#he’d just be so concerned and thoughtful I know it!

[nereidprinc3ss]

weber's law

in which spencer reid comforts fem!reader when she's having a panic attack at the rossi mansion

fluff warnings/tags: panic attack lol, spencer is really cute and sweet my little perfect cutie pie angel baby, classic spencer info dumps bc they're pretty much his love language, established relationship, cheesy and sweet at the end a/n: this one is for my queens with panic disorders who are triggered by literally nothing and everything i see you have this ilysm

When Spencer had invited you to a small get-together at Rossi’s, you’d imagined a small get-together at Rossi’s. 

And maybe that makes you a complete idiot. 

Or maybe Spencer is just so used to FBI work functions that to him, this really is small.

But now you’re sitting on an expensive couch in a very nice house, and you’re surrounded by FBI agents who are all milling around and talking and laughing, and you’re worried maybe your outfit doesn’t look as nice on you as you’d thought it did, and you keep having very vivid visions of spilling your drink all over a furry throw rug that probably costs more than your rent does. 

Music that could reasonably be considered relaxing or at the very least not objectionable plays over the sound system throughout the whole house and thus is inescapable—not that you’d get up from the couch even if you could, because Spencer is sitting to your right and he has his hand on your thigh and it’s the only thing that has until this point been keeping you from a full blown panic attack.

Maybe that makes you a complete idiot, too.

Regardless, you try to focus on nothing but the weight of his hand as it travels slowly up and down from knee to hip over the jeans you’re not so sure about, and the feeling of your breath coming and going, as slow as you can possibly summon it without passing out. 

Spencer is laughing at something JJ is saying as she stands next to the couch with Will and you really like JJ but her voice seems so loud right now, and nothing is going particularly wrong but everything feels so, so wrong it’s scary. 

All the buzzing tension in your body telling you to run away because you’re unsafe and at the same time locking you into place builds until you have to express it somehow. So you revert to an old habit—bouncing your leg rapidly like a rabbit thumping its foot. It’s not entirely conscious, but it feels better than being completely still. That is, until Spencer’s hand strays inward and cups just above your inner knee, where he begins fanning his thumb back and forth over the fabric. 

“What’s this?” he murmurs, head angled toward you and voice low enough to not draw attention. You force yourself to plant your heel to the ground even though it worsens the feeling of gears crunching in your chest. 

“Nothing. Sorry.”

That gets his attention. 

Because of course it does. He’s always telling you to stop saying sorry so often. 

His tone solidifies, still quiet but committed to this conversation now and no longer the whispery apparition of a quick aside. 

“Why are you sorry?” 

“I don’t know, it wasn’t—it’s nothing.”

You barely avoid apologizing again. 

For a moment he doesn’t speak, just watches you—and you make the mistake of raising your gaze to meet his. He has that curious, analytical look about him, concern tightening his eyes and knitting his brow. He’s doing that annoying mind-reading thing again, and as soon as he actually sees your eyes, he’s figured you out. 

“Do you want to go outside for a minute? Get some air?”

After examining his face for any clues that he’d rather stay in here, (not that you’d really know what to look for), you nod hesitantly. Spencer mirrors your nod and stands, holding out his hand for you to take as you follow suit after setting your drink on a side table (without spilling.)

JJ is now wrapped up in conversation with another agent and the two of you manage to abscond without attracting unwanted attention, which makes you feel slightly better as Spencer leads you deftly through rooms with high-vaulted ceilings and big windows and heavy, expensive looking oak furniture. It seems like you’ve been wandering through a maze when you arrive to a quieter part of the house and he opens a french door for you—which leads out onto an empty patio. 

A cool breeze immediately sinks into your skin, and your nervous system is so hyper-alert that it gives you chills. Spencer notices the way you shiver and steps closer after closing the door behind him, his hand finding the small of your back immediately. 

“You okay?” he asks, intentionally avoiding impeding your view of the sweeping backyard and the trees beyond. Sometimes focusing on something stationary is less overwhelming, but they’re so tall they seem imposing. Threatening, even. 

But then again, everything feels threatening right now. 

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

Spencer seems unconvinced by your monotone—when you glance over at him he’s still watching you like you’re a puzzle to be solved. 

“Are you sure? You can tell me if you’re not.”

“Why are you so convinced something is wrong?” you laugh, but it comes out too manic. You cross your arms. He looks pointedly at the motion. 

“For starters, that. Often times crossing your arms is a subconscious way of comforting yourself when you feel defensive or threatened. And you could say it’s because you’re cold, but—” he pauses, reaching out to touch your cheek. “I can feel how hot your face is, and you shivered when we came outside even though it’s 71 degrees because your nervous system is overreacting to external stimuli. The leg-bouncing is also often indicative of an activated parasympathetic nervous system. Is me touching you okay?”

Again, you nod—unsure how to deflect when he calls you out so efficiently. 

Spencer’s hand slides down to just beneath your jaw, where he rests two fingers. Each second that passes has him looking progressively more worried. You wish you weren’t quite so catatonic—the fairy lights hanging from the pergola shine through his hair and make him glow so appealingly you want to kiss his cheek. 

“Your heart rate is really high, honey.”

That would be due to the sense of impending doom. Thanks for pointing it out.

But you’ve lost your words, and along with them has gone your sense of humor. All you can manage for a 30 second span is a meaningless shake of your head as you avert your eyes, staring at the sprawling carpet of blue-green grass soaked in night as each blade doubles with your tears. 

“I think I’m dying,” you finally croak.

“Technically, we all are. Very slowly.”

Ah. There’s that social tact he’s so well known for. 

“Spencer.”

“Right,” he kisses your cheek as you stare up at him, affronted, and pulls you into his chest. “Sorry. I was actually trying to be helpful. Changes in brain chemistry and hormonal activity associated with panic attacks change your perception of time and make things feel really fast which can contribute to feelings of anxiety. But in reality time is moving just the same as it always is. One second is always one second. Sometimes remembering that helps me to slow down. Not literally, of course. My gravitational pull isn’t great enough to have any discernible effect on the passage of time.”

You sniff, pressing your cheek to his tie. His words make your head spin, seeing as you hadn't been prepared for a lecture in psychophysics—but it spins in the opposite direction than it had been going previously. It's nice.

“Change your perception of time?”

“Weber’s law of perception. Stimulus sensitivity will increase proportionally with increased stimulus intensity. You’re only perceiving time to be going faster because your cortisol and adrenaline levels are making you hyper-vigilant and sensitive to all the markers of time passing.”

“Like what?”

Spencer hums, the bass of it a comforting resonance against your ear, and strokes your hair unhurriedly. 

“Like… your internal clock. Your body measures time with your heartbeat, so when your heart rate increases, time seems to go faster. Also environmental cues, which lead you to understand that the world is not stagnant and thus is not frozen in time. Like the sound of the wind chimes…” he pauses, long enough for you to realize that indeed, you can hear the gentle, sonorous ringing and tinkling of steel chimes bouncing against each other. “And the wind itself, which is coming all the way from the Gulf of Mexico. Some studies actually suggest that wind direction can affect your energy levels and mood.”

It’s a gentle breeze more than it is full-blown wind. It feels cool against your hot skin. 

Spencer’s hand on the back of your head, still rhythmically smoothing your hair, seems to slow down the passage of time as well. You focus on that, and the sound of the wind chimes and the breeze on your skin for a few minutes, until your breathing and your heart rate slow and soon you regain your footing in the temporal dimension, exactly sure of where you stand on Rossi’s patio and in your boyfriend’s arms. 

“You tricked me into doing a grounding exercise,” you mumble into Spencer’s jacket. 

“I did not trick you,” he defends, voice quiet to match yours. “I just wanted to make you feel better. Did it work?”

You pull away from him and he lets you, watching on as you sniffle and wipe your tears on your sleeves. 

“Yeah, it did. Thank you.”

For a moment, neither of you speak as you gather yourself. He leads you by the hand to a cushioned hanging bench at the end of the patio, taking a seat next to you and gently rocking the swing. 

“Do you know what triggered that?” Spencer asks, over the gentle creaking sound. You shrug, observing the dance of the fireflies in the grass. 

“Nothing. Sometimes I just feel like everything’s wrong and scary but I didn’t want to tell you and ruin your night.”

“Hey,” Spencer murmurs, pulling you into him with an arm around your shoulder. “You are not ruining my night. I don’t want you to worry about that.”

“But all your friends and coworkers are inside, and you’re out here with me.”

He angles his head down toward you and you look up to meet his eyes, even warmer than the sticky summer night. 

“I am. Do you know why?”

“Because I suck,” you sniffle, more hot tears rolling down your cheeks as you attempt to look away. But Spencer’s not having it. He encourages you to sit up again so you can look at him properly, before wiping tears away gently with his thumb. When he speaks, it’s in soft, soothing tones. 

“No. I’m out here because if all my friends were inside having fun, and you were outside having a panic attack, I would choose you every time.”

You manage a laugh through the crying. 

“I don’t know if that’s healthy.”

“Whether or not it’s healthy is an entirely different discussion,” Spencer smiles wryly, before it melts into something softer and more sincere. “All that matters is that it’s true.”

For a while after that, you simply lay your head on his shoulder. Spencer controls the speed of the swing with his much-longer legs, kissing your head and rubbing your arm as you admire the expanse of Rossi’s lush yard bathed in moonlight and the black silhouette of the forest beyond. 

Eventually, Spencer speaks again, likely to make sure you’re not spiraling alone in your head. 

“Can I tell you an extremely classified secret that I've been trying really hard to keep to myself for three days?” he asks, and the mischievous edge to his voice catches your attention. You hum in assent, already wondering what kind of information Spencer would have a hard time keeping to himself. It could be anything. 

“Anderson is sleeping with Childers from Operational Tech.”

“What?”

Despite not working for the FBI yourself, Spencer and Penelope have you so filled in on the drama that you know exactly why that’s shocking. 

You pick your head up to look at him like do not fuck with me right now. 

His eyes sparkle as he nods.

“Yep.”

“Didn’t you tell me Childers was dating that girl in sex crimes?”

Spencer raises his eyebrows. The corner of his mouth twitches. You gasp. 

“No! What? Does Anderson know?”

“I don’t know. I certainly didn’t want to be the one to tell him.”

“Wait—Anderson told you this?”

“Yeah!” He laughs incredulously at your complete disbelief. “People tell me things! I’m an excellent confidant!”

“If you’re relaying all of this information to me then you’re a terrible confidant,” you chuckle, still watery—but feeling light years better. 

Spencer brushes your hair away from your face fondly, leaning a fraction of an inch closer. 

“You don’t count. Telling you secrets is basically the same as keeping them to myself.”

“Basically,” you tease, angling your head up by a few degrees in invitation. Spencer says nothing, does nothing for a long moment—just studies you with soft eyes, continues stroking your cheek. When he takes too long to kiss you, you get impatient. “I’m still kinda anxious, you know.”

He smiles knowingly.  

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you nod, looking pointedly at his lips. “You should kiss me better.”

“I think that would take more than just one kiss,” he murmurs through a smile, leaning ever closer until your noses are bumping. “I think I would have to devote several hours to that. Maybe even a whole day.”

“How does tomorrow look for you?” 

He’s laughing as he finally presses his lips to yours. The kiss is sweet and lingering. 

“For you? It’s wide open.”

[cimmanonrowl]

Cyber Sex

You can only put up with so much as Aaron Hotchner's girlfriend. Busy office hours? Case files scattering your usually neat living room? Rescheduling appointments? Impromptu dates? Fine. But what about ovulating while he's out of town?

Pairing: aaron hotchner x writer!reader

Warning: heavy smut ☁️

TW: age gap, soft dom!aaron, cam sex, daddy kink, dirty talking, powerplay: older man/younger woman relationship, squirting, guided masturbation.

The soft mattress of your shared bed dipped against Aaron’s weight. On a normal day, you would’ve greeted him excitedly downstairs. He’d gotten used to seeing you first thing with your curls tied in a messy bun, only wearing your skimpy underwear under his old and oversized Law School shirt; all with a warm, angelic smile on your lips as you hugged him tightly.

Tonight, however, was different.

When he stepped inside the bedroom, you quickly felt his hand on your waist, the pad of his thumb tracing soft circles on your bare skin. Another stifled sob escaped your lips at the contact. Your eyes already stung after hours of crying, blood rushing down your head as you were forced to swallow the lump in your throat.

You heard Aaron heave a deep sigh before cautiously inching closer to your trembling figure, your back facing him.

“Sweetheart…” His voice was quiet and rough, obviously twinged with exhaustion. “I know you’re awake, baby. Look at me, please?”

You scooted away from the warmth of his hand, letting another set of warm tears cascade down your cheeks.

“Sweetheart,” He called out softly, shuffling towards you. “I know you’re mad and I can understand why. And I know that I deserve it, but at least let’s talk about what happened.”

“Go away, Aaron.”

“Hmm?”

Instead of being offended, Aaron just pursed his lips. He carefully placed his big, calloused hand on your waist again, rubbing soothing circles on your skin as he silently watched you. His heart clenched at the state you’re in: fresh tears dripped down your face and straight to your pillow, your shoulders racking in a quiet sob.

“Darling, you know we won’t fix anything without having to talk about it. You have to tell me what you feel and help me fix this…” He urged gently.

The room was quiet for a moment, just the sound of the whirring of the AC and your wet sniffling can be heard occasionally. Your brain flew back to the memories of today’s events. Waking up early and excitedly preparing Aaron’s lunch, kissing him goodbye with his promise of taking an afternoon off from work for your date, you anxiously waiting for him to arrive at your book event, then spending the rest of the day all by yourself.

No reply nor callback from him, not even a single notice that he won’t be able to fulfill his promise. You even had to call Garcia to know that your dear boyfriend was called to an emergency meeting.

Your heart aches even at the mere thought of it.

Of course, you’re aware of the consequence of being with Aaron. When you introduced him to your parents, both of them sat you down and talked to you about the possible dangers of being with a Federal agent. The criminals he’d thrown in jail might get their revenge on him through you, or that you might be targeted as a mere collateral damage. The idea lingered in your brain— it still does every now and then, if you’re honest. But you trust Aaron with your life so much that you know even with those possibilities, Aaron will do his best to protect you.

But it was different when you told your friends about your new relationship. Ever since they’ve been vocal about their concern about your setup: Aaron Hotchner is a busy, busy man. They were worried about you being neglected, or for your efforts to go unnoticed and taken advantage of. Regardless, you fought for him and convinced them that as much as Aaron is a man with a high sense of duty, he is a good partner who always tries to spend as much time with you, with the little free time his job can ever offer.

And for three years, it was enough.

Just not for today.

You sniffed quietly, your voice hoarse when you spoke again. “I rescheduled three reservations since last week, Aaron. I had a book event today and you promised to accompany me.”

“I know, sweetheart…” He whispered regretfully, combing through his hair in frustration. “I’m sorry.”

“You always say that.”

You felt him stiffen at your words, and his thumb stopped its movements in accord. You could almost sense the dread washing over him. “I know, baby, and this isn’t what I wanted you to feel. So let me make it up to you, sweetheart. Work’s just been…”

“I don’t want to hear about your work right now, Aaron.” 

The pleading in your voice caught him off-guard. That was the truth. You’re too upset and pissed to listen to his work problems. And he knows that’s one of the things you loved doing. Normally, you’d let him vent out to you about the things that worried him, stressed him, or angered him for the day— and it usually ends with his cock deep down your throat or pounding in and out of your willing cunt.

But not right now.

He won’t even bother spending an afternoon to support you and your work. Why would you listen to him, right? Right.

After another beat of silence, Aaron nodded in understanding. “Do you want me to sleep on the couch, sweetheart?”

You quickly shook your head.

“I prepared—” You swallowed thickly, almost choking on your own tears. God, you missed him so much.

As much as you felt neglected and hurt by his recent actions, you just couldn’t bring yourself to stop caring for him. The image of him spending his night cramped on a couch, and not being able to rest properly isn’t something you can easily stomach. Maybe you’re too in love it’s almost pathetic.

“Yes, sweetheart? What were you saying?”

“I prepared the guest room. S-sleep there.”

“Oh…” His words came out like a whisper, so comforting you almost let yourself melt into it. “Thank you, baby, but I’d like to stay here in our bedroom. I can take the couch if you don’t want me near—”

“Aaron.”

“Yes?”

He waited for you to continue, his warm hand continuously rubbing soft circles on your waist. 

“You’re getting on my nerves, Aaron. Leave me alone.”

As soon as he heard the words come out of your mouth, you instantly felt the subtle change in his grip; it turned firm and rigid. And you couldn’t help but bite your lower lip and expect whatever was about to come.

Aaron exhaled a little sharply. “I don’t appreciate this attitude, little girl. I’m trying to talk to you.”

“And I just said I don’t want to talk!” You argued back, your voice still hoarse from crying, now raising a tad.

“Lower your voice down. I don’t want to start a fight.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, how noble of you.”

“Jesus…” He mumbled under his breath. Even with your back facing him, you can imagine the look of disbelief on his face. “I’m trying to solve this before this night ends but all I’m getting is this attitude.”

“If you don’t leave me alone, I’m leaving.”

“And where would you go at this late hour, huh?”

His challenging voice infuriated you even more. “I don’t know, some dude maybe. The one who can spend time with me and maybe fuck me—”

“Oh, so is that what this attitude is about? You’re so horny that you’re willing to knock on a stranger’s door and let him fuck you with his small dick, just to get back at me?”

“Whatever you say, old man.”

With a tender yet forceful grip on your waist, he was able to flip you on your back. You watched him as he stood, his hand quietly traveling down his belt and deftly unbuckling it.

“You don’t mean that, little girl.” He pointed out calmly, shaking his head a little. “I think we both know your pretty, little cunt was too ruined by my cock you won’t ever feel satisfied with anything else.”

“You’re so full of crap, Hotchner.”

He raised an eyebrow. 

“Am I now?”

“You’re so full of yourself. There’s a lot of guys out there—”

“Oh, really?” He tugged his necktie from side to side, loosening it before swiftly taking it off. You saw the glint in his eyes as he smiled at you in amusement. “Then why are you scrambling to remove your soaked underwear, sweetling? I thought there’s a lot of guys out there?”

Heat crept on your cheeks as your eyes wandered down your body. Your pink cotton underwear was already pulled down on your ankles, with an obvious wet stain on the fabric.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Aaron smiled as he flicked his pointer finger, urging you to come closer. “How about I eat you out, make you cum over and over again until you squirt on my face? Would my little girl forgive me then?”

You scrambled on your knees, your plump lips shut as you shuffled closer to him. He chuckled softly as you glared at him with your rimmed red eyes. In his eyes, you look heavenly; your hair messy and tear-stained cheeks glowing with a soft hue of rose.

He ran the pad of his thumbs on the remnant of tears on your cheeks before placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“You’re so pretty even when you’re crying, doll…” He whispered softly, his apprehensive eyes wandering all over your face. “But I hate making you upset. I’m so sorry I hurt you. Let me make it up to you, sweetheart.”

You sniffed with a nod, whispering. “Okay...”

“Okay what, sweetheart?”

“Eat me out, daddy…” You demanded in a soft tone, staring at him through your lashes, blinking almost innocently at him. “I want your tongue inside my pussy. Let’s see if I’ll forgive you after that.”

He smiled a little. “Oh, I’ll make sure you will, little girl. I will fuck you dumb on the balcony you’d be ashamed to face our neighbors.”

He pressed a sweet kiss on your lips, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his thumb lingering on your cheek.

“Sounds good, daddy,” you smiled back, subtly rubbing your thighs in need.

Sunlight filtered into the room, casting a warm glow on the walls and floor the next morning. You stirred, feeling the warmth of the sun on your face and the coldness of the mattress. Your eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the light, your eyes quickly wandering around the room to look for Aaron who was no longer lying beside you. 

Instead, the sound of hurried footsteps and rustling clothes filled the air.

“Aaron?” You called softly, sitting on the bed as you stifled a yawn.

You turned towards the walk-in closet, noticing Aaron moving frantically around the room, already dressed in his work clothes. A frown unknowingly lidded your expression as you glanced at the bedside table, seeing that your digital clock displayed it was only 9 AM.

“It’s Saturday,” You couldn’t help but point out. “It’s your day off.”

Aaron turned to you guiltily. “I know, sweetheart. But Strauss just called; we got a case. I need to gather the team, you know how she’s been lately. With budget cuts and everything she’s complaining about.”

“Where are you off to this time?”

You watched his reflection as he effortlessly knotted his tie. He looked so good and professional you can’t even bring yourself to feel upset. From a short distance, you can smell his perfume and body wash. The sight was enough to stir your lustful thoughts and send tingles down your sore and well-spent cunt.

“You okay, angel?” He called out, watching you tentatively in the mirror. “I’ll be home in a few days, don’t worry.”

“You said you’ll take me out on a date later…”

Aaron took a deep breath, contemplation plastering his face. You listened to the sound of his footsteps coming closer, the morning sunlight enveloping you in its warm embrace.

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorr—”

“It’s okay, Aaron. I understand,” You smiled in assurance, reaching for his tie to straighten it. “People need you.”

“I want to be here with you, too,” He pressed his forehead against yours. “I’m really sorry, angel. I’ll come home as quickly as I can then file for a leave. We can go on a vacation together.”

You hummed with a small smile. “Okay.”

“Just like that, sweet girl?” He laughed teasingly. “Oh. Is it because of last night? Did daddy remind you how he kept true to his words?”

You blushed at the question. “It’s too early for this talk, Aaron.”

“Well, I did tell you I’ll fuck you so good you’d be pliant on my wants.”

“I saw Mrs. Moore smoking on her balcony last night, she definitely saw us…” Your blush deepened. “I can’t face her ever again.”

Aaron’s eyes lit in humor, and he leaned down to press a quick, gentle kiss to your forehead. “What a whore you are, baby…” he whispered before straightening up. “I really have to go, angel. I’ll call you later, alright?”

You nodded, watching as he grabbed his go-bag and headed for the door. “Hmm. Come home safe and quick.”

“Will do, angel,” he replied, giving you one last look before disappearing down the hallway.

You spent the entire day working and tending to house chores. Aaron called you the moment they landed, assuring you once again that he’d be home as fast as he could. The house was quiet for hours, only the sound of your fingers occasionally hitting the keyboard lingering in the air.

Aaron’s office was cloaked in a soft glow of corner lamps. The book you were writing was already coming to a climax. You sat at Aaron’s desk with your laptop open in front of you. The cursor blinked on a blank document, waiting for words that refused to come.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you stared at the screen. You had been trying to write for hours, but the scene in your head just wouldn’t translate into words. It was as if the characters were mocking you, their actions vivid in your mind yet stubbornly silent on the page.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, tapping out a few words before deleting them in frustration. You leaned back in your chair, closing your eyes in an attempt to visualize the scene more clearly. Your characters were supposed to have a slow, intimate moment. But for some reason, all you can think about is Aaron’s tongue buried down your dripping cunt, his thick fingers pounding in and out, his thumb rubbing your clit; desperately chasing your high. 

Last night, by the third orgasm, you squirted on his mouth. And he happily lapped your release, whispering encouragement and how he’s so lucky to be able to please you. Then he fucked you near the balcony door, putting on a show for anyone to see.

Minutes crawled by and you found yourself browsing your laptop, scrolling through the locked folder you shared with Aaron, the one containing your sex videos. You eagerly scrolled down, your free hand rubbing slow circles through the thin fabric of your cotton underwear.

You settled with a video Aaron taken just a month ago. It was a close-up shot of his cock pounding gently, slowly, inside your cunt— his cum dripping out with every thrust. With a sharp sigh, you quickly removed your underwear and propped both your legs on the armrest of Aaron’s swivel chair.

You rubbed your clit in a teasing movement, watching the video with wide eyes. Arousal was slowly dampening your cunt which only triggered the pace of your fingers. Heat was slowly licking your skin, a coil tightening in your stomach, watching how Aaron was filling your pussy with his seed, almost too much that some of it spilled out after his shallow pounding.

“Look at this pussy, angel. Fuck. It’s so warm… feels like heaven…” Aaron moaned on the video, his voice rough, his thumb pressing hard circles on your aching cunt, making you clamp your legs a little.

“Moan louder, baby. I want to hear your pretty voice...”

You thrust in your middle finger in desperation, your eyes focused on your laptop screen. “Daddy… Oh my god…”

The camera focused on Aaron’s face as he caged his head in between your thighs. With his cum dripping out of your pussy, he gave your cunt a few teasing licks before finally slipping his tongue inside, moving it around with such expertise. As he continued tongue fucking your hole, his thumb was incessant on abusing your clit.

Once satisfied with your reaction: moaning like a whore and tugging on his hair, he thrusted in his cock once again.

“Daddy! D-daddy! I’m cumming!” Your hysterical moaning rang in the four corners of the room. “Gonna s-squirt. Fuck, daddy– yes! Yes, there, there! Oh m-my god, faster!”

“Oh, this spot right here, little girl?”

Your teeth sank on your bottom lip as you continued watching. Aaron suddenly took out his cock, slapping it against your clit with vigor. You eagerly watched how that pushed you on the edge. You squirted so hard some of Aaron’s cum dripped out, your legs trembling and tightening in so much pleasure.

The lewd sound of your wet cunt squelching was accompanied by your shameless moaning. The video already ended on your screen but you can’t bring yourself to stop, too desperate to reach your incoming orgasm. Your fingers were already cramping in effort. God, how you wish Aaron was here to fingerfuck your pussy instead.

But a notification startled you out of your wits. Grounding you back to the reality that you’re actually fingering yourself in front of your laptop. You even forgot to block your camera.

The notification, luckily, was a FaceTime call from your boyfriend.

You quickly propped your legs down to the ground and fixed yourself. Trying to slow down your ragged breathing, you found yourself accepting Aaron’s call almost instantly.

“H-hi!” You greeted excitedly, combing your hair as you saw yourself on the screen. God, you looked fucked out. “Hi, love. Done for the day?”

Aaron’s eyes seemed to harden at the sound of your voice. His hair was damp as if he just got out of the shower. You can tell that he’s not wearing a shirt yet, beads of water cascading down his neck down to his chest.

“Yes, gorgeous. Am I interrupting something?” He prompted shortly, making you blush.

“N-no, not really… I was just writing…”

He hummed, shuffling on his bed. “Yeah, right. That’s exactly what I just saw, sweetheart.”

“What—” You frowned a little; until realization dawned on you. You quickly whipped your head in the direction of the CCTV. “Oh— you were watching?”

He chuckled softly, enjoying the look of embarrassment on your face. “You didn’t reply to my texts so I checked the security cameras on my laptop. And to answer your question, yes, dirty girl, daddy’s watching.”

“I’m sorry, daddy. I just missed you…”

“It’s alright, my love. I’m the one who should be sorry…” He assured you with an adoring smile. “Have you orgasmed yet, angel?”

You shook your head bashfully. “Not yet, daddy… you called so...”

“So it’s my fault again?” He teased, chuckling. “I can’t let my little girl not orgasm now, can I?”

You shook your head eagerly, unconsciously rubbing your thighs together as you listened to his mesmerizing, deep voice.

“Can you go back to your position earlier and show me your pretty cunt, little girl?”

You didn’t have to be told twice. You spread your legs in his command and propped it on both armrests, running your pointer finger up and down your wetness.

“I’m so wet, daddy. Was watching our videos…” You confessed sultrily.

A groan rumbled from Aaron’s chest with that. “I saw, baby. What were you watching exactly?”

“The one with— the one in the hotel. You shot a video of my pussy dripping full of your cum and you’re fucking me slowly…”

“I remember that…” He answered shortly, his piercing eyes focused on your fingers tracing slow circles on your aching cunt. “You squirted twice, didn’t you? One from daddy’s cock and one on my mouth. You taste like heaven, little girl. You’re making daddy hard.”

You blushed at his words. Aaron has always been good at talking in bed, he never failed to push you to orgasm with his dirty mouth. “Can I see, daddy, p-please?”

“See what, pretty girl?”

“You big cock, daddy, please? W-wanna see…”

“Rub your clit faster, baby. Go on…” He encouraged softly, palming his hardness through his sweatpants.

Carefully, he laid his laptop on the mattress, giving you a full view of him. Indeed, he was topless, and to your surprise, he was wearing gray sweatpants.

“Daddy…” You plunged in your middle finger, moaning at the sudden intrusion in your pussy. “I miss you. N-need you here…”

“I know, baby. I’ll be home quick,” He said assuringly, still rubbing the hardness outlining his pants. “I spent almost 4 hours fucking that pussy last night and I still can’t get enough. Fuck, angel, if only I can taste that wet cunt—”

A series of pained moans escaped your lips, adding another finger as you saw Aaron finally taking out his cock. With curious eyes, you watched as Aaron spat on his palm before rubbing the wetness on his veiny cock.

“D-daddy… Want your cock down my throat… then my pussy…”

You feel so wet the only thing you can almost hear in the room is the lewd squelching of your fingers assaulting your pussy. Aaron groaned at the sound.

“You’re so wet, baby. I want to suck on your clit as you orgasm from my fingers,” His eyebrows were tugged together in a frown as he matched the pace of his hand with your fingers. “Then I will fuck you with my big fat cock until you’re a drooling mess. Faster, baby. That’s it. Good girl…”

“Da... daddy!”

“Yes, angel. That’s it... faster, baby. You’re so pretty like that. God, look at that pussy, dripping and desperate to be filled...”

“Need you inside me, Aaron... want your cum...”

“You like that, baby? Like putting on a whore show for daddy?”

“I l-love it d-daddy… wanna p-please you always— oh god, Aaron!” Your legs trembled as you finally hit the spongy spot inside.

“Fuck… I want to pound that fucking pussy until it’s full of my cum…” His voice sounded breathless and restrained, throwing back his neck with his eyes closed to savor the dirty sounds you’re making. 

“O-oh! Want your cum inside… want you t-to breed me, daddy. Want your babies inside–”

“Fuck, angel. I’m not going to stop fucking you until you’re pregnant. Wait until I get back...” He moaned, thrusting on his fist hard and fast. “You’re such a good girl for daddy, baby… Cum for me, come on. Make me proud.”

Your vision blurred as your orgasm ripped through your body. You felt a wave of arousal leak through your pulsing cunt, squirting so hard it almost reached your laptop. Catching your breath, you clamped your legs together as your cunt clenched tightly on your fingers.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You’re going to be the death of me.” You heard Aaron mumbled quietly. And you only giggled in exhaustion, voice raw and fucked out to reply.

I suck at tagging, I know. As always, every thoughts and reactions are highly appreciated. Drink your water, babes, and slay!

[moonshine-nightlight]

Voluntary Sacrifice

inspired by this prompt/setup by @snowkissedmonsters as well as their art

The local werebear is in heat and its become a town concern. You, who's always been fascinated by him and doesn't much to lose reputationally, volunteer to help him through it.

If only he believed you were doing so voluntarily, instead of being forced by the council.

Can you convince him of your sincerity before the full moon rises?

Male werebear x human reader, Heat, NSFW

Status: Complete (One-shot)

Length: 12k

AO3: Voluntary Sacrifice

Prompt:

You live in a human town in a fantasy world. In recent history, werecreatures enlisted to fight alongside humans throughout a bitter war in the territory. The result of that alliance is a (sometimes tense) tolerance between these two species who generally do not get along.

In the wilderness near your town, a werebear veteran has made his home. Bearish in appearance and manner, he vastly prefers solitude and is actively hostile to visitors. Sometimes he comes into town to sell meat and pelts from his hunts. The other humans are frightened, but you find him fascinating and peculiarly handsome.

A slew of livestock deaths precede an emergency town meeting. There's no question who the culprit is, or why. The town elders understand that a werecreature in heat is aggressive and dangerous. The town's interspecies liason officer, a veteran who fought beside the werebear, explains that it's not a deliberate attack on the town's livelihood, but even so, the maulings cannot continue. It may only be a matter of time before a human is injured.

The liason suggests hiring one of the workers at the town brothel to act as a "heat soother," but the brothel workers don't want the job. There's still a stigma over non-human creatures. The werebear is dangerous, violent, monstrous. Who knows if a human mate would even survive.

Tentatively, you volunteer for the role. You have no living family that could be shamed, you're naturally infertile so there's no concern over cubs, and... Well. You like the idea of it, though you keep that last point to yourself.

You are escorted to the werebears cabin by the eager liason officer, who's just glad the precarious human-werebeast alliance is no longer in jeopardy. Answering the door, the werebear looks surprised to see the two of you...

Then annoyed.

I told you, he growls at the liason, I will not take a forced mate.

The officer coos and assures the bear that you are here voluntarily, which he seems to doubt very much. He throws you both out of his cabin and slams the door.

/

“Good luck!”

You stare after Anton, the liaison officer, as he rides away, at a complete loss of what to do now. You’ve felt a headrush of sorts, like sliding down a hill in winter, since you first resolved to volunteer to help Temar and his slamming of the door in your face was an abrupt stop before you even reached the bottom. You cross your arms, telling yourself its because of the mild chill, not out of anxiety or embarrassment.

But you are, so so embarrassed. You don’t know exactly what you thought his reaction to you might be, but stonewalled indifference and complete refusal to even entertain the idea of mating with you wasn’t one of them. Heat licks at your cheeks from the way he’d looked at you, his lip curled in a snarl, something more than even just annoyance in his eyes. You’d felt the urge to shrink right then and there and only surprise kept you frozen upright.

You know you weren’t as young as the other unaffiliated women in town, weren’t as pretty, weren’t as agreeable, but surely he couldn’t smell your infertility or whatever made you feel so out of place with everyone else. What about you had been so offputting he’d not even considered you for a mate? You’d almost hoped that whatever made you so unappealing as a human mate might make you more appealing to a werebear. So much for that.

You’re not one for much dignity as it is, no one to stand on high graces, and you try not to let others’ opinions bother you, beyond where they interfere with your own ability to make your living. But even you can’t bring yourself to try to convince him to mate with you when he so clearly has absolutely no interest. Did you sacrifice what little standing you did have a reasonable and respectable person by volunteering for this only to not even be able to manage it? Was it for nothing?

You had only found the courage to approach him because of the surface-level reason of slaughtered livestock and fear for a person’s injury, but now, now you felt almost responsible for not being able to prevent such an occurrence. All because Temar found you unappealing.

You can’t leave without even saying more than a hasty word to him though. Maybe there’s some other way you can help. You’ve wanted an excuse to get to know him better for years, since you first saw him. Even before that, when someone stopped by your shop with some of the pelts they’d bought from him.

Beyond his attractive appearance being more than enough to draw your attention, he’s lived such an interesting life. The liaison was liberal with his stories and his own accomplishments in the war, but he never short-changed his friend. You also found the stories of people who have crossed him or questioned him entertaining more than scary. His refusal to play along with the petty etiquette of the town was funny, as were people’s puffed up reactions. Perhaps you should have expected this reaction after all, maybe he just doesn’t like humans.

The thought against brings embarrassed heat to your face once more as you remember how he’d looked in the doorway. His beard and mustache, short but full, the scar across his nose, those dark brown eyes. His hair was shaved on both sides, but long in the middle, pulled back into a loose bun and peppered with gray like his beard. Tall as you remember, but stockier—his frame particularly broad in the narrow doorway. You’d always found him especially handsome. There was no question what sort of were he was.

Before today, the closest you’d been was at the general store, behind him line for some flour, putting to rest the rumors that werecreatures only ate meat. His presence had fascinated you, large but contained. Wild but settled. Immovable, but not aggressive. Deliberate. You’d found your mind drifting to thoughts of him that night. Your mind liked to turn the idea of him over, half speculation, half pieced together clues from overheard gossip. When you were particularly lonely or even just particularly cold, it was comforting to know he was on his own too. He seemed to prefer it even. You preferred your solitude most of the time as well—half caught between feeling like an outsider for the inclination, half relieved since that’s where you ended up. You wouldn’t mind another friend who felt so, a bit of company you didn’t need to perform in front of. And it would be nice, to be useful to someone else who had no one.

You know he needs help now, more than ever. The liaison had assured them at the meeting that Temar was making every attempt to contain himself. Which reassured you that you’d not missed a callous trend in his nature, but also made you want to help more—not help with the abstract problem, but help him. The next best solution that had been discussed—and would likely need to be implemented now that it turned out you’d failed, you realize with a sinking heart—was to institute a town wide curfew until this ran its course. But maybe there is still some way you can aid him, even if not by soothing his heat directly.

You stand up straight, pushing off the railing you’d been leaning against, and resolve to at least try to talk to him. After all, you understood his continued solitude, but it felt silly during the meeting, that he wasn’t there to lend his own input. Surely he had the most insight into his situation. He must know what he needed. You raise you hand to knock on the door when it opens before you even get the chance.

“If you ain’t gonna have the sense leave, then get in,” a gruff voice orders.

Your feet are moving before you fully register the words. Relief floods your veins. Well, that was easier than you expected. Perhaps things were turning around.

/

They were not. Any hope you had for some softening of his attitude was quickly dashed.

It had seemed promising: the smell of cooking food, the heat that filled the main room from the large fire, the sound of crackling logs. All ease some of the tension in your bones immediately—not to mention that same deliberate air Temar had, the one that made you feel steady and safe. Safe enough to want what you want, without your usual instinct to hide such thoughts and feelings until you were alone lest others use them to hurt you.

You try to focus on the room itself, from the handmade furniture—you’d have recognized Ben’s work if it was—to the scant decoration. The cabin was simple, unadorned, but solid. It suited him. It made the few personal items he had stick out all the more. The large blanket and rug to make the room feel lived in. The well-cared for hunting gear in the corner. The collection of copper kitchenware, clearly used often.

Nearly as soon as you finished your preliminary survey of his home, he makes it very clear he still did not want you. “No notion of what’s going on in that fool Anton’s head, leaving you on my porch like bottles of milk,” he sighs, looking disgruntled and you fight the urge to apologize. He tucks a strand of hair that escaped his bun behind his ear and your fingers itch to do the same. You clench them tighter behind you, upset at how wild your thoughts are in the face of his rejection. “Fess up, what did they tell you? I don’t know what those old fearmongers at the counsel did to make you come here, but I’ll not hold it against you—only them.”

You tilt your head as you watch him pace over the fire, trying to keep your eyes on his head, not how well he fills out his trousers. You realize belatedly that you must still need to clarify. “There was a town meeting, but I volunteered, like Anton said,” you reply tentatively. He’d heard what his friend said. Right? Maybe that was why he’d refused? Not because he found you so abhorrent.

Temar scoffs. “Anton wouldn’t recognize subtle coercion if it stabbed him the back.”

You frown, starting to get a little frustrated with his seeming inability to hear you properly. “Be that as it may, I can. It’s the truth.”

Temar raises an eyebrow skeptically. “Right,” he says flatly. “Just like five years ago, when I moved here and Miss Ketevan was left on my doorstop around harvest time. She just wanted to offer some apples before high tailing it out of there once her grandfather was out-of-sight. Must have been crying and yelling for some other reason.”

Your frown deepens. The last of your family had died around then and you’d not joined a town meeting for a full year, plenty busy with grief and figuring out how to run the dye shop without any guidance. Keti was a younger than you but had a reputation as a troublemaker so she had been in the gossip plenty. Her grandfather, Carlos, was on the counsel and had seemed to consider her something of an embarrassment.

You thought she’d run off with the milkmaid, not because she was a failed sacrifice to the new werebear neighbor. It does throw into relief some other statements at the meeting. Like Anton’s emphasis on volunteers as he’d stared Carlos’ down, which had led to no one but you speaking up—not even the brothel workers. They’d not said but you knew they feared clients shunning whoever they sent, let alone however they felt about the stigma and fear associated with werecreatures.

 “I have no idea what did or did not happen five years ago, I wasn’t at any of those meetings nor at your house,” you say with a shrug. “Keti’s moved to the other side of the river, according to her sister, and is quite satisfied there. None of which was brought up at the meeting today.”

“What do they have on you?” Temar asks, squatting to stoke the fire, as if you just didn’t want to tell the truth his face. Ignoring everything you were saying while still trying to get answers from you. You liked tell about how stubborn he was in gossip. You liked it less at this moment. “If I can aid you and you can go on home, you’re welcome to ask.”

“They don’t have anything on me,” you reply slowly, trying to match his even tone so he doesn’t think your lying. The embarrassment that comes with volunteering so plainly to mate with him comes and goes in waves, but having to repeat it to him is a different flavor all together. “I am here of my own free will.”

Temar scoffs and huffs. “If you don’t want to tell me then fine.” He heaves himself back to his feet and peers out the window. “Sun’s going down. You can stay here for dinner and for the night. That better satisfy them, because you’re leaving first light in the morning.”

You turn away from his back, staring blindly at the countertop covered in ingredients for dinner. The one you interrupted with this piss-poor intrusion. He was likely just trying to give you an out, an excuse to save some dignity. You should’ve known you’d have no skill at seduction, not that you’d believed you’d need it. You’d hoped he be satisfied enough, in need enough that you’d suffice by being willing and not unattractive. Or so you thought. How pathetic. “I just wanted to help,” you say softly, more to yourself than him.

You sigh before walking over to the counter and picking up a knife. “Thank you for your hospitality,” you manage, your voice stiff with discomfort, but unwilling to completely give up yet. “Allow me to assist with the food.”

Dinner preparation is tense, quiet, but a relatively smooth affair. Temar’s already got the chicken dumplings nearly done so you leave that to him and handle the rest.

He only speaks to point you toward where things are when you ask. You’re happy he’s letting you do this much as you’ve more than got the message he’d prefer to do it all alone. You try to concentrate hard enough not to think about anything else.

“These dumplings are delicious,” you say belatedly, after you’ve already scarfed down two of them. They really are, hot and flavorful.

Temar grunts in response and you can’t help but pout, wondering if he thinks everything you say is a lie. You try at some other small talk, but nothing gets more than a yes or no out of him—after the first few, he just makes some vague noise of acknowledgment as he steadily eats through three times the portion of food you got, which had been more than generous. You’d been skeptical of how much he was making until you’d seen how much he was eating.

Did he also have to eat more before winter, like a normal bear? Was he going to sleep through it too? You swear he still came in with pelts, but you don’t really know. You’re more than aware that he’s not likely to give a straight answer if you ask. You ask anyway.

He gives you a look like you’re touched in the head. “No, I don’t hibernate. I stay in more, sleep more since its dark more, but I’m not actually a bear.”

“I know!” you protest, blushing, “but I’ve heard there’s overlap of some kind, forgive me for not being an expert. You’re the only werebear I know by name.”

“You know nothing,” he retorts, words finally bursting from him in a fit of frustration. You’re taken aback, but eager for any information given his recent impression of a clam. “You say you volunteer and yet you don’t know the first thing about werebears, let alone heats. You expect me to think you know what you’re saying you got yourself into when its clear no one explained anything.”

“Well, then you tell me,” you bat back, fed up by now with being treated as a criminal for even entertaining the notion you might be a suitable mate for him. “And don’t act like you wouldn’t have called me a liar even if I’d written a book on werebears and their heats.”

As his way seems to be, he ignores you to keep focus on whatever incorrect train of thought he has stuck in his head. “Even if you’re ignorant, didn’t your family object? Doesn’t someone have sense or self-preservation?”

You glare. Of all the—. “No—” you reply hotly before he cuts in.

“I thought that was something y’all paid attention to,” he drawls, waving with his fork. “ Fraternizing with the werecreatures is still a no-no right?” He leans forward, eyes bright, like a predator finally spotting their prey. “Is it them that the council is leaning on?”

Unfortunately for him, its a false sighting. “Don’t have any,” you reply bluntly, crossing your arms over your chest. “They died. About five years ago.”

You wonder if he’ll make the connection and to your surprise, he seems to as his brow furrows. “I see.” He leans back in his chair as if surrpised to notice he’d moved at all.

“Besides, I’m grown,” you’re annoyed you even have to remind him. He’s treating you like a child, ignoring you, calling you ignorant, making you out as a liar. Like a fool. You’ve long resolved not to let anyone treat you like a fool. “I make my own choices.”

He scoffs in that same manner that’s truly getting under your skin. “Right. How could I forget.”

“I don’t know,” your voice is sharper than its been all evening. “Seeing as I keep reminding you.”

Discomfort creeps into his frame and he looks down at his plate to mutter, “What even made them come up with this plan? Was this Anton’s idea?” He warms up to this new wrong idea—it was Jessaly on the council who had mentioned “heat soothers” seconded by Carlos. Anton only stepped in to mention volunteers. “Because if so, I’ll be having words with him next chance I get, strong words. I anticipated an order to leave town or to be taken to jail or a fight. I’m surprised the council even risked the chance for cubs.”

That last part completely derails you from your planned support for Anton. “Oh,” you can dismiss that concern easy, so you don’t hesitate to, “I can’t have children.”

That stops him completely, freezes him in his chair. “What?”

His reaction surprises you. “I thought…” You thought he could smell the infertility on you. You thought that was part of why he’d refused, like the others. If he couldn’t tell, you still didn’t think he’d have a reaction like this, like everyone else. “I can’t. My monthlies stopped only a few years in and a doctor confirmed the nature of the issue. It’s noted in the records because my engagement to—” You don’t even want to say his name, for all you don’t blame your former fiance. You hadn’t even been that excited about the marriage, but the reality of no marriage ever, well, that had been more of blow the coming years dealt to you. You manage a shaky smile. “No risk of children with me.”

You meet his eyes valiantly and he stares back. You hope you’re right when you don’t see any blooming realization that you’re broken, that you’re any more undesirable, but you’ve long given up trying to tell. Still his focus makes you babble, “I don’t want children anyway.” That at least is the truth and the reminder steadies you. You thought you’d gotten over the worst of this self-recrimination years ago. You were happy not to have that burden, that expectation, that danger in your life. You just want Temar to think well of you, and this always changes how people perceive you, no matter how much you wish it didn’t. That is what truly gets under your skin. Your shoulders drop some tension as your smile softens, becomes more genuine. “Better me than someone who did. It worked out for the best that way.”

If only it meant no partner, no chance for sex beyond work at the brothel—which you were not interested in despite them asking—or  visiting one, which you have in years past. Or the affairs some of the less reputable had tried for in the past. They always made it clear in the end, even if you were alright with the infidelity—it was only because you were ‘safe’ that they wanted you.

“Neither do I,” he says, causing you to look up at him. His expression turns defensive as he clarifies, “That doesn’t mean anything anyways. Still the most foolish idea I ever heard.” He stands up abruptly to refill his plate with a fourth helping.

You eat the remainder of the meal in silence.

Finally, your plate is clean and your belly is full. You manage to take Temar by surprise by snatching up his plate in addition to yours, bringing them over to the wash basin before he could do some himself. You’re determined to do something useful while you’re here and he’s feeding you.

Maybe all lack of eye contact was for him and not you. Maybe you’ll have better luck staring at the water. “So, is there anything you’ll actually let me do to help?”

Another huff, almost a growl of frustration, and Temar replies, grit in his tone, “I told you I ain’t taking a mate just because the town’s made my heat their business this year.”

You don’t even bother arguing the point again and consider his words. You hadn’t thought about other years. There’d never been notice of it so you assumed it wasn’t actually an annual event. What made this year so different? Instead of asking, you return his own volley. “I heard you. I didn’t mean that, though I must mention that the town is only involved because it has become their business this year.”

Temar doesn’t answer, but you can feel his gaze on your back. Being the focus of his attention is electrifying. “Other than having a mate,” you remind yourself outloud. “Are there other things that I can help with? Measures to be taken, information to be shared. Anything?”

There’s silence behind you before he stands up from the table, the scrape of his chair loud. You hope to the gods he’s actually doing something, thought of something in response to your question rather than just leaving. Although technically, you suppose, that would also be a response to your question.

You methodically scrub the dishes while you listen to him move about the main room of the cabin. He sits back down at the table, bringing something with him. You can’t dry this tankard any more thoroughly so you turn around to see if he’s simply ignoring you or not.

He’s bent over something on the table, a piece of paper? You frown and walk over to get a closer look. As if he can sense you, once you’re close enough he points one thick finger at the paper. “Who’s land is this?”

You frown as you study what you realize is a map of the town. Unlike most you’ve seen, it doesn’t have roads or even real buildings on it. Abstract symbols represent structures—you think—and the town center and main street buildings are one big marker. Nothing indicated for individual stores. It takes another minute to realize the outlined shapes covering the map are the property lines, not buildings, roads, or rivers, though some overlap with where you know those to be. Leave it to a werebear to have a map of the town by territory.

“If you don’t know—” he says, huffing per usual.

“Apologies if I need more than a minute,” you huff back, more than fed up and far more assured after the time spent with him that he has no plans to kick you out tonight. “I’ve never seen a map like this.”

He quiets down and you manage to follow your memory of the road out to… “The Meskal’s Farm, Evanna and Leon.” You also manage to make the connection, although you’re not sure he meant for you to. They’d been the most recent farm that had suffered from slaughtered livestock.

Temar brings over a slate with some notes in chalk already written out. He’s got shorthand notes, similar to those on the map, but all unlike any you’ve seen before. He jots down what must be their name above some already existing notes. You squint, trying to make sense of the letters and numbers. “Two ewes and one lamb,” you correct, hoping you decoded right.

He freezes and you hold your breath for annoyance or anger, but instead he merely erases one number and writes in another. “I assume this was discussed with the council?”

“Yeah,” you see no reason to beat around the bush. As you continue to squint at his notes, leaning over his broad shoulder to see better. “The Oche’s steer had to be put down, but they salvaged the meat. Anton reassured them it was edible and bought some himself so the rest of the town followed suit.”

“Still, I’ll be paying my debt, it just might take some time,” Temar replies gravely. “I’ll not have anyone say I don’t pay what I owe or think I don’t owe it, like some uncivilized beast.”

“I can pass that along,” you offer, still reaching for some way to contribute, to help. His integrity touches your heart, makes that urge to give aid stronger. Anton had something vague to the affect, but the town had little confidence in Anton’s assurances. You have confidence in Temar’s.

“I would appreciate that,” he sounds a little belligerent, a little abashed.

You smile, happy to have found anything useful to do and lean in again, to study his map more closely. You mentally map out the other families who had damage and notice they’re all in a line from his property west and against the forest. He does seem to be attempting to keep to limited area. How much control does he have? Could you help corral him somehow?

You reach to point. “Is this the river or—” You start to lose you balance from the awkward angle you’re at. Your other hand reaches for the next closest thing to steady yourself—Temar’s shoulder.

Next thing you know you’re knocking into the table and he’s standing several feet away, a snarl on his face. “Don’t.”

You’re stricken by the vehemence from a such a small, almost-touch of his person. It had been too easy to forget he disliked you so, is so offended by your very presence. “I’m sorry!” It’s as if he thinks you were attempting to trick him. You hasten to clarify, hands raised in surrender. “I wasn’t trying—”

Temar leaves the room before you even finish speaking.

/

Temar braces himself before he goes back in the main room, his forehead pressed against the solid wood of his walls.

He’s hoping he’s gotten used to your scent, built up a tolerance, but knows it’ll only have gotten stronger for each moment you’ve been here. Gods know he’s only become more susceptible to it. How anyone in all his life has such a bewitching scent, he’ll never know.

The second he’d opened his front door, he’d wanted to drag you inside and never let you out. The beast inside instantly proclaiming Mine. Only mine. He’d barely heard anything Anton said over the roaring in his ears. The slam of his door had been as much panic defensiveness as it had been frustrated aggression.

The line between those two does seem to blur most during heat.

You stayed out there, looking so lost and somber on the porch, lip caught between your teeth as you thought. He’d had to get you to stop before he took over the task for you. An early sign of heat madness surely because of fucking course it was far worse having you in his home. Where his beast said you belonged. Where you could say all the words he was salivating to hear as truth even though he knew them to be false.

Those council assholes would pay for putting him through this torture. Temar knew he was a werebeast and yet this was inhumane even for his kind. He tried to find a proper target for his aggression, but you’d given him nothing to work with, persistent in your tale. As if a kind, quick-witted, pretty thing like you would ever subject yourself to a beast like him unless you felt you had no other option.

Distractions haven’t been helping, trying to keep his eyes off you was impossible to sustain, and stonewalling didn’t ever seem to deter you for long. It’s as if you were perfectly designed to get past all of his defenses. There are still so many hours until sunrise—if Temar’s even going to last that long, even be able to let you go at that point. After you’d seeped into his home, his life. You seem to fit so well.

You play at being kind like a master actor and he hopes that’s not all a front. You’re smart, independent, but oh so willing to help. Duress, he reminds himself, you’re here under duress. The fuckers in town must have forced you here somehow. He can’t believe how low they’ve stooped, taking advantage of your lack of family, of your infertility to make you into a sacrifice. The perfect sacrifice.

His beast still wants to try to breed you, undeterred by logic, but it’s his human head that’s unfairly tempted by the knowledge. When he’s in his rational mind, he stands by what he said. The risk of children, others with his condition, his ostracization from society is something he’d never condemn an innocent soul to suffer. Not mention he likes his solitude, likes only being responsible for himself and only answerable to himself. It’s why the council involving itself is so frustrating. Its why the idea you might be here of your own free will is so appealing. Lack of such a child-bearing risk is even more appealing, more alluring than he’d ever realized it would be. Than it had any right to be. Why are you so damn perfect for him?

Clearly distance was not helping. Perhaps it was even making his beast stronger, without you to look at him and, for all your knowledge of his nature, expect a rationale man to look back.

Temar walks back into the main room, feeling like a man condemned, only to immediately regret his choice as he rigidly locks every muscle he can to prevent his beast from pouncing. He’d thought you’d stopped trying to seduce him with your faux willingness and pretty eyes. Your soft, steady kindness…

Even he’d admitted to himself once alone that you likely hadn’t meant anything by hovering so close, by trying to steady yourself on him. Your fall onto the table, not to mention the complete startlement on your face from his reaction. But what the fuck is this?

“What are you doing?” he asks through clenched teeth, hoping the beast inside isn’t giving away the feral lust coursing through his veins.

“What?” You look up, surprised he’s back, but there’s no embarrassment in your face. If anything, your expression smooths back to usual faster than he feels it has a right to. “Oh, I hadn’t realized how wet my apron had gotten from the dishes, sorry about the wasted water.”

“Why have you removed it?” Temar’s voice was strangled as the words passed through his lips. Ordinarily, he knows it would barely register with him, but you removing any article of clothing has his beast pulling at the chains he’s trying to use to keep it inside where it belongs.

“Well, I didn’t know how else to dry off,” you reply, brow furrowing in confusion as you dab at yourself with part of the folded-up apron. Temar can see the damp stains where the water had soaked through the light green fabric underneath. “Besides, I don’t want to catch anything, sitting around in wet clothes. It’ll be dry by morning if I leave it by the fire.”

Temar’s mind is already overrun by the reminder he’d invited you, like the numbskull he is, to stay the night. You’re unlikely to sleep fully dressed. You’ll take more than just your apron off in his home. You’ll strip down to your chemise. He can see the edges of it under your dress—white cotton poking out. Nothing more under that except soft skin—skin he isn’t allowed to touch.

Temar tries to combat the pleasing images of you splayed naked in his bed with images of your bruised and bloody from his claws, his strength, his carelessness. They’re impossible to sustain with you so hale and unbothered in front of him. The comfort of his den discourages such violence from his thoughts, his heat poisoning his mind against him. You aren’t here by choice, he reminds himself.

It’s hard to believe when you cross his room with self-assured confidence, bending down to arrange your apron by his fire, acting as if you’ve no fears to worry you. Your hair is ruffled from either the dishes or taking off your apron and you pat at it absentmindedly. Temar wants it spread across his sheets, his pillow, mussed and messed by his hands while he claims you for himself. The town clearly doesn’t appreciate you, doesn’t value you what they have. He’d treat you right. He’d make sure you loved being his.

With a shake of his head, he blinks and the image before him resolves to you seated on a chair, delicately rebraiding your hair. He can’t keep his eyes off the swift movements of your fingers. Temar imagines what it would feel like if you did the same to him, this simple careful, everyday task. You look up at him from under your full eyelashes, looking perfectly innocent and not a creature pulled from his greatest nightmares and most sincere dreams. “So do you have a plan for managing however many days are left? Have you gone into heat in previous years? How did you manage then?”

The flush that blooms on your face is endearing and attractive. Temar wants desperately to know what you’re thinking when you say ‘heat’. You’ve avoided saying the word nearly the entire time you’ve been heard. Temar knows the rumors that fly about the human population about werebeasts, about heats, he’s overheard it all. From eating human mates to potent fertility and everything in between. Which ones have you heard? Which do you believe in? Likely none of the violent ones or you’d find the prospect far more intimidating than whatever bullshit the council is using to coerce you.

“Temar?”

“You’re right, I’ve already managed to work out a solution on my own, making you presence doubly wasteful.” You flinch at his words and every instinct screams at him to sooth you, to take it back—whatever is needed to make his mate stay. Temar turns rather than continue to watch your reactions to his harsh words. Despite knowing its necessary, it hurts to see your hurt and only encourages the beast to want to soothe, to steal your mind from any hurt by drowning it out with lust and heat. “Follow me.”

“You’ll sleep here,” Temar points out, continuing to refuse to look back at you or his bed for that matter.

His control would surely shatter if he saw you so close to it. He imagines how easily he could push you down on the furs and sheets until he had you spread out like a feast for him and him alone. How he would savor you. How he wouldn’t let you up until he was more than satisfied. A glutton of lust.

The cold metal of the door knob jolts him out of his thoughts. “I’ll be out back.” The crisp air, the brisk breeze, blow your scent from Temar and clear his head. He nearly sighs with relief as he walks off to the right, purpose in his steps, a reminder of his duty as he follows the familiar path.

“Here.” Its clear no matter where you thought he was leading you “pit” was not on the list. Your eyebrows lift nearly to your hairline as you stare down, allowing him precious seconds to gaze at you without a mask of stoicism or frustration, only naked hunger.

“You asked where I weathered heats of the past?” Temar neglects to mention that the first couple years in town rendered his heats short and taxing. Just a handful of nights around the late summer full moon, when the first chill to the air heralding the coming winter. Between his beast’s discomfort with new territory and his own war memories haunting him, his heats were not a concern. It’s only last year that his heat was how it used to be in his youth.

Wild. Hungry. Enduring.

This year is worst yet, not only because of the tight grip it has on him and how he can tell, despite more than a week in, that he has days to go, but also due circumstances outside of his control.

You’re smart enough to spot it. “Did something happen to this…?”

Temar puts you out of your awkward misery. “There was a flood after that storm a couple weeks ago. It dislodged that tree and a wall collapsed.” He’d hoped his heat wouldn’t return with the vengeance it did and so had put off excavating. “In the end, the den took longer than I thought to rebuild, to dig deep enough again. Still not sure I have,” he confesses when you look at him with such open, receptive eyes.

You frown and squint down at the den and Temar doesn’t like the reminder of how dark it’s getting. This entire evening has been a distraction, from the knock on his door, to the meal, to now. He ought not neglect the den any longer, not let his beast draw this out until it can overpower his conscience.

He puts down the ladder, hands grateful for something to do besides itch to settle on your hips. “I’ll be needing to get everything out of here, before the moon finishes rising.” Temar descends as quickly as he can, jumping the last few feet and turning to survey the den.

It was nicer before, he thinks with some dismay, some shame at you seeing such a bare hole in the ground. It’s primarily filled with tools for digging and fortifying, none of the minimal furs and blankets that should be givens for a den. The roof had been damaged when the tree fell in so he hopes it doesn’t rain. Temar resigns himself to waking up covered in dew. It’ll still be better than waking up covered in blood, even after verifying it was all from livestock.

“Temar?” His name on your lips draws his attention back up, like a flower to the sun, like a fish to water, like blood to a bear.

“Can I help you clear it out?” Temar just stares at you, part of his mind still surprised you’re here. Still here. Still offering to help. Help him. You cross your arms again and Temar wishes it didn’t look so good on you, the way it pushes up your chest, makes your arm muscles more prominent. What sort of shop did you say you had again? “Look, I’m another pair of hands, ain’t I?”

“Technically,” he allows, speaking without thinking. All his thought concentrated on your form above him, ripe for the plucking.

You seem to take that as permission and start climbing down the ladder. Temar turns so quickly to avert his eyes from your ass that he forgets to forbid you from coming down. You touch down lightly and Temar reluctantly faces you again, a puppet on the strings of his inner beast, to soak in the sight of you in its den.

The cabin belongs to Temar, the man. The den belongs to Temar, the beast.

Something of that must come across on his face as you pause, one hand on the ladder. “Does it break a rule, for me to be down here?”

A den is a personal, sacred space, with only those closest allowed entry. The beast does not allow you to lie. “No.” A prospective mate is more than a natural allowance. It’s expected.

You nod with satisfaction. The beast preens in approval at your persistence, at your ease in its den. “Then I’m helping. What’s next?”

Wordlessly, you point to the table with the hand tools.

“All of these?” you ask, even as you begin to gather them.

Temar turns away, unable to watch you ascend, and focuses on the final wheelbarrow he needs to move out, the planks he’s using as ramps he’ll need to remove. “Gotta get everything out of here so it don’t get broken.” Also so he can’t use it to escape. When he’s more beast than person, the use of tools doesn’t come naturally, but he’s relentless. Safer to keep them out of reach. That’s the real challenge—keep himself out of reach.

“Right.” There’s a pause while you move around behind him. Temar tries to focus on the feeling of the smooth wood of the wheelbarrow handles, the shudder of the wooden planks below as he moves it out of the den. “How come the walls are like this?”

You must be gesturing to the flat stones embedded in the dirt walls. “Harder to climb, although I haven’t had time to finish the back wall that collapsed yet. Claws don’t do well on smooth stone. A lot if the grout needs to be redone. Something for tomorrow.”

“Smart,” you say, sounding impressed.

Temar grunts in response, trying to focus on pulling the crude ramp out of the den and not on puffing up at your approval. Not seeing how else he might earn your esteem, might otherwise impress you.

“What’s it like,” you ask, quietly but clearly. Temar had been wondering if you’d ask. Waiting. “When…”

You trail off so he’s not sure if you meaning being a werebear or being one in heat. He supposes the answer isn’t terribly different. “Simpler, harsher, more vivid,” he says, “Less control when in heat than the rest of the time. In the army, we were trained to control the transformation, taught how to keep our minds more intact—it doesn’t work like that for heat. Getting locked up is how it was dealt with even there.” Not that they lasted long back then for anyone.

“I’ve heard of the loss of control.” You don’t specify if you mean in general or in heat, but Temar supposes it doesn’t matter either way.

Perhaps this would be a good time to remind both of you what’s at stake, how dangerous Temar is in heat to anyone vulnerable around him. “Just a beast at that point.” Temar doesn’t look you in the eye as he keeps talking, heading back down into the den now the planks are out and it’s the only way down. “Can’t understand human speech. Can barely tell human from animal. No reasoning with me. I’ll do what I want when I want to. Damn anyone else.”

Not that you’re as intimidated as he wishes you were. “What about other weres?”

“Aye.” Temar doesn’t mind confirming that, not when he knows it can’t encourage you. “Thats a mite different. We can handle each other better, can find that sliver of common ground. Family can calm you, your own territory, and of course, if you’ve got everything you want, you won’t go roaming for it. Won’t get angry and frustrated you can’t find it.”

“That all the time, or just in heat?” He can still hear the shyness in your voice whenever you say heat, but its obvious your curiosity is too great. Temar surveys the den while he considers his answer, hands you left over plates and cutlery from his noontime meal, eaten down in the den while he worked furiously to get it ready for tonight. He’s careful not to let his fingers brush yours, not to look you in the face, lest he see some fear there that hadn’t been before. Lest the beast see a lack of such fear. Temar truly felt caught between a rock and hard place.

He can see the question you’re dancing around and cuts to the quick, praying you’ll be sensible and leave since he wouldn’t be able to make you anymore. He’s not sure he even could back on the porch. “Its dangerous for any human to lay with a werebeast. Injury from strength or claws or teeth is impossible to prevent. Even if you’re mates.” He reminds himself as ruthlessly as tells you. It was rare, but it happened. Heartbreaking accidents. “Even if you’ve known each other for years. Someone in my troop had killed their husband in a heat frenzy once.”

“Not always though,” you reply, too hopeful by far, too logical not to notice the exaggeration. “It can’t be or weres would have died out.”

“No, not always,” Temar allows. “The tendency towards multiple children in a litter helps. But usually longer held relationships fare better. If the were isn’t in a bad mood, isn’t stressed—if the partner cooperates right.”

He hands you the last item that needs out and once you get to the top, he says, “Pull up that ladder, now.”

You pause, standing stock still and for a second he wonders if you’ll even listen. Temar’s not sure he has the strength to ask a second time.

“Sure.” You pull up the ladder.

His human mind eases at that, at the sight of you more than seven feet overhead, out of reach. His beast disagrees, seething in displeasure and unfulfilled lust. Naturally, you can’t leave well enough alone and sit down, legs dangling into the den. He knows he could grab your ankle at this, yank you down and—

Temar turns to study the den once more. It won’t stick in his mind with you clouding his judgment the way you are. He narrows his eyes, forcing himself to assess if its deep enough, the walls defended enough. “I still need to get the cover fixed, if that damn blacksmith ever manages to be around when I stop by. The back wall needs to be stoned, but if I try to climb it like it is, it’s just as likely to crumble which’ll keep me in just the same. It’ll do. It had better more than satisfy those bastards on the council.”

“Oh, yes, I suppose it will.” You shrug, as if you’d forgotten about them. “Will you let me visit? After I leave in the morning—” you add swiftly as if to cut off a correction Temar for once wasn’t offering. “In case there’s anything else I can help with? I meant it when I said we could help each other out. I admit I do not relish the chore of fetching all fuel for my fire in these coming months and perhaps I can provide something for you? I’m a skilled weaver in addition to my work with dyes. If you would not be opposed?”

How can you forget the council so easily? Dismiss them offhand like that. Why do you speak of ‘after’ so lightly? As if you expect to see him again, as if that’s something you might want. Temar’s thoughts turn in circles once more over your duress. He must remember you cannot be here by choice. It’s getting harder by the minute. By each minute you sit on the edge of his den, not a care in the world. Not a notion of his steadily deteriorating self-control. His lack of giving any indication of his growing need has gone from helpful to sinister, a wolf in sheep’s clothing no longer trying to reassure, but to lure closer its prey.

“Perhaps,” he manages to say.

You continue to talk, but the words’ meaning slip through his fingers. The change is pushing itself on him while he wiles away a few more minutes in your presence. Just to try to burn off excess energy, Temar turns to push one of the stones in better, to align it flat with the rest of them. Except… he can feel your eyes on his back while he does so.

Your scent to spikes.

He wheels around, wildly, and belated realizes the height you’re at, brings your loins far more to a height with his nose than ever before. Did his display of strength inspire something of lust in you? His beast roars for you once more at this indication of receptiveness.

The moonlight colors your hair, emphasizing your etherealness, the wonder at your very presence. How much Temar wants to hold you in his hands, claim you for his own. How much he wants to bring you down to earth, push you under him and take his pleasure from you.

He takes a step closer and it feels like the first sprung leak in a dam. The first domino to fall. The spark of fire on dry, dry tinder.

“R-un.”

In retrospect perhaps the most provocative thing Temar could have done was instigate a chase. Actually, the most provocative was definitely you listening and running.

You pull your legs up swiftly, battling your skirts to get your feet under yourself with a haste that surprises even yourself. Only one word and a glimpse of those glowing eyes, and you’re dashing for the cabin. Adrenaline pours into your veins as you the image of the fur rippling out over Temar’s body as he gave that last command fills your mind. 

In retrospect, the fur had been spreading steadily since you’d taken away the ladder without you fully registering it. His voice had been changing, although that you’d noticed plenty. The lower tone was a little harder to make out, even more pleasant to listen to, stirring up those lascivious thoughts that hadn’t left your mind since the town meeting was called. You swear his muscles had swelled too. The way they had moved beneath his shirt, which fit tighter with each minute that had passed. You’d felt spellbound, even though you swear that’s not a rumor associated with weres, and unconcerned by said compulsion.

Given the seriousness with which Temar gave the order as well as his earlier apprehension, you feel guilty for the mad sort of excitement rather than fear that courses through you. A roar, harsh and throaty, comes from the den behind you. It's one of rage and frustration. A beast that’s just realized it's been trapped. That it can’t get to what it wants. A loud thud follows. A growl of continued frustration hurries you on, feet pounding the ground as you run. You can almost trick yourself into thinking you hear your own name mixed in with the next roar that comes from where you’ve left Temar behind.

Due to your haste and unfamiliarity with Temar’s land and the fallen gloom, you end up missing the door along the back of the cabin and re-enter through the front. You lock that door with shaking hands and a pounding heart. The sounds of nature, of wind, of the echoes of Temar’s growl, are replaced by quiet solitude and the crackle of the fire, still burning in the hearth. You attempt to catch your breath. You try to let the mundane familiarity of the cabin and the silence calm your nerves. It’s not working very well.

You’re not sure what prompted his yell or his roar. Temar had said if he had everything he needed, he wouldn’t want to go searching for it, so it must have been his inner beast’s continued frustration at the lack of a desirable mate, which you continue to attempt not to take personally.

You’re still keyed up from the experience and seeing him actually start to transform, which still held some magic to you having never witnessed such a thing before, as well as all your interactions with him this evening. Temar seemed somewhat open to the idea of being friends, which was nice, you remind yourself. He is still immensely fascinating to you—this night has only made that more apparent. He feels less onerous to be around than some of your other acquaintances. He doesn’t put up any fronts and you feel like you don’t have to either. Even when he was clearly frustrated or angry—which you believe is exacerbated by whatever physical and mental toll his heat is putting on him—he never raised his voice. Temar only ever physically moved away from you, not towards you. 

Speaking of physicality, he was so strong. The way he moved, carried, and shoved the tools out of his den had been impressive. The skill and strength it must have taken to make it in the first place, from the manual labor of digging it out, to stonework, to the manner of transportation in and out were all impressive. You’ll have to make sure to stop by Nicolas’ forge tomorrow to ensure Temar can get his roof fixed. But for now, your mind’s eye lingers on how his muscles had flexed, how easily he might be able to move you about, lifting you, arranging you to best please him.

You shake your head to try to rid yourself of such thoughts when none of them are going to come true. Temar is the one who’s having a hard time, not you here in his home. He hadn’t complained about the den, but you can tell it must be a far cry from what it was before the damage, it saddens you to think of him out there and alone. You long to comfort him, even though you know he doesn’t want your comfort. His roar had only proven his frustration and unhappiness, how unfulfilled he must be, stuck in the pit. You swear you can still hear yet another roar mixed with your name. 

You take another look around the room and sigh, finding it far less interesting without him present. You’re still wound up from today’s jostling ship ride of events. Your hormones are out of balance after plans and hopes of helping Temar through his heat. While ending your night alone in Temar’s cabin, in his bed, while he’s stuck out in a hole in the ground isn’t where you expected or how you wanted the night to end, you suppose it's better than him still out in the woods where he might cause more damage or hurt someone.

Your hands go to your buttons as you start to undo them. An early night is in order. Just because Temar doesn’t want you, doesn’t mean you have to go unsatisfied. Your outer clothing drops to the floor, leaving you in your underthings. Draping the cloth over the couch, you wonder if he might be able to smell what you get up to in the morning. Would it be cruel to leave such a trace behind? you wonder as you slip over to the bedroom door. Or would it be your due after his refusal?

Something to worry about in the morning. You’re too hot and bothered to care much now. You turn the knob and enter the dark room. Your eyes just barely adjust enough to make out the outline of his large bed of furs when you’re pushed back against the door, slamming it shut. 

An almost subsonic growl fills the small room as you look up and up to meet glowing yellow-green eyes. Your heart hammers in your chest, even faster than it had when you’d been running only a few moments ago. A cloud moves from in front of the full moon and the beast that Temar must be now looms over you.

Heavy hands—or are they paws now?—pin you to the wall, one spread over your sternum and the other engulfing your hip. Your hands reflexively reach out and curl around his arm, fingers sinking into dense, soft fur. With the hand pressing against your chest, you barely manage to make a sound more than a surprised inhale, anything else compressed by Temar’s savage strength and your own shock. 

Fight or flight seems to have tried to kick in only to unexpectedly leave you both at ‘freeze’ while you stare one another down. The moonlight illuminates his face, throwing into relief the complex mix of man and beast Temar now is. The same black salted with gray that had been evident in his beard is now more evident in the thin layer of fur covering his face. His jaw is larger to accommodate the sharp teeth and prominent fangs now present. His mouth is open as he pants and huffs, eyes fixated on you. You can still see the man in the beast, but he’s more than he was only moments ago.

You hold perfectly still as Temar leans down and starts to huff and sniff at your neck, shifting his fingers as he does so. You can feel his claws snag in the looser weave of your chemise as he does so. Has he always smelled like the forest? you think in a shocked haze, like the pine trees and the freshly turned earth with an undercurrent of musk. He growls into your neck while you stay pinned like an insect on a card, unable to do anything else when confronted by the reality of his transformed appearance, of his touch when he had recoiled from you so vehemently before.

You jolt when he manages to do more than growl, when you realize it isn’t your imagination that puts your name on his lips. Heat sears through you to hear the need in his voice, the demand, by the idea that you’ve managed to make such an impression on him that he managed to speak at all. Then those lips cover your own in an uncoordinated but wanting kiss. Instantly, your mind is wiped clean of rejection, and disinterest, and undesirability. Those ideas can’t exist in tandem when he kisses you like he’s starving. 

When you break apart, you breathlessly gasp out his name, a hand cupping his jaw. You suck in shallow breaths, as if you only just stopped running, as if he’d been chasing you since he’d told you to run. You tremble with shameless lust at being sought after specifically—he hadn’t just been demanding after vague wants but for you.

He manages your name once more, tongue and jaw and teeth making the word hard to understand except that all your senses are straining for him, desperate for anything to help you understand him, to understand this change. “Mate.” 

You don’t know if it's a question or not, but it's all you’ve been offering since you first showed up on his doorstep. “Yes,” you reply breathlessly, suddenly more desperate than ever in his hold. Desire burns through you for him. You tug futilely at his jaw, push desperately against the massive paw on your chest to reach him. “Temar. Mate.”

You don’t fool yourself into thinking your strength is what moves him, but perhaps your words do manage to penetrate his mind because he presses his lips to yours once more, immediately deepening the kiss. He fucks into your mouth with filthy promise. Your head is held between the door at your back and him, hot and massive, crowding you, boxing you in, cutting off any escape. Escape is the absolute furthest thing from your mind.

His grip on you strengthens, the hand on your sternum moving to bracket your neck. His thumb rests lightly against the column of your throat, the claw drawing a line of danger on your collarbone. His fingers hooked over your back, their claws digging into the meat of your shoulder. They haven’t broken your skin but you know they could, the sting of them makes you want to arch both away and into them. 

You tremble as you realize how securely and sinfully caught you are by this werebear, by Temar. You know that he could hold onto you like this for hours and nothing you could do would be able to force him to let go. You never want him to. Instead you melt in his hold. His hand pinning you by your hip is likely the only thing keeping you on your feet and not just a pool of lust at his.

His need is evident given the way his hips rock against your own. The press of him against your whole body is unlocking some hidden need in you and you attempt to push back, to rut against him in return. You feel desperation growing in your bones, in the heart of you, something wild and wanting that can only be sated by him. Temar rumbles his approval, moving more deliberately against you until a growl of frustration escapes him.

When he pulls back, readjusting his hold on you, you open your mouth to protest, to say something, anything to get him back. It’s reflexive after how this night has gone, but unnecessary now. Temar picks you up with no apparent effort, only impatience, and tosses you onto the bed. 

You land with an oof, scrambling to think around the rolling heat that moves through your body threatening to drown you at such a display. You’ve barely made any sense of yourself after being flung through the darkness when he’s dropped low and moved on top of you. His movements are strong and decisive as he pushes your chemise up. He noses his way between your thighs, spreading them apart to make room for him. You barely have time to consider being embarrassed about being exposed, at how wet you know you are, when his wide tongue, inhuman roughness obvious, covers your cunt.

Your yelp of surprise turns into a long drawn out moan as he licks at you, vigorously, hungrily. He places a massive hand on each of your thighs, claws stinging just enough to quicken the pulsing need between your legs. You twitch and shiver as he pushes your legs further apart to accommodate his bulk. Your heated skin finds the remaining fabric bunched around your waist too much and you hastily try to shuck it the rest of the way off as fast as you. It's the most uncoordinated you’ve ever felt due to the manner in which Temar is concentrating on sucking your mind out of your head via your cunt.

Free at last of the uncomfortable and restricting garment, you reach down, fingers threading into Temar’s wild mane of hair on instinct alone. You don’t kow if you’ve even stopped moaning since his tongue attached itself to your cunt. Simultaneously, it's too much and not enough and all you can do is try to hang on for the ride he’s determined to take you on. Sweeping you down into the heat of feral lust with him. 

One of his hands leaves your thigh to clamp down across your stomach and hold down your hips. Your fingers tighten as he holds you in place to take what he wants from you. His unwavering focus is on eating you out, so starving for you that for now even the beast is content with your taste, leaving his hips rutting against the bedding. 

Temar wrings sounds from you know you’ve never made before. You never want anyone else to even try. Fuck, so good, you think. Or maybe you say aloud because you swear he grunts his approval and his tongue somehow manages to reach deeper. 

The black pad of his thumb rubs your clit perfectly and you scream you shatter. He growls triumphantly as he greedily drinks down every last drop of your release

You feel unspooled and languid, molten in your pleasure. Temar too seems satisfied with the meal he’s made of you for now as he pulls back, licking his lips. His fingers tighten their hold on your hips as your only warning before he flips you over. Dazedly, automatically, you try to brace yourself. He grunts in approval at how he has successfully maneuvered you onto your hands and knees. Right where you wanted to be ever since you first understood that he was in heat without a lover. Since you realized you wanted to be that lover.

One of his hands leaves your hip to stroke up your spine and you shudder at the feeling of calluses, iron strength, and claws. Instinctively, you arch into the motion, wanting to encourage him to touch you as much as possible. You’re so grateful you’ve already tossed your chemise gods know where. “Please,” you gasp out.

He rumbles with approval and as if having heard your unarticulated thoughts, drapes himself further over you. He pulls you against the cradle of his hips with one firm motion eliciting a squeal from your lips. It's evidently not close enough, as he wraps his fingers around your shoulder and pulls again until he can rut his cock against where you feel oh so empty. 

With you where he wants you, Temar releases his hold on your shoulder to lurch you both forward, him bracing you both with that hand on the bed. It leaves you clearly trapped under him. You close your eyes to savor the position and you’re struck by the image you two would paint, were you able to see. Perhaps that should be more intimidating or even frightening than it is, but you like the heavy weight of him, the power evident in his body as he cages you in. 

The ache between your legs only grows more acute. “Temar,” you plead, attempting to move your hips against him despite the hold he still has on one of your hips. The gnawing hunger and persistent emptiness are starting to hurt, desire buzzing along your every nerve. 

“Mine,” Temar proclaims as the head of his cock finally catches perfectly and he starts to drive into you. The stretch and ache of him causes your moan to fracture under the strain. It’s been so long, but you're so wet it almost doesn’t matter. He’s so thick, so long, you’re losing all sense of anything outside of where the two of you are joined. The last few inches cause a pleasurable burn as you clench around him. Gods it's been too long since you were filled like this, if you’ve ever even had someone with his girth before. 

Temar growls contentedly once he’s fully seated inside you and you gladly take the precious few seconds to adjust. Soon enough, he pulls nearly all the way out of you causing a desperate whine to build up in the back of your throat until he thrusts back in, ripping a ragged sound from your throat that might resemble his name. 

He picks up speed with each movement of his hips, getting surer and stronger each time. You feel your whole body move and jolt with his each and every thrust. Your hands scrabble fruitlessly at the bedding under you, trying to brace yourself or get a grip but you can’t, uncoordinated and weak from your previous orgasm as well as the overwhelming way Temar is fucking you. 

He’s going to ruin you and you’re going to thank him.

His control seems to be fraying the longer he’s inside you. You can see the claws tipping his fingers get longer where they dig into the bedding and you can feel the way they dig into your hip. The pain is the perfect counterpoint to the pleasure of him finally hitting that perfect spot inside. You can feel your inner walls flutter from the sensation. Temar must like that because he groans and makes a noticeable effort to strike that same spot repeatedly.

The unrelenting attention pays off immediately as you can feel your need wind tighter and tighter while your mind empties of thought except for the sensation and heat Temar is bringing forth from the depths you. The continual barrage of his cock finally shoves you over the edge of pleasure once more and you obligingly shatter.

He groans as your clenching around him seems to be all he needs to let go. He hilts in you one last time and you feel him come hard. He fills you up with his seed, warmth spreading, and continuing to make little half thrusts, as if trying to make sure it stays deep within you. You’re still coming down from your orgasm but the sense of satisfaction expands in your chest now that Temar’s reached his peak too.

You close your eyes, limp underneath him, but more content than you’ve felt in ages, in perfect harmony with your werebeast mate.

At some point, you feel him tip you both over onto your sides, though he keeps his cock firmly seated within your heat, keeping you full. Temar’s rumble is full of satisfaction and he engulfs you in his hold, making it clear neither of you are separating anytime soon.

You don’t know how long you lay there on your side, blissfully fuck out, still full of him. You don’t care. You enjoy floating in the hazy afterglow. Eventually he slips out of you, pulling a gasp from you and a whine from him. He nuzzles against you, as if to comfort you. You’re too boneless and witless to do anything more than nuzzle him back. 

At some point you do notice him start to move against you once more. His large hands are running along your body, as if committing it to memory. It’s not until he starts to focus on your nipples, rubbing his thumb in increasingly tight circles. Desire starts to zip through your sluggish veins and you whine, twitching in his loose hold. He seems to appreciate your reaction, nudging your head with his until you turn it to face him better. He catches your mouth in a consuming kiss, more coordinating than any previously but just as hungry. It's deep and filthy and leaves you vibrating for me.

His hand covers your cunt, still swollen and wet from your combined cum, in addition to the desire within you he’s stroking back up into a blaze.  Your sensitivity causes your hips to stutter as you’re caught between wanting more and being too tender for it. He loses interest in using his hand once you’re pushing towards him more than you are moving away. Pulling you down his body once more, his fur causing goosebumps to ripple across your flesh until you’re back where Temar at least seems to think you belong: in the cradle of his hips.

“Oh! Temar, you—mm, o-oh,” you attempt to say something to address the reignition of his desire, but before you can, his stiffening cock has managed to press against your cunt just right, moving through your lingering wetness and the spend that’s leaked out of you since said cock last left you.

“Mate,” he intones, lust certainly back into his voice. He pulls you up off the bed, securing you to his chest with the hand still clutching your chest. You’re not sure his other hand he's left your hip since it settled there. “More.”

“I, yes,” you reply, trying to pull yourself back together. Of course while in heat, he’d want to—you cut your own thoughts off with a surprised moan as he pushes back into you. Your fingers clench in the sheets as your sore, but slick muscles allow him back inside. The overstimulation is giving your head a rush. 

Luckily, this time Temar seems more deliberate and rhythmic with his thrusting rather than frenzied and desperate. His other hand resumes kneading your chest and rubbing against your stiffened nipple. The change in angle seems to keep him from going too fast and luckily requires none of your strength. In fact, the sensation of him fucking you while you lay limp in his grasp is quickly bring your own lust back at a dizzying pace you don’t expect.

He shifts and the angle gets even better, causing you to moan loudly in encouragement. You sag against him, your bones feel liquid from the way he’s been relentlessly thrusting within your cunt. His grunts and your pants fill the room. You’re still so hot, with sweat rolling down your back only to be absorbed into his fur. The sensation ensures you never forget who and what is taking you. You glory in it, in knowing he chose you.

You feel like he’s determined to fuck you until you can’t see straight, can’t move and you’re beyond willing for him to try. 

Gods, he’s going to make you forget your own name.

Something curls deep in you, winding around itself with each passing second he continues moving within you. He hunches forward, just enough to press against you, to change the angle some minuscule amount, and that spring releases. You fracture around him. As before, that appears to be all he needs to push as deep as he can and spill his seed in you one more time. The sensation of his release, of the desperate way he continues to try to fill you are the last things you remember before the pleasure pulls you under.

-/-

In the morning, or given the angle of the sun, the afternoon when you wake after a sleep longer than an hour, Temar surrounds you still. You’re in no rush as you take the time to regain your bearings and take stock of your aches. Without opening your eyes you can tell he’s looking at you. “Regret?” you ask simply, stock still in his hold, voice scratchy from overuse. You lost count of how many times aTemar fucked you last night. It's all a blur of heat and desire.

“No,” Temar rumbles, adjusting his hold. “Mine.” The added growl behind the words even in his human form sends a shiver down your spine and reignites the ache in your muscles in the most pleasing manner. 

It's more than you were hoping for, and yet you can’t help but ask, cautiously, “For the rest of your heat?” Some small part of you is still expecting to be sent on your way far sooner than you’d like to be. 

“I suppose you’ve convinced me,” Temar replies, the amusement in his voice unable to stay hidden under his put upon reluctance. “If you’ve made this foolish choice, I suppose I’ll let it stand—for now.”

“You may be stubborn, but I think we can agree I won this battle,” you point out. You finally blink your eyes open for long enough to look over your shoulder and meet his brown ones. He looks indulgent when you cup his cheek. “What makes you think you’ll fare better in the next one? I’m not sure I want for this to end with your heat.”

“I thought you’d say something of the sort,” Temar replies with a roll of eyes. He nips at your ear and pats you on the hip. “We can discuss after your bath.”

You hum, pleased immensely by the prospect. “See? Perhaps it’s you who is mine after all.”

---

Extra thanks to everyone who followed along with the original posting! all your comments and tags and asks were super encouraging!!

[verareids]

nights like these - spencer reid x gn!reader

spencer gets back from a rough case and reader comforts him. tags/cws: hurt/comfort, use of 'y/n', gn!reader, fluffy angst, mention of case involving kids but no details wc: 1008 a/n: Definitely not my favourite fic I've ever written and I haven't written anything in a while but it is my first Spencer fic so yay! Also, I was picturing late season 3/ season 4 Reid but it doesn't really matter. also posted on ao3

When the jet lands in Quantico at 12:47am Spencer is exhausted. After a truly grueling case he couldn’t even bring himself to read on the flight home. He’d just sat staring out the window. Kids. It’s always the cases involving kids that will fuck you up the most. JJ and Morgan have both tried their hand at comforting him and received a concerning lack of response. The rest of the team had been able to get some rest. Spencer hadn’t been so lucky. Every time he’d close his eyes he’d see their faces, hear their screams. Morgan stands up on the other side of the booth and the sudden motion pulls Spencer out of deep thought. He grabs his bag and prepares to get up when Emily shuffles past him, squeezing his shoulder on the way. The team clambers out of the jet and ends up in the bullpen, getting their things in order before they’re able to go home. Spencer walks out though the doors, heading for the elevator when the sound of JJ’s voice brings him to a halt.

“Reid…” JJ steps in front of him. “You heading home?” Spencer stops and stares at her incredulously.

“Yeah?” His tone showing only a hint of irritation. JJ looks back up at him, choosing to brush past his attitude.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Her concerned stare feels as though it’s piercing right through him and suddenly he can’t quite meet her eyes.

“I’m sure. I’ll see you tomorrow, JJ.” He walks past her towards the elevator, pressing the button when her voice stops him in his tracks again.

“Spencer, just…” JJ’s voice trails off as he turns to look back at her, she tilts her head sympathetically. “I know you don’t want to talk right now but… try to talk to (y/n) at least, don’t bottle it all up.” He forms a tight-lipped smile and nods.

“I will, thanks.” He replies slightly dismissively and turns to step into the elevator as the doors open and shut behind him. 

Spencer walks through the parking lot faster than usual, wanting nothing more than to just get home. Maybe he’d find you waiting for him there, sitting on the couch with a book, or maybe watching a movie. He’d sit down next to you and let you run your fingers through his hair, scratch his scalp, kiss his face, make all of the horrible images fade away. However, when he does get home, there is only silence. The lights are off, save for one lamp you had left on so that it wouldn’t be too dark for him. Spencer hangs his bag on a hook and removes his converse, placing them neatly by the front door. He tries to keep the sound of his footsteps light as he moves to turn off the lamp. 

Once he finally enters the bedroom he finds you there, sleeping ever so peacefully. He lets out a long, shaky sigh, looking over at the digital alarm on the bedside table, 1:40am, of course you’re not still awake. Quiet as he can, he removes his work clothes and gets ready for bed. When he lays down beside you he rolls onto his side to look at your face. All of the emotions he’s worked so hard to hold back over the last few days come flooding back with stinging eyes and a lump in his throat that he can’t force away. He studies your face, your quiet, relaxed form and decides he shouldn’t wake you. You have work in the morning – you both do – and it wouldn’t be wise to disturb your sleep to burden you with his work problems, although he knew it to be much deeper than that. Spencer exhales a shaky breath and resigns to closing his eyes and willing himself to sleep. He’s moments away from slipping into unconsciousness when a soft hand delicately brushes the side of his face.

“Spence?” He allows his eyes to flutter open at the sound of your voice and meets your drowsy, half shut eyes – his breath catching in his throat at the sight. When your lips stretch into an adoring smile he notices the stinging feeling in his eyes come back full force. “When did you get back?” You ask while your thumb runs a gentle line under his bottom lip causing him to bite it softly.

“Only five minutes ago.” Spencer replies with a shakiness he doesn’t bother to hope you won’t notice. Nothing ever gets past you. As expected, he watches as a subtle frown takes over your features.

“Bad?” You ask. A simple question, yet his eyes still well up when he nods in response. You don’t ask if he wants to talk about it, you know he doesn’t. “What do you need?’ Your hand moves again, this time to brush back a strand of hair that had fallen over his sullen face.

“You.” The way his voice cracks breaks your heart. You pull him into your chest and he rests his head there. When you run your fingers through his hair you feel his strong hands clutching the back of your shirt, pressing your body against his as close as possible. Tears stain your clothing as he breathes shakily against you.

This is the hardest part of Spencer’s job. Over the years he has developed an incredible ability to compartmentalize. He is generally pretty skilled at separating work from personal life. With a job like his you can’t afford to bring it home with you, but even with that mindset, there’s no way to stop it from getting to you occasionally. Nights like these are inevitable. You continue to thread your fingers through his curls as you feel him getting heavier against you as he slowly drifts to sleep. Staring straight up at the ceiling you can only hope that your presence will help keep the nightmares at bay. You whisper comforting words into his ear while you lay silently praying that tomorrow will be kinder to him.

[iwaasfairy]

IWA HARSH PUSSY SLAPPPPSSS OR FINGERINGGGG

a/n. yea I made it dad iwa and also some oc bullshit fucking suE ME but it’s good i like this one yeAAAA I hope you enjoy BBYYYYY I know I liked writing it hahahHAHA

GET IT RIGHT

tw. incest, dad x daughter, single dad iwa, reader’s a brat, obv age gap, size stuff implied, pussy slapping, (hard-ish) dom iwa, brat taming, noncon voyeurism, it’s a family affair, solo masturbation, jealousy wc. 3k

iwaizumi hajime x fem!reader, iwaizumi eiji and hitoshi x fem!reader

Its not his business that you’re a total nympho. Frankly, he could care less. Hitoshi’s eyes flick from under his baseball cap to the older sibling’s smug, almost accomplished smile when he runs a hand through his head of hair, before shaking some of the excess water out. The lighter brunet chuckles. “Our little sister’s laying on a towel with her tits out in the Oikawa’s backyard.”

“Dad’s over there, ain’t he?” Hitoshi responds, already back to scrolling mindlessly through Reddit to cure some of his boredom. Head of the Iwaizumi house said to ‘go outside for a bit’ so here he is, sweating his ass off in the lawn chair. What you’re up to really is none of his concern. Really. Eiji only smiles.

“And what? You think he’s gonna tell her off? Be for real for a second, Tosh.” There’s a look on Eiji’s face. Mixed in under the amusement and the bolstering, there’s something a bit tense. Impatient, and though he’d sooner die than admit it, Hitoshi recognises the glint that sits in the slight scrunch of his nose. He’s jealous. Yeah, you’re the type of little sister who gets away with having your tits out while they’re supposed to pretend not to see it. After sloppily patting himself dry with one of the towels, the oldest sibling slaps his phone out of his hands to grunt. “Get up.”

He responds before he thinks. “Fuck you, bitch.”

But it doesn’t bother his brother, who only tosses the towel back onto the table. “Stop intellectualising it and get up. You wanna get a look too, right? Dad’s over there right now to keep an eye on our little sister, and no one else is home. What do you think’s gonna happen.”

+

The sun’s so nice on your bare skin, glowing heat onto you and making you feel so sleepy and dazed. You’re all housesitting, which means access to the ridiculously nice pool of the Oikawa’s — and a secluded garden where you’re free to do whatever the fuck you want. The low voice is the only thing interrupting the peace. Daddy. “Babe. What do you think you’re doing?”

Your hat’s covering most of your view, but if you crack open one eye you can just about make out the way your dad crosses his arms over his wide chest, wife beater clinging a bit too tight to his muscular form. You push your lips out. “Sunbathing.”

“Put something on.” He sounds a bit tight, like he’s gotta clear his throat. Good.

“Why though?” You lift the hat up with one finger to look up further, see the slightly flushed visage of your father as he eyes you down. He’s a bit sweaty, yard work, and now has all his attention aimed at you. “I can’t get warm evenly all over if I do. Besides, no one’s home, and no one’s gonna look at me. The only people who can see into the yard is us, and Hitoshi nii’s not going to crawl out of his dungeon to spy on me, I promise you.”

It stays quiet for a few seconds as he takes in your words, before he sighs. Frowns just a bit, as he lets his eyes glide down your body just once. Enough to have his jaw clench, though. “I’m working here.” Then, after a bit more thought, he forces out the rest of the words. “You’re distracting.”

“Daddy~ please~” you start though, now pushing off the hat completely and wrapping your arm around yourself in mock-modesty. You have no intention of actually covering up. And looking at the way he’s breathing and already sweaty, he doesn’t actually want you to cover up either. “Nobody’s home. It’s fine. Please?” His olive green eyes flick to the way you’re pushing up your tits with your arms now, and those swimming trunks start feeling a bit tight on him if the way he shifts is anything to go by. The intense look would’ve scared you off before, but… well, it isn’t the first time you’ve gotten away with worse.

It also probably won’t be the last. “Once the sun is gone I’ll cover up to go back into the pool out front, promise.” You smack your lips, and give him those big puppy eyes that he seems to love so much. “Ei nii’s out there and I don’t want him to get an eyeful anyway.” You roll onto your side to send him your best smile. “Only trust you like that, daddy~” You’re audacious, a brat, but only because you know that gets him going. Wouldn’t do it this way if he really didn’t like it. When you go to lay back down with closed eyes, you can already hear him move in the grass.

A slight line works its way between your brows at that, at the idea that he’d walk away from you. But then a warm palm wraps around your arm to pin it beside your head on the towel, and you can feel the heat of him getting onto his heels beside you. Your breathing hitches, but you force yourself to keep your eyes closed. “Trust me to do what, exactly?” He rasps.

His other hand comes to your shoulder to push his thumb in, nice and hard, and works a moan out of you before you can think— working his way down in circles that pull goosebumps out of you. “What’s all this show really for? To make your big brothers jealous? Hm?” He gets close enough for the whispered voice to tickle your neck, hot thigh pressed against your waist before he places the other on your other side, straddling you. “You think that you can ‘daddy’ all your problems away? That if you look at me sweetly enough I’ll give?”

“I- didn’t-” your voice hitches when his mouth drags over your pulse, slight stubble and warm lips leaving kisses all down the length if it. The heat of the sun on your naked chest only makes the almost touch more irritable and itchy, and you have to fight the urge to just curl your body up against him already. “Didn’t want my big brothers to see. Wanted -you to.” When he noses at your collarbone you try to find your voice, and worm your wrist out of his grip to reach for his hair. “Wanted daddy to play with me again. I’ve been waiting since yesterday. Please.”

You can’t help but think back to last weekend, grinding down on his thigh with his fingers down your throat. Panties coated in stickiness and your entire body trembling with exhaustion. He laves soft mouthed kisses onto your throat enough to have you shaking now, too. But Hajime’s nothing if not consistent, as he noses the side of your breast and his hands slide down to squeeze your waist. “You know that I can’t, right?” He always says that.

You can’t help but laugh, humourlessly, and tug softly at the hair trapped between your fingers. “Then why are you?” And he is. As soon as he gets near enough, you arch your back automatically, still clenching your eyes closed. If you look now, the image will haunt you every day for the rest of summer. You’ll need daddy’s hands on you until you can’t go any more. Your tit is pushed against his cheeks because of your motion, and he groans a low, rumbling sound against your body. You can feel the heat of his bulge through his shorts. “Did you get jealous that Eiji might’ve seen me? Even a little?”

A second passes, before he finally grunts. “Fuck, yeah.” His mouth comes to your tits, tongue rubbing over hardened nipples too well, too knowingly. Knowing your daddy’s had other women before could make you green with envy, but he feels so good. His mouth, and hands feel so fucking good. Good enough to cry about it, trapped under his broad, heavy form as he squeezes and sucks your tits. “You’re a headache, you know that? Do you feel what you do to me?”

“Mhm.” You nod, panting, squirming under him. His hardening cock pushes against your thigh as you roll your hips, and he leaves impatient lovebites all over your tits. “Daddy.. d-daddy. Want you.” He’s so big and hot and heavy against you any time you get this close, it’s not your fault. You’re only a headache because he made you one. The clothed grinding against his covered, hard cock leaves your pussy awfully wet and sticky. Your breaths short. “Don’t you wanna- s-show your boys who your daughter belongs to, daddy?”

Your eyes shoot open when a sharp sting jerks your body, spreading through the flesh of your tit before he laves his tongue over the ridges where his teeth dug in. He clicks his tongue while grinding your other nipple between his fingers, making your bottom lip wobble. It feels so good, he always does. It’s not your fault. “Stop tempting me to make you regret your little stunt.” Your teary eyes meet his, dark and predatory before he pushes himself up, and yanks you closer by your thighs. “Legs up on my shoulders.”

“But-“

“Legs.” He says again, lower. You do, let him help your ass up to his mouth and reposition you so he’s level with your cunt. Your pussy clenches around nothing as he blows on your clit through the fabric, and only one hand keeps wrapped like a vice around your thigh to stabalize you. “I don’t wanna hear anything except how good it feels. Understood?”

You nod, before thinking better of it and speaking up. “Yes.” Fuck, it’s hot. He’s hot. You’re about to melt into a puddle with his face between your legs. He pushes your bikini bottoms aside with rough fingertips before pushing in. And you gasp, doing everything not to whine already. As his nose pushes against your sensitive clit, his lips find yours to leave a wet kiss on the opening, and he pushes his tongue against your sloppy lips without another warning. It’s already too much.

“Agh- d-daddy. You feel g- gh-ud.”

The big, hot tongue pushing you open, makes you grind against him while blood rushes both to your cunt and your head. His other hand flicks over your enterance a few times instead, before two thick fingertips push inside you, slow at first. He makes a show out of bottoming them out, and you can feel the way he smiles when it makes your pussy squelch. His tongue flicks over your clit hard and fast, before sucking. “Fuck, you’re so- good- g-good to me. Daddy!”

“Mhm.” The blood makes your ears ring. It makes you so dizzy it’s impossible to see much past daddy’s face and how good he looks, rubbing his tongue in rough motions over your pussy. He’s licking and licking and licking against your clenching muscles so good it’s almost unbelievable. The rough friction of his chin and stubble against your pussy, the way he nibbles just right at your clit, it’s all too much. It’s too much because it’s daddy— because he knows what he’s doing.

“D-daddy!”

You mewl as you curl your body against him and the push to your clit gets even better. Too good. You’re so sweaty his hand slips on your thigh, instead pulling you back by your heel and yanking you back up, right as your toes curl. His face is making a mess between your legs, and your mouth hangs open. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He- he’s already gonna make you cum. Sweat rolls down your back as your juices run down his chin and he buries himself as deep as he can, groaning your name into your pussy. “That’s my pretty girl, there you go.”

Your thighs squeeze around him and your eyes open through your tears, desperately searching for the eye contact you need to get there. But maybe because he knows you, he pulls back and drops you back down by your legs, spreading them by his thighs. “No, no- daddy pleas-uhh~ I wanna cum.”

“You’re coming on my cock.” He snaps back, before pushing you open more and slapping your pussy with a flat palm. “That alright with you, miss princess?” He says it like it’s an insult. For a moment, it does feel like it. Your mouth snaps shut against the cry you wanna let out, as his hand lands again before you can react. You jerk against the sting, clench your legs closed around his hand, but he pushes them back open to do it again. And again, and again, until slick is dripping down to your ass and your clit is tingling and swollen. You could burst out into a sobbing fit any second. “Can I do what I gotta do to get you there now?”

“Yes,” you sniffle back instantly, and open your eyes at him. Thick tears sit on your vision at it, you can’t help it. It’s all his fault you’re this way anyway. Your thighs wobble before your bottom lip does, and it’s this that makes him sigh.

“Aw, babe, shhhh— I’m sorry.” He takes only a moment to pull his shirt over his head, then gets back over you to wipe away the thick tracks. It doesn’t do much against the tears that keep coming, but it’s ok. It’s much better when you can place your hands to his bare chest and feel his heartbeat through your palms, reach up to kiss him. He tastes like you, and you suck on his tongue until he moans into the kiss. When he pulls back, that hot, big palm cups your cheek. “Was that mean?”

“I deserved it.” His dialated eyes search yours for a moment, before he kisses you back another few times. The tingling ache between your legs remains, but there’s a pit in your stomach that becomes more demanding again. “Please keep going?”

“Take me out.” Your hands instantly glide down his body at the order, hooking two fingers around the elastic band before pulling. Pulling down until you reveal the trail of pubic hair that leads down to his thick, flushed cock and down further. Down until the fabric can no longer hold him back from bobbing up against his stomach and he lets out a deep breath. You pull a little more to get a glimpse of his fat, heavy balls too, before daddy grunts and places both elbows by your head again. “Lead my cock inside you like a good girl, hm?”

“Uhuh.” Gladly. Your fingers reach for him, touching the dripping head first. Pre gets all over your fingertips, and you truly can’t stop yourself from putting two fingers inside your mouth with a whimper. Your hands return to squeeze around the head, need both to reach and stroke down a few times. Not that he needs it. He’s hard enough to feel his heartbeat through the skin, thick cock twitching as you shuffle around to line up. “‘s big.”

“It’s big to make you feel good.” He agrees, kisses your temple, and bucks into your palm. “Go on.” You line him up with a deep breath, before blinking your long lashes up at him with your lip between your teeth. The head kisses your hole as he hums, slides your slick around on the puffy mushroom head a few times before pushing in. “Ugh-always forget,” he grunts lowly, biceps bulging as he holds himself above you, “how fucking tight you are. My little baby.”

He starts rocking himself inside you bit by bit, and you can’t help but drag your nails along his flexing back to hang on. “Ah, ah, agh, daddy. You’re- so- big.” You throw your head back, and pant, tears still wobbling. You’re no longer sad though. Your pussy’s being forced open too big, too- fucking wide for you to clench around him properly- but it feels so good. He feels so fucking good, oh God. You want to fuck daddy all summer. You want him to never, ever stop.

+

Hitoshi’s so fucking hot it makes it hard to see straight. Cum’s gotten on his shirt, all over his hand, and he’s got boxers full of cum running down his fucking thigh. While his cock’s still hard and red in his fist as he forces his own hips not to buck. He can just barely hear your whines echo over the field to where they’re hiding— and you sound, predictably, just like how he imagined you do. You look good. Fuck, he’s sure you’d look just as good under him, but instead you’re clinging flushed faced, tits bouncing to your dad with his greying temples and letting yourself get used.

You’re pathetic, honestly. But he’s also not fucking blind. His cock twitches hard in his hand, and his other hand comes to cover the flared head as if that’ll keep a third load in. He’s trying to hold it so hard that he’s panting, balls pulling up to his body.

“Think she’ll let me eat the cum out of her when dad leaves?” Eiji’s pumping his cock without shame like there’s no tomorrow, getting drops of hot, clear liquid everywhere. He’s christened the plants with his cum earlier, too. Hitoshi just grimaces, before looking back at the way your body curls around the fat cock driving in and out of you, your cries about to make him bust again. “Huh?”

“I don’t fucking care, Ei nii.” He then furrows his brows so deep that you’d say he’ll get permanent wrinkles, not bothering to look over. “Why do you wanna eat dad’s cum out of her?”

“So I can fuck my own into her.”

Hitoshi’s too busy watching you and breathing through it to care about what he’s saying, so it takes a minute to filter through his hazy thoughts. “You’re a pig.”

Eiji just rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say, quick shot. Have fun trying not to cum when I go next.”

All Rights Reserved © IWAASFAIRY 2024. Works are exclusive to this Tumblr.

[shrike-fic]

inexperienced reader x 'i secretly play the flute thinking about you (respectfully)' hozier?

Sorry this took so long yall, I’m constantly busy with…….. interesting stuff. Hope you enjoy :)

⭐️ Hozier zerkin it ⭐️

Warnings: smut pure smut

—————————————————

Andrew got home late into the night after one of your bar excursions. His head was swirling with cheap beer and whiskey laced memories of just a few hours ago, going over what happened as to maybe have some sort of recollection of any of it in the morning. Thoughts of you dancing together, taking shots together, laughing together plagued him as he swayed through the house.

Briefly grinning to himself at this secret admiration for you, he’s taking his coat off and practically ripping his shoes off after he gets into his room. As much as he’d love to pass out on his worn in bed right then and there, he figures it’d be unhygienic to sleep in his bed with clothes that he’d been in all day. In his hazy mind, he stands up with a groan, grabs his shower towel and starts walking towards the house’s bathroom.

As Andrew prepares his shower and strips down, he can’t help but think of some things that you.. drunkenly confessed to him. You confided to him about some things that you may or may not (definitely have not) done. He was shocked of course, how could a girl like you not have men practically falling at your feet? Lighthearted teasing ensued between the two of you concerning who had done what and where and when, but he just couldn’t wrap his head around what you said.

He steps in, his feet hitting the cool tile, and his hand having a matching feeling pressed to his palm as he uses the wall to steady himself. Turning on the water, he melts into the much needed steady warm stream that was pouring over him.

God, how nice it would be if you were in there with him.

He knits his brows at the thought of that, face turning pink with nobody but the droplets on his skin and the shower head to witness it. He feels slightly guilty from this, with you being his closest friend thinking of you in this way seemed wrong. But some part of him knew that deep down thats what he really wanted. Desperately wanted. His head wasn’t getting any clearer the longer he spent in the shower, which made him feel dirty no matter how well he cleaned the whole of himself.

The longer he stayed in that shower, the longer that heat grew between his legs. He knew he was half-hard by now, his dick practically begging to be touched. He harshly sighed out, almost a scoff, and quickly turned the water to cold to maybe sober him up and get rid of some of these dirty thoughts. What was he, a teenager?

With his hair being scruffed up in a towel, and some boxers haphazardly thrown on, he made his way back into his room where he so desperately wanted to collapse in. He fell back into his bed, letting his legs kick up a bit at that motion. After laying there with his legs hanging off the bed, he decides to swing them up and under the covers where the rest of him follows. He rubs his face with both of his hands, knowing deep down how utterly screwed he is. You had just confessed a deeply personal secret to him, and he’s being plagued with all the things that he’d love to do to you.

Heaven knows the splash of cold water on himself didn’t work. It hardly sobered him up, but it did nothing to keep those deliciously hedonistic thoughts out of his head. So there he was, knees slightly bent with his stomach clenched and his hand working his stiff and leaking cock up and down. His head was tossed to the side of his pillow, thrown back with his knitted brows framing his strained face, and his clean pair of boxers somewhere in his messed up sheets.

His lips were parted, with wanton groans and quickened breath spilling out of it. Oh how he wished it was your hand instead of his. His breath hitched and let out a desperate noise at the thought of this, quickening his pace, moving his other hand to comb through his hair.

He wondered how your hand would feel. Softer and smaller than his, not as confident in your actions, yet still wanting to help please him the best you could. His thoughts raced from your hands, to your lips, to what you would taste like. How he’d kill to find all of this out; to experience all of you. His mouth falls open deeper, with his desperate noises becoming louder and needier the longer he stroked his leaking cock.

Pre cum was dribbled on his pale lower stomach, his hips slightly bucking into his thoroughly moving hand. Thumb rubbing up against the hot red tip of his cock provided the perfect amount of friction to get him so close to falling off that edge. His back arching and him twitching in his own hands, he could see stars in behind eyes and feel the knot in his stomach snap as he pumped himself those last few times.

One last cry, and Andrew was sloppily bucking his hips into his hand releasing his cum onto his stomach and fingers. He pumped himself through it, nearing to the point of overstimulation— he just couldn’t get enough of you. Finally he released his spent dick from his hand, and laid there with a mess all over himself. After catching his breath for a minute, he reached over to his nightstand and cleaned himself off with a tissue. Cursing himself lightly as to why he would bother to take a shower just to do this to himself directly afterward.

He wasn’t totally free of guilt after finishing to the thought of you, he just didn’t really know how to deal with it. The best solution he could come up with? Sleep it off. Which would be great, but who the hell is calling him at such a late time? He groggily reaches over to the nightstand to pick up his phone ready to grumble at whoever was calling him at an hour like this, only to realize it was your name at the top of his screen.

He answers the phone, feeling a bit more guilty than before.

“Hey.. ehm… are you alright? Why are you calling this late?”

“You were supposed to call me when you got home, I was worried you hadn’t made it or something” You say with a slight scolding voice.

“Ah I’m very sorry, I was.. in the shower.”

He cringes at himself and covers his eyes with his hand.

[too-much-tma-stuff]

In the Light of Day (part 9)

Previous | Masterpost

In the two weeks since the raid on the GIW base Jason and Danny had been receiving regular updates from Tim about how Ellie was doing with the Teen Titans. She seemed like she was settling in well, and recovering from everything that she had been through slowly but surely. In a way Danny was really glad she hadn’t been entirely stable, the GIW hadn’t been able to do much to her before she started destabilizing. It was bad enough of course, and she had plenty of lingering trauma, but she hadn’t been broken in the same way he had. She hadn’t reached out yet, but just knowing that she was out there and she was okay soothed his broken edges tremendously. 

She was getting along well with Superboy, they were supporting each other well and Superboy had taken on an almost brotherly role with her. She was getting into chaos with Impulse, and generally… having a good time. Danny had even seen some pictures of her which had made him cry again while Jason held him.

Tim had also used a secure line to ask Danny some clarifying questions about the information on the USB he’d given him. Danny had been as open about everything as he could without sending himself into a panic, and didn’t hear back from Tim for a few more days before he suddenly showed up in crime alley one night dressed as Robin. 

“Your family has a habit of unscheduled visits huh?” Danny commented to Jason over the coms as he headed to intercept Tim. Jason couldn’t do it because was finishing up his work, and waiting to hear what Tim wanted to see if he actually needed to leave early or not.

“Ya,” Jason agreed with a slightly sheepish laugh. “Boundaries are not something this family has ever been good at. We can try to enforce them more if it’s bothering you?”

“No, that’s alright. I’m glad you have a better relationship with them now and I like them well enough too,” Danny assured before launching himself off one rooftop, flying across the gap between buildings and half tackling Tim making him yelp. They rolled across the roof as Danny gave a play growl and Tim grappled with him for a few moments. 

It had spooked Tim the first time Danny had done this, because he thought Danny was actually mad at him, but now he understood that it was just in play. Indulging it made Danny happy so Tim didn’t really mind, it was part of the way he bonded apparently. If Danny was actually mad Tim didn’t like his chances honestly.

“So, what do you need?” Danny asked once Tim had tapped out (he rarely won these little wrestles, and when he did it felt distinctly like Danny had let him win).

“I want to talk to you and Red Hood about something serious,” Robin told Danny with a little frown. “Do you have time tonight, or I can come back later.”

“Hood? Can you get away tonight?” Danny asked, tapping into the com.

“Ya, give me an hour. Take the baby bird home and put the kettle on, I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Jason confirmed. Danny passed the message along and Tim nodded distractedly, following Danny home and accepting a cup of tea which he didn’t actually drink.

He was quiet as they waited for Jason to get home. Tim had a way of sitting unnervingly still in moments like this, it was almost like he was on pause. He didn’t start moving again until Jason arrived and had been handed a fresh cup of tea by Danny. 

“So, what did you want to talk about Tim?” Jason asked and Tim unpaused with a blink and a little shake. 

“I’m working on a presentation for the Justice League about the atrocities committed by the GIW and the anti-ecto acts that enable them,” Tim said bluntly. 

Jason put down his mug abruptly with a clatter and Danny let out a startled snarl. They shared a look of concern and suspicion and then looked back at Tim. They were willing to hear him out, even if it was an uncomfortable topic.

“I would appreciate it if you would look over the presentation, or maybe let me practice it on you, before I give it to them to make sure it’s accurate and respectful. I would also consider it a personal favour if you would come to the meeting yourselves, as representatives of the people who’ve been affected by these laws. Obviously, you don’t have to, but Ellie already agreed to come with us and I thought you might want to be there for her.” 

“I’ll go,” Danny said immediately. He hadn’t wanted to, but if Ellie was going then he wasn’t going to leave her to face this alone. She was a very brave and capable girl, but she was technically only about five years old, and Vlad hadn’t exactly done a perfect job cloning her so her knowledge and capabilities could be... patchy. He wasn’t going to leave her to face this alone, even if going to this meeting and facing the Justice League was the last thing he wanted to do.

“Well, I guess if he’s going I have to too,” Jason sighed begrudgingly with a shrug. “You and Big Wing will be there?” Jason asked Tim, who nodded. “Good, where will the meeting take place?” 

“Probably the Watchtower,” Tim admitted with a little shrug. 

“Is that the one that’s in space?” Danny demanded excitedly. The abrupt change of tone took Tim off guard but he nodded. “Awesome! Are there observation rooms? If there are, I demand time there if we’re going to see! I want to see SPACE!” 

Tim gaped at Danny a little and Jason laughed fondly. Danny seemed to realize he’d gotten a little too excited and blushed a little, smiling sheepishly at them. 

“Sure, I can probably arrange that,” Tim agreed with a little shrug. 

“Great, let us know as soon as you have a date for that. I want as much time as possible to prepare for it, and I refuse to agree to anything besides a non-aggression pact beforehand,” Jason told Tim firmly who just nodded absently. 

“Ya no worries, you don’t have to agree to anything, Dick and I are planning to smuggle you both in anyway,” Tim said, nodding absently. 

“Better to ask forgiveness than permission?” Jason asked with a snort of amusement. Tim gave him a conspiratorial smirk and nodded, making Jason laugh properly. “You know, if you’d lead with the fact this would piss off Bruce I would have agreed right away,” Jason joked and Danny cackled.

“But that’s not the purpose, that’s just a bonus,” Tim said with an impish smile.

“I like you kid. Ya, we’ll be there to support you,” Jason confirmed without hesitation this time.

----------

Danny had corrected a few things in Tim’s presentation for him, mostly about ghosts, or ecto-entity’s, behaviour and culture. He obviously wasn’t telling Tim everything that he knew, but it was enough that if the Justice League came into contact with them through all this they wouldn’t cause terrible offense or get themselves killed. Tim questioned how Danny knew all this but he had just given an enigmatic smile and refused to answer the questions. Tim had sighed and accepted the secrecy, hoping he could get Ellie to tell him later.

Only once both Elie and Danny had approved the presentation did Tim go ahead with requesting a meeting with the full JL about something urgent, but not so urgent it couldn’t be worked into peoples schedules in a week or so. As soon as he knew when it would be (Thursday at 3 pm) Tim told Jason and Danny, just like they’d asked.

They found out that knowing was a double edged sword. On one hand it was more time to prepare, on the other it was more time to panic, and Jason could tell Danny was panicking. Jason wasn’t looking forward to it either, but he was not freaking out the way that Danny was, so he set his own nerves aside and focused on helping his boyfriend. Including calming him down from three panic attacks! 

Jason was fairly used to Danny’s panic attacks, and knew they ranged from sobbing, trembling breakdowns to violent outbursts. His outbursts were more controlled then Jason’s at least, he would hate to see what true pit madness would look like with Danny’s power. Just the taste from facing the GIW was more than enough.

Jason had learned how to deal with all of Danny’s episodes over the course of their relationship, but three in a week was more than he’d ever seen Danny have and Jason didn’t know how to help. He knew how to get Danny through his panic attacks themselves of course, but he had no idea what to say to actually make Danny feel better and stop having panic attacks. It seemed like this was something they just needed to weather, though Jason wasn’t happy about it.

He understood completely why Danny was scared of course. He was going to have to face a lot of traumas in this, and ones he couldn't just smash, kill, and blow up like the GIW, complicated ones. At least they wouldn’t be alone, and being reminded Dick, Tim, and Ellie would be there to back them up if needed did seem to make Danny feel a little better at least. 

The night before the meeting they were laying in bed together with Jason half sprawled on top of Danny like a weighted blanket. Jason had bought him an actual weighted blanket, but he still preferred Jason when he was available. Maybe because Danny produced very little body heat on his own and Jason was a walking furnace, but probably just because he loved Jason. 

“So, are you ready for tomorrow?” Jason murmured, nuzzling into Danny’s neck and breathing in his scent, like freshly fallen snow and lighting infused air. 

“No, but I’ll manage,” Danny sighed back, carding his fingers through Jason’s hair. 

“Is there anything I need to know before the meeting?” 

“Maybe,” Danny conceded. He didn’t continue right away so Jason stayed quiet, giving Danny the time he needed to arrange his thoughts before sharing them. “I don’t think it will come up, but just in case… I’m technically the crown prince of the Infinite Realms.” He sounded almost sheepish. 

It took Jason a moment to process what Danny had said and then he sat up abruptly, looking down at Danny in disbelief. He gave Jason a nervous smile, looking a little ashamed of himself. “I’m sorry, what?” Jason tried not to snap at Danny, he winced anyway.

“Ya, the crown of the Infinite Realms is passed through Trial by Combat. The previous king Pariah is an asshole who was bound in the coffin of Forever Sleep ages ago, but all the ancients had to work together to do it so they couldn’t actually take the crown. Since it has to be single combat, you know? When I was 16 my late bastard of a godfather released Pariah from the coffin and I defeated him one on one. I escaped taking the crown by a technicality because I forced him back into the coffin instead of ending him, but everyone expects that when I’m older and more stable I’ll go back and defeat him properly and take the crown.

“Like, there’s a prophecy about it, that the true king would be a halfa? That’s why Pariah killed them all in the first place. I’m not king technically, but plenty of ghosts already swear loyalty to me whether I want them to or not.” Danny looked sad, and scared, Jason took pity on him and lay back down with him, pulling him close. 

“You don’t have to be king then, right?” Jason questioned, since it was obvious Danny didn’t want this. “You still have a choice.”

“Not really,” Danny admitted with a sigh, looking away. “Someone will let Pariah out of his coffin again eventually, and when he does I’ll be the only one able to defeat him. So when that time comes my options will be to beat him myself or let him take over the world again. I guess I could force him back into the coffin again to try and delay it further, but the Council would probably start getting antsy and let him out themselves to try and force the issue and I’d still only be delaying the inevitable. It’s very unlikely that anyone as strong as me will come along in the next… millennia.”

“Damn…” Jason breathed, turning that over in his head for a moment before he let out an incredulous little laugh. “Well that’s one hell of a trump card to have in your back pocket if anyone tries to give you trouble. I mean you probably have diplomatic immunity or some shit.” 

The comment startled a laugh out of Danny as well. “Ya, I guess so! I hadn’t thought about that. Well, I still won’t say anything if I can help it but I guess that’s a card I can keep up my sleeve if we need it,” Danny allowed with a half smile. 

“I know you said you’re not ready for the meeting, but I know that you are. It’s going to be hard, but you are ready, and I’ll be there with you. You can do this for us, can’t you?” Jason asked, knowing that Danny was more inclined to push through if he wasn’t just doing something for himself. 

“Ya, I can do that,” Danny promised, nuzzling into Jason’s hair. He seemed more relaxed now thankfully. 

“Good, now get some sleep,” Jason directed and smiled a little when Danny snuggled closer and closed his slightly luminescent blue eyes. “Sweet dreams Moonlight, I love you.”

“You got it Boss. I love you too,” Danny sighed contentedly.

The next morning was an early one for them. Mostly because once they woke up neither of them could get back to sleep, so even though they hadn’t gone to bed until almost 2 am (thank you vigilante schedule) they were both up by seven. Brewing strong coffee in the kitchen and making scrambled eggs and toast since Jason couldn’t be bothered with anything fancy. 

With several hours till the meeting and nothing to do, they settled for rewatching some of their favourite movies and comfort eating some junk food. It was too early to go out and cause any real mayhem anyway. Finally it was time to suit up and go meet Dick and Tim so they could smuggle Red Hood and Hyena into The Watchtower. It was easy enough, Batman had gone in early and Hood already knew exactly where the Batcave was, so they just met up there and used the zeta-tube.

It had been a long time since Jason had been on one of those things and Danny never had, so they approached it with some trepidation. Danny in particular was eyeing the machine with wariness bordering on fear. Jason heard him mutter; “Cool, ya, I’ll just get into the giant metal tube, as if that didn’t kill me last time,” so he could guess the zeta-tube resembled whatever had killed him before, good to know. 

Dick went first, cheerfully saying it was to make sure the coast was clear, though Jason suspected it was really because he had noticed Hyena’s nerves and wanted to prove it was safe. Once he’d texted Tim that everything was fine Jason grabbed Danny’s hand and walked with him into the tube confidently. Danny was reluctant, but he let Jason tug him along, and since he could have easily stopped them both, that was good enough consent.

Jason felt a familiar swoop in his just as they were swept away in the beam, and caught Danny when their feet hit the floor again and he stumbled. “See? Not dead,” Jason joked to his partner as he held Danny close, feeling his slight trembling subside quickly. 

“Are you sure?” Danny joked weakly, looking a little paler than usual. 

“You’re not going to be sick are you?” Jason asked worriedly. 

Danny took a deep breath and shook his head; “No, I’ll be fine.”

“Good, then let’s get out of the way so Robin can Zeta in,” Jason promoted. 

Reminded that they were still in the tube Danny practically dragged Jason out. To his surprise it wasn’t just Nightwing waiting for them, but all of the Teen Titans, including their newest member. 

“Little Star,” Danny breathed, his eyes wide above his mask. Phantasm looked shy, shifting from foot to foot with barely contained nervous energy. Danny smiled behind his mask and lifted his arms, which she threw herself into immediately, clinging desperately to her template. Danny hugged her back just as tightly, squeezing his eyes shut as he clutched her to his chest.

“Why didn’t you come to visit me? I missed you,” Phantasm questioned tearfully. 

“I missed you too, I just wasn’t sure you’d want to know me like I am now,” Danny explained softly. 

“Of course I do! We’re family,” Ellie said, burying her face in his shoulder.

“Then you’re always welcome where I am Starlight. I still can’t take care of you properly, and I think you should stay with them. But come visit me whenever you want, whatever you need,” Danny promised her gently.

“I will,” Phantasm agreed, finally letting go of Danny so she could wipe the tears from her face, sniffling a little. “I know you can’t have me stay with you right now. I can feel…” She trailed off, glancing around them, remembering they had an audience and reconsidering what she was going to say. Danny appreciated that since he was pretty sure she was about to bring up his cracked core. “I know you have a lot of healing to do too, so you can’t be worrying about me all the time.” 

“I’ll always worry about you, Phantasm, you’re basically my daughter,” Danny laughed, and let her lightly wack his arm for it. “I just can’t… support you right now.”

“I understand, it’s okay,” Phantasm reassured him with a sad little smile. 

“Great, are you guys ready for the meeting now?” Tim butted in a little callously, earning a glare from Dick. “We’re a bit late so everyone else should be there by now.” 

“Sure, let’s do this,” Danny agreed, grabbing Jason’s hand again tightly. "It's time to get all this shit out in the light of day."

[lcriedlastnight]

Can you write something with Oscar where they hated each other during their childhood or teenage years, but they meet again during adulthood

hey anon! thank you so much for your request!

tw: fem!reader. swears, i feel it feels a little rushed but idk. not spell checked. lmk if you want me to add anything.

w/c: 1.9k

you and logan were the ‘duo’ during karting, f2 and f3. where ever you went, logan followed and vice versa. you both understanding each other on a different level than the others around you, just simply didn’t . others around you including: oscar piastri.

you knew fine well that oscar and logan got along well. at one point logan even told you that he thought of oscar as his best friend in racing. knowing all of this should’ve made you like him, but it didn’t. you didn’t know if it was the way he walked around the karting course, when you were children, like he owned the place or if it was the little niggle in the back of your mind that acknowledged how good of a racer he actually was and that just pissed you off even more, you didn’t know. all you knew is that he needed to be brought down a peg or two and you would happily be to one to do it forever, much to logan’s chagrin.

logan really wanted the both of you to get along but you couldn’t help yourself, especially when you were younger, you had to tell him exactly what you thought about him, any and every time he pissed you off.

sometimes you did feel bad about hating on the aussie, like the times where a race didn’t really go his way, but as soon as you would go over to commiserate him he’d shout at you and tell you to get out of his way. you stopped feeling bad about it after that.

this rivalry continued all the way through to when both boys made it to f1. maybe it even deepened further. any time the two of you bump into each other, the only words said (if any) were snarky comments and backhanded compliments. mainly from your end.

none of this stopped you from supporting one of your oldest friends though, any time you were able to you would join him in the williams paddock, usually the first one to run to him when the race ended bad for him.

the most recent time you had joined logan for a race weekend was australia. you had watched along during the free practise but afterwards logan seemed to be avoiding you. you had looked everywhere for him, wanting to do your usual ‘after free practise’ routine of dissing the rest of the drivers (especially oscar) and telling logan that he was the best driver on the grid.

you make your way through the paddock searching for him and you eventually find him in the mclaren motorhome, standing with none other than oscar piastri. you roll your eyes and walk up to the two of them but they’re both too deep in their conversation that they don’t hear you coming.

“you have to tell her, mate” oscar tells logan, brows furrowed. logan’s back is to you so you can’t see his reaction, but you do hear it.

“she’ll be crushed!” it comes out a breathy and high pitched.

“obviously she’ll be crushed but do you not think it’s better for her to hear it from you” oscar replies, his eyes gentle. it pisses you off. him saying all this as if he knows you and how you would feel about certain things. you decide to make your presence known.

“i think i trust logan’s opinion on whatever you two are talking about more than yours, piastri.” your voice is a little mean but there are hints of confusion and concern for logan.

logan spins in his spot to face you. his eyes are wide and his brows sit high on his forehead. “oh uh hi! we were just talking about… racing stuff?” logan’s mouth moves faster than you’ve ever seen before.

“racing stuff?” you repeat back, “are you asking me or telling me?”. it’s a half joke, half serious question. i give him a half smile but logan stands there, a little awkwardly.

i wait for a second before my smile falls again. “okay what? what is it?” you asked a little worried now. oscar stands behind him but you forget about him, getting worried about logan now.

“logan you better tell me right now or-” you start but he cuts you off.

“i’m not racing this weekend. alex’s crash fucked up his car and they’re giving mines to him for the rest of the weekend.” logan avoids your eyes, instead choosing to stare at the floor.

it takes a while for you to calm down afterwards. logan takes you somewhere more private than the mclaren motorhome where you let out your anger.

“why weren’t you going to tell me?” you ask him after you had calmed down.

“i didn’t want this to happen. i only really did it because oscar told me i should.” logan explained.

you sigh out. “well you can always tell me anything. we’ve been friends forever, logan. and i guess that was kinda nice of oscar to do that.” logan’s grin is too wide, it’s like he ignored the first part and just focused on the only nice thing you have ever said about oscar.

you roll your eyes and change the subject. “okay well i guess there’s no point in staying to watch the rest of the weekend.” logan gasps.

“well since you don’t want to stay with me, there might be a certain someone who asked for you to stay and watch.” his eyebrows wiggle teasingly. it annoys you to no end. you let him know by the long groan you let out.

that’s how you ended up watching qualifying from the mclaren garage. you were surprised oscar actually let you stay and watch in his garage, but all it took was a mere seconds conversation with logan and you were in.

although the previous qualifying had been a bit of a better result for the aussie he still practically skipped into the garage. the joys of doing well in the first part of your home race, you suspect.

“oh hey! i didn’t think you were actually gonna stay. i thought you and oscar hated each other?” lando asks after noticing you, kind of just standing there. you couldn’t be more thankful for his presence at that moment, feeling a little out of place in the papaya filled garage.

you give him a tight smile. “where did you get that from? we’re best friends.” your tone dripping with sarcasm. lando smirks with a half chuckle at your tone. before you could talk more, oscar comes up behind you.

“i knew i could get you to admit it one day.” he says to you. you can hear the happiness in his tone. this is the first time oscar has said something and it hasn’t made you want to rip his vocal cords from his throat.

“ha ha. aren’t you funny?”. lando rolls his eyes at your response before he stirs the pot.

“well i’ll leave you two to it. there’s too much tension here and it’s making the room a little stuffy.” he bounces out the garage, eager to catch up with his engineers.

you don’t know why but lando’s comment made the heat rush to your face. you hope oscar doesn’t notice. he probably does though. you are stuck on what to say and you don’t like just standing there staring at him because the more you look at him the more you like what you see, so you scramble your brain for something to say.

“thanks for telling logan to tell me about not driving this weekend.” is all you can come up with.

you can feel oscar’s confusion. “you’re welcome? is this your way of repaying me? by watching quali in my garage?” he asks. half joking.

“what no?” oscar laughs at your defensive tone.

“why are you here then?” he questions you. this then confuses you.

“logan said you wanted me to stay and watch?”.

oscar’s head dips down, eyes avoiding yours and hints of what you think is a faint blush on his cheeks.

“you didn’t want me to stay and watch?” you ask, feeling a little bold with your questions.

oscar is quick to correct you. “no i did. i said that to logan.”

“why did you even want me to stay? i thought you hated me?” you ask again, not getting tired of asking him all these questions. plus the blush made him look cute. cute for an ugly guy, you correct your own thoughts. the words that free you from spiralling confuse you more.

“i don’t hate you.”

what? he most certainly did hate you. you had year upon years of proof. possibly maybe even a decade worth of mean comments and dirty looks. what was he talking about?

your mouth opens and closes a few times as you try to find your words. “you.. you don’t hate me?”

oscar’s head is quick to shake.

“but what about all those times we argued? and all those horrible things you said to me?” you remind him. oscar acting like none of that ever happened was baffling you.

“don’t you remember how every single one of those arguments started?” he asks. it’s your turn to shake your head.

“i would always come over after races to talk to logan and of course you were there. i would go to ask logan about the race and you would interrupt me by saying something about ‘there being no need to rub my talent in his face’ or if logan had done better than me you would always say ‘he doesn’t talk to people who only want him when he’s a winner’. even if all i wanted was to let my frustrations out with my friend. you were mean too.” you’re stunned to silence.

you didn’t think anything you said to oscar was that mean. or even worth remembering. it wasn’t in your case, that’s how you can’t even remember saying any of it.

“oh” is all you can say.

“yeah, oh. even though you were horrible i still wanted to talk to you.” oscar admits, head held high, even though can see the way the confidence on his eyes falters a little.

you feel a wave of embarrassment wash over you at your actions. how could you ever hate someone who, even though they were being treated like shit, wanted to be friends to support their other friend?

“i’m sorry. that was so horrible of me. i honestly don’t know what else to say. i’m horrible.” you tell him. you wear your regret all over your face, clearly visible to oscar.

“you’re not.” oscar takes a step forward and hesitates for a second before he places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “you were just trying to protect you’re friend. you’re a good person. the only reason i wanted to keep talking to you was because i wanted you to defend me like that.”

the realisation hits you, you’re face softening even more. oscar liked you. maybe even still likes you.

“oh.”

oscar smiles a little. he’s spent years hearing every little detail about you from logan he feels like he knows you just as well as the american does.

“i’ve got to do some media stuff but why don’t we grab dinner or something afterwards?” oscar offers, you nod instantly, eager to know the boy as well as logan does.

“okay, yeah that sounds good.” you smile at the boy for maybe the first time ever.

oscar smiles back.

you hated being wrong but you didn’t mind being wrong about how nice oscar was.

[justaticklishdeer]

A Rather Eventful Night

This is a tickle fic!! Ler!Vox, Lee!Alastor (Radiostatic theme !!)

TW/CW: intense in places, a little sadomasochism stuff, lots and lots of teasing, bit fluffy

Word Count: 3,300

A certain deer sat down on the couch. He began to read a book– murder and cannibalism was prone in it. He flicks through the pages quietly, humming softly to himself. Alastor was in comfortable night clothing– much different than his professional radio host clothes. As he flicked through the book, he felt a weight on the couch. His ears flicked as he glanced over at the TV Overlord sitting there. 

‘Whatcha reading there, sweetie?’

‘Nothing much. Just my usual style,’ Alastor hums, flipping the page. Vox hums softly, placing a hand on Alastor’s stomach innocently. He then pulls Alastor into his lap without warning, earning a soft squeak of surprise from the deer. 

‘Shh, little buck. I’m just cuddling ya.’

Alastor settles back down, and could hear Vox chuckle in amusement at the book he was reading. ‘What? You know my style.’ Alastor flips the page again, humming some soft jazz melody to himself as he reads the book. Vox quietly reads along with him, occasionally making noises of amusement or curiosity at certain parts. 

‘Hannibal Lecter, hm?’ Vox asks, knowing how Alastor was. The cannibalistic, psychotic, chaotic, beautiful deer demon he was. Insanely ripping victims apart on a live broadcast (Vox had to admit, he’d tuned in a few times). Seeing Alastor eat victims, that feral look behind those eyes of his. How insane he looked. Never truly a ‘tame’ thought in that head of his. Vox snapped himself out of his thoughts as Alastor hummed again.

‘Vox, what in heaven’s sake are you zoned out about? Unless you mean this wonderful scene here,’ Alastor chirps in an almost sassy tone, purposely teasing about the book, ‘You love how insane I am. You’re obsessed. Both of us know it, you just refuse to admit it! Haha, I’m everything to you! Years of you practically stalking me, and well, look where that got us!’ He broke into a fit of maniacal laughter. All on his own. Vox watched with a concerned, yet strangely fond and affectionate look.

‘Alright, alright, hush..calm down,’ Vox whispers, rubbing those adorable deer ears to bring Alastor out of the laughing fit. Alastor lets out a happy sigh. After a moment, he settled back into his book, getting very focused. He was very quiet throughout his reading, apart from a few hums of amusement or surprise. Vox wasn’t at all concerned about the whole thing– he knew how insane Alastor is and could get. He heard Alastor giggle maniacally. Vox noticed how Alastor was positioned– in an oddly vulnerable way. He wasn't sure if this was on purpose, so he didn't bring it up. 

Alastor continued to read, his ears flicking gently in a rather pleased state. His book had completely engrossed him in the cannibal descriptions and the style in which it was written. Vox just gazed fondly as Alastor read his book. ‘Vox, you’re staring.’ ‘I am aware.’ The TV grinned, hands going to Alastor’s sides. It got little to no reaction except for a light flinch. He slowly traces shapes on his sides. Gentle. Teasing. Barely grazing over spots. 

“V-Vox.” Alastor shifts, blinking, eyes wide. He tries to focus on his book, he really tries. But the sensations… Alastor whined softly, squirming in Vox’s lap. He felt the blue-tipped claws grip firmer and scribble on his sides a bit more. 

“Hush, pretty boy.” 

“V-Vox. S-Stahap–oho god..” He leans against Vox, his hands trembling. Alastor still had his book open, but couldn’t focus. 

“Words.”

“Can you tickle me?” he asks, shameless. The deer’s body arched back slightly, and Vox turned him around to face him. “Good boy,” Vox hums softly, hands still on Alastor’s sides. The look returned from the deer was a mix of a lot of different emotions. Anticipation, giddiness, defiance..? 

“So, one thing,” Vox hums, pausing the tickles, getting a desperate whine from the demon, “Eye contact. Tickles keep going as long as you can keep those pretty eyes on me. Got it?” 

A helpless nod was his answer. ‘Good little tickle fawn,’ Vox growls, almost possessive. Alastor flicked his eyes up to Vox’s, almost immediately flustering himself doing so. Vox’s claws slowly trailed up his sides, earning a flustered, choked giggle from the deer beneath him. Alastor’s body jerked away from the sensations. ‘Do I need to tie those hands above your head?’ Vox asks, grinning as he gets close to Alastor’s ribs. 

‘You mihihight!’ Alastor giggles, a challenging look behind those eyes of his. Vox hums and grabs a restraint, tying his hands together by the wrists before tying his hands above his head, effectively keeping him in place. Alastor squirms. Slight. Helpless. He managed to keep eye contact, though. 

Vox’s fingers drag over his sides, featherlight touches that had Alastor jumping with every spot grazed over. ‘Mmm! Mhmhmhm!’ Alastor giggles out, back arching as he holds eye contact. Vox’s claws found a spot right below his ribcage and that’s where Alastor took a sharp breath in. “Tickle tickle tickle,~” Vox purred close to Alastor’s ear, and the Radio Demon’s body shivered. Hard. 

‘Oh, does my tickle baby like that?’ Vox asked teasingly, one hand going to the necklace collar he had put on Alastor before this whole thing started. Alastor gasps with surprise as he nods shyly. His back arches as Vox scratches along his ribs. Slow. Teasing. Gently, and not so gently, digging in between the ribs. Alastor’s back arched as he let out a choked whine. 

‘Good boy. Such a good boy.”

“Vahahox..oho god,” he let out multiple whimpers as Vox’s claws trail down to his stomach. He felt the claw circle around his navel, teasingly scritching right above it. Alastor’s body shuddered hard as he let out a bleat of ticklish pleasure. ‘Mmm! Mhmhmhm! Juhust like tha–ahat!~’ his back arched again, his smile genuine. Happy. Blissed out. Tail wagging, ears flicking. 

He breaks eye contact and Vox’s hands come off of him. Alastor let out a whine. “Pl-plehease..”

“You know the rule..Eye contact.”

“V–Vox. Vox. Th-thihis shouldn’t–” Alastor starts. Vox cuts him off, chuckling, ‘But it does. And you love it. Otherwise I believe you would have safeworded to me by now?’ A whiny giggle and nod was the response. Alastor’s eyes slowly flick back up to his, and Alastor was rewarded with the claws returning to his tummy. He gasps and giggles happily, deer tail wagging. All delighted that he was getting the attention he wanted. 

Vox’s claws scribble up his sides, lingering below his ribcage for a few seconds just to see and hear the reactions. Alastor started to squirm, trying to arch away from the persistent scribbling at that spot. He whines out, ‘Vhahaohox, anywhehere else wohould be great!’ 

‘Hmm, no..I believe I can linger here a little while longer, don't you think?’ 

Alastor whimpers and tugs at the restraints Vox had him held in. ‘Plehease–plehease! Plehehease–Vohox it’s bad–it’s bahad!’ Alastor started to tug harder as Vox’s claws persisted, one side going slow and easy, the other doing quick scribbles. Alastor arches away from the touches, unsuccessfully. He whines out, ‘Plhehease! Pleasepleaseplease–’ 

‘Please what? Please…tickle tickle tickle you? Right here? Up on these ribs?’ Vox coos, scribbling up to his ribs, massaging lightly to feel for his ribs. Alastor arched away, maintaining eye contact by sheer willpower. He was attempting to show he was the one in control here, although Vox was proving otherwise. The Radio Demon tries to thrash away from it, but the restraints and Vox’s hands held him in place. The TV Overlord began to teasingly crawl up to his underarms, making Alastor’s breaths get frantic. ‘Vox–Voxvoxvox I-I knohohow whahahat you’re thihihinking! I knhohow! Dohohn’t–hahaha-! Dohohon’t dohoho it!’

Vox ignores the pleas–he knew if Alastor really didn’t want it, the safeword would’ve been thrown out by now. He slowly crawls his claws up to scribble at Alastor’s underarms at a relentless pace. Alastor screams and arches up as far as he could go. His breathing was all frantic and messy, and his laughs were like no other. Begging, whining, whimpering, silent laughs, desperate pleas. Vox just chuckled and watched his victim break eye contact after a second more of this treatment.

His hands came off and Alastor gave him an almost offended look. ‘Why…why’d ya stop? I was handlin’ it just fine…’ 

‘You broke eye contact,’ Vox hums teasingly. His fingers swirl slowly over Alastor’s underarms as Alastor glares at him. ‘Mmhm, there you go. Good boy, such a good tickle toy for me, aren’t you? You’re such a pretty little tickle fawn..pretty boy…adorable ticklish baby…” He watched Alastor squirm at the teases. The eye contact became more profound. Vox’s claws scribble quicker, making Alastor jolt and giggle happily. His tail wagged gleefully behind him. 

His giggles soon melted into blissed out whines. Pleas to move to a different spot. Vox grins, continuing to gently–and roughly–scratch and swirl on his underarms. He loved the effect he had on the usually composed Radio Demon. The way his body reacted and jolted every time he hit a sensitive spot. All the deer could focus on was the feeling of those damned claws on his underarms. He weakly pulls at the restraints again, but not as much vigor in his movements.

‘Plehease–please! Anywhehere…ohohho…else–heheh!’

Vox’s claws scribble back down his sides, settling on the area between Alastor’s ribs and the side of his stomach. The spot wasn’t as bad, but yet still had a bit of sensitivity to it. Alastor squirmed, giggling as he kept eye contact with the TV. He could practically feel how much enjoyment Vox was getting from this–he knew how the idiot–affectionate–was wired. How his stupid little brain worked. How obsessed he was with the deer. Alastor seemed to zone out to his own thoughts, before a quick scribble to his lower stomach jolted him back into reality. 

He gasps and whines out, ‘Nohohot the tuhummy, nohot yehet!’ 

‘Aww, does the ticklish little fawn want me to go for his hooves instead? Or maybe his ears?’ Vox teased. Alastor’s body shudders at the mere suggestion. ‘Hm. That’s what I thought…such a good tickle toy..all mine to play with and make him laugh and bleat his little heart out…’ Vox went to try to teasingly boop Alastor’s nose, only to get a playfully aggressive snap of the teeth towards him. ‘Oh, so you’re gonna be a biter, then? Well, we can fix that..’ 

With a playful scrunch of his fingers, he begins to relentlessly scribble and spider over Alastor’s tummy, making sure to get under his deer fur which ultimately heightened the sensations by a lot. Alastor’s thrashing became more desperate, and his eye contact broke almost instantly as soon as the claws got to his deer fur. 

Vox’s fingers come off of him yet again, giving him a sensation equivalent to a numbed person. He felt these odd tingles still running through his nerves. Alastor squirmed, trying to understand the sensations. His ears flicked around, as if looking for a radio signal. Vox chuckles, watching his little buck squirm and try to wriggle so his fingers would be back on the precious little belly. 

‘V-Vox–’

‘Ah, ah, ah. You know the rule we both agreed on. Don’t you, sweetheart?’ he croons near Alastor’s ear, making the affected ear flick and flatten, trying to escape the verbal ‘assault.’ Vox chuckles, sitting back on Alastor’s thighs while he waits all too patiently for Alastor’s eyes to meet his once more. He casually checks his claws, making small sparks come from his claws as he chuckles. 

‘You know, sweetie..I have an idea.’

‘Wh-what is it?’ Alastor asks, almost scared, a flicker of fear crossing his features. 

‘Do you have honey?” Vox asks, the question almost..innocent. He had this smug look on his face, with a glint of near malice in his eyes. Alastor’s eyes widen before he blinks, confused. ‘Honey?’ Vox nods, a finger slowly swirling into Alastor’s navel, drawing out a loud fawn-like bleat which he quickly covered up with an embarrassed cough. 

‘I-I–mmmMMm!~ y-yehes–? I do–its-its, heh, in-in…oho..thehe…’ he trails off, radio filter dropping as he blisses out from the navel teases. He bucks his hips a little, high pitched giggle whines flowing out. 

“The kitchen?” Vox finishes his sentence. A shaky, breathy nod from Alastor. ‘Okay, I’ll be right back. You just–’ Vox pauses, remembering he had Alastor tied there, ‘--uh, just..chill there. For a minute, okay?’ Alastor whines and nods, wriggling slightly as the tickles stop. 

Vox stands up, scritching at his deer ear a little before standing up. He makes his way to the kitchen, which is the next room over. He looks through cupboards, not all too phased by the meat cleavers and skinning tools–it was Alastor, for Lucifer’s sake. He rummages through spices and sauces, skimming over labels, jars, containers, and other similar things. He found the jar of honey with a satisfied hum, grabbing it and closing the cupboard door. He grabs a spoon with a soft chuckle. He walks back to where Alastor was restrained on the couch, sitting down with a quiet murmur of greeting.

Alastor glances at the honey with a puzzled look. ‘What in God’s name do you plan to use that for?’ 

Vox snickers, ‘Glad you asked. I was going to use it on that pretty tummy. That is, if you’re okay with it.’ He may have been a little sadistic, but always wanted to make sure the person being tickled was perfectly okay with what he planned to do. ‘Oh, and one more thing. The eye contact thing doesn’t need to be in place since I’ll have my eyes down on your pretty little tummy,’ Vox teases. Alastor rolls his eyes in playful defiance. 

‘How bad can it be? All you’re doing is essentially messing my fur a bit up, which then requires me to bathe myself later. So yes, go ahead.’ 

Vox grins in amusement. He opens the jar of honey, using one hand to push Alastor’s shirt up further from where it had ridden up slightly. Vox takes the spoon and puts it into the honey, gently putting some on Alastor’s stomach. The deer jolts slightly at the sensation–almost cold. He shifts in the restraints, squirming a little. He wasn’t exactly sure where Vox had gotten this idea, but he wasn't going to complain. Yet. 

Vox leans down and starts to fucking lick the honey off of Alastor’s stomach. Alastor jolts and bucks, digging his hooves into the couch cushions as he tries to understand the sensations. “Wahahait! Wait! Vahahaohox-! Thahat’s bad! That’s bad!’ Vox doesn’t let up, at all. In fact, he makes his actions more teasing. Slow. His tongue licks up the sweet honey from Alastor’s fuzzy tummy, and he could feel the Overlord trembling from it all. He could barely hear Alastor’s giggles–he was pretty sure they were silent by now. He looked up and saw Alastor was just laying there taking it. 

‘Good boy, such a good boy,’ Vox says between licks, then moves to Alastor’s navel. Which instantly got a reaction. Alastor bucks and bleats loudly like a fawn as Vox’s tongue slides into his navel. Vox chuckles against Alastor's stomach, continuing to tease his navel. Alastor was trying to thrash, but Vox had his claws resting on the deer’s hips to keep him in place. ‘Fuhuhuhck! FUHUCK!’ Alastor screams with laughter, bleating loud again. 

Vox uses his claws as well, scritching around Alastor’s navel. After a minute, he started to melt into the sensations, blissing out again. ‘It huhurts–ohoho it huhurts–buhuhut good!~’ he giggles in some deranged, blissed out way. Vox continues doing it, and actually could hear Alastor crying through laughter. His masochistic side was coming out, and strong. He kept complaining how bad it hurt, but didn’t safeword. Vox decided to be less sadistic, letting up on the navel teases for now. He goes back to licking and nibbling across the stomach of the trembling radio host, loving how he tried to twist away from him out of reflex.

‘Voxvoxvoxvox–!’ Alastor started to beg through giggles as the nibbles got gentle, and hands tickled up and down the side of his tummy. He snorts and bleats when the claws reach up to scratch gently at the spot right below his ribcage. Why was that area so sensitive? Alastor didn’t really know why. ‘Such adorable noises from an adorable little ticklish fawn,’ Vox said with a fond smile. 

‘Ihi’m not a fahawn!’ he said, little giggles slipping out. He felt the television overlord nibble up his tummy, then stop a few inches below his sternum. He had completely forgotten about his complaint about honey and sticky fur, only able to focus on the tickles. Vox sat up, humming, ‘Should we try our little eye contact game again?’ He could hear a little whiny giggle from Alastor, who had his face buried in the crook of his elbow. He could tell it was a yes, otherwise Alastor would’ve spoken up about it already. ‘Eyes on me, sweetie,’ Vox coos, scritching at the side of Alastor’s neck, making him jerk and look back up at Vox.

‘Good boy.’

He reaches down to fiddle with Alastor’s tail, earning a squeal and Alastor trying to lurch himself away from Vox. Vox held a gentle but firm grip on his tail. He scratches gently to get underneath the fur, making Alastor wheeze and struggle to keep eye contact. He doesn’t let up until Alastor absolutely begs him to move to a different spot. 

He slid down to his hooves, and he could see Alastor’s eyes widen. 

Oh, deer. 

He felt Vox’s claws dig into the fluffy spot and he kicked his hooves, unable to escape from the grip of the other overlord. Vox managed to hold his hooves with one hand and torment them with the other. Alastor giggles and thrashes, trying to wriggle away. The restraints on his wrist were really the only thing keeping him bound to the couch. Vox decided to go for the kill and began to emit small shocks from his claws, horribly ticklish to the poor deer. 

Alastor’s laughs go silent and he arches his back, desperately trying to get control. 

Then, the safeword slipped.

‘Rehehehed! Rehed!’

Vox stopped instantly, his claws coming off of him. He stands up, untying Alastor. ‘Do you need water?’ Vox asked gently, and the radio demon nodded. Vox stands up, petting his ears gently before going to grab a glass of water. 

Alastor was curled up, panting and giggling still. But, he loved the events that had just played out. He sits there, exhausted and waiting for him to come back. Vox comes back a moment later with a glass of water, handing it to the trembling little buck. 

‘You did amazing for me, little buck,’ Vox said, stroking through Alastor’s hair as he drank the water. He admired the way Alastor looked, all exhausted and giggly from their session. Alastor leans onto him, content. 

‘You’re lucky I saved my page,’ he grumbled playfully. 

‘Oh, please. You would’ve found it at some point,’ the other laughs, ruffling Alastor’s hair. He smiles–genuine–and lets the television overlord pet his ears after he finished his water. 

‘Thank you for respecting..safeword,’ Alastor sighs softly, all happy. 

Vox nods, his electrical inner workings humming softly. Alastor half asleep on him, the soft hum of radio static, the moonlight flowing through the windows. It made it feel perfect. And perhaps, Alastor would feel the same way, even if not admitted aloud.

Vox continues to pet his ears, a fond, half asleep gaze on him as he watches the exhausted deer doze off. 

‘My perfect little fawn,’ he hums softly, before starting to fall asleep himself.

Perhaps Hell wasn’t so bad with Alastor around.

[jeonghunny]

— grocery list, choi seungcheol.

angst | 1.7k

inspired by

i swear somewhere this works

in a parallel universe or another world or a different life,

we sit across from each other

at the kitchen table

and go over the grocery list.

— trista mateer, the dogs i have kissed

your mind was wandering again, you’re aware, but you can’t help that all the neatly lined up colourful cereal boxes remind you so much of him — of the last moments of your happiness.

“i’m going to make it my life mission to try all the cereals in the world,” seungcheol announced as he pushed the cart down the aisle.

he stopped to pick up a box of limited edition froot loops, inspecting the back of the box before dropping it into the cart.

you stood on the other end of the aisle watching him with the fondest smile on your face. this was the exact moment you’d realised you found contentment in your little grocery shopping dates. you had thought it was silly how something that seemed so insignificant was capable of putting you in such a state of pure bliss. you remember thinking everything he did was so endearing to you and you thought this would be it. he was the one. this was the man that would be your forever. you were so sure of it.

you’re brought back to reality when your cart hits another cart that was turning the corner and the impact sends you jolting forward.

“i’m so sor—” you choke on your words when your gaze lands on the face of the man standing before you. “s-seungcheol?”

his eyes widen when he realises it’s you that’s in front of him.

“y/n?”

“hey seungcheol,” you force a smile then looks at the ground to avoid his eyes. your heart starts racing so fast you think you’re actually going to pass out at any moment.

he clears his throat, a habit of nervousness, and the sound makes you look up at him again.

“i didn’t expect to run into you here.” if you weren’t paying attention you would have missed the slight tremble in his voice.

“uhh yeah i still live in this neighbourhood actually.”

he nods with a nearly inaudible hum then there’s an awkward silence before he speaks again.

“do you maybe want to go somewhere and catch up? it’s been a while since we’ve seen each other.” he suggests hopefully.

you shouldn’t, you know you shouldn’t. but you answer before you can stop yourself. “i’d love to.”

you find yourself in the small, cozy cafe you and him used to frequent after your many grocery runs.

“the usual?” he asks as you pull one of the chairs out.

you nod and he quickly makes his way to the counter.

“calm down, calm down,” you chant to yourself quietly, taking deep breaths in between while settling into the cushioned seat of the chair.

it was easy to convince yourself you had moved on when you were alone in your dark room, but now that seungcheol was in front of you it was a different story.

seungcheol returns to the table with two mugs and places one in front of you. “two sugars right?”

your heart skips a beat at the fact that he remembers something about you, even if it was just a minor detail, and you can’t help but feel pathetic at the realisation.

you nod again, not really trusting yourself to speak, afraid that your voice might betray you.

he takes a sip from his mug. “how have you been y/n?”

“horrible, awful, absolutely miserable,” the words run through your thoughts but ultimately you decide to go with “i’ve been fine.”

he gives you a smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “i’m really glad to hear that.”

you wrap your hands around the mug, hoping the warmth will calm you down. seungcheol’s eyes drop to your hands and he reaches out to cover them with his own.

“are you cold?” his voice laced with genuine concern.

you pull your hands back and his face immediately drops.

“y/n i’m so sorry,” he starts to blabble. “i don’t know why i did that i guess it’s just a reflex and i wasn’t really thinki—”

“it’s fine cheol,” you cut him off, not realising you had used his nickname unknowingly.

but he catches it and it makes his heart ache. he’d missed it so much and he never thought he’d be able to hear that nickname from your mouth again.

“guess there’s some old habits you’ve yet to kick too.” a bitter smile makes it’s way onto his face and you feel a pang in your chest. it’s as if your heart was breaking all over again for the very first time.

the memories of your first heartbreak suddenly comes rushing back.

the night you and seungcheol decided to go your separate ways, the night he chose to give you up in favour of pursuing his career, the night where so many things would end up broken forever.

your favourite mug that was his first ever gift to you, promises that were made at 4am when he held you so impossibly close to him as the world around you grew so quiet you could literally hear his heart beating and it felt like only the two of you existed in that very moment, your dreams that also turned into his until he realised they weren’t what he wanted anymore, your heart that he swore he would hold onto so gently and carefully and the love you once shared that you thought was so powerful and nothing would ever be able to come between you — the love that you thought would have been enough to get you through everything.

he notices you’re suddenly deep in thought and he hopes you’re thinking the same things as him. but you’re not.

“y/n,” he calls out apprehensively and you snap out of your thoughts.

“hmm?” your hand clasp the mug again and your other hand rests on the table.

he exhales shakily as he prepares himself to speak.

“cheol?” you urge softly.

“y/n, i know i fucked up. really badly,” he lets out a brittle laugh at that. “but this whole time i’ve been away i’ve really been thinking.” he looks at your hand that’s still on the table and for a second he almost reaches out for it and only deciding against it when he remembers your reaction from earlier.

you stay silent, not quite sure where this conversation is heading.

seungcheol searches your eyes, hoping to find something that will give him his answer or just a slight hint even, but all he finds is sorrow. sorrow that he’d caused.

he continues, “i still love you y/n, and if you’d just give me a chance to fix this — fix us, i promise i’ll do better. i’ll never fuck it up or hurt you again.”

you feel your entire body stiffen and you tighten your fingers around the mug. an unexplainable feeling washes over you.

you don’t understand. you’d thought that you’d jump at any opportunity to get back together with the man that’s currently sitting opposite you. the very same man that consumes all the thoughts through your sleepless nights. all those nights you’d spent lying in bed awake imagining this exact scenario.

you’d thought that getting back together with seungcheol would make everything right again so why aren’t you happy right now?

worry takes over seungcheol’s entire being as you remain silent. he doesn’t want to push you but he’s impatient, a trait you used to nag at him about.

his warm hand finds your cold one carefully on the table and he looks at you with raised brows and soft, brown eyes, pleading silently and you so badly want to give in.

you want to lean into his touch, feel his arms around you, kiss his soft lips but you know you shouldn’t.

“cheol,” you breathe out, sliding your hand out from under his. “you know i love you. i always have and i always will.”

seungcheol’s heart drops because he knows where you’re going with this.

“… but?” you can hear all his regret in that one single word.

“we fell apart for a reason cheol and i don’t think i can go through another heartbreak again. especially not with you. it’s too painful cheol.” it hurts you to say this when all you want is to embrace him again.

“it’ll be different this time.” there’s a desperation in his voice that tugs at your heart but you know you can’t give in.

you will yourself to look away from him and your eyes land on the bags of groceries on the table next to you and for a second you let yourself indulge in the fantasy of being able to do something as simple as grocery shopping with seungcheol again, walking side by side down the aisle as you push the cart while looking at the grocery list you had written together in the kitchen of the tiny home you’d once shared. you’d give anything to go back to when things were that easy and to be able to do the one thing with him that brought you an indescribable amount of joy just a mere 6 months ago.

“maybe in a parallel universe, another world or a different life we’d sit across from each other at the kitchen table and go over the grocery list,” you manage to get out shakily, voice cracking slightly as tears threaten to spill from your eyes, “but not in this life cheol. it won’t be anymore. you had your chance.”

standing up in a rush, your thighs push the chair back causing the legs of the chair to scrape the floor loudly, you grab all your belongings and hastily make your way out of the cafe without looking back.

seungcheol opens the glove compartment in his car as he gets ready to drive home. his hand reaches around blindly, searching for his phone charger until he feels a piece of paper that he doesn’t remember was in there. he pulls it out, thinking it was an old receipt until he looks at it properly and recognises the handwriting — your handwriting.

it was the last grocery list you wrote together.

he scans through the entire list and he finally breaks when he sees the slightly faded words on the very bottom of the list, “i ♡ you”.

[steddietogo]

I had so much fun writing this for the @steddiesummerexchange!! @steddieasxshegoes hope you like this!

Word count: 8.9k

Read on ao3

— — — Steve finally turns to glare at Robin when one of the sunflower seeds she’s been throwing at him comes dangerously close to taking an eye out.

“Stop staring, dingus,” Robin laughs at him.

“I’m not staring,” he protests. Steve was merely glancing at the hot metal head on a leather couch at the back of the bar, nursing his drink all alone. “If you stopped paying attention to me for a second you’d have noticed the blonde making eyes at you from the bar,”

“Where?” Robin asks, whipping around embarrassingly fast.

“Rob! You don’t just–”

“Oh my god, she’s hot,”

“You’re so obvious,” He hisses back. “Go talk to her,”

“What? No way,”

“Hey, maybe you have more game in Rome–” And the next sunflower seed bounces straight off his forehead but before he could retaliate, there’s movement at the corner of his eyes.

“Shit, she’s coming over,” he says and watches the absolute panic taking over Robin’s face. “I need another drink, good luck.” He narrowly misses the kick aimed to his shin, slipping away to give them some privacy because, dear god, Steve knows he would never hear the end of it if Robin doesn’t get laid at least once during their entire trip to Italy.

The bar is cozy, decorated to look like the inside of catacombs with picture frames lining the walls and chandeliers hanging low from the ceiling. It's much better than the ones Robin brings them to, back in LA, almost entirely lit by neon signs and plays music a little too loud for his taste these days.

But here in Italy, Steve is not confined to the rigid schedule he follows to keep himself rested and alert enough for emergency situations. Steve makes his way to the counter and orders himself another drink, settling back to people watch– definitely not just to discreetly ogle the lone metal head looking entirely too bored to be sitting in a nice bar in Rome.

— — — Eddie can feel the eyes of the fluffy haired man on him from across the bar. Nothing he isn’t used to though. He might even be flattered by the attention if he wasn’t too busy feeling sorry for himself. He didn’t plan on sitting in a bar all alone, on what was supposed to be his honeymoon vacation, sans a ring on his finger. But no amount of being desired by the masses on stage has made his love life any better. No amount of admiration saved him from his cheating ex. He’s not heartbroken, just tired; that relationship was long over before the cheating even started. Rick was only ever concerned about the fame and attention he’d get throwing Eddie’s name around.

He would just be rotting away at home if it wasn’t for Chrissy refusing to let him cancel the whole trip and basically dragging him to the airport by his ear. He suspects it’s also to keep him far away from the whole press circus his ex no doubt started to stir by now. He just hopes they’d leave the boys from the band alone. He’d hate to drag them down with him.

Since landing in Rome the day before, Eddie had slept, ate, slept again and landed in a bar for a drink or two, trying to feel some semblance of normal again. Maybe Chrissy thought the Italian sun would magically reset Eddie to the optimistic idiot he once used to be, but he owed it to her to try at least. From where he’s sitting, two weeks felt like it’s an eternity away.

Eddie watches as the man leaves his seat and walks over to the bar by himself. He likes the way his button up stretches over his shoulders. He’s conventionally attractive in the boy next door kinda way. Pretty, even. Eddie hasn’t slept with a stranger since the beginning of his career when he’d gotten caught by paps doing the walk of shame back to his place. Since then he’d been a lot more careful with everyone he’s been associating with.

This one is cute though and Eddie may be tempted to break a few of his own rules. There is something about being alone and depressed in Italy that makes him want to throw caution to the wind and just do something impulsive. He’s feeling a little too restless and itching for some human connection. Very tempted to buy the cute guy a drink and see if he would follow him back to his stupid big honeymoon suite.

Besides, wasn’t that what Chrissy wanted for him? To forget Rick and to enjoy himself? She’d also say that it's not healthy to throw himself at the first pretty thing so soon after a breakup, but whatever, she’s not here with him.

Eddie feels, more than sees, as the stranger’s gaze lands on him one more time. The blonde that he came in with looks cozy sharing a couch with another woman, so no harm no foul, Eddie decides. He sweeps up his jacket and makes his way to the bar.

“Hi,” Eddie says. The cute guy startles at his sudden appearance by his side but his grin is nearly blinding. “I’m Eddie,”

“Hey,” he replies. “Steve,”

Steve, he learns, is on vacation with his best friend. After speaking to him for a bit, Eddie is about 70 percent sure Steve has no idea who he is. Just the way he prefers. He buys Steve a drink and they flirt a bit. Eddie likes the way Steve’s eyes crinkle when he smiles and how he constantly runs his fingers through his hair like Eddie makes him nervous. Unfortunately, before he can make a move, their little party is crashed by Steve’s companion. Eddie can’t help but feel a tiny bit annoyed.

“Oh my god, I need a drink,” The woman comes barreling between them.

“You okay there buddy?” Steve asks her and she grabs him by the shoulders and shakes.

“Oh shit, sorry, did I interrupt?” She asks, finally noticing his presence, funnily enough.

“Don’t worry about it,” he waves her off.

“I’m Robin,” She stuck her hand out.

“Hi Robin, you have lipstick on your face,” Her eyes widen and she scrambles to fix herself using the reflection in the mirror behind the bar, frowning when she finds nothing on her face.

“No I don’t,”

“Made you look,” Eddie grins.

She narrows her eyes at him. “You’re good,”

— — —

They get another round of drinks, Steve buys this time, and they move to a bigger table. Robin sticks to them like a cock blocking barnacle but after a while later, Eddie doesn’t mind anymore. She’s weird and funny in a refreshing way he doesn’t get to see everyday. Plus, Steve looks more at ease when she is by his side.

“So, Eddie,” Says Robin, “What brings you to Rome?”

“Well, you can’t call it a honeymoon if you don’t marry your cheating fiance, so,” Eddie shrugs, watching the slight alarm on both of their faces. “Guess its a solo trip now,”

“That sucks, man,” says Steve.

“It's whatever,” he shrugs.

“You know what? Fuck that motherfucker,” Robin says, wine sloshing dangerously close to the rim. “You’re gonna have the best solo honeymoon ever and he’s gonna be soooo jealous of you!” Robin is kind of a light weight, but it's nice to see someone else enraged on his behalf.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “Fuck him,” And then he buys a round of shots. This isn’t the way he saw his evening going when he approached Steve, but Eddie isn’t complaining.

“This is so stupid, we’re gonna regret this in the morning,” Steve giggles, slumped so far down his seat only his face is visible above the table.

“Shit! I forgot!” Robin exclaims.

Eddie frowns. “What’s happening in the morning?”

“We’re going to Tuscany!” Steve says and Robin gasps suddenly, repeatedly slapping Steve on the arm, her eyes wide as dinner plates as she looks at Eddie.

“You should come with us!” She exclaims. “There’s enough room in the air bnb i'm sure, you can bunk with Steve,”

“Come with you to Tuscany?” Eddie asks, puzzled.

“Or Steve can just take the couch,”

“Hey!” Steve protests. “But yeah, it’ll be fun,” he says, turning his big hazel eyes back to Eddie looking so hopeful and expectant; and maybe a little too gone on the alcohol too.

So, really, you can’t blame Eddie for saying yes to a half baked plan that probably wasn’t even going to happen. He’s drunk and a pretty boy is asking him to follow him across Italy. Most likely, the two are going to wake up the next morning with no recollection of the night, or they're probably not even going to make it to their train anyways.

So Eddie says, “Fuck it. Let's do this!”

— — —

Turns out, a drunk Robin is no less a planner than a sober one. Eddie is woken up with his phone incessantly ringing at 10 am on the dot, his presence being demanded at breakfast. At least he feels a little bit better after seeing the other two looking as bad as he feels. Robin is wearing two sunglasses stacked on top of one another.

Packing is no hassle, thankfully, as Eddie never bothered to unpack in the first place. Being hungover for more than an hour on a train isn’t really fun. He eyes Steve and Robin happily curled up and dosing away at their seats as he spends the better half of the train ride to Florence trying not to yak up the cup of coffee and pastry he had choked down at breakfast. Wanye would have laughed and told him he has been spoiled by all the soft mattresses in his fancy hotel rooms. And he wouldn’t be wrong.

They spend twenty minutes ambling around the city, looking for a specific hole in the wall Steve was determined to visit, then fall face first into plates of pasta in ravenous hunger. It's chaotic, better than being holed up in his room with nothing to do. Eddie might even admit it was fun if you ask him tomorrow.

Once their plates are just short of licked clean, robin rummages through her cross body bag and pulls out a paper map, unfolding it into a cartoonishly large piece of paper. “Do you not have GPS in your phone?” Eddie asks, eyeing the map.

“You’re in a foreign country, Eddie, what if you lost your network? Do you want to die?” Steve says in a scarily accurate impression of Robin, then gets a bony elbow to the ribs.

Robin clears her throat dramatically, points at a part of the map and says, “We’re here right now,” Here, Eddie assumes, is Florence in the map since the lettering was so small and crowded together it was almost impossible to read. “And we’ll be taking a cab to an airbnb here, about thirty minutes away. It's like a big ass villa we’ll be sharing with a few other people and there’s like a big ass pool there too, so we can chill out over there. Then at seven, we have a wine tasting-slash-dinner at a vineyard.”

“Oooh we’re getting drunk again?” Eddie asks.

Robin enthusiastically replies, “Yup! We’re on vacation, baby!”

— — —

The villa is gorgeous. It’s up on a hill overlooking rows and rows of vineyards and trees and has a huge breakfast nook, living room and outdoor dining place and his first thought after stepping into the place was damn, Chrissy is going to be so jealous. The host is a friendly middle aged man with an accent so strong only Robin could mostly understand what he was saying.

The pool is a nice idea too. After their initial tour of the property, they change into pool-side appropriate wear and make their way downstairs. Eddie tosses his hair up and sinks into the water, letting his fingers prune in one corner with his shades on, watching Steve and Robin splashing about like a couple of toddlers. He doesn’t understand where those two get their unchecked energy reserve from, Eddie is so close to dozing away.

He turns to the woman a couple feet away trying and failing to read her book in the ruckus the two are making. “I don’t know them,” he says, though she probably saw them arrive at the pool together. She gives him a polite smile and goes back to trying to read.

The vineyard they go to for dinner is a walkable distance away, or so Steve says, and then it takes them half an hour to walk there. Which both him and Robin complain about, a lot. There’s a small group taking a short tour with them walking around in the vineyard, taking a few pictures. He sends some to Wayne and gets a thumbs up emoji back, which was the equivalent of a heartfelt hug from him in text.

Dinner is good, the food and the company. They are given tiny wine glasses and get refills as often as they want. Everyone takes full advantage of it. He even makes polite conversation with a few of the others in the groups. Steve looks especially pretty in the firelight with a rosy tint to his cheeks.

Eddie feels relaxed and so much lighter than he had in months when they stumble back to the villa, swaying and leaning against each other, giggling about stupid things. “I’ll see y'all bitches in the morning,” Robin bids them goodnight and Eddie and Steve crash into a pile on top of the two seater couch in their room.

“Hey,” Steve whispers. “I really don’t mind taking the couch you know,”

“What? No way, Steve. I don’t mind sharing, I can keep my hands to myself, you know,”

Steve snorts, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like ‘if only’.

“What was that,” Eddie asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh, nothing,”

Eddie absentmindedly draws patterns over a knee thrown over his lap, the heat of his skin like a furnace under his palm. He can’t look away from wine stained lips and flushed cheeks as Steve smiles softly at him, inviting. His hazel eyes drop to his lips then back up again.

Eddie didn’t realize how close they are, their noses nearly brushing– Steve almost fully on top of his lap– it would be so easy to kiss him. He just has to tip his head up to press their lips together, so he does it.

Steve’s mouth feels as warm and inviting as it looks. Eddie lets him press his tongue between his lips, big hands cupping the back of his head keeping him there. Eddie takes it as permission to get a little more handsy, slipping his hands under Steve’s shirt.

Eddie feels himself melting into the cushions as Steve tilts his head into the kiss. He pulls back and Eddie has to stop himself before he does something pathetic like whine, or maybe chase after his mouth. “You wanna move this to the bed,” Steve asks, sounding as breathless as Eddie felt.

“Yeah, sweetheart,”

— — —

Eddie wakes up fully nude under the covers feeling warm and satiated. He listens to the birds chirping outside the window and the soft snores from the man stretched out beside him. He flips to his side, watching Steve sleeping on his stomach, his ribs expand and contract with each breath he takes. His back is littered with moles and freckles and Eddie with his sleepy brain wonders how long it would take to trace every one of them. Some of them disappear under the scar tissue twisting over the side of his torso, starting at his hip and spreading almost all the way to just under his rib cage. He leans in, lightly brushing his fingers just over the shiny, raised skin.

"It’s from a fire a few years ago," Steve says, slowly blinking sleep out of his eyes. And at Eddie's raised eyebrows, he elaborates, "I'm a firefighter. Robin too.”

“Shit,” Eddie replies, suddenly feeling more awake. “You just got like ten times hotter,” Steve snorts. “You have to wear a uniform right? Do you have any pictures?”

“What am I? Just a piece of ass to you?”

“A very hot piece of ass,” Eddie says, pulling himself up on top of Steve. “Don’t sell yourself short, Stevie” And he leans down to kiss him, morning breath and all. They get distracted for long enough that Robin comes thumping on their door to get them out of bed.

— — —

Breakfast is once again a steaming cup of coffee, fruits, and a fresh croissant. Eddie has had more fresh fruits in the past two days than the entire year combined. He was also having a very nice time happily appearing in public without fear of camera flashes or crazed fans. Feeling the sun on his skin, living his best life, as the kids would say. Eddie was wearing one of Steve’s shirts open over a band tee and canvas shorts. His usual wardrobe, consisting mostly of ripped jeans and leather jackets, wasn't the most comfortable in the sun.

There are only two other couples in the outdoor dining area of the airbnb. A pair of retirees and the other two possibly honeymooners by the way they were all over each other. Eddie briefly considers how if he hadn’t been with them, Steve and Robin would’ve also looked like a heterosexual couple, not codependent platonic soulmates having a vacation together. The thought makes him huff a laugh into his coffee. Steve raises his eyebrows at him in question from his seat beside him, and he just shakes his head.

Robin drops the folded paper map on the table once she’s done studying, steals a sip from Steve cup, then winces. “That's the one toxic dude bro trait you have,” she says, glaring at the offending cup of black coffee with no cream or sweetener in it. Eddie has to nod his head in agreement. Even Eddie doesn’t drink his coffee black.

“What? It's not that bad,” Steve tries to reason.

“It’s actually really horrible, you just don’t have taste buds anymore because you burnt them off, apparently.” Eddie chimes in.

“Nuh-uh, you aren’t allowed to team up like that, no way,” Steve protests. Robin sneaks a sip from Eddie’s cup.

“Holy shit, there is no coffee in this, it's just milk and sugar!”

“No, its not,”

“Yes, it is!”

“Okay, calm down, children. Robin, weren’t you just gonna tell us the plan for today?” Steve interrupts.

“Fine,” Robin huffs. “First we make a ten minute walk from here to the rental place for the Vespas, then were going to go to Pisa, then Siena, then San Gimignano if we have the time,”

“We’re renting Vespas? That’s the most touristy shit I’ve ever heard,” Eddie says.

“Eddie, we are tourists,”

“But like, couldn’t we just rent a cab or something?”

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”

“I don’t have a motorcycle license,”

“That’s fine, you don’t need it,” Steve chimes in, “It's just like riding a bike,”

Eddie grumbles under his breath, stuffing another piece of bread in his mouth. Steve exchanges a look with Robin.

“Eddie,”

“Hmrph?”

“You know how to ride a bicycle, right?”

“I- I just never learned to, okay?” Robin snorts.

“That's okay, you can ride with me,” Steve smiles, nudging him.

Later on Eddie sends a video to Chrissy of the sprawling vineyards and him on the back of a ridiculous red Vespa and matching helmet, clinging tight to Steve as they sped down a cobblestone road.

— — —

Pisa is nice. There is a lot more climbing involved than Eddie had expected, and is grossly underprepared for it. The view from the top of the leaning tower is cool. Cool enough to climb up and down multiple narrow stairs? Eddie isn’t sure. Steve and Robin barely break a sweat beside Eddie who is fighting for his life– maybe he should listen to Chrissy and cut down on the cigarettes– the damn firefighter stamina.

They take many dorky touristy pictures of them trying to hold up the leaning tower which he knows would make Chrissy laugh. Eddie does his best to occasionally answer the barrage of questions thrown his way after Chrissy sees his messages. She’s mostly just happy that Eddie’s having fun and isn’t alone. She also has a few questions about the sandy blonde hair woman in the pictures with him.

Before they set off to Siena, Steve pulls out a bottle of sunscreen and insists everyone reapply– then acts all affronted when Eddie says he wasn’t wearing any to begin with. His ass feels just about flattened after the almost two hour ride to Siena. They have lunch at another nice spot, walk around taking a million pictures of the Duomo, and climb more stairs to Eddie’s dismay, which Robin finds hilarious.

— — —

“So,” Robin says, “Eddie.” Steve groans. “That bad huh?”

Robin and Steve are sitting in the shade of a nice big tree in a park, Eddie having gone to hunt down food and water for them. His spirits are still high for someone who looked so close to passing out at the top of the leaning tower.

“He’s only the hottest, funniest dude I’ve met in like years probably, no big deal,” Steve throws an arm over his eyes. “Face it, Robs, I’m just cursed to never find love.” Robin rolls her eyes at his dramatics.

“Just ask for his number, dingus,” She says, like it's obvious.

Steve sits up. “I can’t, it’s probably like, just a fun vacation fling for him. And–” He continues before Robin can interrupt. “He just got out of a serious relationship, I can’t ask now, it's too soon,”

“It does even have to be like, ‘I wanna date you please give me your number’, It can be like, ‘we should keep in touch, let's exchange numbers’,” Steve makes a face in response.

Thankfully before Robin can attempt to change his mind further, Eddie comes trudging across the park towards them. “M’lady, M’lord,” he offers the paper bag of pastries to them, on one knee.

“M’dork,” Robin replies and Eddie throws himself backwards on the ground, pretending to get shot.

“Why do you wound me so, fair maiden,” He wails rolling around in the grass, making her snort and Steve complains about getting grass stains on his shirt.

— — —

Eddie almost falls to his knees and begs for mercy when he’s rudely awaken at 5 fucking am and Robin tells him that they will be spending yet another four hours on a train to Rapallo to yet another airbnb. He tells her that she and Steve are single handedly funding the entire organization. Robin tells him to shut up and drink his milk.

“There isn’t much walking,” Steve promises him as he coaxes Eddie from bed. “We’ll just swim in the ocean, drink and relax.” After breakfast they make their way to the train station. Thankfully, this time Eddie manages to pass out for a good amount of time during the train ride only waking to blearily change trains.

He’s well rested by the time they make it to their airbnb. They get ready for a beach day, then it's Vespa 2 electric boogaloo as they rent a couple for the day to get to the beach and back. Eddie shouts “Liar!” from the back seat when Steve tells him the beach is twenty minutes away. Steve argues, technically he wasn’t lying since they aren’t walking.

The beach, unfortunately for Eddie, is a lot more packed than he had expected. It puts him on edge, makes him feel like he might get recognised. He hadn’t realized how Steve’s shirt felt like armor the day before. No one was expecting Eddie Munson to be wearing a striped button up and canvas shorts. But having his tattoos out in the open feels like he was asking to be caught. So he swipes Robin’s orange cover up with little pom poms on the hem the second she discards it and tucks his hair under a sunhat.

The wonder twins are busy in the middle of a sandcastle building competition– which they asked Eddie to be the judge of– like little kids. He sits back and watches people with their friends and family, the two dorks in front of him fighting for sand at the same place like there isn’t sand anywhere else on the beach. He spots boats docked on the other side of the beach and gets an idea.

“Hey guys, I’ll be right back,”

— — —

Steve lays on his beach towel, eyes closed and listening to music on his headphones. Robin was off fucking around in the water with another cute woman she struck up a conversation with.

Eddie rushed off saying he was going to get them something to drink but Steve gets the impression that it's just because he wasn’t one for crowded places, though he didn’t seem too uncomfortable yesterday when they were going around Tuscany. He seemed to shrink into himself when they reached the beach, looking vaguely nauseous when he was sitting under the umbrella all covered up.

He wonders if he should go look for him and make sure he is doing okay, he’s taking a little too long for Steve’s comfort. Or maybe the queue is just really that long since the beach is crowded and Steve is being an overbearing mother hen like Robin sometimes reminds him that he has a tendency for.

Steve starts to slowly doze listening to the chattering all around him and the sound of the waves in the background of his playlist when he feels a shadow descend over him. He opens his eyes to find Eddie standing over him, still in Robin cover up– sans drinks– looking a little too pleased with himself. “Pack your bags,” he tells Steve. “And get Robin,”

Steve scrunches up his face in confusion. “Pack up? We just got here,” Steve yanks on Eddie’s hand and catches him on his lap when he goes down yelping, the sun hat knocked off his head.

“We have much better places to be Stevie, believe me,” he says cryptically, throwing his arms around him.

“You’re not making any sense, dude,”

“I rented us a boat,” Eddie says, grinning.

“A what?”

“A boat. You know? Those things floating over there in the ocean?” he points like he’s explaining to a child seeing a boat for the first time. Dick, Steve thinks fondly.

“When did you do that?”

“Like five minutes ago,” Steve wants to wipe the stupid grin off his stupid face so he leans in and kisses him. It doesn’t really work, Eddie’s still high on his new boat procurement adventure. He tugs in Steve’s hair, pulling him back.

“Come on, we’re losing daylight,” he insists.

“It's not even noon yet,”

— — —

Robin seems very excited by this new development, basically bouncing all the way to where Eddie leads them to a big boat. She brings along her new friend from the beach with them, a curly haired Spanish brunette– Go Robin, Steve thinks– though the boat Eddie had picked had a capacity for more than just four people.

The captain is a funny middle aged guy who’s happy to let them play music as loud as they want. He shows them around the coast and then stops further into the ocean where there are other boats and yachts some distance from them. Steve, Robin and her new companion waste no time jumping into the ocean and Eddie finally looks relaxed.

A little while later, Steve clambers back into the boat in his swimming trunks, sea water dripping from his hair. His shoulders are already turning a deeper shade of tan. He joins Eddie lounging under the sun, laying his dripping head on his shoulder. Eddie traces a finger through the droplets doting his arm.

"Enjoying yourself?" Eddie asks and Steve hums happily.

"Kinda feel like I'm seventeen again," He says.

"Oh? You were galavanting around Italy in high school, Stevie?” Eddie grins at him, teasing.

"Mhm. Summer after junior year, I got brutally dumped,” He explains. “Kinda deserved it though, I was a little bitch in high school," Then there’s a glint in Eddie's eyes like he’s imagining Steve in a preppy outfit and the ridiculous way he used to style his hair.

"My parents brought me along for their trip and their friends has a gay son, though I don’t think they knew he was gay or they wouldn’t have let me hang out with him otherwise," Steve thinks of Andrew sometimes and all the awkward fumbling they had done when they would sneak into each other’s rooms at night– something Robin calls his ‘Bi-awakening’. “So yeah, I left for the vacation straight and came back bi,”

"That is so trust fund baby core, holy shit," Eddie says, and Steve snorts.

"Was a trust fund baby. Past tense," He clarifies.

"Hm, what happened then?"

"I mean, I already knew my parents were homophobes but hey, at least they waited till I finished high school to kick me out,” He shrugs, feeling embarrassed the second he finishes spewing his whole story.

“I’m sorry your parents suck,” Eddie throws his arms around Steve and squeezes him until he laughs. Steve has always been an oversharer, a trait that had put off a lot of his past partners, unfortunately. Eddie is a good listener. He doesn’t seem too bummed out by his little trip down memory lane. But then, when did Steve start thinking of Eddie along the same line as the people from his past relationships?

“Whatever. They were really just cramping my style,”

“Yeah, I bet you looked real bad in those starched shirts and designer suits,” Eddie says, sounding like he really doesn’t mean it.

"Come get in the water with me," Steve says and Eddie whines in protest. "What? You don't know how to swim too?"

"I know how to swim!" He exclaims a bit too defensively. "I just don't want to get my hair wet," he pouts.

"You don't have to get your hair wet," He pulls Eddie up, "I’ll protect your hair, come on,"

Steve dives in first, watching Eddie carefully lower himself into the water just enough to keep his head above. "See? All good,"

He wraps his arms around Steve's shoulders, pulling him in for a salty kiss.

"CANNONBALL!"

"Rob, wait!" It was too late. Robin crashed into the water, way too close to them, sending a huge splash into the two, drenching them to the tip of their heads.

"Noooo," Eddie moans, looking like a drowned rat with his bangs plastered to his forehead. Robin's maniacal cackling reaches them as she surfaces. "She's so mean to me," he whines, hiding his face in Steve's neck.

"Aww poor baby," Steve coos, trying to hold back his laughter. "I'll help you wash your hair later, okay?"

"Promise?"

"Promise,"

— — —

Steve does help wash Eddie’s hair, though showering together ends up wasting more water than they were supposed to be saving on accounts of wandering hands. When they step out of the bathroom clean and loose limbed, Robin is on the couch with the TV on full volume, takes one look at their faces and says “Yuck,”

Eddie points at her and says, “Homophobe,”

They decide to order in for the night. Robin hooks up her (Steve’s actually) Netflix account to the TV and they argue on which movie to watch until their dinner arrives, then pass out in a puppy pile twenty minutes into the movie.

— — —

Thankfully, their train to Milan the next day is at a much more reasonable timing. Eddie still whines about having to move again. They make it by mid day and explore the city some more until it's time for dinner.

Eddie feels a pang when he thinks that he’d be saying goodbye to the two in less than a day. Which is dramatic, even for him. He’d barely known them for a week, yet he feels himself clinging to Steve harder and starting arguments just to annoy Robin more often.

When they go to bed, he falls asleep with Steve curled over his back and their fingers intertwined.

— — —

In the morning, Steve joins him on the couch in the balcony where Eddie is people watching through the railing with a cup of coffee. Steve and Robin are leaving soon to catch their flight back home and Eddie’s all packed up to get back to his luxury honeymoon suite in Rome, all alone. The prospect of another week alone in a foreign country feels more daunting than it had been in the beginning of his trip.

Eddie feels like the end of the week snuck up on him. He didn’t expect to like being in Italy so much, though he suspects that has more to do with the company than the country itself. Steve sits so close to him that he’s almost fully leaning on Eddie's shoulder, he’s going to miss his weight and his warmth, the easy way he holds himself near other people like he belongs in everyone’s space.

“So,” Steve says, their position reminds Eddie of the first night he kissed Steve, tipsy on wine, heart fluttering in his chest like butterfly wings. He wants to pull him in and kiss him again.

“So,” Eddie parrots.

“I guess this is it, huh?” Eddie hopes he isn’t imagining the hint of melancholy gleaming in his hazel eyes, he wants selfishly for Steve to miss him too.

“I had fun,” Eddie smiles. It takes effort.

“I’m glad,” Steve says, sounding so sincere. He tucks a stray curl behind Eddie’s ear, leans in to slot their lips together one last time. Eddie takes it eagerly, opening his mouth to him and happily goes along when Steve pulls him into his lap.

They say their goodbyes after breakfast and Eddie watches them get in a cab and drive away from him forever.

— — —

Steve stows their luggage away in the overhead compartment and plops down onto his seat, Robin engrossed in looking through the inflight movie list beside him. He drops his forehead on Robin's shoulder. “You doing okay over there?”

“Mhm,”

“It's okay to not be okay, you know,”

He lets out a watery laugh, feeling pathetic. “Its so stupid,”

“No it's not,” She pokes his forehead. “Don’t be mean to my best friend,”

“I think maybe I should’ve just sucked it up asked for his number,”

Robin huffs, “See, I can’t even say ‘I told you so’ when you look so sad,”

“Yeah, whatever, it's too late now. He didn’t ask either,” Steve reasons with himself.

“Hey, maybe you’ll run into him one day and he’d be like, your next door neighbor or something,”

“This isn’t a movie, Robs,” He sighs. “And I know all my neighbors already,”

“There, there,” She says, patting his head.

— — —

Eddie naps for a few hours, then gets a cab to take him to the train station. Time moves at a glacial pace. Eddie slumps on a bench and scrolls through instagram to pass time. Somehow his feed is full of cats running around causing chaos, cats in silly outfits, funny cat meme edits. And he thinks maybe he should get a cat. A black one, and he can name it Ozzy. Or Aragon. Maybe a cat would make him feel less lonely.

Eddie is about to close the app and go get something to eat when he sees it. It's a blurry picture of two men kissing on a balcony. The angle looks like it was taken from street level, but the tattoos and long hair is unmistakable. Fuck.

The picture already has more than half a million likes. He loathes to think how many other pages it has graced. And the comments were worse.

g3rry_ Hasn’t even been two weeks since the breakup news came out and he’s already with a new guy…

parkouch_ Smells like infidelity hmmm

gin_titanic Poor Rick :(

Corrodedjeff He should just leave the band at this point smh

RickWorld00 Anyone know who the other guy is?

Dusty_Hen05 What the fuck what the FUCK

— — —

He calls Chrissy in a panic.

“Did you see it?” is the first thing she asks him. He doesn’t answer as much as he lets out a high pitched noise like a kettle.

“Chrissy, what the fuck?”

“I know, I know,” She whines. “I’m trying to do damage control here, but Rick fucking posted a tweet saying he’s ‘taking time off from the public eye’ during this ‘trying time’ and now everyone is siding with him,”

“That bitch,”

“How’s Steve taking it?” Chrissy asks.

“I wouldn’t know, Chrissy, he’s on a plane right now on the way back to his real life,” He huffs. “Shit, he’s going to be so blindsided by this, I don’t think he even knew who I am,”

“You didn’t tell him?” she asks. “Shit, Eddie,”

“Book me flight babe, I wanna come back as soon as I can,” It takes some arguing and pleading to make Chrissy book a different flight straight from Milan. But she does it in the end and Eddie hopes he hasn’t screwed things up forever.

— — —

Eddie goes straight to Chrissy’s place from the airport. He has a hell of a time dodging camera flashes and finally makes it to the car she sent in one piece. He falls into her embrace as soon as she opens her door.

“Aww, Eddie, you okay?”

“Ahuh, never better,”

His eyes feel dry and sand from the lack of sleep. Chrissy shoves him into bed and threatens him to get some rest before they can have a serious conversation about everything. Eddie sleeps fitfully, but it's better than nothing. The sun is setting when he shuffles back into the living room. Chrissy hears his stomach grumbling from all the way across the room and they order take out.

“So, Steve,”

Eddie sighs heavily. “I fucked up Chris,” he says, stuffing a springroll in his mouth.

“Someone took a picture of you through your balcony, I hardly think that's your fault, babe,”

“I’m pretty sure he didn’t even know who I was, Chris. Like, how jarring is it going to be for him to just wake up one day and find out some people out there are accusing him of being a home wrecker just for kissing a random dude on a vacation?”

“It is a fucked up situation, I’m not going to lie, and Rick’s really been enjoying playing the victim,” she grumbles. “You know, it really would’ve helped if you had gotten the guy's contact details.” She didn’t need to tell him that twice. “We need to release a statement as soon as possible but we really just need to wait it out. There isn’t much we can realistically do,”

“I feel horrible,” he groans.

“Again. Not your fault Eddie,”

“I think I’ll lose my mind if I don’t find him somehow,” Chrissy snorts.

“Dick that good, huh?” She snickers.

“Gotta admit, Chrissy, it was a pretty exceptional dick.” Eddie sighs wistfully and Chrissy giggles.

“How are you gonna find him?”

“Maybe a PI? Is that too creepy? How many Steves are there in the US do you reckon?” He’s only half joking. Chrissy rolls her eyes and kicks him out of her house so he can go get some proper sleep.

— — —

Eddie takes a hot shower once he gets home, then is immediately reminded of Steve in the shower with him and his big hands holding him against the cold tiles. Then the quick shower turns into a much longer one.

Once he’s changed into his pjs, he pads down to the kitchen to make himself a hot cup of tea then settles in bed with his phone. He isn’t tired enough to go to sleep yet so he switches to a random channel on his TV and scrolls through the pictures they had taken in Italy, zooming in on Steve’s face more times he can count like a love sick– love? Really? –dumbass.

It's 2 am when he hears the sound of his front door opening and shutting that puts him on alert. With shaking hands he grabs his baseball bat from the closet (which Wayne left behind, Eddie wasn’t a sports kinda guy) making his way to the staircase, hoping and praying he’d imagined the whole thing and he’s not actually getting robbed. Or worse– someone has leaked his address online and someone broke in to see him.

It's too dark to see properly, but a figure is climbing up the stairs towards him, a little too fast for his comfort. Eddie swings, his bat connects with the stranger’s face with a crunch and he goes tumbling down the stairs with a pained shout. Eddie rushes to get the light switch and–

“EDDIE!” Rick was on the floor, clutching his bleeding nose. “Shit, I think I broke something,”

“What the fuck are you doing here, Rick?” Eddie screeches. “How did you get in?”

"What are you doing here, aren’t supposed to be in Italy, enjoying our honeymoon,” He spits back. The fucking audacity of this dude.

“Have you been breaking into my house all week?” Rick stays quiet and that's enough of an answer for Eddie. “I’m calling an ambulance,” The 911 operator tells him not to move him, not that Eddie would touch him with a ten foot pole.

“Who was that guy you were with?” Rick asks from the floor, still clutching onto his knee.

“I’m sorry, how is that any of your business?” Eddie snaps back, full of ire.

“Because,” Rick says, his expression pleading in the way Eddie just realizes he always looks like when he’s about to tell him how sorry he was and how nothing was his fault, actually. “I still love you, Eddie,”

Eddie laughs in his face, getting a tiny bit of satisfaction from the way Rick’s face falls. “Seriously? You broke up with me because I was too clingy to open our relationship and you see me with another dude one time and you can’t take it, huh?”

“I made a mistake–”

“Yes you fucking did, now deal with the consequences. You’re not my problem anymore,” The doorbell saves Eddie from the crocodile tears welling up in Rick’s eyes. How did he even put up with this for two years?

However, Eddie isn’t done with surprises for the day, it would seem. The door swings open, and there stands Steve– who looks just as shocked to see him standing at the doorstep– with Robin and another older dude he doesn’t recognise.

“Hey!” the older dude exclaims, pointing at Eddie. “It’s the guy!”

— — —

Steve has had a hell of a time since he and Robin had touched down. The second he had switched his airplane mode off he was bombarded with hundreds, possibly thousands of notifications. 72 missed calls from just Dustin and more cryptic messages from the party group chat– something about coffins? Did someone die? Steve didn’t understand.

Dustin hadn’t been much help when he called him back, babbling something about a front man of a rock band for some reason, but that was only until Robin pulled up a picture of him and Eddie kissing. Except, it was posted on some random instagram page he had never heard of instead of her camera roll, with the caption ‘Corroded Coffin frontman Eddie Munson spotted in Milan, Italy with his new beau’. And then it clicked.

His notifications continued to flood for the rest of the day, friends and coworkers were asking him about it. His high school acquaintances suddenly wanted to know how he was doing and wanted to catch up for ‘old time sake’. Yeah right, Tommy. The worst part was probably the comments nitpicking everything about his appearance and the random threatening DMs he’d receive occasionally.

Robin was quite most of the ride back home, but that was only because she was doing a deep dive into Eddie Munson and his band’s history. The only thing she said to him was, “I know many of their songs, Steve, and Dustin and Mike literally have a poster up like every wall in their house. How did we not know this?”

He slept fitfully, the adrenaline and confusion seemingly overriding the jet lag. The last straw was when his mom tried to contact him the next morning after eight whole years, just to berate him about their family name. “In public Steven? Really?” Steve didn’t have the energy to argue that a balcony is not a public space. There was little satisfaction in hanging up on her mid sentence.

He called up Argyle and begged to swap with his night shift so he'd at least have Robin by his side when dealing with all of it. Not that he thought any of their co-workers would be mean about it, he and Robin aren’t even the only queer people in the station. Besides, Captain Hopper wouldn’t let homophobic behavior slide given that he has a gay step son of his own that he loves very much.

Steve had tried and moderately succeeded in getting some sleep before his shift. Night shifts were moderately less hectic than morning ones– though sometimes it just depends on the night itself– so it opens up more time for ribbing from his colleagues

He had even walked in on the rookie Chance showing Dmitri, the Russian dude Hopper had history with (what kind? Nobody knows), videos of Corroded Coffin singles and performances, and Steve had turned on his heels and walked away.

The call had been a welcome distraction as he buckled himself in the back of the ambulance that Dmitri drove, with Robin. “I like your new boyfriend, he’s loud,” Dmitri had called back at him.

“He’s not my boyfriend, man,” Steve had sighed.

“But he does wish he was,” Robin the traitor had chimed in and then sat unperturbed by his glaring. That was merely minutes before he had rung the bell to the house he’s currently standing before, Eddie on the other side of the threshold.

“W-we got a call about someone getting hurt?” He stutters out, remembering his training and Eddie quietly steps aside to let them in.

— — —

Eddie barely processes shit. His monkey brain is just going Steve! Steve is here! In his sexy firefighter uniform! Stevie! Until Rick spots him and loudly goes, “Man, really?” Which clearly confuses Steve as his face does the whole, brows jumping up and eyes widening look that conveyed the message ‘What?’ without him having to say a word.

“Rick, shut up,” Eddie snaps. If Steve recognises that name, he doesn't show it.

Robin checks him out and splints his ankle, ruling out any serious injury in his hips or spine, except for maybe a nasty bruise from rolling down a flight of stairs. They load him on the gurney, then the back of the ambulance, working quietly as Eddie stood around fidgeting. He really just wants to talk to Steve about the whole thing, apologize for the whole mess.

“H-hey, Steve?” Eddie says and then almost falters when Steve’s attention is on him. “I just wanted to apologize about the whole thing man, you don’t deserve all that,”

“No, you don’t have to, it's not your fault,” Steve chuckles humorlessly. “Honestly, I just feel kind of stupid about it now that I think about it–” The older dude claps a hand over his shoulder, interrupting him.

“We gotta go buddy,” He says in a heavy Russian accent.

“Do you want a ride to the hospital?” Steve asks.

Eddie notices Rick looking at him expectantly from inside the ambulance. Ew. But he could bear it for Steve. He just needs to talk to Steve and Eddie’s scared that if he lets him go right now he might never see him again. So he gets in.

— — —

Steve wishes he would stop apologizing. Eddie would say ‘sorry’ and his brain would automatically translate it to ‘sorry people think we’re dating’.

“It's okay Eddie, I get it,” Steve sighs. “It's not even like we’re together, is it? I’m sure everyone would just forget about it in a while and you can move on–”

"I don’t want to forget about you," Eddie’s face is all scrunched up, “Shit, Steve I thought I was protecting you from the shitstorm that’s my life, since everything I touch turns to dust anyways, I thought maybe I could spare you if I left you alone,” He sighs, “But I failed in that regard too, I guess.”

"But–" Steve's jaw feels like it's on the floor, "Eddie, you don’t need to protect me, okay? I can take care of myself,” Eddie looks like a kicked puppy, all sad and hurt. Steve just wants him to smile again. “I mean, the amount of times we actually kissed in public, I’m just really surprised that was the picture that ended up online,” Eddie barks out a laugh.

“I don’t want you to think that I don’t want you, Steve.” He says, his gaze intense and pleading. Steve is rendered speechless. “I grew up in a trailer park with my uncle. I sold weed in high school and played dnd. It took me three tries to even graduate highschool. I'm not a good person, i'm nothing special, I don't run into burning buildings and rescue kittens from trees or whatever, and I know I kind of ruined everything before it even started but please, please just give me one chance, Stevie–"

“Are you seriously doing this right now? In front of me?” Rick interrupts, and Steve is not a bad dude who’d hurt people who can’t defend themselves but he really wants to smack the disgusted look on his stupid face. Robin flaps a hand shushing him, watching him and Eddie like they’re on her TV screen instead. Even Dmitri is quiet, no doubt listening in.

“Would you like to go on an actual date with me? Please?” Eddie finishes.

Steve is stunned to say the least. He had been distracted for most of the ride, he didn't even realize that they had stopped until the door of the ambulance swung open, startling Robin too. Then he’s being pulled away to do his job, leaving a distraught looking Eddie behind.

— — —

Eddie paces hidden behind the ambulance bay, burning through his third cigarette of the hour– which once upon a time wouldn't even be worth noting, but he's trying to do better here, goddamnit— thinking of what an idiot he'd acted like.

What was he thinking? Asking Steve, a good guy with a normal life, without paps shoving cameras in his face, to be with him. Eddie Munson, the wildcard, the drama.

Eddie can’t go anywhere without someone criticizing everything he does. Ironically enough, that was one of the main reasons he was so anxious to leave his small town home behind. So much for anonymity. The constant judgment is the one thing he hated so much about constantly being in the public eye. He’d love to say that he doesn’t care and that it never bothers him, but the truth is that it gets fucking exhausting how people already have preconceived notions about him everywhere he goes. He doesn’t want that for Steve.

He's never known peace a day in his life. Why would Steve willingly through his life to the wolves just to be with him? It was selfish of Eddie to even ask that of him. He’s put him through enough shit as it is with the picture and all the harassment from his so-called fans. He hates it. This was nothing like how he dreamed his life would be at just twenty eight when he was in high school.

Eddie knows he’s spiraling. He’s being over dramatic and catastrophizing, as Chrissy would say. God, he wishes she were to talk some sense into him. Yet he can't seem to move away from that spot, waiting for Steve to come out through the doors, he can't leave without seeing this through. If he gets brutally rejected, so be it. But on the off chance Steve might still want this? The idea that he might be worth giving up a little bit of peace for, seems way too tantalizing.

The doors to the ER open. Steve spots him and jogs over, the look of relief clear on his face. “Hey, you’re still here,” he says. “I was hoping I wouldn’t miss you,”

“Yeah, um, everything alright in there?” he asks– he doesn’t really care.

“Sure, yeah, Rick’s going to be okay,”

“So, um,” Eddie trails off, suddenly at a loss on what to say.

“Are you going to give me your number then?” Steve asks.

“What?”

“You did ask me on a date, right? Unless you weren’t serious about it. In that case–”

“No! No, I was serious, I swear.” Eddie can’t keep the disbelief off his voice. “You’re saying yes? After everything that happened?”

“Eddie, I really like you,” says Steve. “And I’ve read so many shitty things people have said about you,” Eddie cringes a little, he knows how vile those tabloids can get. “But that was not the man I had known this past week and I want a real chance to get to know you, if that’s okay,”

Before he can stop himself Eddie is careening into Steve, crashing their lips together in a desperate kiss that Steve reciprocates with the same intensity.

“That is so okay,” Eddie breathes. “Love that plan,”

“So,” Steve grins. “Number?”

———

[omg-im-such-a-masochist]

Box Of Wishes

Summary: Brain refuses to come up with something decent, let alone translate it, so this is basically everyone’s wish: Threesome with Drilla and Clark.

Pairing: Drilla Moloney x F!Reader x Clark Connors

Warnings: +18, smut, threesome, mixed feelings (because c’mon, it’s a threesome), adult language, explicit sex scenes, anal sex, double penetration, vaginal sex, mutual masturbation, oral sex.

Tags: @theworldofotps , @writtingrose , @daddyhausen , @melissahausen , @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin , @sophiewolfheart-blog , @sultryfandoms , @new-zealand-chic , @crowleysqueenofhell , @thealliasylum , @legit9thlunaticwarrior , @mjfass , @josiewrites , @seeingstarks , @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch , @whenimakeitshine1234 , @moxkindagirl , @sunshinevirus , @im-just-a-mississippi-girl , @ripleyswhore , @brideofinfamy

Your eyes stared at the small wooden box with uncertainty. It sounded like a good plan - under the influence of honeyed whiskey - but now, in your sober state of mind, you weren’t sure anymore.

“Dan, this is stupid. I don’t think we should do this” You sighed, leaning back to rest on the couch. An annoyed grunt escaped your lips once you remembered everything you wrote in there. Why did my drunk ass think it would be a good idea to write down every secret sex fantasy I’ve ever had? You thought to yourself as Dan’s hand came to rest on your thigh.

“C’mon, Mousey. This could be fun” He smiled, “Don’t give up that fast. Let’s see what comes out of it and then we’ll talk about it. What do you say?”

“I think it’s unfair that only my fantasies are in there”

“Well, that’s because you feel embarrassed to tell me what you want, little mouse. I want you to feel comfortable enough to say what you’re in the mood for. I don’t like to think that I'm the only one getting satisfied in this relationship”.

“But you’re not, Dan! I like everything we do-”

“Yeah, but we’re only doing what I want to do, and that’s not how this works!” Dan’s lips came to rest upon your cheek, “C’mon, little mouse, let me see what you’ll draw”.

With one last deep breath, your hand sank inside the small box. The several pieces of paper tickled your fingertips, matching the light scraping of Dan’s beard against your jawline. It was a nice distraction that unfortunately didn’t last that long.

“Oh fuck, no. No, no, no, no!” Your eyes widened in shock. Your legs had a mind of their own, quickly dragging you away from Dan and the couch.

“What is it?” He asked with a concerned frown. “Mousey, what’s wrong?”, after only silence answered him back, Dan swiftly caught the piece of paper - that fell upon the ground - in his hand and it took him a few seconds to process what was written.

Threesome w/ Clark was scrambled with pink ink on the white paper. He’d done this before with Clark, but it was usually with one-night stands where feelings were the last thing involved. But this was you, his little mouse. Dan had a lot more to lose if things went wrong, but at the same time, he felt it was unfair to say no. This was your first fantasy, the first time you agreed to share it with him - even if through a piece of paper.

“Mousey, come here” Dan pats the seat beside him, “Let’s talk about it, love”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Dan! We’re not gonna do it!”

“Love, it’s-”

“Save it, Moloney! The answer is no!”

Your eyes stared intently at the four cans of Coke you managed to drink in the last 10 minutes. That was the first rule: everyone needed to be sober. Your hands shook, but you were uncertain if it was due to nervousness or the caffeine.

“Do you think I should take another shower?” You asked while trying to sniff your armpit

Dan held back a chuckle as he stood up from the armchair by the window to make his way toward you on the hotel’s bed. “I don’t know, let me check” He spoke as seriously as he could. Dan’s nose followed an invisible line from your upper arm to your neck, where he took a deep breath in before teasing your pulse point with his teeth.

“You smell divine” He whispered in your ear “Kinda makes me want to start without him”.

That was the second rule: everything would start once all three of you were in the same room.

Dan’s lips traveled from your ear to your cheek, and then finally to your lips. His teeth playfully nibble on your bottom lip, tugging and pulling until he captures the flesh with his lips. His arms circled your waist, pulling you closer to his body. Your lower belly pressed against his half-hard cock, and a small huff escaped your lips when he slapped your ass.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to start anything until I got here” Clark spoke from the door, his voice coated with amusement.

Dan’s unsatisfied grunt echoed in the room as he pulled away from your lips “I didn’t start anything! I was just kissing my girlfriend…can I at least do that?”

With a humorous smile, Clark closed the door behind him. “Sure, suit yourself!”. Settling his wallet and phone on top of the bedside table, Clark’s eyes met yours over Dan’s shoulder. The light blue slowly shifted to a darker color the more he watched Dan’s head burying on your neck.

Clark sat on the bed, taking off his snickers and throwing it by the door before pulling himself far back on the bed until his back rested against the headboard. Blue eyes stared intently as Dan pushed you down on the bed. “Forget that he’s here for now” The dark-haired man whispered in your ear when you stiffened once Clark’s hand brushed your hair away from your face.

“Just focus on me, mousey. Pretend it’s just the two of us, ok?” Dan softly whispered, pulling away from your lips after you nodded in agreement. “Tell me what you want, little mouse”, his gruff voice stated, eyes searching for an answer right before you said, “I wanna taste you. I miss having your cock in my mouth”.

“Fuck, love. If we’re gonna go down that road, I won’t last much”.

Dan’s upper body rested against the headboard, much like Clark’s - who still watched you from the side. Your nails softly scratched up and down Dan’s muscular thighs, a soft hiss escaping his lips as you sucked on his tip.

“Oh fuck me, so fucking good” He bites his knuckles in an attempt to gain some self-control back as you kept staring at him with his cock in your mouth. “Fuck, you drive me mad. So fucking mad!” Dan snarled, tugging on your hair as you giggled.

Clark understands the appeal now. You are a beautiful woman, but Clark never really understood why Dan spoke so highly of your sex skills whenever he was insanely drunk. You seemed innocent, a casual lay. Intimate but quite boring if he was honest with himself, Clark often called it “safe sex”, you just go with someone who will offer you good sex, not mind-blowing but ‘ok for a Friday night’ sex. Nothing crazy, just that simple casualty that satisfies you for a while.

You weren’t the typical “hot gym girl”, the ones Clark would go for quite often, but you were…bland? He felt like it wasn’t the best description, it sounded mildly offensive somehow. Maybe because it was you? Clark likes you, you’re his best friend’s woman - a woman he was for some reason dying to fuck right now - but Dan’s girl no matter what. You’re a kind person, truly a sweetheart, you are fun, smart, and looks-wise you are very beautiful, however, there is an innocence that shields your womanly beauty. To Clark you were beautiful, in an “I’ll put her in a tiny jar” kinda way, not in a “I wonder what is like to fuck her” way. So the countless times he spent hearing Dan praise you as a sex goddess incarnated were confusing, “must be the alcohol” Clark thought to himself whenever Dan started his monologues of how his ‘little mouse ruined him for any other woman’. Drunks tend to tell the truth, Clark knows that, but he also knows they tend to exaggerate reality. So he didn’t think much of it, a part of him felt curious as to how much of that was true, a matter that never got fully discussed because sober Dan threatened to punch Clark in the face if he ever dared to speak of you like that.

“But you were the one who told me those things yesterday!” Clark always pinpointed the obvious.

“I was drunk, very needy, incredibly horny, and emotionally vulnerable! It was your job to not pay attention to one single word I had to say! I was just venting” Was Dan’s typical answer.

But now, as Clark stares at you between Dan’s thighs, he finally gets it. You are a devil sent, a vixen able to murder a man with only a look. The giggles that escaped your lips every time Dan slapped your face, the way your ass wiggled in the air with excitement, the eagerness you exude to have Dan’s cock back in your mouth, the way you smile every time he calls you his “good little bitch”, has Clark’s cock painfully hard in his white boxer briefs.

He’s never been with a woman like you, so powerful, so hypnotic, so confident. It was driving him insane. A primal part of Clark has been awoken. He needs to have you…he needs to have you right now.

So sweet, so addictive…your taste, your little moans, the way you pushed yourself against his face. Clark’s hands closed around your hips, pulling you further back into his face.

“Oh my god” You moaned softly, pulling away from Dan’s cock to rest your face against his thick thigh.

“What’s wrong, Mousey? Does it feel too good?” Dan chuckled, his hand pushing your hair away from your face as you stared up at him.

“Yes, sir. So good” You replied weakly, leaving small butterfly kisses on his shaft - that rested against your cheek.

“Fuck, you look so fucking gorgeous like this” Dan praised, pushing your hair away from your face as your eyes closed from pleasure.

Clark pulled his head away from your core, backing up from between your thighs to watch your reaction to his fingers traveling up and down your folds. His thumb drew lazy circles around your clit, keeping you on edge as his middle and ring finger slowly entered your pussy. He watched you gasp loudly before your lips opened wide to secure Dan’s cock back in your mouth.

It was a hypnotic sight, Dan was solely focused on you while you were completely focused on the sensations. Clark couldn’t stop staring at you, his fingers slowly changed in pace and pressure, he was testing all the little things that made you moan louder, frown deeper, and beg for more. Clark was reveling in the feeling of having so much power over you, of how expressive your body was and how much it would silently tell him everything he needed to know. There was no over-the-top moaning, no character being played, no attempt to be “the best fuck he’s ever had”, no fake orgasms, no need to impress him with crazy positions and tricks.

It was simply pleasure in its rawest, purest, deepest, and most sincere form. And that’s what made this experience so carnal and desire-driven to him, the raw honesty of it all was the main cause for his uncontrollable need to feel you around him.

Blurry vision, dry mouth, hoarse voice, shaky limbs.

Devotion, need, fulfillment, desire, passion, pure instinct.

It felt like a dream, a dream he never wanted to end. Is this what sex supposed to feel like? This connection, the sensations…the feelings, the thoughts. Everything else seemed so shallow now compared to this.

The one-night stands lost their value, their fun, their distracting nature. They left his balls and soul empty, but this? Clark never felt so alive before in his life.

You were straddling Clark’s hips, facing him, his blue eyes stared directly into your soul, you were reveling in the feeling of his cock slowly sliding in and out of your pussy, going in the opposite direction of Dan’s movements.

Dan’s lips rested against your ear, hushed words escaping his lips. A secret, meant for only you to hear.

“You’re still mine, right, Mousey? Only mine?”

You looked over your shoulder to the pair of dark orbs behind you. Your lips covered his in a passionate kiss, pouring every ounce of your heart into it, trying to express every emotion you felt with your lips, but still, it didn’t feel like enough.

You pulled yourself away from the boys, their confused frowns soon disappearing once you turned around in Clark’s lap to now face Dan.

You guided Clark’s cock into your ass this time, where Dan was minutes ago. You felt the rubber of the condom going in easily as Clark softly whispered “Oh my fucking God” from behind you.

With your eyes now staring at Dan, you guided his hand to your pussy, silently asking him to fill you up with his fingers, and he instantly did.

Your fist closed around his cock, gliding up and down his thickness. “I’m yours only. No one compares to you, no one can replace you” Was your answer. Your voice was hushed, mere above a whisper, mirroring Dan’s tone.

“Can we please never do this again? I don't think I have what it takes to do this again. Not with you…my feelings are too raw, too real, too deep. I can’t…I feel like I’m losing you”.

Your hands momentarily stopped stroking him and you asked with concern “Do you want to stop?”

Dan’s free hand closed around your fist as he guided your hand to continue to stroke him. “No” He answered with a reassuring smile, “I just don't want to share you with anyone else ever again”.

“Consider it done” You smiled back, moaning when the sync of his fingers and Clark’s cock became too much for you to bear.

“Are you gonna cum, little mouse?” Dan smirked upon seeing your half-open lids.

You nodded in agreement before Dan pulled you away from Clark to toss you on your back on the mattress.

“What the fuck, man?” Clark protested, eyes snapping open at the sudden lack of your warmth covering him.

“I want her to come in my mouth” Dan growled, his lips already hovering over your pussy. His tongue darted out, tasting your wetness.

“Didn’t you want to know how good at giving head she is?” Your boyfriend asked his best friend. “It’s time for you to find out, mate” Dan smirked, his lips already returning to his favorite place in the world.

Clark quickly removed the condom, throwing it somewhere over his shoulder. You eagerly licked his crown, earning a moan from the blonde man.

“So you were wondering all along?” You teased with a mischievous smile.

“Yeah,” The blonde man chuckled. “And I can’t wait to find out” His hands caressed your hair back so he could get a better glimpse at your face “But something tells me I won’t regret it, baby. If anything it’ll fuck me up” Clark’s throaty laugh died in his throat the minute your lips closed around his tip.

Yep, he was, beyond any reasonable doubt, completely fucked.

[part-time-zombie]

Nobodys Fool But Yours

pairings: romantic prinxiety

summary: virgil doesn't want to admit that he loves roman. if he did then he'd have to come to terms with the fact that roman doesn't love him back. after a prank gone too far ends up with roman head over heels for someone else, virgil can't help but think he's truly lost any chance he had. maybe love can still blossom when it's least expected...

tags/warnings: love potion, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, this is what happens when an aroace loser tries to write a love story, janus and remus are kinda jerks in this one but whatever, subtle background demus if you squint,

word count: 8779

a/n: i came up with the idea for this one after seeing the use of love potions as a trope and thinking "has it ever been used on someone they weren't already in love with?". i don't know if this turned out ok.

Virgil knew he was a downer. He killed the vibe constantly, always finding the negative in things until they weren’t interesting or exciting anymore. He was a pessimist, a depressing force that discouraged Thomas and the other sides from trying anything even remotely fun. He knew that.

It didn’t mean he couldn’t still be hopeful.

There have been times where his nervousness turned into anticipation, where he became excited instead of anxious. When that happened he felt almost optimistic, and the daunting scale of things fell away to reveal incredible potential. It was infrequent, but it still happened on occasion.

Especially around Roman.

He didn’t know what it was about Roman, how he carried a confidence so contagious it seemed to sometimes bleed over to Virgil and pierce his fog of fear with light and song. It had been happening a lot more lately, and Virgil was simultaneously concerned and grateful for it. Sure, he appreciated those momentary bouts of enthusiasm that almost made him forget about whatever it was that had been worrying him, but he wanted to understand why and how it was happening.

If he didn’t know any better he’d say it felt like butterflies in his stomach, but that was ridiculous. There was no way he felt like that about Roman of all sides, they were almost complete opposites in every way. Roman was too loud, too boisterous and dramatic and almost obnoxiously optimistic. He was overly confident in a way that bordered on arrogance, and he never thought things through before acting on impulse and putting himself and Thomas at risk.

Then why does Virgil still like spending time with him? Why the hell does he care so much about what Roman says or thinks about him? Why does he react so strongly to something as small as Roman smiling at him? Why does seeing him happy make Virgil feel this way, where he almost feels sure enough in himself to take a chance in the same way that Roman does?

He didn’t have a good answer for that.

It was hard to say when this had all started, he just gradually became aware of that funny feeling being there. Roman would do well on an audition or be celebrating a successful date that Thomas had been on, and as he danced around the living room with that happy glow on his face Virgil would be struck with that weird-but-not-bad feeling that made him want to do something. He didn’t know what, but he felt this almost excited drive to just… he didn’t really know. It was like an enthusiasm he couldn’t place, a buzzing in his veins and a thrumming in his chest that made him feel weightless and restless all at once, and it only happened like that when he was around Roman.

It wasn’t just Roman’s happiness that affected him. If Roman was struggling with something or upset about a lost opportunity he regrets not being able to take, Virgil would feel a heaviness in his chest and a knot in his stomach that would not leave him alone. This feeling was a lot easier for him to identify as dread and grief, but when he felt it towards Roman it was overwhelming. He couldn’t stand seeing him so dejected, so utterly devastated, and he would want to help in any way he could. He usually didn’t do too well with that, though. It was pretty clear that Roman was in need of a type of comfort that Virgil didn’t know how to give him.

Sometimes it felt like they spoke different languages. They were just too different, too unlike each other to like each other.  That fact shouldn’t sting as much as it does, but it still made Virgil’s heart ache every time he thought about it. Roman had been so nice to him, he worked to make him feel like he was a part of the family, and Virgil couldn’t even return the favor in a way that mattered.

Despite this, Roman still spent time with him. In fact, Virgil usually wound up hanging out with Roman more than any other side. They would watch movies and play video games together in Roman’s room late into the night, joking back and forth until their sides hurt from laughing so much. Virgil didn’t usually laugh that hard around the others, yet Roman somehow knew just how to tease it out of him every time, spouting quips until Virgil was smiling so hard his face hurt.

It was on one of those days when it happened.

Virgil was with Roman in his room while they watched a movie. Well not so much watch, as they had both already seen it plenty of times by now and were mostly using it as background noise while they talked over it. They usually talked about senseless topics, never wavering any deeper than sharing their feelings on recent events, but this time Virgil felt surprisingly open, almost vulnerable in a way he never let himself be. He doesn’t remember how, but the conversation somehow made its way over to loneliness, an old and familiar ache for Virgil.

“You ever worry about dying alone?” he had asked. It was a more personal fear of his, and one he hadn’t planned on bringing up with Roman, yet it appears he was going to do just that.

Roman was quiet for two moments too long, and Virgil started to worry that he had gone and brought the mood down again. “Probably more than I should, if I’m being honest. But I try not to think about it. After all, with how likeable I am someone is bound to want to stick around,” he said this with a light and easygoing tone, but it sounded hollow in some subtle way. “Besides, it’s not like I’m completely alone. I’ve got Thomas and the others, and I’ve got you.”

Virgil’s stomach did that weird thing again, but he tried to ignore it. Besides, Roman surely didn’t mean it. Virgil was a buzzkill, a downer of the highest degree. To think that anyone, let alone Roman, would actually want to stick around with him that long was laughable.

“You’ll get tired of me eventually. It’s not exactly like I’m fun to be around,” he said.

“I didn’t say that. In fact, I think you can actually be some pretty decent company whenever you let your guard down like this,” Roman responded with a smile.

“You don’t mean that. I know I’m a lot to deal with, and I’ve probably got better luck at catching lightning in a bottle than finding someone who actually likes me.”

Roman didn’t say anything to that, though his eyes shone with an odd determination, like he had been presented with some challenge. He let Virgil change the subject, and the conversation was quickly forgotten in favor of a lighter topic.

It was two days later that Roman had knocked on Virgil’s door late at night. When Virgil finally pulled himself out of bed to answer the door, Roman had shoved something into his arms with a victorious smile before he could even get a word in.

“May the odds be forever in your favor, Katniss Everdoom,” he said with a wide grin.

Virgil looked down at what Roman had given him, only to nearly drop it in shock.

It was an ornate glass bottle, cap tightly secured to hold in the lightning bolt it contained. It writhed and danced around in the bottle like a tesla coil, never dwindling in its light or liveliness.

Virgil looked back up at Roman in disbelief. “I, what, how did you… “

“Well, now that you’ve got your lightning in a bottle, maybe next time you’ll believe it when someone tells you they want to spend time with you,” he joked, granting Virgil one last wave before heading to his own room for the night. Virgil held the bottle close, unsure whether or not it was the static electricity from the lightning that made his nerves go all tingly and haywire.

That was around the time that Virgil had first started to consider the idea that he may have feelings for Roman, feelings that he really didn’t want to have to deal with.

Virgil had gotten really good at not dealing with those feelings, as it turns out. He could turn his smiles into smirks, avoid any and all discussions about romance by pretending to be annoyed instead of exposed, and squash down the butterflies like they were never there. It wasn’t easy but he got used to it, not like he had a choice. He couldn’t actually be expected to go and say something about what he was feeling, he’d just run the risk of mockery from the others and rejection from Roman, neither of which he wanted to endure. No, it was safest for him to just keep these stupid feelings to himself until he either stopped having them or died, whichever came first.

It was hard to not pretend to feel them around Roman, though. Especially when it was just the two of them in his room joking about the movie they weren’t watching. On nights like that when he made Roman hunch over and clutch at his sides with laughter, he felt almost tempted to go and say something about how seeing Roman this happy made Virgil feel less afraid. He’d stop himself every time, reminding himself that there was no way it would turn out well. He would just make Roman uncomfortable, overstepping their friendship by trying to make it into something emotional and complicated when it didn’t need to be. Besides, there was no way Roman felt like that about him. Virgil was everything that Roman stood against; fear versus confidence, pessimism versus optimism, doubt versus hope. That Roman tolerated him at all was miraculous enough.

Virgil tried to will the feelings away, spending more time alone and away from Roman and staying up far later than he wanted blasting every breakup song he knew to try and talk him out of it.

It didn’t work, all it did was make him even more miserable and tired.

This was stupid, he was being stupid. This wasn’t some ridiculous middle school crush; he was just surprised and happy to actually be friends with Roman and his idiot brain didn’t know how to handle it. That was all. Just a misunderstanding on his part and nothing more. It isn’t love.

The loud chiming of his alarm woke Virgil with a jerk. He really wanted to just go back to sleep, just sleep until everything went away. He heard the others make their way downstairs for breakfast, and Virgil resisted the urge to just roll over and stay in bed. If he did he would just make Patton worry, who would then get everyone else all freaked out and convinced that he had ducked out again, and he really didn’t want to put up with that whole mess.

Sighing in defeat, Virgil dragged himself out of bed and got dressed before slowly trudging down the hall towards the stairs. As he passed the others rooms, he heard a low but familiar chuckle come from behind one of the doors. He paused, looking at the door to Janus’ room. Why the hell was Remus in there, and what was he laughing about? Not wanting to be on the receiving end of another one of their jokes, he threw the door open with a growl.

Janus and Remus turned in surprise to look at him, mischievous smiles slowly leaving their faces once they realized they had been interrupted.

“What the hell is so goddamn funny this early in the morning?” Virgil asked them. He wasn’t in the mood for whatever this was, and it was best to shut it down before it became anything worse.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Janus said with a smirk. “It’s not funny at all, and I’m definitely looking forward to a peaceful breakfast downstairs with everyone.”

Remus chuckled darkly, far less subtle about his amusement. “Oh yeah, I’m sure you’ll just love what’s for breakfast, Virge. Best go and grab a plate before there’s none left for you.”

Virgil pushed past the worry that had started to creep up on him, turning it into anger. “Look, whatever it is you guys are planning on doing, just don’t even try.”

“Oh, but Virgil, I’m afraid it’s already been done,” Janus cooed. “We’re just staying out of range. You ought to do the same, if you’re smart. Or not, either way we’ll have a good laugh.”

Now Virgil let himself feel worried. Whatever they were doing it definitely wasn’t good, and he had to go warn the others before anything happened. He ran down the stairs without another word, rushing to the kitchen in a panic. In the time it took him to get downstairs his mind had already supplied him with a surplus of suggestions on the scene he’d walk into: fire, poison, injury, death, humiliation, mutilation, mockery, the very least he’d see is some horrible drama. He turned the corner, barging into the kitchen in a breathless rush, coming face to face with-

The other sides calmly sitting down to start breakfast.

Virgil struggled to get his breath back, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Patton was currently in the middle of flipping the last of the pancakes and Roman and Logan were seated calmly at the table, now looking up at him in surprise at his sudden entry. Everything looked exactly like it was supposed to, not a single thing out of place.

“Virgil, is everything alright?” Logan asked, confusion and concern in his voice.

“Yeah, I just… are you guys okay?” he asked in return, cringing at the shake in his voice.

“We’re all perfectly fine, though you clearly seem troubled. Did something happen?”

Virgil tried to calm himself down. Maybe Janus and Remus were just messing with him, trying to get him all worked up over nothing until he panicked over another false alarm. It definitely wouldn’t be the first time they pulled something like that, anyway.

“No, I just, did any of you see Remus or Janus in here earlier?”

“Oh god, what did they do this time?” Roman said with a groan before grabbing one of the finished pancakes and applying a generous helping of syrup to it.

“I don’t know, they were just acting really weird this morning.”

Patton finished the pancakes and took a seat next to Roman, curious and concerned. Roman looked down to take a large bite of his syrup-soaked breakfast as Logan answered him.

“I don’t recall seeing either of them all morning, in fact I was about to go look for them as they hadn’t shown up to eat yet. I doubt either of them did anything devious, Virgil.”

Roman looked up from his plate to throw a skeptical glance at Logan. He looked like he was about to say something, only for his jaw to fall open as he let his fork drop to the floor with a clatter.

“Roman, you okay?” Patton asked him.

Roman absently nodded his head in response, not taking his eyes off of the logical side. It didn’t take long for Logan to start to squirm under the stare.

“Is there something on my face?” he eventually asked.

Roman blinked and slowly shook his head, the ends of his mouth quirking upwards in a dopey openmouthed grin. “No, nothing. You look fine, Logan. Actually, you look great.”

Virgil’s jaw dropped in sync with everyone else’s. What the hell?

Logan balked for a moment, stunned by the sudden compliment. “I beg your pardon?”

“I just never really noticed how good those glasses look on you until now. You certainly wear them better than Patton does, anyway,” Roman said, smile never leaving his face.

“Roman, while I appreciate the flattery, you do know we have the same face, right? I don’t wear these glasses any differently than Patton does, and you don’t usually compliment me to begin with, so I must say I am surprised by this sudden change in behavior,” Logan slowly responded.

Roman’s face fell for a moment, before it swiftly brightened again. “Well, I’m sorry I never really complimented you before. You certainly deserve more praise, anyway. Maybe I can make up for it starting now. I mean, it’s not just your glasses that make you look so cool. It’s how your eyes shine behind them like stars in the night sky. And you really hold yourself with such composure and focus, it’s kind of mesmerizing to watch. Your hair is always so neatly combed, too, not a single strand out of place. I really must commend you for that, it is no easy feat. I just can’t believe I never noticed how amazing you are until now,” he exclaimed.

Virgil had to be dreaming. There was no other explanation that made sense. Either that or Roman was pulling one of the cruelest jokes of all time, but he wouldn’t do something like this. Why was he saying any of this, especially to Logan of all sides? While they didn’t hate each other, they certainly didn’t get along very well. They were constantly butting heads, and in all the years he’s known them Roman has never gone and flirted with him like this, almost like he was…

“Roman,” Patton slowly asked him, “are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

Roman finally turned to look at him, a lovestruck look on his face. “Of course, padre. I feel awesome, actually. I haven’t felt so light and lovely in a long time, it’s like all the love in me has finally found the chance to come singing to the surface, and all for Logan!” he clapped his hands together excitedly, expression shifting to something like a revelation as he looked back at Logan.

“That’s it! Logan, I’m going to compose a ballad in your name, expressing just how lovely you are! It could even be a duet. I know you aren’t too fond of singing, but it would be amazing if you’d sing this with me. You have such a beautiful singing voice, after all. Please, Logan, you’d be great at it, I know you will! You’re always so great at everything, and I would love to hear you sing with me!”

The distant sound of laughter made its way into the room, and Virgil turned to face Remus and Janus as they entered the kitchen.

“Oh, this is so much better than I thought it’d be,” Remus said with a laugh. “I just can’t get over the look on his face right now, he looks so stupid! He’s got no idea what happened!”

“What happened?” Logan asked, impatience evident in his voice.

“Oh, Logan, and here I thought you were clever enough to figure it out on your own,” Janus said with a condescending click of the tongue. “Remus put a love potion in the syrup, you see. While I did tell him that it was a bad idea at first, I must say I’ve since changed my mind.”

Virgil stared at them in shock. Janus had to be lying. Remus wouldn’t actually, he didn’t-

“Okay, this has gone way too far, you guys. I know you like to pull some really nasty stuff, but this is so not funny,” Virgil said, voice low and rumbling with anger.

“Oh, no, you’re right, Virge. It’s not funny, it’s fucking hilarious,” Remus cackled.

“What the hell is he talking about,” Roman said as he stood up from his chair. His expression changed from lovesick to furious, moving protectively in front of Logan with his sword in hand. “You should leave while you can before I cut you down. You don’t get to mess with Logan, not today. Now go while I’m giving you the chance. That goes for you too, snake,” he snarled.

Remus gave him a mockingly patronizing smile and a shrug before turning and strolling away with Janus in tow. Their laughter never quieted even after they had gone back upstairs. Roman sighed in relief once they had left, before looking back at Logan again.

“Are you alright, Logan? You know I wouldn’t let either of them try anything on you, right?”

Logan was unphased by the sudden appearance of the two sides, though he was definitely more focused on Roman. He stood up from his chair to better look Roman in the eye. “Did you not hear what Janus had said,” he started, keeping his voice even to ensure Roman listened. “Remus put a love potion in the syrup. You are currently under the effect of a drug; whatever it is you are feeling isn’t real. Please tell me you understand.”

Roman definitely understood him, going by the confused and conflicted look on his face as the words sunk in. It didn’t look like he accepted it, though.

“But this love is real, Logan,” he asserted. He took Logan’s hands into his own, looking down at them with teary eyes. “I know for a fact what love feels like. I’ve been feeling it for years now and this is that same love, just stronger and directed at you now. It won’t go away and I can’t stop feeling it, I’ve tried. I know that you probably want me to stop this, and I doubt you feel the same way about me, but I still feel love for you, and I can’t change that.”

Logan nodded before gently removing his hands from Roman’s. “I’m going to go talk to Janus and Remus to see if they’ll tell me how to undo the potions effects. Can you please wait here until I get back? I won’t be gone very long.”

Roman looked back at him, skepticism warring with loyalty. “How do you know they won’t try to hurt you? I think I ought to go with you just to make sure you’re safe,” he offered.

“I doubt they’ll do anything else today. Even if they did, they aren’t capable of actually hurting me. I will be fine, I promise. Just wait here for me, alright?”

Roman hesitantly nodded, watching as Logan made his way up the stairs before obediently taking a seat. Patton offered him a fresh pancake to comfort him while Virgil made himself busy tossing the syrup coated ones in the trash before anyone else could eat them.

He tried to ignore the slight shakiness in his hands, forcing himself to take a deep breath to steady himself. So Roman was in love with Logan now. Even if it wasn’t real, it was still real to Roman, and it might even be permanent. He could be like this forever. He tried to be positive about it, tried to feel happy that Roman could be this happy and in love after feeling so down lately, but he couldn’t stop himself from worrying. How far would this “love” go? Does Logan feel the same, and if he doesn’t how would Roman cope with that kind of rejection? Roman could be angry or hurt, he might never be able to recover from the love potion if that happens. It could turn into obsession, he could become hateful towards anyone he thinks is trying to take Logan from him.

Even if the potion could be reversed, how would it effect Roman afterwards? This is basically a roofie; he could do something he’d regret, and if he did would he even remember what happened? Could it wear off at all? It might be permanent, he might be like this forever now, utterly devoted to Logan in a way he had never been before. He didn’t even realize he had been holding his breath until the burning in his lungs forced a gasp from him.

He turned back to the other sides in the kitchen as he finished putting the now empty dish in the sink. Roman looked lost in thought, barely even looking at Patton, who was currently trying to say anything he could think of to make him feel better. His voice trembled slightly as he spoke, his hands fidgeting in his lap. He was worried too, though he was better at dealing with it.

“Now I know you said this love feels real to you, kiddo, but could you explain it to me please?” he asked, neither of them touching their now cooled pancakes.

“I don’t know how to put it into words, Patton,” Roman started, losing himself to the potions effects again as a wistful smile made its way to his face. “It’s like I look at him and everything just feels so much more… vibrant. Everything he does is just so brilliant, and I can’t get myself to look away from him, let alone stop thinking about him. When he looks at me, I feel like I’m on a rollercoaster. It makes me want to do anything to make him happy just so I can keep seeing him smile. Have you ever felt anything like that before?”

“No,” Patton replied.

Yes, Virgil thought.

Logan returned shortly after, looking slightly weary though he did his best not to show it. He adjusted his tie as he descended the stairs, and Roman lit up all over again the second he saw him.

“It appears this potion is not designed to be permanent,” he started, much to Virgils relief. “However, Remus was decidedly unclear on how or when it would wear off. He seemed to imply that there was some cure, but he did not elaborate on it no matter how much I asked.”

“So, it’s basically permanent, then,” Virgil mumbled. “If there’s a cure, but we don’t know it or have it, then there’s nothing we can do to fix it. He’ll just be stuck like this forever if we can’t figure out the cure. He may never go back to normal.” He could feel the panic building again, he didn’t want Roman to be under these effects forever.

Logan gave him a knowing look. “Virgil, I doubt this will be a completely permanent change. It will probably wear off eventually, and if not then I will still be working on crafting an antidote the whole time. Remus said there was a cure, and we will find it. He will be alright.”

“Of course I’m alright,” Roman interjected. “Nothing about me has changed, my love is still just as real as it has always been. I may start feeling it towards Logan now, but these feelings are nothing new to me. I know for a fact that this love is not going anywhere, never has, never will.”

Roman had to be delirious. He didn’t love Logan, right? He’d have said something, done something, to let his feelings slip if he had really been feeling them all this time like he said he did.

Patton seemed to share Virgils confusion. “Kiddo, what do you mean when you keep saying that you’ve had these feelings for a long time?” he asked.

“I mean that I’ve been in love this whole time, it’s just that now I’m in love with Logan.”

… what?

“Who were you in love with before?” Virgil whispered.

Roman took his eyes off of Logan for a moment, screwing his face in concentration. “I… don’t know. It’s all kind of fuzzy, I just know I’m in love and that Logan is who I feel that love for now.”

He looked back up, taking in the shock and confusion on everyones faces. And the dread that was probably on Virgils. “I don’t mean to make this all so complicated, I really can’t help feeling this way about him.” He turned back in his chair to face Logan. “I know it’s a long shot, but… do you happen to feel that way about me at all?”

He looked hopeful, but full of doubt at the same time. Virgil didn’t know which would be worse to hear, Logan rejecting him or reciprocating. All eyes were on Logan now, curious on how he would answer this heavy question.

“I’m very sorry but I don’t feel the same way about you, Roman,” he said, voice soft and sympathetic. “I know you feel very strongly towards me right now, but it is a feeling I do not share.”

Romans face fell. He looked down at his hands in his lap, quiet for a moment. “I kind of figured,” he murmured, almost to himself. “It’s alright, though. You don’t have to pretend to like me back. Just know that I’m still in love with you, Logan. I hope that’s alright.”

“I don’t see why it wouldn’t be,” Logan replied. “It is obvious that you cannot control these feelings, regardless of whether they are real or not. I need to find the cure for the potion. Would you like to take your mind off things and watch a movie downstairs while I work?”

Roman slowly nodded, getting up from his chair and heading to the living room. Patton and Virgil followed while Logan grabbed the syrup and left to his room to run some tests.

The movie played out with little interruption. Patton kept trying to prompt Roman to talk about the movie, but his attention was elsewhere. He kept checking the stairs to see if Logan had come back yet, despite knowing that he would probably be busy for the rest of the day.

Virgil couldn’t help but worry about him. Logan had told him that he would figure out a way to cure him and knowing him he’d find an answer in no time, but seeing Roman so… off, really irked him. He was like a lovesick puppy or a middle school dork dealing with their first real crush, all fidgety and constantly looking for ways to talk about the side he had fallen for.

He wanted to feel supportive of him, he really did. It was probably good for Roman to feel so happy, but there was this nagging voice in the back of Virgils skull that itched away at him.

Roman had said that he felt this before, that he had been in love this whole time. Roman was already in love with someone else, and the potion probably just redirected his affections. The realization sat heavy on Virgils chest. He couldn’t love Virgil anyway, not when he already loved someone else. Was it Patton? It’d make sense. The two usually got along pretty well, and they definitely had a lot more in common. He absolutely despised Janus and Remus, and since it looks like he didn’t feel this way about Logan until this morning it wasn’t him either. It had to be Patton.

Well maybe when this is over, he and Patton could be happy together. They’d have picnics and dance together at one of Romans fancy balls and do all of the sappy things that people do when they’re in love. If Patton loved Roman back, Virgil would be happy for them.

Oh, who was he kidding? He’d be fucking miserable, and then he’d hate himself for being so selfish that he can’t even be happy for his friends. Why did he have to go and catch these stupid feelings for Roman? He didn’t feel the same, they were just too different. Virgil would never be comfortable dancing in a crowded castle with Roman, but that didn’t stop him from dreaming about enjoying a concert with him. Not like that would ever happen, especially not now.

“What’s on your mind, Virgil?” Patton asked from his spot on the couch.

Virgil looked up in surprise. He hadn’t even realized how quiet he’d become, absently chewing his nails while his mind ran itself in circles over something that couldn’t be helped.

“Oh, uh, it’s nothing. I guess I zoned out,” he said.

“Now I get it that you’re probably worried about Roman, but Logan is figuring it out right now. He’ll be okay, we just gotta hold on for a bit and then everything will be back to normal in no time.”

Roman perked back up at the mention of Logans name. “Do you think he’ll be joining us for the next movie?” he asked. “We could play one of his favorite shows, and I won’t interrupt or talk over it if he doesn’t want. As long as he’s here with me, that’s all that really matters right now.”

Virgil felt restless. He couldn’t just keep listening to Roman ramble on about someone he thought he loved right next to the person he was actually in love with and the person he could never love back. It hurt too much. He got up from the couch and made his way upstairs.

“I’ll go check in on him,” he said. “He’s probably still pretty busy, though.”

“Can I go with you?” Roman called after him, already getting up to follow. “I want to see him, too. I miss him, and I want to make sure he’s okay.”

“Well, we can’t all go,” Virgil replied, stopping and turning to face Roman.

“Then you can stay and watch the movie and I’ll go check on Logan,” he offered.

Virgil wanted to argue, but it was clear that Roman wasn’t going to back down. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Just don’t be gone too long. He still needs to work.”

He moved back to the couch while Roman all but raced upstairs in search of Logan. Virgil sat back down with Patton and tried to keep watching the movie.

“What’s bothering you, kiddo?” Patton asked him, voice gentle and reassuring.

Virgil let out a dry chuckle at being read so easily. “Is it that obvious?”

“Well, while you aren’t usually talkative, you seem a lot quieter today. Is it about Roman?”

Virgil couldn’t do much more than nod, keeping his gaze focused on his hands instead of Patton. “I want him to be okay,” he admitted.

“Oh, sweetie, he’s fine. Everything’s going to be okay, you’ll see.”

Virgil could only hope so, but even if they could cure Roman, there was still the matter of what he would do about the love he felt. And who he felt it to.

“Patton, do you like Roman?” he hesitantly asked, unsure how he wanted him to answer.

“Well, of course I do, kiddo. I like Roman just as much as I like you and Logan and everyone else. He’s a part of this family, and so are you,” he said with a wide, if slightly stressed, smile.

“That’s not what I meant,” Virgil clarified. “I mean, do you like him? Like, the way he says he likes Logan right now? Do you have feelings for him?”

Patton looked like a deer in headlights, to the point that Virgil could practically see the blue-screen flash across his forehead. He blinked rapidly, wrapping his brain around the question.

“Well, no, not really. To be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever felt that kind of way towards anyone before, but I know I definitely don’t feel that way about Roman. Why are you asking me that?”

Virgil swallowed, processing what Patton had said. “Nothing, I was just curious I guess.”

He didn’t say anything after that, and Patton thankfully didn’t try to ask him about it either. If Patton didn’t like Roman back, then how would that change things? Surely Roman would eventually try to ask him out after he was cured, and when Patton rejected him he could be heartbroken. Virgil almost wanted to tell Roman now, when it wouldn’t hurt him that much, but it probably wasn’t the best time. He may not remember it after anyway. Maybe he’ll tell him later and hope for the best.

The credits finished rolling and Roman still hadn’t returned. It wasn’t too surprising, all things considered, since Roman had been practically vibrating in his seat without Logan around for him to stare at and compliment. He was probably bothering Logan right now and stopping him from getting anything done. It was best to get Roman away before he smothered him.

“I’m gonna go get Roman, you pick the next movie,” Virgil said as he headed back up the stairs. Patton nodded and started rifling through the DVDs, probably picking another cartoon.

Virgil finally reached Logans door and knocked, not having to wait long before he heard a familiar and monotone “Come in” in response.

He opened the door and almost had to do a double take.

Roman had his back to the door, arms wrapped tightly around Logan in a warm and supporting hug. Logan was looking at Virgil from over his shoulder with a face of sheer exasperation, arms stiffly planted on Romans back in a half-hearted attempt at a reciprocal embrace.

“Did you need something Virgil, or are you here for Roman?” he nonchalantly asked, as if he weren’t currently being held tightly by the romantic side.

“I, uh... I was coming to see why he was gone so long. I figured he might be distracting you from working,” he stuttered out, struggling to regain his bearings at the odd sight.

“Well, he has certainly occupied my attention for longer than I had hoped, though I doubt it could be helped. He seemed quite upset at being away from me for as long as he was. Another side effect of the potion, I’d gather,” he answered, finally untangling himself from Roman.

Roman let out a desperate whine at the loss of contact, looking back at Logan with a hurt expression. “I’m sorry, specs. I just couldn’t stand to be away from you for so long. Without you everything was just so dull and cold, I simply had to be around you again.”

“That’s very sweet, but I need to work. If you would prefer it, I can try to move some of my things to the living room and work there, but you will need to let me focus. Can you do that?”

Roman nodded eagerly in response.

“Good, then please go and get the common room set up for me downstairs and I will join you there shortly,” Logan said, and Roman practically tripped over his own feet as he headed back down the hall, glancing back at Logan and smiling the whole time.

Logan sighed and sat back down in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. He really looked exhausted, and Virgil wondered whether he should stay or leave him be.

“The answer is no, by the way,” Logan groaned, not looking up at him.

“What?”

“No, I haven’t been able to find any cure or antidote to the potion. Remus may very well be trying to fool me, a figurative ‘wild goose chase’, if you will.”

Virgil tried not to look too worried, though he was sure it was obvious anyway. “Okay, do you think I can go and try to get some answers out of him? It could help out, maybe.”

Logan finally glanced up at him, a tired smile on his face. “I’d appreciate that, Virgil. As long as we can restore Roman to his natural, albeit obnoxious, state of mind.”

Virgil nodded, desperate to make this whole nightmare go away. It looked like Logan was feeling pretty fed up with this whole thing, too. Though it was probably for a different reason.

Logan sighed again, glancing away for a moment as if lost in thought. “I can’t exactly say I’ll enjoy that part of our lives returning to normal, though. As overbearing as he can be right now, it is still somewhat pleasant to hear him say something nice about me for a change. Even if he doesn’t really mean it or know what he’s saying at all.” He smiled to himself, as if he had forgotten that Virgil was still in the room with him. When he finally remembered that he wasn’t alone in the room, he straightened up in his chair and started to gather what he would need downstairs.

“It doesn’t really matter, anyway,” he added in a rush. “Roman is not in his right mind at the moment, it is best not to take anything he is saying seriously. He’s allowed to say or feel whatever he wants about me after we cure him. He’s his own person, with his own opinions on the people he’s around, and this will not change any of that.” He herded Virgil out of his room while he carried an armload of supplies and notes, carefully returning to the living room without dropping his things. “If you get any information out of Janus or Remus, let me know.” He called back at him as he left.

 Virgil stayed there in the hall, taking in all that Logan had said. Had Roman really been upsetting him this whole time? Seeing him like this must be unreal to him, finally hearing a compliment from the person who teased him daily, only to know that the flattery was fake? He couldn’t imagine how badly that must hurt for him.

He shivered slightly to himself before going to Janus’ room. What happened between them still hurt years later, but he at least knew how to deal with him. He had dealt with him long enough to recognize the lies from the truth, and he needed answers.

He banged loudly on the door, not letting up until it was finally opened. By Remus, who was in the room with Janus. Great.

“Geez, Virge, the hell is your problem,” he whined. “Did someone swap the stick up your butt with a scorpion or something?”

Janus chuckled from behind him.

“The real question is what the hell is your problem,” he growled. “Why’d you go and do that to Roman, huh? Is this just some sick joke to you?”

“Well, yeah,” he answered, almost proud of himself. “I didn’t plan for it to be Roman that took the potion though, it was all random so whoever had some syrup first would get fucked up.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

Virgil rolled his eyes. It was pretty clear he wouldn’t get a reason out of him. The best he could hope to get would be a cure, or the answer to how to make one.

“Can you just fucking tell me how to get him back to normal?” he pleaded, wincing at the pathetic begging he had reduced himself to. “There’s got to be a cure or antidote or something, and you have to tell me what it is so I can help clean up the mess you started.”

Remus stared right through him, smiling to himself as he kept the answer hidden.

“Alright, Remus, that’s enough,” Janus interrupted, finally joining them and including himself in the standoff. “If he wants the cure so badly, we’ll give it to him.”

Virgil’s shoulders sagged with relief. Maybe now Janus would actually be willing to cooperate and stop playing around with him.

“You see, Virgil, I know the true answer is something you’ll love, so here it is: the solution has been hiding in plain sight all along. It’s been kept secret by the only person who can help him. Show it to him and he’ll remember what the real target of his affection is supposed to be.”

Ok, so maybe not.

“What the hell does that mean?” Virgil groaned in frustration.

“You’ll have to figure it out on your own. After all, I think you already know the answer.”

Janus gave him one last smirk before closing the door on him, the sound of Remus’ laughter echoing from behind it. Well, that didn’t help him at all. What did he mean about it hiding in plain sight? Who was hiding it? And show what to who? Janus said he’d love the truth, but this was just another confusing riddle. It didn’t even make any sense. His best guess was that Remus had hidden an antidote somewhere, but if that was the case then there was no way he’d be able to find it.

God, Roman was screwed.

Virgil stomped back to the couch in a huff, not returning Patton’s friendly wave. He sat down and ran his hands through his hair, desperately trying to make sense of what Janus had said.

“I’m guessing you were unsuccessful,” Logan stated.

Virgil looked over to him and his reply died on his tongue in an instant. Logan was sitting in Roman’s lap, focusing on his findings ever so stoically while Roman held him close with a sappy expression.

“Uhm, not really… sorry, why are you in his lap?” he asked.

Logan looked up at him, no more pleased about the situation than Virgil was. “It was the only way to keep him happy while I focused on my work instead of him,” he explained.

“Hey, that’s not true,” Roman chimed in, squeezing Logan tighter. “I said that you were fine sitting where you were, but when you offered to get all cozy with me I wasn’t gonna complain.”

“Right, because you were complaining before,” Logan replied, “in fact, you were so upset that I wasn’t paying attention to you that you kept trying to sit closer to me until being in your lap like this was inevitable. At least now you’re letting me work uninterrupted.”

Roman looked like he was about to say something in his defense, but he decided against it. He quietly tucked his head into Logans shoulder instead, humming at the contact.

Logan glanced back at Virgil, avoiding moving his head too much to not disrupt Roman. “Did either of them tell you anything useful?” he asked.

Virgil shook his head. “If he did, I can’t make any sense of it. It was something about the answer hiding in plain sight, and that the only one who’ll help him knows the secret. He said if we show it to him then he’ll remember what he really feels, or something like that.”

Logan sighed. “Well, that was hardly helpful.”

“I thought the same thing,” he replied.

The rest of the day passed in a blur for Virgil. Roman was practically glued to Logans side, flirting and cuddling with him every chance he got. Patton tried to pretend everything was normal, and Virgil kept replaying what Janus had told him. The cure is hidden away, and one of the sides knows how to use it to help. The only thing is, who the hell is it? Janus and Remus obviously weren’t helping, and Patton and Logan were just as in the dark about it as Virgil was.

Patton made dinner and as everyone ate it became obvious that unless they did something about Roman he was going to be like this for a while. It took Logan moving to sit on the other end of the table for Roman to stop trying to do some Lady and the Tramp bit with him.

Logan had no solutions or cures yet, and Virgil still couldn’t figure out the answer to the riddle that Janus had told him. Janus and Remus decided to stick around after dinner and joined the others for a movie night, presumably just to laugh at how Roman was acting. Roman chased them off halfway through the movie, accusing them of antagonizing Logan. They were actually laughing at how Roman was behaving, but Virgil still appreciated having them gone for the night.

It was well past time for Virgil to go to bed, but he couldn’t get himself to move from the couch. Everyone else had gone to bed by now, save for Logan and Roman, as the former had still wanted to find a solution and the latter refused to go to bed until he did. Roman was still pressed to Logans side, idly playing with his hair while he continued to gaze fondly at him as if he had hung the stars in the night sky. Virgil wondered if he looked at Roman like that. He secretly wished Roman would look at him like that. Sometimes he almost thought he did.

It was probably best for him to go to bed before he thought about that too much. He wished the other two goodnight before heading to his room, where he would at least try to pretend to sleep. He closed the door behind him and prepared to wind down for the night when his eyes fell upon the gift Roman had given him. Lightning in a bottle, proof that Roman enjoyed his company.

Virgil stared at the bottle, memories of his time with Roman flashing back to him. Smiles only he would see, countless hours spent in each other’s company, presents and promises shared in private. Roman had shown him the same kindness and care that he is showing Logan now. The way he smiled at Logan was the same as how he smiled and laughed when he was alone with Virgil. The compliments and encouragement were just like the same sweet words they had shared.

That couldn’t be right, he had to be mistaken. That would mean that Roman actually…

He grabbed the bottle and sprinted back to the living room, back to Roman.

Logan looked up at him in surprise when he made it back downstairs, but Virgil didn’t give him a chance to say anything. He had to take care of this before he could overthink it.

“Logan, can you please give me a minute to talk to Roman? Alone?”

Logan quirked an eyebrow, before extricating himself from Roman and wordlessly making his way to bed for the night. Roman was about to follow him, but Logan motioned for him to stay behind. He obeyed, though he looked pained by doing so.

“Virgil, what’s going on?” he asked after Logan left. “Why’d you tell him to leave like that?”

“This is important, okay?” Virgil started. He had no idea what he was doing, or how to do it, but he had to try. He took a seat on the couch next to Roman and held out the bottle. “Do you remember what this is?” he asked.

Roman eyed it curiously, confusion slowly turning into recognition as his eyes brightened up at the memory. “Yeah, that’s right. You went and said you had better luck catching lightning in a bottle than finding someone who liked you, and I wanted to prove a point.”

“And what point was that?”

Roman blinked for a second as he tried to piece it together. “I remember how I wanted to show you that there are people out there that like being around you.”

“Like who?” he prodded, trying to get Roman to verbalize the answer he couldn’t bring himself to admit. “Roman, are you saying that this was because you like me?”

Roman furrowed his brow, as if struggling with some internal conflict. “I know I think highly of you, but it all feels hazy. I can’t put it to words right without losing what I was thinking about. Then I just start thinking of Logan again,” he said, a smile returning to his face at the name.

Virgil stared at him, pieces falling into place at last. “Roman, was it love? Is that what you felt for me? What you have been feeling for me?” he asked, voice stifled with emotion.

Roman looked lost as countless emotions dancing across his face. After a beat he finally answered, voice low. “I think so. It feels right, even though it’s still foggy. But I do think it was love.”

The butterflies returned to Virgil’s stomach with a vengeance, stealing his breath and choking him. He felt electrified and lightweight and breathless and alive all at once, leaving him little room left for rational thought. Roman loved him. He was in love with him.

“I’m in love with you too,” he managed to whisper, confessing it like a prayer.

All at once the potions foggy haze in Romans eyes lifted, swiftly replaced by a hopeful disbelief. A grin slowly formed on his face, that same lovestruck look that he had given Logan in the kitchen. Only now it was being directed at Virgil.

“Virgil… you love me? You actually love me back?”

Virgil didn’t trust himself to speak, only nodding in confirmation.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear that,” he said with a breathless laugh.

He pulled Virgil into a tight embrace, hugging him fiercely as Virgil felt his heart skip a beat. Roman loved him back, he loved him and the potion had been cured because of it.

For once Virgil felt completely optimistic, and he knew he wouldn’t be alone anymore.

@britt-ish123 @lio-the-chaotic-nonbeanie-weenie @keitaisghost @oatmeal-stans-the-trash-rat @nico-the-overlord @rougeside4 @new-zee-land @can-i-take-a-stab

[stargirlfics]

Alrighty, once again I humbly come to you with more self indulgence because I just heard the LOUDEST cracks of thunder right now and my whole house SHOOK and well, yeah, you know 😩😭 Your Joel ones I reread and they bring me such comfort every time, I'm reading them again now 😭🥹💕

Alright, being up in Wayne Tower, if it rains or storms, it's gonna be scary especially with the windows and being up high and yeah 😵‍💫

Could I ask for some headcanons for early established relationship with Alfred comforting you during a storm?

He went to bed before you, but as soon as you heard the rain and saw the lightning flash, you race to join him under the safety of the covers as the thunder cracks. You try not to wake him as your arms try to fit around his torso while he sleeps. You're tucked right up against him like he's a shield, but you're eyes are just open, wide awake, occasionally glancing over to the window whether or not you can see out of it. You're trying not to tremble and trying your best to still your restless limbs, but you can't help it. Mumbling soft and embarrassed apologies to Alfred if he wakes.

You haven't mentioned anything like this to him before, being too embarrassed about it and worried he would think you were being silly and overreacting.

Thank you so much 😭💕 Please take your time! I just wrote this while it was on my mind while I try to catch my breath rn 😩😵‍💫

Aww friend I’m so happy I could bring you some comfort, I still remember and go back to the Joel ask you sent me, it’s one of my favorite hurt/comfort blurbs! 💓💓💓

Oh and of course! It’s the way I had some thoughts of Alfred being really sweet and caring during a bad storm floating around my brain this morning, we synced up lol no but I really love this! 🥺 he would make you feel so safe I just know it!

I have a headcanon that Alfred definitely sleeps soundly but also isn’t hard to wake, he’s spent so many years having to be attuned to his surroundings and keep alert and then with Bruce, ready to answer a midnight call if he should need his help

He’s a little harder to accidentally wake when it’s raining or storming out, I feel like he’s fond of that kind of weather but when it’s you, then, tucking yourself against him and whispering out apologies he knows something is off by the slight waver in your voice and then he notices you tremble with every lightning flash or boom of thunder

The way his first thought would be to cup your face, gently prompting you to look at him, and when you apologize again, embarrassed and worried he’s gonna laugh at you for being scared, he hushes you sweetly, sitting up a little to cradle you

“Please don’t apologize, my darling. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re safe with me.”

He does it so easily, moving so his body blocks the window, till you can only see and feel him around you and it makes you cling to him, already feeling a little better hearing him reassure you

“Easy, love. You’re doing so well! I’m right here, nothing can get you here, I promise.”

“How about I read to you for a bit hm? I think that will help while we wait out this storm, I know we didn’t get to finish the chapter we were on before dinner.”

It’s not even a second thought for him, he’s already reaching for the book on his nightstand, hushing you sweetly when you tell him you don’t want to mess with his sleep, you were just a little scared and the admission makes you want to hide your face but he won’t let you, telling you that he’s happy to do this for you

Please I’m so soft! Alfred kissing your forehead softly and whispering to you that you’re safe, that he has you and won’t let anything happen as the storm continues, you jump or shiver every now and then but less as the sound of his voice reading aloud to you kinda takes over everything else, it being all you can focus on because he’s so captivating to listen too!

He keeps you tucked against him, still making sure you’re not bothered by the window or what you can or can’t see and he makes a mental note to draw the curtains shut tighter when you calm down a little more, he just wants to focus on you and making sure you feel okay first 🥺💕 it’s making me so soft to think about!

Know this wasn’t much but I hope it brings a smile to your beautiful face! I adored indulging in this thought, Alfred is the best!

[toddtakefive]

thinking about todd and his resolve toward… not quite isolation, but being alone in a room full of people again. he goes along to the study room to sit on his own and do his homework, he sits at the poets table and follows along with what’s being said while keeping quiet, he goes to the meetings at all but doesn’t necessarily contribute (in fact, if you watch him when cameron is telling the story ‘from camp in sixth grade’, you can see that he recognizes it before any of the other poets but doesn’t voice it until they all have). he’s not alone, necessarily, if you want to get technical about it, he’s just lonely, and he’s generally okay with that. he doesn’t have friends and that’s fine, he doesn’t participate in class and that’s fine, he doesn’t have a relationship with his family and that’s fine—he could live without any real connection and he’d have been, more or less, fine.

the thing about when he says “i can take care of myself just fine!” is that he isn’t really wrong, you can infer that he’s been doing it his entire life anyway, it’s that ‘taking care of yourself’ isn’t the same thing as really living or being happy. todd’s an introvert, certainly, and even as he gets closer to the group he defaults to sitting quietly in the background, but he’s also denying himself community out of fear not introversion. todd isn’t friendless because he’s an introvert, although that definitely plays a part, he’s friendless because he pushes anyone that might want his company away. if anyone has every wanted for his attention in the first place. (neil’s unwavering interest in him is unique (even when it comes to the rest of the poets, who are fine with todd coming along and joining the group, but aren’t really hellbent on him being there in the beginning) and his refusal to accept it is a direct result of being so lonely growing up.)

there’s obviously something to be said about the implications of his parents neglect, and the more than likely fact that he grew up friendless, and how those both play a part in in him being so skilled at dodging social interaction/being so avoidant of it, but by the time we see him in the movie he’s all but accepted his fate as being alone his entire life. he’s already accepted being the family disappointment, and he’s already accepted he’ll never amount to anything, and he obviously doesn’t like it, but he’d have managed living with that knowledge without the confirmation that it was all wrong. would he have been miserable? almost certainly. but he’d have managed. he’d done it for that long already, anyhow.

[heavenbarnes]

anyways, as i was saying about older bf!simon and his willingness to please learn

pt 2 to this

“you ever heard of a nut video with sound on?”

obviously, he hasn’t- far as he’s concerned, if you haven’t told him about it then it doesn’t exist to him.

no skin off your nose, you’d spend the rest of your life teaching him about the ‘latest trends’ if it meant he kept sending those filthy fucking videos to your phone.

(your favourites on tiktok were purely filled with ideas)

he’s holed up in a remote location, killing time till he can be home and actually do something to you rather than send you a bloody video about it.

your instructions come through clear and concise, just how he likes:

“it’s what’s written on the can, si- you can pick the setup but i just want to see you cum and, most importantly, i want to hear it”

you’re lucky simon is such a practical guy and maybe you could thank price one day for making him so good at following orders.

when he’s got his alone time he’s setting his phone up to record on the edge of the window sill, moonlight fighting through the curtain to illuminate him.

he’s lost the bulkiest of his gear, down to his tactical trousers and a compression t-shirt. the images in his tattoo sleeve almost move when the light catches them right.

balaclava on (the one that just shows his eyes above the painted image of a skull) and he’s standing up to undo his belt (that you think looks like an airplane seatbelt).

you can hear his boots against the floorboard as he steps back to give you the full view of him undoing his trousers, taking his sweet time because he knows it drives you fucking batty.

he’s so big that the phone is working overtime to get all of him in the frame but you see exactly what you need to- thick thighs at your eye line and massive hands drawing down his fly.

on (you assume) the other side of the globe, you’re at home in your shared bed and you’re propped up right in the middle with the smell of simon engulfing you as you watch the video play out before you.

(if you’d thought about it you should’ve cast it to the bedroom tv, hoping the neighbours didn’t mind)

simon sits back down with his legs spread wide, one hand gripping his thigh as the other rubs himself over his boxers. his eye contact with the camera was fucking intense, like you’d hoped, just like when he’s on top of you.

he’s dressed in all black and the moonlight is obscured but you can still see him firming up in his pants. his eyes flutter, an infinitesimal amount but you’ve been tuned into his every move since you met him.

your thumb leans hard on the volume up button and you can hear the diegetic sound of the building expanding and that usual technical hum that comes with a video. but at this pitch, you could hear him.

his breathing was chopped, chest expanding visibly as he pulled his cock out into clear view. jeeeeesus christ, it was never something you just got used to.

long, reasonably straight, fucking thick. even his hand struggled to make it look smaller as he wrapped around it, giving one dry tug.

as he closed his palm over the tip, you saw him make a swipe before he brought his hand back down considerably smoother than before. you’d had your hands down his pants enough times, man leaked like a fucking faucet.

simon’s head tipped back as he started to pull himself off, balaclava raising just enough to expose some of his throat. if you were there you would be perched in his lap, letting him do the work but running your tongue under the lip of the fabric.

one of the best things about the videos simon sent was, he didn’t really understand how sexy he was. he didn’t think any of the videos particularly watchable so he’d just send them on first take. if you liked them, you liked them- yours was the only opinion that mattered.

what that meant was, you never got b-roll. everything he sent you was unbridled perfection. captured exactly as it happens with no faffing about.

always whatever you’ve asked for, whenever you ask.

(simon’s nothing if not inexplicably obedient)

he brings his hand under his chin to spit into the wide span of his palm, wrapping back around his cock and tugging. his foreskin moved over the head, rolling back down and thick veins bulging under his grasp.

you’d almost forgotten the conditions of your request, totally fucking enamoured by the sight in front of you when it caught you off guard.

a guttural moan ripped out of simon’s chest as he twisted his wrist.

his free hand moved to cup his balls, big and heavy, he rolled them in his palm as another groan sounded out of him. what you wouldn’t give to be knelt between his thighs with the whole lot in your mouth.

you knew how much of an ask this was, you really had to work him up to making noise when it was just you two in bed. these days? you couldn’t shut the man up when he was balls deep and his face was buried in the crook of your neck.

but this was another step, this was him on his own with his crew just through the walls. he’d be a plain liar if he said there wasn’t that rumbling trepidation in his chest. he’d put it to bed though.

all he had to think of was you, one hand gripping your phone and the other between your thighs as you watched him through with a hazy smile- that kept him going.

with the thought still heavy on his mind, you didn’t have to strain to hear your name drift off his lips. his hips bucked into his hand as he did, speeding up the motion of his strokes.

you were going to black out, his tattoos flexing and his chest expanding with every stuttered breath. simon looked like a god among men and he fucking sounded like one too.

“fuck, sweetheart- you’re so fucking filthy giving me orders like this”

your cheeks were burning, he wasn’t wrong but you weren’t expecting him to call you out quite like this.

“what does that make me? always so fucking eager to do what you say? make a dirty old man, yeah?”

wheeeeeew that’ll do it, your thighs snapped together around your hand as your eyes nearly rolled back in your head. whenever you thought you couldn’t take any more, he was always there to do you one better.

“only for you, pet- you can always get whatever you fucking want from me”

and you knew he was serious, that’s what made it all the more debilitating. simon was unshakeable, you’d seen him go out of his way to defy orders if he didn’t think the person worth his time.

when it came to you? you could tell him to kill and he would.

(he probably had)

simon’s hips were twitching, back arching in a way he’d rather die than have anyone else know about. his mouth was hanging open beneath the balaclava, your name and a string of expletives falling off his tongue.

so quick you nearly missed it, the hand that was cradling his balls moved to grip the fabric of his shirt and push it up his toned front. you couldn’t call his abs cut and defined, there was aged layer to them, but they were undeniably there.

you’d rested your head on them, pressed your palms against them, even ridden them enough times to know they were there. regardless, he looked fucking perfect under the moon glow as he stroked himself hard and long.

eyes locked onto the camera, broken moans on his lips, you saw his hips lift one last time as thick spurts of cum began to paint his stomach and chest.

scars illuminated under the night sky, mirrored by shiny patches of hot cum splattered across the same stretch of skin. the hairs on his chest were matted with sweat and were now being splashed with how far he was shooting.

you could only watch with your mouth hung open as he tugged himself through his orgasm. soon it was only the sound of his laboured breathing, chest rising and falling as he tucked his soft cock back into his pants.

just when you thought that was it, you found one of his hands lifting up the edge of his balaclava till his lips were exposed. two fingers of his other hand swiped up some of his spend before he lay them on his tongue.

knuckles in your mouth, biting down to suppress a scream, simon readjusted his clothes as he stood and took a heavy step towards the camera.

one hand braced on the window sill, the other gently gripping himself through his trousers- his voice was so fucking gravely it could’ve reverberated round your room.

“what’s next sweet’art? you name it, it’s yours”