keeping a calm demeanor on the outside, you were running circles in your head. You had really hoped that your behavior towards him wasn’t noticeable. But of course, it was, at least to a man like him, who always strived to perfect the details and to look out for loose ends.

You played it off. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time is all.”

He gave a subtle smirk at that; one you could clearly see with how close you were to him. Now you were doing his best to not look at his lips, doing your best to maintain eye contact. However, his piercing stare wasn’t helping your state of mind either.

“That’s very kind, however that doesn’t explain why you always have a strict tone with me and have difficulty paying attention in our one-to-one conversations where I require your attention.”

“I don’t understand.” You figured if playing dumb could work on the cops it could work now. It was your only hail Mary at this point.

“You hardly were focused today when doing your part of the job. Well- focused on what need to be done of course, you were excellent with that,” You inhaled through your nose lightly, trying to regain composure. “But when it came to talking to me, you didn’t seem like you were focused on what I had to say.”

You tried to think of something else to say as a rebuttal, but he continued.

“Moments throughout the heist. During the car ride. When discussing locations. Even now,” Hans moved to get even closer to you, his face only a couple of inches away from yours. “I can see you have to bring back your attention to what I’m saying to you.”

You’d been holding your breath. You were sure to either pass out or die at any moment if oxygen didn’t reach your brain.

His voice got quieter, lower, despite you two being the only ones in this room, in this building.

“Tell me, what are you thinking about when you’re with me?”

That was it. You couldn’t take it anymore. You weren’t going to tell him. You were going to show him.

You were quick to grab the sides of his face and make a dive right for his lips, not at all being gentle as the months of buildup in your mind and body suddenly hit you. His lips were as soft as they looked, in contrast with the facial hair he had that scratched your mouth a bit. You closed your eyes as the kiss sent a jolt throughout your body.

You mentally braced yourself for when he pushed you off. Seeing that you didn’t even give him a chance to prepare for your response. However, it shocked you when Hans was just as quick to adjust his own lips to kiss you right back. You slightly pulled back in disbelief, opening your eyes for a moment. But he got right back onto your lips and pinned you more against the door, his hands going to your hips.

You let out a surprised noise that delved far too quickly into a stifled moan, your hands moving through his hair as you closed your eyes again. It only encouraged him to keep kissing you, his pressure being as intense as you had figured it to be. It didn’t take long before he pressed his tongue against your mouth. You let him have access, deepening your kissing. You tasted the leftover wine he had, and while you never cared for the brand he had that night, you felt that you could make an exception this time.

You pulled at his hair gently, which got a noise out of him. And you were eager to get more out of him. However, he stopped kissing you, much to your frustration that you couldn’t hide at this point. Hans let out a dark chuckle, and you swear you never wanted to beat up a man as much as you did right then.

“I didn’t think I was making that much of an impact on you.”

“You’re full of shit.” You breathed out. You could always tell when he was lying through his teeth when he had a certain kind of twinkle in his eye, which he had right now. He laughed a little louder that time. Which gave you further confirmation, as well as making your face grow hotter.

“Was I really that obvious?” You found yourself hesitating to ask.

“Hmm.” He hummed thoughtfully. “No. At least it wouldn’t be to someone who wasn’t watching you.” He leaned close to your ear, dragging one hand up your body all the way to the base of your jaw. “And I was watching you for a while .”

You shuddered at that, and at the realization of his words. Sure, you saw how today he was observing you. But the idea that he had known for a while and didn’t let any signs show, it made your heart leap right into your throat and your insides burn a bit more. You felt exposed.

The chills you had only got more intense as Hans began to leave a trail of kisses, traveling from below your ear and making his way down to your throat, one hand still on your jawline and the other on your hip that kept you in place. He craned your head to get you open.

His impossibly gentle kissing turned into him sucking and biting at your neck. You’d probably need to wear a turtleneck for a bit. But you didn’t care. The noise you let out from your throat was guttural. You could feel him smirk against your skin. Your irritation with his teasing grew, and so you quickly moved your hands from his hair and grabbed at his hips, pulling them closer against your own. Your arms wrapped around his lower back so he couldn’t move. You immediately noted the tent that was beginning to form in his pants. You thought with how quickly it seemed to have appeared, he must’ve been extremely pent up and needed a form of release. Or there was a bit of a chance that Hans had been deeply attracted to you as you were to him.

You couldn’t count on that, nor did you want to for a man like him. And at this point, it didn’t really matter to you what the origins of his advances were. Whether he actually felt something, just liked the idea of you being needy for him, or needed an outlet, you couldn’t care less. Hans wasn’t rejecting you, and you were desperate to get more friction between the two of you.

You moved your hips against him, which only led you to be even more frustrated when in response he slowly, almost lazily, gave thrusts back. It was not enough for you.

“Hans.” You groaned out, gripping at his suit jacket.

“Ja?” He asked, in a disgustingly polite voice, like he didn’t know.

“Move.”

“Move what?”

You used a hand to punch the side of him. Not too hard, but enough to get your frustration across. He laughed against your skin, and you really wanted to punch him harder then.

“You know what I mean by ‘move’.”

“Where’s the fun in rushing?” Hans teased, as he went back to nipping at your throat.

“It’s not rushing if I’ve been waiting for fucking months for this.” You said, not caring how pathetic and desperate you sounded. Your straightforwardness caught him off guard as he faltered slightly in his movements and he had bitten down slightly harder than before on your throat. The pain shot through you, but you discovered how much you had enjoyed that. After a moment of recomposing himself, he went back to his slow thrusting.

You felt him mutter against your neck. “If you’ve waited this long, you can wait just a little bit longer.” Hans began to caress his hands slowly and deliberately over your body. Barely adding enough pressure, it was a graze when he went over your chest.

You’ve never felt the desire to kill someone you wanted to have sex with so badly more than you had now. Yet Hans, ever the exceptional thief, managed to do both.

You hated how much it turned you on.

You wanted to push his buttons. To get him to unravel in the same way he made you. You thought for a moment, which was hard to do as all you wanted to think about was his lips on you and how he seemed to be savoring every sound you let out. How he relished in the way your body was arching involuntarily at his touch.

You suddenly had a quick moment of clarity and slightly tilted your head down to him as he kissed at your collarbone.

“But can you ?”

He stopped his movements, which irritated you internally, but you could hold off from the slight instant gratification if it meant you got what you wanted quicker. He still had his face in the crook of your neck.

“Wie bitte?” He asked.

“Can you wait, if you had to?”

Realizing your question was in response to what he said prior, he answered, “Of course.”

You moved your hands to his shoulders to slightly push him off to get him to look at you.

“I don’t think you can.”

Hans eyed you as he slightly straightened his posture. He could tell you were up to something but hadn’t pieced together in his mind what it was just yet. You had to be quick to catch him further off guard and set him off.

“In fact, I think you’re pretty desperate.” You challenged.

You can tell it struck something within him as his eyes became more alert. However, he kept the suave demeanor he always had.

“I wasn’t the one who lunged for a kiss.”

You raised your eyebrows and could feel the smirk tugging at your lips. “But you did corner me at the door right before I left.”

He furrowed his brows at that. You knew you had him; You just had to keep reeling him in. With newfound confidence, you nonchalantly pushed past him and walked back to his desk. You looked down and casually tapped on the map that was laying out on the table still.

“You also brought me in here for ‘personal help’ with picking out the next location,” You looked over at him briefly, shrugged, and looked back at the map. “You got lucky with a good excuse of needing someone who wasn’t drunk. But after thinking about it, you don’t have a good reason for why you set it up for us to be together throughout the whole robbery.”

You fixed your posture, having not heard so much as a breath from him. But you didn’t have to look at him to know his stare was directly on you.

“Anyone could’ve helped in watching your back. It would’ve been smarter and safer to have more than one person watching you. Especially since compared to the rest, I’m new in your group. That could've been disastrous had I made one miscalculation and not have another help clean up the mess.”

You hadn’t initially made these observations when they happened but saying them out loud as they came to you in the heat of the moment, it made you realize how obvious Hans was in trying to be alone with you. As much as it made you feel stupid, it was churning your stomach.

“Hell, you even had us drive back in the same car! What, were you hoping for a quickie during the ride back? Or inside of the building?” The idea made your face heat up and you were glad to have been facing away from him for a moment, so he didn’t see. Not that you would’ve been opposed to either scenario. But he didn’t need to know that.

“That’s more pathetic than me. I was expecting a lot more-”

You didn’t get to finish your thought as you felt a force push your upper half down into the desk, causing a loud smack and some items to fly off. Despite having the wind slightly knocked out of you, you caught the feeling of one of his hands that shielded you from hitting your head on the desk too hard. Before you could process anything else, you felt his body press against behind you more as he quickly grabbed your arms to pin them behind your back.

With this new angle, you could feel just how much harder Hans had become as his hips dug into your backside.

Maneuvering to free one hand, he dragged it up towards your head and grabbed a fist full of your hair. He pulled your head up and leaned in close to speak against your ear.

“Du bist nur ein Lustobjekt.”

It was the first time you heard his voice wavering in its pitch, like he was barely containing himself. You wished you had started with this tactic sooner. You turned your head as much as he would let you. You were able to see the dangerous look in his eyes. You finally had him right where you wanted him. How you wanted him during these past weeks since you would join him in his planning inside this office.

You couldn’t fight off the wicked smile as you spoke. “Du bist ein Lustmolch.”

Proving your point in a way, he wasted no time as he went right for your lips in a hungry kiss, which you were eager to meet back. You didn’t suppress your moans, and even if you wanted to it was hard to do so, as he was still gripping your hair and was dry humping you at this point. The pressure from him and the edge of the desk that was poking your front side was killing you. You started to move to increase the friction, however his grip around your pinned arms tightened and he pushed you further into the table, holding you in place and limiting your movements.

In response, you bit his lips hard. Now tasting a combination of wine and blood. Hearing him grunt gave you some satisfaction, but you wanted more of it. More of him. However, he let go of your head and rose from his position. You groaned in frustration, lightly bumping your head against the desk in annoyance. Your annoyance turned into a mixture of confusion as he let go of your hands suddenly just as he grabbed them. He moved away from you completely, and you started to push yourself up and question him. But the words died on your lips as he made his way around the desk and spoke.

“Undress and get back on the desk.”

The words struck you hard with a newfound and intense feeling of pleasure. You got up, and as you were beginning to remove your articles of clothing, you got a better look at Hans as he was looking through his desk’s drawers. You could see how heavily he was breathing even as he attempted to control it. His hair was a mess. He had a smudge of blood around his lips, and his cheeks flushed. You didn’t even think that it was possible for him to do. Only his suit jacket had been unbuttoned at this point. But it being opened allowed you to get a better picture of what he was packing in his pants.

Just as you had been halfway out of your clothes, he found what he had been looking for. He pulled out a bottle of lubricant and a packet of condoms, which he tore from the set. Your knees buckled at the sight of it and had at first grown embarrassed at the idea that he kept those within reach. But you found a way to work around it.

“Oh, so you’d decided you were going to have me here?”

He looked up at you and paused for a moment as he took in what he could currently see of you. Seeing and practically feeling him eye you up and down felt like he was the one undressing you.

“Nein, du Dummerchen.” Hans said in response to your question. You could see that twinkle again. Your heart missed a beat at that.

You were just getting ready to take off your underwear, but Hans seemed to be just as impatient as you had been. He wasted no time getting you back on your stomach. And you were more certain that he had been just a bit gentler in making sure you didn’t get as winded as before. He didn’t even pin your hands behind your back. But you didn’t comment on that.

“I wasn’t done.” You huffed out.

“You were taking too long.” He said.

You rolled your eyes, making sure that he saw you do so. “Just say you wanted to be the one to take them off, it’s not hard.”

He pushed your head down with one hand and grabbed at your hip tightly with the other. You let out a noise, the excitement evident on you as he began to use both of his hands to slowly pull down your underwear. It fell down your legs and pooled around your ankles. You could hear his breath hitching as he started to slowly caress you. Your eyes closed as you leaned into his touch. When his touch got rougher, you used a free hand to bury your face into your arm.

“Don’t cover too much of your face. I want to be able to hear you.”

You were about to have a smartass response when his thigh pressed up between your legs stopped you in your tracks. Finally feeling the fabric against your bare skin brought you back to the very first fleeting thought you had about him. Hans moved his hands away. The sound of the bottle opening barely processed in your mind.

He also began to say something but whatever it was, it didn’t matter all that much to you, and very quickly didn’t matter to him as he stopped talking once you began grinding on his thigh. You placed your hands on the edge of the desk that you faced to make your upper body more firmly planted while your lower body began moving. Your eyes closed, your head pressed against the surface, so you couldn’t see the look on his face. You just knew that he was watching you though.

You were finally getting the pressure and friction that you wanted between your legs and felt yourself breathing quickly as you allowed yourself to move faster against him. The trance that had hit him finally broke as he got his hands onto your hips again, forcing you to stop. You banged one of your fists on the desk.

“Come on!” If he kept doing this to you soon you weren’t going to have any kind of feeling for him besides hate.

“Slowly.” He loosened his grip.

You groaned but figured you could compromise. You focused on maintaining a consistent speed, dragging your body with slow movements while still applying enough pressure to satisfy you. He fully let go as you could hear him picking back up the bottle. After a few moments, you felt his hand on you, this time noting that his fingers were lubricated. He moved his thigh away, but you weren’t all that disappointed, knowing what was meant to come. In more ways than one.

You felt a finger press into you slowly, causing you to gasp. The second you did he paused in his movements. You realized he was giving you time to adjust. It was odd, as you thought about it. How there had been little moments throughout this session where he had been gentle, was the best way to put it. His appearance may have tried to present to the general public that he was a gentleman. And maybe he believed that himself. But that’s not what you saw. You could see how ruthless he was. “Gentleman” would be putting it lightly.

The thought of the handkerchief briefly entered your mind, and you would’ve dwelled on it more, but Hans started to speak again.

“May I move?”

“Yes.”

He pushed deeper into you and started to pump his index finger at a slow pace. Your breathing hitched with every movement he made and started to feel the head within your body increase. His other hand kept caressing you, in a way that felt almost like he was soothing you. In your heated daze you tried to think more about how much he had those “kind” moments, especially today. It was giving you great cognitive dissonance of the man you were sure to have known during your time here, and these little “blink and you’ll miss it” moments he had with you.

You felt him pull out his finger, and you made an embarrassing noise that subsided when you felt him press two fingers against your entrance. Just as before he took his time to gently enter you, only moving when you told him to. This time, he applied much more pressure in his fingers, allowing him to get more lube onto you. Your breathing was exchanged with consistent grunts and moaning at the new sensation. Yet it started to not feel enough. You encouraged him by rocking your hips against him.

He groaned, and tried to keep his voice and pace steady, though you could tell he was wavering. “Patience. I’m still preparing you.”

A weak laugh left you. “Are you saying that to me or to yourself?”

He only grunted as he shoved his fingers back into you a bit more forcefully, causing you to let out another moan in approval.

That roughness was what you had been expecting of Hans. Which you did get earlier. You figured that more of it was going to come out of him by this point. That other part of him, those moments of gentleness was something you couldn’t wrap your head around.

Although, you figured it wasn’t like people couldn’t have multiple traits or even faces to them. You had to keep a different one in your everyday life while you were a completely different person when on the clock. Who’s to say Hans wasn’t the same? Having that capability to be a man with many faces to him when the situation required for him to do so. That would then apply to the traits he had.

Still, no one could likely define what Hans’ true face was. That’s just how it was for a man like him. You picked on that right after you first met him. You pondered to yourself what version of himself was he showing you now. Something in your, or somewhere deeper, hoped this version had some truth to it.

You stopped your mind from delving further into that thought. Convince yourself that there was no point to it. Right here, right now, you just tried to focus on the sensations that were being felt throughout your body.

He exited out of you again, this time, and you were hoping for the last time, inserted another finger. He wasn’t as slow as he had been before, with you being much more stretched and lubed up. It was easier for him to slip inside and to move around his fingers into slight angles that left your mouth agape as you closed your eyes to focus purely on his touch.

You could hear how heavy his breathing had become, and with how quiet the room has been, besides the noises you two were making, you heard him unzip his fly and undo his belt with one hand. A new sense of anticipation and pleasure hit you. You nearly felt like you could’ve finished from the thought of what was to come before it even happened. You leveled your breathing to control yourself.

Noting how you could barely contain yourself, he pulled his fingers out of you, and you could hear the crinkle of the condom packet opening. You held your hands against the edge of the desk and waited for him to be done.

One of his hands positioned your hip and you felt your heartbeat in long awaited excitement.

“Bist du bereit?”

Hearing the same phrase he had said to you right before the heist felt… It had felt a lot. Ridiculously hot, of course. But it led to a much bigger crack to the wall you had put up in trying to distance yourself from any deeper feelings. The possibility that it may have been something just a little bit more to him wasn’t zero.

When you first envisioned these moments, what felt like a while ago, you were perfectly fine- or really hoping he’d be behind you. He had the figure built for that, and the full dominating aspect delighted you. However, you had some second thoughts about that.

You steadied yourself, more mentally than physically if anything. Still, you turned your head slightly, not enough to see him well but for him to hear you clearly.

“Can I turn around?”

You’d figure that, in the worst case, he’d reject your request and maybe even humiliate you. Which wouldn’t have been the worst thing for a man like him, or even for someone like you. Either way, you could move on. People in your line of work had to be adequate to rob a place. Maybe this was no different.

There was a pause, and you felt like the whole energy in the room shifted. You didn’t even think that to be possible. Still, you waited.

“Yes.”

He removed his hand from you, allowing you to move into the position you wanted to be in.

Maneuvering your body to fully face him, you could see that his clothes were still intact, besides the zipper and the belt being undone. You tried not to gawk at what he had going on below too much, knowing you were going to feel it in a moment. As you pressed your back against the surface and lifted your legs, he helped hold them up and hovered over you. You caught how he had a combination of the look of intense focus he had during the celebration, and the gleam in his eyes right before committing to a heist.

You felt a lot more confident in replying to him.

“Ich bin bereit.”

He didn’t waste any more time positioning himself before your entrance, and pushed himself right in. There wasn’t much of a struggle on your part, as you accepted him easily. You arched your back into him, letting out a moan filled with relief. He didn’t fare much better in containing the noise he made.

He leaned further towards you, and as he did you grabbed ahold of his shoulders and wrapped your legs around him. He planted his hands by the sides of you. You wanted him to start moving immediately, but you knew you had to be just a little smart in allowing you to adjust to his size. Hans lowered his head to start kissing on your chest, nipping, and sucking around your nipples. You shuddered as he continued upward towards your collarbone and neck, traveling up to your ear. Your name left his mouth in a quick breath.

“How else do you want me?” Hans asked.

You groaned as you felt your face get hot, the smell from his cologne was making you dizzy. You couldn’t formulate anything coherent in your mind to get the proper words out.

“Just- fuck Hans.” You exhaled out.

“Oh, don’t worry, I intend to do that.” You felt that smug smirk against your ear. You pulled his head back to shut him up with a kiss, or rather a bite at his mouth. His smile only grew at that, and you were positive you felt him stiffen inside you more than he already was. You tasted that you had drawn more blood. You felt a little bit bad, but only just a little as he spoke against your lips.

“I just wanted to know how.” He teased in a lighter voice.

You wanted to call him every name in the book, and he knew that. Instead, you ran your hand through his hair gently as you looked at him. You thought of a good compromise that would give you both that exceptional thief side of him and that gentleman side of him that you could see from this position, and that you were banking on by the end of this.

Catching his confused but intrigued attention, you got closer to one of his ears.

“Fick mich härt.”

He wasted no time standing up straighter to get a better position. Your hands left his shoulders, moving down towards his forearms where you held his hands to be firmly on your hips, while also getting to grip at his suit. In a swift motion you watched him pull back just enough so he was barely inside of you and thrusted right back in.

You let out a loud and strained moan as you squeezed his arms. You knew you were going to feel this in the morning, but you were counting on that. He paused for a moment and only continued when you urged him to keep going. He started with a slow but fierce rhythm. His grunting matched with every move he made, his grip tightening around your hips as you let out moans that increased in volume as he kept going. You tried to keep your eyes open to look at him, wanting to burn the image of him over. He was starting to sweat, from still being dressed, and he had a bit of blood that was beginning to go down his chin.

He didn’t seem too concerned about his suit getting dirty this time, whether it be from the blood that dripped down onto his dress shirt’s collar, the sweat that was coming from him, or by you. He was so completely and utterly concentrated on pleasuring you. You could see his eyes were tracing every inch of your body. You felt yourself heat up even more than you thought possible at the idea of him also committing your imagery to memory.

“Hans-” You breathed.

“So eng,” He panted, as he looked down at you. “So eng für mich.”

And you only grew tighter around him with every word he spoke, German or otherwise. It wasn’t hard for him to notice that.

“Gelfällt dir das? When I speak?” A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “I would think you would’ve wanted to speak to me more then.”

The teasing tone he had started to mess with you, as you found yourself thrusting against him when he was faltering to talk to you.

“Or” He slightly raised his eyebrow as he studied you. “Is that why you always ended our conversations early? To excuse yourself so you could- “

“Sei ruhig.” You grunted.

“I don’t think you want that.” He challenged. And you attempted to sound annoyed when you groaned but it didn’t come across that way at all. It was a battle you immediately lost as he chuckled, but you weren’t going to let him know you were fine with that.

“It must’ve been difficult for you to keep your composure throughout the heist whenever we were alone.” He hummed to you in a low voice.

“Again, I didn’t make the plan-” You grunted mid-sentence as he thrusted a bit harder. “To get us alone. That was- uh - all you.”

“But you didn’t oppose, and I think you have enough bite in you to have said something.”

You laughed a bit through your grunts as he kept moving. “I’m not dumb enough to try to- oh . To try to go against the man in charge of my payroll who- shit - carries a gun.”

Your eyes had been closing to focus on feeling him, but you felt his hand come up to hold your chin lightly, causing you to get your attention and to look up at him. The playfulness he had subdued, replaced with a more serious look. He stopped mid-thrust.

“Did I make you feel pressured to be around me?”

His voice had a softness to him you hadn’t heard before, and concern that you didn’t know he had in him. It led you to act in a way you hadn’t in a long time due to the kind of life you led.

You brought your hand to his own, gently taking it and giving a kiss on his knuckles. You felt a lot more embarrassed doing this than anything prior, but it needed to be done. You looked back up to him.

“No, you haven’t.”

He looked at you for a moment, and seemed to be a bit more relaxed after hearing you say that. It felt nice having to experience something like this. It cemented the idea in your mind that he did value what you were worth. Whatever this was to be defined as could be defined later, however. You had a newfound urge that was stronger than before to see it to the end.

“You have made me feel an intense dislike towards you whenever you speak though.” You made sure to say that in a tone that you always used when being snarky to him, which he caught on.

“Why, are you not as thick-skinned as you try to appear to be when I take jabs at you?” He dragged his hand down your body.

“Oh, I can take it,” you said, already grinning at what you were about to say. “I just hate how after our long planning and your praises, I’ll always have to wash my bedsheets in the middle of the night.”

He took a second to process what that had meant. Once he did his face lit up like a fire. There were two things that you knew were big about him. One of them being his ego.

“I suppose we’re even now, since my suits get plenty dirty right after you leave.”

The air around the two of you became stuffier, his hands roaming your body as he continued to stretch you out as he started to move again. Your words came out between your panting.

“I guess since I’m getting your suit dirty, I’ll have to get my sheets dirty tonight to be fair.”

He let out a louder moan at that than you were expecting and let one particular thrust hit you in a spot that made you see stars. You took a moment to regain yourself.

“Are you imagining me touching myself?” You questioned him. The idea making you quiver. “Lustmolch.”

“Lass mich dein Maul stopfen.” He let out in a ragged breath. “Lustobjekt.”

“I don’t think you want that.” You mused aloud.

He must’ve had the same sense of urgency, as he snapped and his pace began to pick up, while still making sure he was rough with you. You arched into him more and you were being anything but quiet. Like you guessed, he didn’t cover your mouth or do anything to shut you up. It seemed to encourage him more. Even if the others were still at the hideout, you wouldn’t have cared at this point if they heard you or not. You would be going home richer and properly ruined. And that was fine with you. Besides, if you had tried to force yourself to be quiet, you were certain the noise of your bodies thumping against the wooden surface would’ve been a great indicator of what was going on.

“Bitte! Weiter!” You told him through your moans, and he complied by lifting your legs and pushing them as far as he could against you, allowing him to get a better angle to take you deeper.

The new position of his hands on your thighs, getting to feel more of his suit on your body helped you reach a new height of sensations and a sense of high. You could tell that it wasn’t going to be much longer if he kept this up. And it was clear he had no intention of slowing down. You did have to move your hands now as they couldn’t properly reach his arms. It was hard to think of a new place for them as you lost all reason with every thrust he made into you. Through your lidded eyes and tears- or maybe it was sweat as you felt drenched now, you looked at him to see where you could put your arms.

Hans was swearing to himself, mainly in German. Some words you couldn’t catch as you never heard him curse this much before. His own sweat was dripping onto you as he moved, and you noticed how he was stuttering in his thrusting, the clinking of his loose belt buckle hitting against you becoming more erratic. It was obvious he was doing his best to hold out longer.

You then noticed how his tie had been slightly touching your body throughout the whole ordeal. It didn’t matter that you hadn’t noticed prior, you noticed it now. You used both of your hands to grab at it and pull him closer. He didn’t fight back, and it ended up pushing your legs farther back towards you, allowing him to pound just a bit farther into you.

Still holding onto his tie with one hand, you used your other to hold onto his upper back and rested your face in the crook of his neck.

“You look like you’re close to finishing.” You teased as you bit on his neck.

He scoffed, “You don’t look any better than me.”

That, you couldn’t argue as he didn’t relent in this close position. It didn’t matter how sore and cramped your body had started to become when lying down in this position; you wanted to be in it for as long as you could. Which really wasn’t that much longer, much to your dismay. The heat that had been pooling inside you was threatening to spill at any given moment.

“Hans-” Your voice was desperate, incoherent babbling leaving through your panting. “Bitte- please-”

“Das machst du gut.” He moaned.

“Please, "You clutched at his shoulder.

“So eng. So heiß.”

“I’m going to-”

“Ja,” You heard him say against your neck. “Ich auch- Ich komme gleich. Kommen.”

With that, Hans gave one last thrust and you let yourself release, crying out in relief. He grunted and moaned against your skin. You moved lightly against him as you went through your climax. You felt him throb inside you, and you felt him relaxing his body onto yours, his clothes warming up your already warm skin. He rubbed your legs, gave you soft kisses on your skin, and you heard more praise coming from him.

“Du hast dich selbst übertroffen.”

“Don’t praise me anymore.” You breathed, letting go of his tie. “If you do, we’ll be here all night.”

He moved his head to look at you. “This is a problem how?”

You lightly pushed his head away and rolled your eyes, causing him to laugh.

“I don’t care how good you are at it; there’s no way you could stay in the same position.”

“I could sit down in my chair.” He suggested. You were sure part of him was serious. And you were sure part of you was considering it.

Sadly, you had to fight it down as you really did begin to feel exhaustion hit you fast, as everything from the day was starting to weigh down on you. He could see that and was starting to pull himself out. You stopped him.

“Wait- Just wait a moment, please?” You knew you needed to have a moment to get yourself back together mentally.

He stopped moving his hips, letting himself be inside you. With ease, he lifted you off the desk and walked around to his chair. You clutched onto him. It didn’t even cross your mind before if he was able to carry anyone. But his grip felt secure. Once he sat down into his chair carefully, you ease into him, letting out a tired sigh. He rubbed your back, soothing your body from how much it was banging against the desk. You did your best to wake up a bit more and to soon get off him. However, you had a flash of one last act that you had wanted to.

Remembering where he had placed his handkerchief, you lifted your head up and reached into his breast pocket. Watching you get it out; you looked at Hans’s lips. Seeing that the blood was still a bit moist, due to the sweat keeping it that way, you began to wipe it off.

You had expected him to make a remark or jab at you doing this, especially how you had tried to clean it prior. Instead, he calmly breathed and leaned into your touch, closing his eyes. The stillness within the room being undisturbed by either of you.

This new difference was something you felt excited to become used to.

#die hard #hans gruber #die hard 1988 #alan rickman #hans gruber x reader #smut #mcwrites #fighting my biggest battles making this fic now I can focus on the other hans fic and soon the elliott marston fic #but seriously hope you enjoyed reading this LONG ASS FIC #im chuking this into the ar tag like a grenade once again #only this one might actually do some damage

36 notes · View notes