#i had a fight with my coworker on wednesday

[a-little-bit-poss]

.

[clairenatural]

Dean doesn't like the word "boyfriend." He decides this the second time Cas says it–the first time it was new, shiny, exciting. The second time, he fights the urge to cringe.

It's not the "boy" part. It's not. It would have been, for a long time, but he's dug all that shit up and unpacked all the suitcases. They hold hands in public. They kiss goodbye in front of his coworkers at the garage.

It's just–not enough. Not nearly. Jack comes home from hanging out with his friends and fills Dean on the gossip and his boyfriend and her girlfriend and–that's not them. "Boyfriend" feels like a cheap mockery. Like how demons used to tease.

He's heard "partner." He's heard it from Sam, to Eileen, but he doesn't know how he can stomach it. He's said that word too many times. I'm Agent Tyler and this is my partner, Agent Perry. This is my partner, Agent Page. My partner, Agent Stills. All lies. Sam says he likes it, that he's making it mean something real. Besides, Eileen loves it.

Good for them, Dean thinks. It makes his skin crawl.

So he sticks with “boyfriend” and he shrugs off the funny urge to protest every time Cas says it. It makes him happy, and honestly, it’s not like he has an alternative.

It’s a Sunday when he realizes that somehow, Cas does. They’re at the farmer’s market, like Cas is every weekend, but Dean had picked up weekend shifts and missed the past few. Cas is excited the whole way there, telling Dean about how he’d manage to befriend the local honey vendor in his absence, how she’d invited him to a beginner’s apiarist group she helps run. They beeline (heh) to the honey booth as soon as they get there, and the woman--Judith? Janice?--smiles up at them both, hands Cas a jar of honey like she’d been expecting him, and says “Oh, this must be the husband! I’ve heard so much about you.”

Dean stares at Cas. Cas stares at the honey. Judith/Janice stares at both of them, smile fading as the silence goes on a beat too long. 

Dean clears his throat. “Uh, yeah. The husband, that’s me! Ha ha.” Beside him, Cas relaxes, just barely. In front of him, the woman breathes an audible sigh of relief. “Sorry,” Dean shifts. “Just didn’t, um. Realize I was such a hot topic.” 

The smile he gets is almost sympathetic. “Oh, only good things. Here,” she hands him a business card. “You should also come out to our meeting on Wednesday. Lots of people bring their partners.” She leans in, almost conspiratorial. “Beekeeping can be wonderful for couples.”

It’s at this point that Cas clears his throat and finally looks up from the honey in his hand, evidently giving up hope on escaping this conversation. “Thank you, Janet.” (oh. Janet.) “Dean works late on Wednesdays, but I’m very excited to see you all.” He’s pulling out money as he says this, apparently deciding to just go ahead and end the entire interaction. He hands her the bills, grabs Dean’s hand, and is already moving away from the booth by the time Janet calls “See you Wednesday!” after them.

Cas drags him all the way back to the car without stopping for tomatoes, or Sam's carrots, or the free-range eggs that are way too expensive but Cas buys anyway because you can taste when the hen is well cared-for, Dean (whatever that means). They slide into the car, still not talking, and sit in silence for several long seconds. Dean stares at Cas, who stares out the windshield at the parking lot.

"I can explain," Cas speaks, finally, right as Dean was about to open his mouth and say anything to break the silence.

Dean pauses. Can you? Cause I feel like I missed a few chapters, he thinks.

"I don't work late on Wednesdays," he says instead.

"Oh." Now it's Cas staring at Dean, and Dean staring out at the asphalt.

He turns the keys. He drives them home.

Later, making dinner, Dean rolls the word around in his head. Husband. He's making his husband pasta (It's missing the tomatoes. He's made more with less).

Husband doesn't feel like a costume, like an ill-fitting suit and scratchy tie. It doesn't feel like high school gossip, or a monster trying to hit him where it hurts. It settles in warm in his chest.

It's just the two of them that night, and they're eating in the comfortable silence of the bunker until Dean clears his throat and brings it up. "Why does Janet at the farmer's market think we're married?"

Cas pauses, fork of pasta halfway to his mouth. He puts the fork down and takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not mad," Dean hurries to clarify. "It's just that there's usually, uh. Steps, you know. Like a whole....thing."

"I'm aware." Cas sighs. "She assumed, seeing us around - the first time I spoke to her without you, she asked where my husband was. And I..."

"You didn't correct her?"

"...No. I, um." Cas is looking down at his plate again. He picks up the fork, still half-full of pasta, then puts it back down again. "I didn't want to?" He says the end of the sentence like a question but looks back up at Dean and squints just a bit, and Dean knows he's watching for a reaction.

"Uh huh."

"It felt trivial."

"To tell her we're not married?"

"To call you my boyfriend." For the first time, he stumbles over the word.

Dean blinks. "You--" he stops, brain processing too much information to finish that sentence. "Okay." He leans back in his chair. Sighs. Rubs a hand across his eyes and lets it drag down his face. "Okay, listen. I don't like boyfriend either, but we gotta...talk about it."

"We are talking about it. You don't like it either?" Cas leans forward as Dean slumps back, following him across the table.

Dean snorts. "No, man." He shakes his head. "It's been a decade. I've seen you die." Six times. But who's counting.

"I agree." Cas pauses, and then, as if it's the most natural conclusion in the world, "Will you marry me?"

Dean actually laughs at this. "You're asking me that now?"

Cas quirks an eyebrow at him. "I've grown quite fond of calling you my husband at the farmer's market. I'd like to continue."

Dean stares at him in disbelief. It's not how he'd pictured it going, but he also can't think of it going any other way. Slowly, he nods. "Yeah, okay. Let's be husbands."

Across the table, Cas grins at him.

"But we're getting rings," Dean points a finger at him, because something about this is going to be normal.

"If you'd like. Although I already told Janet that you can't wear a ring because of your work at the garage, and I don't wear mine in solidarity."

"Rings," Dean insists, and decides to overlook the rest of that sentence. For now. He stabs his fork into a pile of the pasta. "And let me stop for the damn tomatoes next time."

They get rings and wear them on chains around their necks. Cas puts a beehive on the hill, and there's a small ceremony in the summer - a "vow renewal" to Cas' beekeeping group, who all receive invites attached to little jars of honey. Janet gets the nicest one.

[jungkookstatts]

University Superstar

[Summary]: Jeon Jungkook is your University’s biggest rock-star-athlete-hot guy. It literally prides itself on his attendance at the school — walking around with his “big name” (captain of the lacrosse team), tattoos, and rude, jock-like personality. You hate him. You hate that he can’t apologize for being a complete asshole. But what you don’t hate is how he visits your office every day. You also don’t hate that your feelings for him are crawling back into your system…

[Theme]: Jock!Jk, LacrossePlayer!JK x TeacherIntern!Y/N, Friends(?)ToLovers!AU, EnimeisToLovers!AU

[Rating]: 18+, explicit content, lots of hickies, mentions of blowjob, consistent flirting, JK is an extreme asshole (he actually got on my nerves for some of it lol), insensitive JK, lots of passion, squirting, kissing, pining after one another (mainly JK)

[Word Count]: 10,291

[Author’s Note]: I didn’t plan on making Y/n an education major…? But then I was thinking of JK in a bomber jacket and jock x teacher!AU and…yeah no, it had to happen.

[Masterlist] [Sequel] [Drabble (1), (2), (3)]  

Jeon Jungkook.

The name makes you hurl a little in your mouth. Yesterday’s lunch makes its way to the back of your throat. But you swallow it down, telling yourself to be strong and that he will go away soon.

“So,” he banters a smile at you. That stupid yellow and blue lacrosse bomber jacket puffs out around his shoulders, the number “07” poking out in the ugliest school-sprit font you’ve ever seen on his sleeves. His elbows rest on your desk, arms delicately pushing some of your papers and trinkets out of his way. The action only fuels your anger.

“7 o’clock. You and me. Chipotle.”

“In your dreams, fuckboy,” you scoff. The audacity he has to ask you out. The audacity he has to find the school you intern at (literally on your universities campus, but still), interrupt your work, and ask you on a date for the nth time since a few weeks ago.

You think this might be the 5th time this week he’s asked you out on a date. And it’s only Wednesday.

The amount of explaining you still have to do to your coworkers, and even your kindergartner students, is exhausting. Everyone knows who he is. He’s the captain of your Universities lacrosse team, probably the most popular guy on campus…one of “the hottest” guys in the school (according to your coworker and best friend, Aecha)

You remember asking her a while back why he was always “the talk of the town”, and all she could say was: “Well, look at him. How could he not be?”

You get it. He is hot. But that doesn’t stop you from absolutely hating his guts. Not after he spilled his hot, black coffee all over your white shirt and pants a few weeks ago. Not after he stained all of your precious student’s artwork with his scorching hot Americano.

You were on your way to the school to hang them up in your classroom. Stopping at your University library’s coffee shop, you decided to start your day with a little bit of matcha before you decorated your space.

Your students had just completed a “What I Love About Me” project, and their responses literally made you cry…maybe made you ugly cry. So innocent and honest in their responses, this project was probably the most precious to your heart. You had wished you did something like this back when you were so young. Maybe then you would have a reminder on your bad days what younger you always admired before nasty comments and puberty hit your system.

So, when Jeon Jungkook completely drenched them in his black coffee, your stained (and very expensive) white work shirt and pants didn’t even matter. The sopping-wet look of your student’s artwork made you fight to gulp back tears. But you couldn’t help the water that begged to break free from behind your eyelids.

“Oohh!” he laughs, the stupid jock in him making a scene. “Jeez! I’m sorry.” you can feel the antagonizing smirk on his lips as he looks at what he’s done to you. “Here, let me get a napkin,”

Jungkook exits your line of vision and you try to make your way out of the library before he comes back. But, ever the athlete he is, Jungkook is back before you can blink with a giant wad of the coffee shop’s crappy brown napkins.

You don’t even know who is talking to you until you take the napkins from his hands, recognizing those ugly, stupid, hot hand tattoos. Who couldn’t recognize them when the whole university makes Jungkook’s tattoos each and every one of its personality traits?

The realization of your perpetrator being Jeon Jungkook only makes you more upset. Had it been anyone else, the hurt in your heart from your damaged projects might have been less painful.

You immediately start wiping off your student’s projects, placing them on the nearest table and patting them dry, trying your best not to smear the Crayola marker on some of them.

“Woah, hey,” he chuckles to himself again. “Nice line work. Didchya draw those?”

“Please, stop talking.” you spit at him. Finally, you look up at his face, hoping he gets the point.

You think he does, because the minute he catches your gaze, his face freezes. The look adorning your features was angry, but that tear in your eye from what he did to your papers made you really upset. Which, for some reason, made Jungkook's heart clench. Hoping he can’t see the tears trying to break free from your eyelids, you look back down and continue your previous actions.

“I-I, um,” he stutters, his voice much meeker than what it antagonized you with just moments ago. “Look, is there anything I can do? A free drink? New clothes? A personal invitation to Min Yoongi’s New Year’s Party? An escort around the men’s lacrosse team's locker room? …During uniform change?”

“Thanks, but the best thing you can do is leave,” you reply. Just about done drying your projects up the best you can, you gather them in your arms and face the man once again. This time, you stare at his face for more than just a few seconds. You hate that he’s handsome; it only makes it harder to stop looking at the playful smirk forming on his lips from mentioning the men’s locker rooms.

“You sure? Heard this year’s party is supposed to be a banger.” he bribes, the mole under his bottom lip showing as he smiles.

“Min Yoongi is a close friend. I am invited to his parties every year. Now, I have to go—”

“No way?!” he exclaims, the permed dark curls over his eyes bouncing as he places a large hand on your shoulder. You shrug it off, but he acts like he did nothing wrong at all. “How come I haven’t seen you before? I’d totally recognize you. You’re smokin', by the way.”

Your lips and nose cringe at his statement.

“I don’t usually go,” you explain. “Now, please move before I push you out of my way myself.”

“Hah!” he laughs. “Like you could. Hey, are you an elementary teacher or just a shitty artist?”

“I’m not answering that,” you say.

His comment hurts you. This is precious art to you. The fact that he has no regard—didn’t even say sorry meaningfully—for your papers that you are obviously upset about makes your heart sink. All you can see are the faces of your students.

“Okay, well, that offer for a free drink, or clothes, or uh—oh yeah. The men’s locker room deal,” he winks. “Is still on the table.”

“I’ll pass,” you flash a tight-lipped smile his way before brushing a shoulder past him and exiting the library.

The first tear makes its way down your cheek, and you quickly wipe it off before anyone has the chance to see it. You think Jungkook might have through the window of the shop, but you assume he is looking at his order number he placed for a new coffee on the screen above it. It would appear more fitting. He clearly has no care in the world that he did something that made someone else upset. From his own actions. But are you really surprised that he wouldn’t care?

The rest of your walk to the elementary school is filled with blasting music in your headphones and a scowl on your face. What was once sadness is now anger. You’re angry. So fucking angry. Your blood is boiling.

“How could he?” you exclaim as you barge into the teacher’s lounge.

“Woah—” Aecha observes. “Is this a new print or something?” she asks, referring to your white-brown shirt and pants. “Please don’t tell me this is a new ‘thing’? No offense, but it’s kind of ug—”

“No, it’s that stupid Jungkook-jock-fuckboy-asshole-bitch—”

You silently thank an existing god that the kids have off today.

“Jeon Jungkook?” Aecha’s jaw drops.

“Don’t even start. I hate that man. Look what he did,” you seethe, slapping your student’s projects on the table.

“Awww,” Aecha’s eyes go beady, her fingers delicately shifting through the precious artwork. “Did he ruin them?”

“Yes,” you fight the urge to swipe all the shit on the coffee bar onto the floor. “Yes, he did. And now I have to give these back to the kids, hoping that when they’re 15 years older they can actually make out what it's saying.”

“I’m sorry,” she pouts. “That’s really shitty. Did he apologize?” she asks, sorting through the damp papers. “They don’t look too distraught. I can still read them,” she assures you.

“He apologized as the third phrase he said to me. The first was an ‘Oohh!’ accompanied by a mocking laugh and then a ‘jeez!’ Didn’t even realize I didn’t care about my damn shirt until he pointed out how ‘shitty my artwork was’.”

“Wow,” she gapes. “That’s totally Jungkook, that’s for sure,” she nods in agreement, thinking upwards. “You know, now that I’m imagining the scenario, it’s kinda hot.”

“Aecha!”

“Okay listen,”

“No, I won’t.”

“Okay, fine,” she gives up. You dig underneath the coffee cabinet, pulling out a spare hairdryer and plugging it into the wall. Your school is filled with mostly women teachers, so finding something like this in a coffee room is not that unordinary here. The room is soon loud with the sound of the machine as your try to dry them completely. “You going to Yoongi’s party, by the way?” she asks you.

You remember Jungkook’s offer to invite you to said party. You scoff at the memory. What was once a plan to tell Yoongi that you were, in fact, going to attend...is now a “no” from you. Not when you know Jungkook will be there. He is always there, just too drunk to remember you, probably. He even danced with you a few times, grinding on your ass with a beer in his hand and his other on your waist.

You remember it all too well. That was back when you had positive thoughts about the man. But then he became the captain of the lacrosse team. And then he became obsessed with the amount of “get out of jail free” cards he suddenly obtained from his popularity, hotness, and good standing on the school board. When you heard about what he was like from Aecha, your friends, the school news, YouTube, etc., you stopped finding him fancy. You couldn’t see the same man you saw that night. Especially not with how he treated you just an hour ago. Sad, but you washed away any hint of a crush you might've had on him after then.

“No, not anymore,” you reply, loudly speaking over the blow dryer. It is loud enough to where you don’t need to yell, but you wouldn’t be able to hear her response if you both talked normally.

“What?!” she drops her shoulders in disappointment. “But Hoseok is going to be there…you told me you’d go with me if he was!”

You know Aecha has been chasing after Hoseok since she first talked with him at last year's party. She doesn’t know anyone else who is going besides Yoongi and Hoseok. Being they’re both men, she doesn’t know if she feels 100% comfortable going alone, even though you and her both know they would never dare to hurt her or make her feel unsafe. It is more of a girl code—arriving and leaving together—than it is anything else. So you understand.

You had forgotten about said agreement, and you groan in frustration. Now, you have no other choice.

“Y/n, I need to bag this man. I need to,” her voice is laced with determination. “I am like—I am tired of waiting and this is my one last chance and—”

“Okay!” you hush her. “Fine, I’ll go.

She claps her hands and does a happy dance. You wish you could find her reaction endearing, but now you’re dreading the upcoming events of this party.

----

The week is going by fine until you get unexpected amounts of bouquets and Edible Arrangements all addressed to you from…Jungkook. You send them all back, just to get an angered Jungkook storming into your office a few days later.

“You know how expensive those were?!” he half-shouts at you. He quiets his voice, noticing the quiet setting he is in. However, he doesn’t seem to care that he has intruded on your space during your work time. He closes the door to your office anyways, trapping you in it with him.

“How did you get this address…and how do you know I work here?” you interrogate, going back to typing on your computer. The things you type are a mix of keyboard slam and words you’re thinking, faking work at its finest because some abnormally hot jock-asshole needs to make it known that his gifts are not to be returned.

“Min Yoongi is a man of many talents,” he responds. Taking a seat in one of the chairs across from your desk, you watch him as he plays with your nameplate on your desk. “Ms. Y/n L/n. Cute.”

You snatch the gold engraved tag out of his hands and place it back on the desk where it was before. “Please don’t touch my thi—”

“So, you are a teacher, then, I suppose?” he interrupts you. You don’t know it, but Jungkook is really trying here. It took a lot and nothing at all for him to walk in here. Truthfully, he has no idea how to apologize to you. A simple, sincere, “sorry” would probably do it. But he even practiced it in the mirror. Literally impossible. It’s like his mouth was forbidden to say the word without gagging at himself.

Apologizing was never his strong suit. Before coming to college, he was a good boy. Sweet and kind, never once a popular kid until he hit puberty and was suddenly his high school’s prom king. That’s when he started doing things he is not that proud of. It became a habit, but the good boy in him has a hard time practicing apologizing. Mainly because... he never really had to do it before becoming a total high school popular kid and a university super-star player.

But he really fucked up this time. And, he was hoping you would just let it go like people always seem to do when he can’t admit things correctly. But after seeing that tear fall down your face after you left the shop, that clench in his heart followed as you walked away. He couldn't stop thinking about how bad he felt all week. Those really meant something to you and he knew it. He just didn’t know how to admit he was being an asshole.

“I am,” you reply. “You here for some lessons?”

“Stop,” he grins. “Teacher—student sex has always been a fantasy of mine.”

“Please,” you scoff at him. The audacity. “As if I’d fulfill that for you.”

“A man can only dream,” he shrugs.

“Yeah, well keep doing that. What do you want, Jungkook?”

“I want to know why you sent back my flowers. And my Edible Arrangement! I was fighting the urge not to just eat it when I picked it out for you.”

Truthfully, you were too. You love Edible Arrangements.

“Because I don’t want your sympathy because you realized you were an asshole,”

“Why not?”

“Because none of that matters to me. I’m not an ex-girlfriend who caught you cheating on me. I’m just a stranger you met last week. I want an apology. An honest apology from you. And that’s it.” you explain.

Jungkook puffs his cheeks out.

“You’re difficult,” he raises his eyebrows. “I like that,” he smirks at you.

“I don’t have time for your flirting, Jungkook,” you roll your eyes at him, focusing back on your screen. “Please go home.”

The next time he comes in is around 3pm the following day. The kids are out of school by then, but all your coworkers are still here. So is Jungkook, apparently. Aecha tells you he’s been talking it up with the principal since he got here.

You groan, hoping he is just here to speak with the principal and not you. It is a farfetched hope, though. You don’t know what business he has with the principal, or anyone else here besides you, for that matter.

It is around 5 when he barges into your office again. You’re packing up your things, dreams crushed when you thought you could exit work without running into the alleged lacrosse star.

“Hey, sexy,” he flirts, eyeing your flowy, loose, figure-hiding, ugly, dark-brown art dress. You roll your eyes again, knowing he’s making fun of you. It was art day, and you had to wear your paint-stained art-apron dress. It’s the only one you don’t care about other than the shirt he ruined just a week ago.

You ignore his comment, zipping your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.

“Reconsidering tutoring?” you mock. Jungkook laughs at you, trying to hide the blush on his cheeks. You’re really cute when you mock him. It kinda gets him going.

“How’s about 9:00pm next Saturday at Min Yoongi’s?” he asks, trying to get you to go to the party again. Little does he know that you’re going. But you don’t want to amuse him too much.

“Funny,” you banter, making your way to the door. But he blocks your path, his arms resting against the door frame as he stares down at you with those white teeth and bunny eyes. You want to squish his cheek between your forefinger and thumb for reasons you don’t understand. All he has done is make fun of, flirt, and annoy you since you two met. Why do you feel the heat in your cheeks when he slips a finger underneath your chin, dark eyes staring into your soul? Why does your heartbeat in your throat when you look at the glossiness of his lips so close to your own?

You back away, releasing yourself from his flirtatious actions.

“What if I begged on my knees?” he blurts out.

You snort out in laughter at that. The thought of Jungkook: the tall, big guy with tattoos and an award-winning lacrosse scholarship? On his knees in front of you? Begging you to go to some party? That’s rich.

Jungkook blushes harder at your laughs. Fuck, your laugh is so cute. He wants to make you laugh like this a lot. Maybe forever, even. You’re music to his ears.

“What’s so funny?” he chuckles with you. “Think I can’t?”

“Please,” you smile wide, a hand covering your mouth, trying not to muster up any more laughs. “That would be too much. You sure you want to pleasure me?”

Jungkook’s mouth grows dry. Um…yes?? He would, in fact, like to pleasure you. Maybe not in that way, but he’d do it if it meant you were pleased with him. Fuck! If only he could admit things properly.

“Um, no, never mind” he goes against his wish. “I don’t think I could stand the content look on your face.” He totally could??? What the hell is he saying?!?

Jungkook runs a hand through his thick, brown locks, looking at you as you die down your laughter. If only you knew he’s been after you since two New Year’s parties ago. You think he doesn’t remember, but he totally does. The way your hips swayed against his, pressing your ass into his front. He remembers how soft your skin felt underneath his tattooed hand. All he remembered is how he wanted to mark you up, kiss the skin of your lips, neck, and shoulders and claim it as his own. But he had one too many drinks that night, and he found himself passed out on Min Yoongi’s couch the next morning. Jungkook started off the New Year with his clothes on, cheeks flushed, a terrible hangover, and no sight of you anywhere.

He had been trying to find you for a while on campus, but little did he know you were all the way on the opposite side of it in the Education sector. When you didn’t show up to Yoongi’s New Year’s Party the following year, he realized he may never see you again. Until he ruined your clothes. And your valuables. And your heart. And god-knows-what else. If only apologizing didn’t completely break his fragile ego, maybe he would be kissing you right now. Maybe he could have been spending all his time kissing you and holding you every day since the incident.

“Whatever you say, fuckboy,” you smile at him. “Now let me go — and stop coming into my office. It’s annoying.”

“Principle Green is actually so rad, though. I might come back just for him,” he comments, moving out of your way.

“I don’t care who is rad, I don’t want you interrupting my work.”

“Oh, so I’m a distraction?”

“No, you’re a nuisance,”

“Ouch,”

“Goodbye, Jungkook,” you flash him a grin, turning off the lights in your office. You look at Aecha in the teacher's lounge where you exit. She is completely baffled, eyes wide, her mouth dropped, and her bagel falling out of her hands and onto the table. Cream-cheese side down. She heard everything, and you know what she’s thinking.

Luckily, you can leave without either of them making conversation with you.

Entering your car, you let out a huge breath you didn’t know you’d been holding in. You look at yourself in your sun blocker's mirror. Cheeks red and lips cracked from all the laughing, you’re a total mess! As if your crush on Jungkook is coming back. It can’t be. He’s a total asshole now.

But a charming asshole.

Fuck! Stop it, y/n. You can’t do this to yourself.

And so, you don’t. You blast your music and drive away, pretending you don’t see a waving, smiling Jungkook from the school’s entrance in your rearview mirror.

----

Three knocks on your door and an uninvited Jungkook makes his way into your office. Again.

Jeon Jungkook.

The name makes you hurl a little in your mouth. Yesterday’s lunch makes its way to the back of your throat. But you swallow it down, telling yourself to be strong and that he will go away soon.

Last night, after Jungkook’s daily visit to your office (one that ended up with a 3-hour conversation about how Thor is the best Avenger next to Spider-Man), you realized that it’s been almost two weeks since you met him in the coffee shop. Almost two weeks and you have yet to receive a proper apology like you had asked him to give you the first time he visited you at work.

This is the 7th visit since two weeks ago, and still no apology. Despite his charm and how easily you were almost tricked into letting it all go, you remembered you were still supposed to be mad at him. And that you should still be mad at him no matter how many bunny-smiles, flirtatious comments, and talks about the Avengers and Principle Green that shoots straight to your heart. And to other places…

“So,” he banters a smile at you. That stupid yellow and blue lacrosse bomber jacket puffs out around his shoulders, the number “07” poking out in the ugliest school-spirit font you’ve ever seen on his sleeves. His elbows rest on your desk, arms delicately pushing some of your papers and trinkets out of his way. The action only fuels your anger.

“7 o’clock. You and me. Chipotle.”

“In your dreams, fuckboy,” you scoff. The audacity he has to ask you out. The audacity he has to find the school you intern at (literally on your universities campus, but still), interrupt your work, and ask you on a date for the nth time since the start of this week.

You think this might be the 5th time since Sunday he’s asked you out on a date. And it’s only Wednesday.

“Woah, why the ‘tude?” he defends, putting his palms up as he slides back into his “designated” chair in your office.

“There is no ‘tude.”

“There totally is ‘tude!”

You glare at him from over your laptop screen. "See!” he points at your scowl.

“Jungkook, get out please,” you sigh. You really don’t want to deal with his antics today.

“What? Why?” he asks you. His voice is defensive like you just told him his dick is short and thin. Which, it totally is not by the way. He’d tell you about it, but it doesn’t appear like you’re up for that conversation.

“Because, Jungkook, I’m done with this.”

“With what?" he scoffs. "We’re not even a ‘this’,” he says the last part with finger air quotes.

“Exactly, so please stop visiting me. I don’t want your distractions to make me forget about the fact that you still haven’t apologized.”

“Oh, please, y/n,” he drags out a laugh, slouching on your chair. “I don’t even need to apologize. They were just some shitty drawings. I can assure you that if you go back into that classroom and call an ‘art sesh’ they’d make up a bunch of equally as shitty pieces for you.”

You can feel your fingers nearly breaking the screen of your laptop before shutting it close. You stand up in your seat, motioning your finger toward the door. “Get out.”

Jungkook knows he stepped over the line with that one. He really doesn’t know what the hell he’s saying. He knows those meant something to you! Why is he acting like he doesn’t? Why does he choose to say words that hurt you? It only hurts him, knowing that even though he wants so badly to be the person that comforts you and who tells you you’re okay; saying the opposite is only going to make it worse.

Duh!

Right now, he wants to beat himself up so badly that he’s lost the ability to speak another word.

That clenching feeling he has in his chest is back. He can see the anger in your heart, reaching out to protect the innocence of your students. It’s endearing, really. But he’s in the crossfire. And he’s on the side of your wrath he doesn’t want to be on. He’s the reason you’re protecting your students in their absence. He is the reason why you might never forgive him for this one.

“Y/n, I,” he stutters, standing up. He really thinks he’s about to apologize until something within himself blocks him from doing so again. His heart wants to say it, but his egotistical brain isn’t allowing him. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then what did you mean it as?” you ask him. Hands running through your hair, you laugh at yourself in disbelief. “You know, I don’t even know why I’m asking you that. I don’t even know why I expect anything from you at all. All you’ve been doing since you got your damn scholarship and your damn popularity has been treating others like how you are treating me right now. Like their feelings don’t matter, like no one else exists in this world besides Jeon Jungkook. Maybe if you had a project like the one I assigned to my students, then maybe you’d have a reason to look back on what it means to be kind to others. Maybe you’d realize that people get hurt because of people like you. Me included. So please, leave my office and don’t show your face in this school ever again.”

Jungkook is at a loss for words. What can he say? You called his bluff. He taught himself how to block out others as a defense mechanism a long time ago. Its consequence: confidence as a new defense mechanism. Confidence is always good, right? So why it felt wrong when he started showing that side of him 100% more than it was before was beyond him. And, well, this is why it felt so wrong. He's lost the ability to humble himself down. And he hurt you because of it. He’s hurt a lot of people because of it. If only he knew how to balance himself properly.

Jungkook leaves your office, not batting an eye at you, feeling like a student who just got expelled. The jock in him would say it was hot, but that part of him is not there. Nothing but shame fills his body. He feels ashamed of himself. Especially as he catches light of one of the coffee-stained projects on the lounge-room walls.

[I love my _______ because it makes me feel ________] is the prompt. This one had the most outrageous spelling he thinks he’s ever seen. Backward “e”’s and random capitalization and sizing and all. But he makes out “heart’ and “wanted”.

Something in him pulls on his heartstrings again. He can see why those projects meant so much to you. Just that one simple response was enough to feel regret all the way from the follicles of his scalp to his big toe, as if he didn’t regret it already. How is he going to make it up to you? He has no idea. But he can’t lose sight of you, even when he knows he's pissed you off and hurt you. He has to find a way to make it right.

He has to apologize. Sincerely. Like he’s been practicing in the mirror and with his roommates, Taehyung and Jin, for the past two weeks. It’s easier with them. They don’t make his heart beat abnormally fast. They don’t send smiles (other than teasing, antagonizing ones that make him feel embarrassed and give up) that make him want to kiss you until you’re breathless beneath him.

But he needs to. And it needs to happen soon.

----

“So,” you smile at Aecha across your kitchen counter. She’s wearing the skimpiest hot pink dress you have ever seen. No doubt trying to be a tease for Hoseok. No one would guess she’s a preschool teacher with the way she’s dressed. “What’s the plan?”

She turns around, pinning the last bobby pin in her stiff, hair-sprayed-bobby pinned high bun.

“Okay,” she smiles. “We go in, right? Then I see Hoseok. Then we dance. Then we kiss. Then we f—”

“Okay!” you stop her, laughing. “I get it. Go in, dance, fuck. What do I do?”

“Hmmm,” she thinks. “Drink?? Get high? Maybe mock my actions on a certain captain of the lacrosse team…?”

You give her a knowing look.

“I know!” she puts her hands up. “Was just a thought.”

A great thought, at that. You’ve been wanting to jump his bones since three New Year's parties ago. But you’ve long accepted that’s no longer on your agenda. Jungkook has proven to you that he is a lost cause. You can’t expect anything from him, no matter how charming his smile is, no matter how well he dances, or how his touch makes butterflies flow through every vein in your body.

You have to put him in the back of your mind and move on. Maybe tonight you can find someone to do that with.

“You know that guy from Bread Club?” you ask her, fingers pinching the skin between your eyebrows in thought.

“Which one? That club was full of male nerd—oh! The hot one? Park Jimin?” she recalls.

“Yes!” you exclaim. “Him! Do you know if he is coming?”

“Oooooo,” she coos at you. “Does y/n see a potential crush on bread-boy Jimin?”

“Not a crush. Although, he is really handsome.” you blush. “I just never gave him a proper chance.”

“You’re right. I did suspect an underlying mutual attraction. My guess would be that he is going. I’m pretty sure he’s with that whole group. If I’m not mistaken, I want to say he’s Taehyung’s brother. Tae rooms with Jungkook and Jin.”

“Ah,” you nod, understanding the explanation. Although, all you hear is Jungkook. You hate that even his name in a conversation not even about him puts a sad feeling in your heart. You really do pity him. You also really want to forgive him. But after what he said back in your office, you don’t think you have the means to. His words hurt. They always do. But, he doesn’t know how to apologize. At least not to you. You remember how Aecha was surprised when you explained the situation and told her that he still hasn’t apologized since the incident. It made you wonder if you were the only person he refuses to apologize to.

“Okay, I’m ready. We both look hot. Let’s go,” Aecha says, matter-of-fact. She slaps her pocket mirror closed and shoves it into her purse.

----

You arrive at the sickest party Min Yoongi has ever hosted. Jungkook was right, this year’s party is a banger. Endless drinks, endless space for dancing, endless games, and endless men…boy you have many options tonight.

Aecha claps your shoulder in excitement, telling you that she sees her prey. You understand, letting her make her progress towards bagging Hoseok.

You continue smiling until your eyes land on Jungkook’s. He’s at the beer pong table, a beer in one hand and a pong in the other, ready to throw his next shot. Although, his progress towards throwing it stops when he sees you.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to keep looking at him. Dressed in all black with silver accents accompanying his wrists, ears, eyebrows, and lips. One could say he completely complemented your own outfit.

The fact only makes your heart hurt more. Why? You don’t know. You dropped him. He’s done. Wasn’t even a crush for longer than a day three years ago. Why you’re so hung up on him, you don’t know. The realization has you tearing your eyes away from his man-bun that looks too perfect framing his face, and onto the drinks in the room next to you.

You grab a shot or two. Or three. Or four. But who’s counting? It’s New Year’s Eve, you’re single, have nothing to lose, and have strange feelings toward a man you want to forget. Tonight is the night to get so wasted that you end up achieving that goal.

You think you will be successful when a familiar voice calls your name. Turning around, your eyes meet with Park Jimin’s. The bread-boy. Just the man you wanted to see tonight.

“Jimin!” you hug him. “No way! How long has it been since we baked banana nut bread together?!”

Jimin laughs out loud, hugging you back. “About a year, I’d say,” he smiles. His smile is really cute, reaching from cheek to cheek with that insanely addicting voice of liquid he uses to coat his words. “You’re looking really good tonight, Y/n.” Maybe he will be your saving grace tonight, after all.

“Thanks,” you smile. “You’re not looking too bad yourself.”

“Glad to know you’re pleased.”

“I am,” you smirk. “Somewhat.”

“Oh?” he raises an eyebrow.

“Come,” you change the subject. For some reason, flirting with Jimin feels wrong. Even though you want parts of him, even though you want to be able to flirt with him, something about it just doesn���t feel right. Maybe it’s the intense eyes you feel at the back of your head when you dance on Jimin in the middle of the dance floor. Maybe it’s when you kiss Jimin that you feel as if you’re imagining it’s Jungkook who you’re pressing your lips to.

It’s all wrong. Everything is wrong.

But Jimin touches you like it is right, and you feel somewhat assured until an extra hand is pulling you away from him. Suddenly, you’re drunken vision sees Jimin standing on the dance floor moving farther and farther away from you as this mystery person takes you away from him. Stumbling to keep up with this person’s pace, you turn around and attempt to pry off the strong arm that wraps around your wrist.

“Wha-What do you—who are you?” you ask this person. It isn’t until you realize that the person’s arm is tattooed. It isn’t until you realize that these tattoos are familiar and that they belong to Jeon Jungkook. “Jungkook, let go!”

To which he does, but only when he’s pulled you out of the house and into the alleyway between another house and Yoongi’s. Jungkook pins you against the wall, his forearms pressing against the brick next to your ears.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demands, voice low and eyes foreboding. Those eyes you’ve never seen before. They’re dark and angry; far, far away from his playful innocent-looking ones. They scare you a little. But you’ve always been good at facing your fears.

“I’m having fun,” you respond, not a smidge of the jitters you're feeling consuming your voice. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure you don’t make any mistakes,” he responds.

“Hah!” you laugh, the alcohol causing you to tilt your head back harshly. You forget there’s brick there, and you’re thankful Jungkook’s reflexes are fast enough to slide his hand beneath your head before it smacked against the brick. “You’re so funny, Kook. You know, that’s actually a good idea. Because the last time I danced on someone like that was with you. And I really regret that.”

Jungkook’s heart pangs in his chest, showing how your words affected him so by closing in on you. His face towers over yours, even though he’s been trying to keep his height as level with you as he can by bending his body at his hips to match your own height. But the closer he gets, the taller he becomes, and the more you have to look up in order to look into his eyes.

You can smell the cologne on his body along with the faint smell of booze on his breath. You hate how his scent makes you fawn over him. All you want to do is kiss him silly. But you’re still mad at him. You're still arguing with him right now.

“You don’t,” he scowls, more so at himself for letting it get this far. The sight of Jimin holding you like that when it was supposed to be him made his blood boil. Fury grew in his veins as he realized he needed to make this right. Right now. Before it’s too late and you’re truly moving on.

“And what if I do, Jungkook?” you lower your voice, words feeling heavy on your mouth. “What if I regret letting my feelings continuously be hurt by you?”

“And what if I told you that I regret it,” he holds your chin in his fingers. “Saying those things to you. I do, y/n. I regret it, and I don’t know why I kept saying those things. And I-I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It was never my intention to hurt you.”

You pause at his apology. Are you hearing this right? Did Jeon Jungkook just apologize to you? Twice??

“W-Well,” you stutter. Tears start to brim your eyes again for reasons you don’t understand. Maybe because you’re a crybaby. Maybe because this was your reason for not chasing after the man you liked so much. Maybe because his apology gives you the ‘go’ for smashing your lips onto his, feeling his honey lips collide with yours.

They’re just as soft as you imagined they would be. And god, is he a good kisser. His lips alone make a pool in your panties. Your hands slide around his neck, fingertips intertwining in his tied-up locks.

Jungkook’s body nearly stutters when you kiss him. Out of all things, this was the last he expected. Maybe a well-deserved slap or a kick on the shin, but never the feeling of your embrace.

Nevertheless, he doesn’t complain one bit. He’s been dying to feel you. Your lips on his was an imagery he thought he would never have the chance to live out. But, here you are, holding his body close and kissing him like he is the last person you will ever have the chance to kiss in your life.

Desperation crawls into his veins, lifting you up around his waist, and pressing you against the wall.

He’s been craving this for far too long. Craving you for too long. Jungkook can’t stop touching you, your body is just as soft as he remembered. His curiosity begs him to explore more and more of you. But he’s done enough without your permission. So he waits, continuing to kiss you until you take control.

“I’ve been dying to have you like this,” you say between trailing kisses down to his neck. Jungkook moans as you find his sweet spot, and you think it was the prettiest thing you have ever heard in your lifetime. Sucking on the spot, he raises his chest, trying to control his pleasure but nonetheless fails when you bite down on him.

“Y-Y/n,” he calls out your name, just loud enough for you to hear. His breath tickles your name on the shell of your ear, and you think you might have gushed arousal out of your cunt. “Not here,” he pants, trapping your chin between his fingers again. He motions your jaw up to his, tempting himself with light scrapes of his lips touching yours. “I don’t want anyone else to see you.”

“Then where?” you whisper back at him. It is so hard not to smash your lips onto his again, but you want this to continue. And if Jungkook wants you where no one but himself can see you, then you’re bound to be wherever that is.

“My place,” he brushes his nose against your cheek before returning your trail of kisses on his neck back to yours. “No one’s home. I brought a car.” He sucks your neck, leaving bruises all over. He's determined to find not just one sweet spot of yours, but to find them all.

“Wh-Why not the car?” you ask between moans. Jungkook is so good at this. He’s suede and smooth with his touches, hot and passionate with his kisses. He knows how to make you puddy in his hands.

Jungkook chuckles in your ear. “Not with the things I want to do to you,” he bites down on your neck, eliciting a sweet panted moan from your throat. “That won’t work.”

“Then let’s go,” you hold his neck firmly in your palms, stopping him from his parade of kisses. “I don’t want to waste more time.”

“Someone’s eager,” Jungkook smirks, kissing you once before setting you down and taking his keys out of his pocket.

“You have no idea.”

----

The ride over to Jungkook’s is spent palming him in the driver’s seat and Jungkook struggling to focus on the road. He’s not as consumed with alcohol as you might be, even though the effects of it on you stopped midway through making out with Jungkook back at Yoongi’s.

You know you’re doomed when the car abruptly stops. His fist pushes the stick into park, and he rips open the car door, walking around the front of it to come over to you.

You’re still tipsy, however. So, when you’re met with Jungkook’s erection right in your face you can’t help but laugh a little.

“What’s so funny?” he asks you, a little pissed off at your laughter. It’s hot.

Trailing a finger on the zipper to his black jeans, you outline the length of his cock slowly, admiring its size right in front of you. You dream of it fucking you, as if the man in front of you wasn’t on a mission to check that off your list right now.

“You’re so big,” you sigh like a teenage girl. “I want you inside of me, Jungkook,” you smirk, looking up at him from the passenger seat. Jungkook swears his heart leaps out of his chest. He thinks his voice might crack if he says another word, so he clears his throat, dick twitching simultaneously, before he responds.

“Then, c’mon,” he takes your hand, pulling you up and out of the car. “We’re here.” Jungkook smiles at you sweetly. He almost thinks that he should just wait until the morning to fuck you because of your tipsy-drunk moment until you’re kissing and palming him again. Jungkook moans into your mouth, stumbling with you toward his townhome’s entrance. Key fob in hand, Jungkook presses it underneath the door nob, hearing a sound of approval from the security system not long after.

“Teasing me in the car,” he growls against your ear, pushing you against the nearest wall once the door to his home shuts. “You think you weren’t going to get punished for that?”

All you can do is moan. Jungkook’s hands waste no time ripping off every piece of clothing you have on, dying to see you in all your glory.

“Holy fuck,” he pants. It’s almost as if he’s cumming his pants right now at the sight of you. “You’re gorgeous, Y/n,”

You can’t help but blush a little, his glare on you makes you think that he’s not actually saying these things about your body. Not this man. Not the ripped, 6-packed athlete with incredible strength and muscles that could pop you with one headlock around the neck. Maybe it's the booze.

“Take your clothes off, fuckboy,” you demand.

Jungkook shimmies off his black blazer, eyes still on your tits. He wants to suck them and leave marks all over the softness of them. He wants you to be completely covered in him tomorrow morning.

“Don’t call me that,” he walks closer to you, trapping your naked body between his half-clothed one. “I’m not a fuckboy.” he replies, taking off his mock-turtle neck tanktop. You thought it was tight enough on him before, but the sight of his muscles underneath the shirt makes you realize that the shirt did not do him enough justice. Never in a million years did you think Jungkook was this ripped. He basically has boobs. He could probably fit into your bra…

“Then what are you?” you ghost against his lips.

He would like to say “yours”, but he remembers that you’re still tipsy. Would you agree to that? Do you still hate him? He'd like to think 'no' considering how you two are both eager to have each other right now, but he's got a lot of things to ask and make up to you before any titles are made. So he holds off.

“We can decide that in the morning,” he settles on, flashing you a small smile before delving into your lips. His chest is firm against yours, his back so wide, you struggle to wrap your arms around it as he leads you to what you assume is his bedroom.

His room is just as you expected it would be. Covered in trophies and pictures, as neat and organized as you expected. But what really catches you off guard is how comfortable his bed is. The smell of him engulfs you as he gently places you on his bed. You think about how this night would be if you decided to fuck in the car. How you wouldn't be able to see this view on top of you so clearly if you did. You’re thankful Jungkook insisted on his bedroom. Now, you can see his handsome face clearly in the lighting of his room as he pulls his pants down to his ankles, leaving himself in a pair of white Calvins. They do nothing to hide the length and girth of his cock, and you shutter knowing that he’s going to completely rip you open.

“Don’t worry, I’ll prep you,” he whispers in your ear, sensing your worry. Jungkook’s lips find your neck again, gently kissing his previously left bruises before leaving more of them on the areas of your clavicle and chest.

“What if I don’t want to be prepped?” you whimper, back arching into his chest when his mouth engulfs your nipple, sucking on it hard. “W-What if I want you ri-right now?”

Jungkook laughs deeply as he twirls your nipple around with his tongue. He releases you with a quick “pop”, which makes your head fall back in pleasure. You can feel Jungkook’s body moving up to come face-to-face with yours. “Patience,” he gives you a quick kiss. “I refuse to hurt you any more than I have already.”

“Jungkook,” you coo, holding his jaw in your palm. He looks ashamed of himself. You’ve never seen this side of him, and it feels good knowing that he does harbor those kinds of feelings. Especially since he is comfortable with you seeing him display them. “I forgive you, Kook.”

“You shouldn’t,” he buries his face in your neck again, kissing you lightly as his hand trails down to your wet cunt. His fingers find your clit. You moan when he starts circling slow infinities on the sensitive bud.

“But I do, Jungkook,” you pant, hand coming up to drag your fingers through his hair. You pull out his bun, watching as his hair falls over the crown of his head and onto your skin. It smells like coconut, and you can’t help but bury your nose in it as he continues to gather your juices on his fingertips.

“I was bad to you,” he grumbles against your neck. This time, his fingers circle your entrance. Legs wrapping around his hips, you invite his fingers inside, to which he obliges. Just his index finger feels you first. Jungkook ruts against the mattress at the feeling, imagining the walls that squeeze his finger tight around his cock. Yeah, you definitely need prepping.

“But, you apologized,” you whisper to him, massaging his scalp. Your hips twitch when he adds another finger. You can’t imagine the size of him in you like this. Two of his massive fingers are enough to make you feel close to cumming around them. He’s going to be the death of you.

Pumping in and out of you, Jungkook moves his head to face yours, his nose kissing your own.

“I’m sorry,” he says once again. “I’m sorry for spilling coffee on you, and being an asshole, and making fun of your student’s art, and showing up at your work, and pissing you off, and making you hate me so much you—”

“J-Jungkook,” you stop him. It’s hard to concentrate on a response when his pace quickens with every mention of something he did wrong, as if he was getting angrier the more he realized how much he did to hurt you.

“All I wanted to do was the opposite of what I did,” he kisses your cheek. “B-But it’s hard for me to face negativity without being cocky and stupid about it. I thought that by making it worse, I could make it better.”

“What a strange tactic,” you chuckle against his cheek. Your heart thumps when he flashes you a smile, telling you with his eyes that he’d never do something like that to you ever again. “I’m proud of you.” You smile.

“S-Stop,” Jungkook adds his thumb to your clit as his fingers continue to fuck you slowly. The addition causes you to arch your back into him. Jungkook takes the opportunity to wrap his arm underneath your spine, holding you secure against his body. “You’re going to make me want to claim you if you say that kind of shit to me.”

“What if I want you to claim me?” you challenge.

Jungkook nearly growls into your neck, fighting the urge to just flip you over and ravage you. “Stop doing that to me, y/n,”

He feels your fingers start to tug at the rim of his boxers, and Jungkook can’t be any more excited to feel you around him. He presses one more finger into you before allowing you to shove his boxers halfway down his thighs.

Jungkook moans at the feeling of your soft fingers around his cock, head falling into the crevice of your neck again. His dick is red and angry and begging to fuck you hard and deep. You swirl the precum that leaks from him and circle it around his cockhead, eliciting a strained moan into the skin by your ear from the man above you. His hips jerk at the sudden movement, preparing themselves to fuck you hard and fast.

“I think I’m ready, Kook,” you whisper into his hair.

Jungkook detaches himself from your neck, standing up to quickly knock off his boxers onto the floor. He takes your calves in his hands, spreading you before his fingertips spread your pussy open slowly. Jungkook takes a long look at you. You're basically drooling from your cunt, the slick creating shiny lines off his fingers as he moves them up and off your pussy. Glistening and pulsing for him to fill you up, he knows you’re going to be a tight fit. The fact only excites him further.

He pulls himself onto the bed, pushing your thighs up with his body. Pumping his cock a few times, he lines you up with his dick, pressing his cockhead against your slick.

“You sure you want this?” he leans down to your face. Your thighs are trapped against your torso, Jungkook folding you up for him nice and good. You appreciate that he doesn’t do a thing without your consent, that he doesn’t dare to do anything unless you’re comfortable. A complete 180 from the emotionally constipated Jungkook you’ve been experiencing for the past two weeks.

You nod to him, looking into his eyes. But this doesn’t satisfy him.

“I need a verbal answer, y/n,” he kisses your cheek, dick rubbing up and down your warm entrance.

“Yes, Jungkook. I want you,” you lean into his cheek.

The feeling of his girth stretching you open is enough for you to dig your nails into the smooth skin of his back. Never in a million years did you think you’d be stretched this good.

He doesn’t go in all the way, letting you adjust to his girth before slipping his length all the way into you.

You swear his tip kisses your cervix. When he pulls out and slams back into you, you can confirm that he did, in fact, kiss it. Jungkook moans against you, gripping your hands in his own and pinning them above your head. His hips are strong, slamming into you with everything he has left in him. You’re a goddess below him, legs around his shoulders, fingers digging into the upper side of his palm, tears streaming down your cheeks as you feel all he is giving you.

“F-Faster,” you beg. Jungkook is happy to obey.

He takes your hips and flips you over, his hands pressing against the upper of your back, pushing your chest down into his sheets. Once satisfied, Jungkook firmly grabs your hips and pistons into you faster, just like you wanted. You’re a moaning mess beneath him, fingers gripping the sheets, legs twitching in resistance as he fucks into you like a madman. His nose is crunched, lip bleeding between his teeth as he tries to hold back his orgasm. Usually, he never feels ready to release this early. But, you’re the girl he’s always wanted. And now you’re in his bed, begging him to fuck you without prepping you and go faster and claim you, and—god, it's all too perfect. You’re too perfect.

Your moans are like honey in his ears, the sweetest music he’s ever heard. He slaps your ass hard—once, twice, so many times. You scream to it all, each one pushing you over the edge.

“This is mine, you hear?” he growls from behind you, gripping your ass in his hand before slapping it again. “You hear me?” he asks again, gripping your hips tighter and forcibly slapping them against his own hips. The impact makes you gush around him, your high following his forcefulness in squirts of your release. You don’t see it, but Jungkook’s eyes roll to the back of his head at the sight. No way did you just squirt all over his cock. Can this night get any better?

Maybe it can, because he feels his own release closely following. But he edges himself, pulling out of you to look at the mess you made instead of chasing his high.

You’re so embarrassed, digging your face into your hands as you hear him press his hand into his sopping wet duvet cover.

“I-I’m so sorry,” you whimper. You refuse to meet his eyes, even when he flips you over and sits next to your face.

“C’mere,” he pats his lap.

“Jungkook,” you whine, absolutely mortified. Is he mad? You can’t tell. He hasn’t mentioned anything about your release.

“Baby, come here,” he speaks to you with honey laced in his voice. Your heart thumps at the fact that he called you “baby”. Were your dreams coming true?

You gather yourself and weakly climb onto his lap, immediately digging your face into his shoulder.

“Was that bad? You didn’t cum,” you ask him, voice trembling into his neck. God, this is so mortifying. “I won’t do it again, I pro—”

“Like fucking hell you won’t,” he holds your waist firmly again. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen y/n,” he bites your ear. “It’s taking everything in me not to be gentle with you right now.”

Your eyes meet his hungered ones. You were wrong, and you know it not only from him saying so but also from his pulsating cock below. It is twitching and leaking with so much precum, you almost think that it is his cum itself if it weren’t for the clearness of it. And then you realize that he’s edging himself.

“I-I want this to last longer, but I don’t want to hurt you cause I—” his head falls back in a strained moan when you press a finger to his tip, playing with the precum leaking down himself. “Cause I know I will if you don’t take control of me right now…so, ride me,” he demands.

You kiss his neck, feeling lighter that you made him feel strong enough to nearly lose his control just from your orgasm. With power in your hands, you lift your hips just enough to hover your pussy over his twitching cock, sliding down slowly.

Jungkook’s hands come to your hips again, completely out of breath. “H-Holy shit, y/n,” he gasps when he stares down at his dick disappearing and reappearing as you bounce on his cock. “God, you’re going to murder me, aren’t you?”

You laugh at his comment. Although, he’s far from laughing, focusing all his energy on controlling his orgasm. Face falling into your neck, he’s mumbling things you don’t understand as you massage his sweaty scalp again. He moans at your touch, feeling overly sensitive and extremely, beyond-belief, horny. He wants to cum so bad, but he also wants this to last.

“You can cum, Kook,” you whisper into his scalp. You don’t know if you have it in you to cum again. Squirting is so powerful, and it usually takes everything out of you. But you might, considering you have the strength to ride him to no tomorrow. “It’s okay.”

“N-No,” he breathes against your neck, panting. “Can’t. Want it to last.”

“Don’t worry,” you laugh against his cheek. “I don’t plan on making you a one-night, Jungkook.”

“A-Ah,” his hips twitch into you. “I-um, ffuccck, y/n!” he sways your hips back and forth on his cock rapidly. “Y-You sure? It’s going to be a lot.”

“Mhm,” you smile down at him.

“Fuck, o-okay,” he breathes out shakily. Jungkook then bucks his hips fast into yours from underneath you, unrelenting and ruthless. You feel his hot ropes fill you up just seconds later. For what feels like a full minute of him pumping his cum into you, his face resting against your breasts in fucked-out glory.

You two rest there, letting his cum pool at the connection of your bodies while you rest against each other. What finally breaks you out of your own daze is the sound of fireworks just outside Jungkook's bedroom window.

You can see the array of colors lighting up the sky, his digital clock on his nightstand reading 12:00am.

“Hey,” you whisper into his hair, kissing his sweaty scalp. “Happy New Year.”

Jungkook detaches his cheek from your chest, bringing his face up to graze his nose against yours. Smiling into your lips he whispers,

“I’m gonna make it right, y/n. This will be our year.”

---

[Bonus]

[Aecha]: Hope you got home okay.

[Aecha]: Ended up a little stuck between Hoseok’s thighs.

[Y/n]: Funny story.

[Y/n]: I never made it home last night.

[Aecha]: WHAT?!

[Aecha]: Are you okay??

[Y/n]: More than okay.

y/n sent an image

[Aecha]: No

[Aecha]: Fucking

[Aecha]: Way

[Aecha]: I—AKJDAKSJHFJKASFKLDJSAFKLJSFA!!! Y/N!!!!

[Y/n]: So like.

[Y/n]: I’m no longer a single lady?

[Aecha]: AHHHHHHHHH Y/N!!!!!

[Aecha]: JESUS DID HE LEAVE ANY INCH OF YOUR SKIN Y/S/C?!?

[Y/n]: We had a lot of…catching up to do lol.

[Aecha]: I’d say.

[Aecha]: I’m the maid of honor. Understand me?

[Y/n]: Lol. You got it.

~~

[End. Do not copy. Original work of @jungkookstatts , 2023]

[loveshotzz]

All I Really Want Is You

older!neighbor!widower! steve x fem!reader chap nine/ten - a slow burn series of blurbs - updated every wednesday

Ask Me What I’m Thinking About

summary: Baseball can be a dirty game.

wc: 8.3k

warnings: 18+ some drinking, semi public fooling around (in a skybox), steve gets a little too worked up teaching you the rules of the game😏 (slight daddy kink)

authors note: I can’t believe we’re at the second to last chapter 🥺 thank you to everyone who’s been reading and all your sweet words this whole series, you guys really are the best 🧡

🌇 <- chapter eight

The Masterlist / The Playlist / The Tune:

The kiss lingered on your lips for days after the Fourth of July. A week at work lost in daydreams about the man that tasted like lemonade and stole your breath under fireworks at the lake. Fingertips trace the places graced by his lips to try and keep the feel of them fresh in your mind, impatiently counting down the days till you see him again.

You tug at the bottom hem of your sundress standing at Steve’s front door. It’s shorter than you’re used to, and the shade of red it was could never be found in your wardrobe until earlier this week. You’d fallen victim to an after work shopping trip with a coworker who had persuasive opinions that had you feeling confident when you looked in the long mirror of the fitting room. Her words ringing in your head like a mantra as you take a deep breath before knocking. Somersaults and cartwheels in your stomach, you wonder if it will always feel like the first time.

Bandit’s loud bark makes your cheeks push up in the kind of smile you usually only give to Steve. The sound of  long nails scraping excitedly on the other side of the door followed by his owner's deep bellow of his name only make it grow more. Butterflies take flight when you hear the click of the lock, another tug and a second deep breath.

“Bandit stop- Hey - oh wow, baby.” Standing there with the door half open, Steve drinks you in with hungry eyes. They roam up the expanse of your thighs, licking his lips when he sees how dangerous a strong breeze can be. “You look - wow, you look beautiful.”

It feels like summer heat on your cheeks, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth as you try not to beam. Maybe Jenny from work was right. Your eyes are just as greedy as his when you notice the tight fit of his jeans, and the white cubs jersey with the top two buttons undone. It makes his tan darker, along with the crisp tank top underneath. The silver chain around his neck catches in the sun from its place of the soft patch of chest hair that you’re realizing is always on display. His feet are bare and it makes you shift from side to side like it’s  something intimate.

“You look very easy on the eyes yourself Mr. Harrington.” You giggle and it makes him blush a furious red all the way to the tips of his ears.

Bandit whines impatiently behind Steve, his nails tapping against the wood floor. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. She’s coming in, calm down.” He opens the door a little more, turning around with one hand on the handle to usher the dog back to let you in. Your eyes catch his last name patched onto the back of his jersey like it's official. The realization that it probably is intimidates you.

It almost smells like the last time you were here, the rich cedar undertones are met with a hint of Bandit when you cross the threshold. He gives you a loud excited bark for good measure before his owner cuts him loose, shutting the door behind you. Steve doesn’t even try to stop him from jumping when you welcome him with open arms and a high pitched “hiii, handsome!”

Steve rolls his eyes dramatically when Bandit whines licking your face, but the smile he can’t fight gives him away.

“Alright, that’s enough. I didn’t even get my kiss yet buddy.” Steve chuckles, snapping his fingers making Bandit fall back on all fours in a huff.

I didn’t even get my kiss yet.

The words make your breath catch in your throat, Steve was going to kiss you again. He was just going to do that now, whenever he wants, and you’re gonna let him.

“Gettin’ jealous or somethin’ Steve?” You tease trying to hide the way he sets your skin on fire when his darkened eyes look at you like that.

“What if I am?” His voice drops to something new, something dirtier and it makes your thighs clench. 

One of his hands finds its way to where your dress sinches and smooths out at your waist, while the other rests against the wood behind you. He takes the few steps that have your back pressing against the door, fingers squeezing softly at your side before he reaches up to cup your cheek in the warmth of his palm. Looking down over the sharp line of his nose, the pad of his thumb traces the sticky silk of your glossed bottom lip. He wonders what flavor it is today, he can’t wait to find out.

“I’d tell you to do something about it then.” It’s a little shy the way it comes out just above a whisper, meeting his gaze from under your lashes.

His nose brushes with yours, the mint from his toothpaste fanning cool against your cheeks. Needy fingers find their way to his belt loops giving him a gentle tug closer and it makes him grin, you let his lips be a phantom against yours, impatience winning when you pull him in. 

It’s gentle at first and it feels like fireworks at the lake, like the butterflies from your first date. It’s when your hands slide up his chest and wrap around his neck that he presses his weight against you. His thumb pulls at your chin begging you to open up for him while his knee pushes its way between your legs. A week of being kept apart with nothing but thoughts of this has your tongues meeting greedy in the middle when you get lost in it. Spoiled with it. Noses press against cheeks and he can taste the tangerine that coats your lips in a sticky sweet mess. 

He groans when you bite at his bottom lip, thick eyebrows marrying in the middle when he kisses you harder, his knee getting a little bolder, getting closer. He can feel the heat that radiates from between your thighs like this and he curses at how short your dress is. Were you trying to kill him? Irrational jealousy pangs in his chest at all the guys that’ll get to look at you like this today. Guys your age. 

Bandit barks at something he sees outside making you both jump apart. Even with kiss bitten lips and a little dizzy from the lack of oxygen, you already miss him. He laughs quietly, pressing his forehead with yours the golden specs in his mossy eyes gleam feeling like a teenager again. All he wants to do is kiss you.

“I’ve been thinking about doing that all week if I’m being honest.” Steve confesses, long fingers finding yours, lacing them together like he needs you.

“I was terrible at my job this week, and it was definitely your fault.” You grin looking up at him like you love it.

The two of you stand there for a minute letting your eyes take in features that had started to soften in your memories. He smiles before bumping his nose with yours one more time, stealing a quick peck pulling away before you have a chance to kiss back smirking at your small pout.

“Let me get my shoes on and we’ll get out of here. We’ll get some dogs at Wrigley.” Steve calls over his shoulder, ruffling Bandit’s head on his way up the stairs.

“Dogs?” You snort under your breath so he can’t hear, your fingers finding their way back to Bandits fur scratching him behind his ears. You swear he’s smiling when he pants looking up at you with big friendly eyes.

You gaze towards his kitchen as you try to catch the breath he took with him up to his room, the memory of your almost first kiss feels like a lifetime ago. It’s not long before Bandit takes advantage of Steve’s absence, snorting playfully before he trots to the living room. Long nails click against the wood floors when he comes back making your heart swell when the stupid dancing banana you won at the block party sits in his mouth. Its stitched eye is already half gone, and an arm just barely hanging on.

“This your banana, cute guy?” You coo with a sweet smile, reaching out to accept his invitation to play tug of war with the plush toy.

You’re a mess of giggles when he starts ‘growling’ at you and trying to rip it from your grasp, pulling you forward every so often when he pushes back on his paws for an extra hard tug. Too lost in your own world, you don’t notice Steve watching from the top of the staircase. The necklace he bought last week burns a hole in his pocket, especially seeing you like this. He knows he’s already in love and it makes him want to laugh. Classic Steve. The hushed conversation he had with Eddie on the phone in his room lights a fire inside him. 

“It’s a necklace, it’s not a ring Steve. I stopped waiting around for the ‘right’ time and now I’m tryna start a family with the love of my life. What sign are you looking for, big guy? She’s seen your darkest parts and she’s downstairs waiting for you.”

You looked too pretty in that dress not to be his.

You finally get the toy away from Bandit, throwing it far enough for his paws to slide in place for a second before he takes off after it. Too busy laughing at the way he shakes the toy from side to side when he finally gets it between his teeth, you don’t hear Steve come up behind you. The fresh spice of his cologne hitting your nose gives him away first, the big hands that grab at your waist to pull you against his chest, the second.

“Missed me?” He teases, pressing a kiss behind your ear that makes you shiver. He likes that he can do that.

“Not really, I was having a pretty good time with Bandit actually.” He can’t see your shit eating grin, but he knows it's there.

“Not even a little bit?” He presses with a smirk in his voice, his lips ghosting against the exposed skin of your shoulder. You can’t help but tilt your head, giving him more to kiss. 

“Maybe,” You tug your bottom lip between your teeth, lashes fluttering when there’s a gentle nip at the dip of your neck. “Maybe a little bit.”

Steve smiles against your skin, humming in approval at your admission keeping you close for a few more minutes, and you realize you’d be more than happy to just do this the rest of the day. 

“Before we head out, I uh - “ He clears his throat, going a little stiff against your back as he starts digging in his pocket, “I got you something.”

You feel the way his hands shake, and it makes you want to turn around but the grip on your hip only tightens to keep you in place. 

“It’s easier to give it to you like this.” He mumbles, giving you a reassuring squeeze, your heart thumps wildly in your chest. 

“Steve what are you -“ Your sentence dies on your tongue when you feel something dainty and cold wrap around your neck. Your fingers reach up instinctively and the tips of them meet the smoothness of a stone that dangles at the end of it. The necklace.

“I couldn’t help myself, I hope it’s o - you just said you liked it and -“ Steve’s a mess of nerves behind you while you look down, fingers toying with the stone, awestruck at the gesture.  “If you think it’s weird I can -“

Turning around you cut him off with your lips, tangerine gloss in the form of appreciation makes him smile into the kiss. You keep it short this time, pulling away no matter how much your body screams for more. You start to think you’ll never have enough. Is this what it’s like to be in love?

“Steve, I love it” You whisper rolling back on your heels, your fingers already obsessed with touching the stone as you look up at him through your lashes. “Thank you.” 

His cheeks turn to cherry blossoms, all the tense muscles in his shoulders relaxing, Eddie was right.

“Yeah?” He wants to hear you say it again, and he can tell by your grin and the glint in your eyes that you know he does too.

“Absolutely, I’m probably never going to take it off.” You giggle looking down in admiration again and it makes Steve feel like a million bucks. He never wants you to take it off either.

Steve doesn’t hesitate to grab your hand as you walk up to the main gates of Wrigley Field, fingers intertwining like he doesn’t want to let go when he shows the security guard his work badge and you suppress the urge to grab it from him when you make it inside. The urge to see the picture lessened knowing that the chances of it actually being bad were slim to none.

The stadium is intimidating when it’s empty, your mind reeling when you think of what it’s going to be like in an hour when the stands are filled with screaming fans. Concession stand workers bustle around the two of you in preparation for the onslaught of sports goers. Summer hangs heavy in the air with the sun high and bright in the cloudless sky. It smells of fresh cut grass, pop corn, and hot dogs. The perfect day for a baseball game.

Your eyes grow wide when they land on the bright green field that looks even bigger than on TV, it’s the kind of green you know can’t be real with crisp white lines that lead to each of the bases. There’s a few players out practicing, they wave at Steve when they notice him. His fingers squeeze yours tighter when one of them smiles a little too friendly in your direction. The memory of you in his car on the way here admiring the necklace in the visor keeps his jealousy at bay. You were his.

“You gonna give me the grand tour or somethin’?” You ask with eyes unable to focus on anything in particular, still mesmerized by how big it all was while the two of you head in a pointed direction.

“Just grabbing something out of my office for Richard, and then I’ll show you around.” Steve winks and the gesture makes your knees weak. 

“Ooo I get to see your office?” You grin, bumping shoulders. It makes his cheeks push up.

“It’s nothin’ special, baby.” He chuckles, letting go of your hand, fingers curling around your hips to pull you into his side instead. Your heart skips a beat, looping your arms around his waist, still not used to his affection coming so effortlessly like he’s been doing this his whole life with you. 

It feels like a maze while he leads you through the stadium, twists and turns down long back hallways, tight lipped greetings every time someone walks by throwing him a ‘Steve’ with a nod of their head. Their curious eyes always land on you tucked under his arm. Who is that? Your palms sweat at the thought of how Steve was going to introduce you. The gift around your neck makes your mind wander.

It’s when you get to an elevator that you decide there’s definitely no way you’d be able to find your way out of here alone. More than confused when the back of it is all windows overlooking the opposite side of the field you had come in from. Steve laughs from behind you as if he can read your mind, big hands finding their way to the metal bar, caging you in with your back against his chest.

It takes you to the very top with a loud ding before it drops a little and the metal doors slide open. He doesn’t let you get too far before he takes your hand again to lead you down a hallway. The white walls are lined with awards, plaques, and framed Sports Illustrated covers filled with faces of different baseball players, some you recognize and some you don’t, as you make your way to the very end. You try not to make eye contact with the few men who have their doors crack half way open.

“Just gotta find the plans for next season really quick, then we’ll go see Eddie’s guy Antonio. If I don’t buy hot dogs from him specifically, I’ll never hear the end of it.” Steve rolls his eyes at the last part but you catch the hint of a smirk playing at the edges of his lips as he unlocks his office door, pushing it open to let you in.

“I’m startin’ to think Eddie might be your boyfriend. Were you talkin’ to him in your room earlier? Does Peach know?” You tease looking up at him as you brush past, and you’re not surprised when the smell of cedar hits your nose again. The faint hint of cigar smoke creeping in underneath. Of course his office smells like him. 

Steve’s eyes go wide, cheeks flushing pink when he realizes he wasn’t as quiet on the phone as he thought.

“I was just - I was just following up with him on something about my trip out there in a few days.” He stammers, making you giggle. You try not to think about the news of him leaving again so soon.

“Yeah, whatever you say, handsome.” You grin and it’s his turn to roll his eyes at you, the whites of his teeth showing in spite of himself.

“Ha ha, very funny.” He dead pans before making his way around his desk that just looks like a bigger version of the one in his house. An actual desktop replaces the sleek laptop. He clicks the mouse harshly before his long fingers work the keyboard.

It’s hard to tear your attention away from him but your curiosity gets the best of you. His office is huge, you think. Maybe the size of your whole apartment kinda huge, and it's just as nice as you thought it would be.

A giant window that overlooks the entire field takes up one whole wall, walking over you realize you’re so far back that it makes the grown men out there look small. Your chest tightens when you see how high up you are. The rest of the walls are decorated with similar pictures like his office at home, group shots of work retreats, team building dinners, shaking hands with people you’re sure are important in the sports world and he looks handsome in all of them. 

There’s a baseball bat propped in the corner, and the image of him on his bluetooth swinging it around in his office while making a deal, makes a home inside your head and the dough of your thighs press. Glancing back over your shoulder at him, he’s too lost in whatever he’s searching for in his emails to notice the smirk on your face, his bright eyes squinting at the screen.

It’s heavier than expected when you grab it, the weight of it making it feel like a weapon in your hands. You do your best to remember what you’ve seen a few times on TV as you try to grip it how a real player would, before giving it a sloppy swing, your wrists almost giving out on the curve.

“Honey, you’re holding it all wrong.” You can hear the way he tries to suppress his laugh, the sound of his shoes hitting the carpet telling you he’s coming to assist. 

“Oh yeah, Mr. Big League?” Regripping the wood again, you try your best to ignore him when he stops behind you, determined to do it without him.

“These nicknames, you need to stop. They aren’t very good.” He snorts, referring to the previous classic ‘Mr. Sports’. 

That’s when he gets it. The first eye roll of the date. He thinks the first is always his favorite. 

“I think it was the nicknames that got me the second date.” Grinning like an idiot you take another terrible swing.

“Jesus Christ, you’re gonna break your wrist.” The laugh he was trying to hide earlier comes out when his arms wrap around you from behind, big hands over yours holding the bat steady and it makes you forget how to breathe for a second.

Steve’s arms cage you in and it feels like he’s everywhere. The mint on his breath still smells fresh when the side of his face presses against the top of your head, hot breath fanning across your cheek. The muscles in his stomach twitch against your back, while the ones in his arms tense, squeezing you close as his fingers move over yours helping you tighten your hold. You can barely see your hand underneath his and your stomach flips at the sight. 

He’s talking but you can’t focus on the words he’s saying, not when you can see the way his Adam’s apple bobs from the corner of your eye. The stubble on his jaw rubs against your temple as he tries to explain the proper stance on deaf ears. Pine form his body wash lingers on his skin, he overwhelms your senses but all you want is more. You can feel it in the way your body leans into him, the curve of your ass shameless against his denim.

“Okay, so that’s the grip. Now your stance, it’s all wrong.” His mouth is closer to your ear, lips ghosting along the shell of it demanding your attention. It’s as if he knows he doesn’t have any of it and all of it at once and you swear he gets closer, a subtle grind of his own hips in response to yours.

“I’m listening,” you say breathlessly. It gives you away, making his lips curve up into a smirk.

“I’m sure you are, baby.” The tip of his nose nudges behind your ear, while his fingers make a path down your arms, the pads of them dragging gently against your heated skin, callouses leaving goosebumps after them. Your breath catches before they curve around your sides, squeezing at where the dip of your hips meets the top of your thighs.

“Now, you wanna push back your hips a little.” His strong hold moves your body with ease, making your ass press hard against him and you feel that part of his body for the first time. His heart is beating so fast you can feel it. Thump, thump, thump.

“Like this?” you ask, innocence dripping from your tone. When you grind against him with more pressure you can feel just how big he really is – especially as his jeans begin to tighten. 

“Fuck - baby.” It comes out a little desperate, like he’s warning you but his hold only tightens keeping you in place. “Yeah, just like that.”

It’s his hips that roll this time, and it makes your eyes hit the back of your head. Your fingers threaten to come loose around the bat, too distracted by the man behind you. Especially when his lips ghost a path up the side of your neck, hot and wet.

“I think it’d be easier if I could have something to lean on, you know? I just really wanna teach you right.” He nips at your earlobe and it makes you shiver, pressing yourself back against him hard enough to feel the zipper of his jeans between the fat of your ass cheeks.

“You’re the professional, who am I to say no to you?” You knew you were laying it on thick, but the groan it earns makes you swallow your pride with a press of your thighs.

You squeal when he yanks you back, dropping the baseball bat to the ground with a low thud. Your giggles fill the usually quiet office and he wishes he could have you here all the time. He takes a couple long strides backwards before he hits the front of his desk, pulling you onto his lap as he sits on top of it. His hands get greedy when they reach around to grab at the tops of your thighs, the material of your dress bunching up underneath them, revealing more new skin to him. He wonders if you can feel just how hard you already have him.

“Despite not watching, like, any sports, something tells me this can’t be right, Steve.” You smirk, another giggle slipping out when you feel his smile against your neck.

“Like you would know.” He scoffs, his hands find their way back to your hips, encouraging another roll from them. The little gasp he earns makes him twitch in his pants. “Yeah?”

You nod with a ‘mmhmm’, eyes closing when he does it again. Tangerine on your tongue when you suck your bottom lip between your teeth, your hands finding a home on the tops of his thighs. You grind against him like you mean it, like you’re not playing along with whatever game this was before. 

“God, - shit, baby, this dress. This fuckin’ dress. Do you even know what you’re doing to me?” His lips get sloppy on your neck, tongue and teeth nipping on sensitive stubble rubbed skin. 

Knock, knock, knock 

You both jump at the same time, hearts hammering in your chests. The feeling of being close still makes your body buzz at high frequencies as you try to recover from the last five minutes. 

“Steve?” The familiar voice is muffled behind the closed door. 

You watch Steve readjust his pants to try and hide the obvious, a nervous hand running through his hair before he answers. You make him feel like a fucking teenager.

“Hey Richard,” The husk from Steve’s voice is gone as he looks at you to make sure you’re ready for company.

Tugging the hem of your dress down, you pull the straps back onto your shoulders giving him a quick nod, cheeks burning and underwear a mess. 

“Come on in.”

Richard strikes again.

Steve takes one last look at you, dark eyes that eat you alive while his tongue rolls in against the inside of his cheek. Eyebrows marry together in a mixture of annoyance and lust when he realizes just how close he’d gotten to everything he wants. 

The door creaks and it wouldn’t be so loud if it wasn’t so quiet. A tentative Richard  steps into the room, brown eyes looking back and forth and you wonder if he can tell he interrupted something. You try to control your breathing, turning towards the window after you give him a friendly smile to try and hide the way your chest heaves.

You hate Richard.

“So we meet again.” He jokes trying to break the ice. Yeah, he knows.

Steve gives him a tight lipped smile pushing himself off the desk with another hand through his hair, the soft thuds of his shoes filling the beat of silence as he walks back behind his desk.

“I was just finishing printing out those spreadsheets for you.” Steve clears his throat and it makes your lips twitch, your eyes getting lost in the green field below you. 

You can’t bring yourself to face his boss like this, again.

“Great! I’ll take them now. I was just coming up here to see if you and your lady were coming to the pre-game drinks at The Barrel Room downstairs, some of the guys wanna run some things by you.” You can hear Richard scratch the back of his neck when Steve doesn’t answer immediately.

Steve wants you alone. Now.

“You know I hate to mix business with games, but they really wanna meet the guy behind the marketing.” He adds, telling Steve it’s really not an option to say anything other than ‘yes’.

“Sure, sure. The game doesn’t start for another hour anyway.” Steve gives, and you meet his eyes from over your shoulder with a small smile that says it’s okay.

Despite the no smoking sign, the smell of cigars linger on most of the men in the members only bar under the field. Your summer dress feels out of place in a room full of business men dressed in their expensive casual attire. Their expensive cologne mixes with the sting of whiskey that’s over a sphere of ice in most of their glasses. Lit by a dimmed chandelier, small TV’s line the space over the bar with live feeds of the field and ESPN. The nicest sports bar you’ve ever seen.

Steve keeps a tight hold on your hand when he orders you both glasses of champagne and a bottle to be delivered to the suite, winking at you when he picks the sweet option.  

“I’m sorry, honey, I didn’t think I’d be doing anything for work today.” He lets go of your hand to wrap his arm around your waist pulling you to his side. His soft lips kiss your temple as a second apology.

“It’s fine, it’s actually kinda hot seeing you like this.” Looking up at him from under your lashes, you love the way it makes the tips of his ears turn pink.

“Oh yeah?” He grins, the green in his eyes threaten to turn black when his hand slides a little lower, the tips of his fingers touching just above the curve of your ass. They twitch with the urge to squeeze. 

“Yeah.” It’s quiet, just for him to hear, dripping honey like in his office. You turn your  body towards him, pressing yourself closer with a palm running up his chest, fingers playing with buttons when you bite your bottom lip into a smile.

The low groan you get vibrates from his chest, his hand daring to go a little lower, pulling you even closer.

Clink, clink

The bartender slides the two flutes over, popping you both out of your bubble right as someone clears their throat behind you.

“Steve, they're over there in the corner. They just need maybe ten minutes of your time and then I’ll get out of your hair.” Richard’s voice breaks you two apart but Steve still keeps a hand on the small of your back as he hands your glass over, the popping and fizzing of the bubbles inside making it shimmer rose gold in the low light. 

“Sure, I’ll follow you.” He takes a sip before bringing his eyes back to yours, the blunt ends of his nails scratch lightly against your back, giving you his undivided attention. “You gonna be okay for a little bit?” 

“I’m a big girl, handsome.” You smirk around the edge of your glass, all the blood rushing to your cheeks when he looks at you like that.

“I know you are, baby.” The smile that takes over his face knocks the air out of your lungs. Steve presses a kiss to your forehead before he follows Richard to the two men across the room who are looking eager to meet the man you can’t get enough of.

Ten minutes turns to twenty and another glass of champagne, your eyes meeting Steve’s every so often across the room in a silent apology. This second glass is enough to make your skin come alive, fingertips buzzing and nerves melting. The bubbles tickle your lips when you take another sip, the strap of your dress falling down your shoulder at the same time. 

Licking your lips, the sweetness of your gloss mixes perfectly with the fruity hints of the champagne and it makes you give a quiet ‘mmm!’ when it hits your taste buds. Setting your drink down, you can feel him staring as you fix your dress. Your fingers wrap around the soft material, and you dare to meet his eyes again. The green forest you’re so used to getting lost in is replaced by the kind of darkness you’ve only seen in the night sky, the kind where the moon hides the stars in its depths. The men surrounding him are talking but he’s not paying attention, his sole focus is on you.

The two glasses of champagne makes you feel bold. Holding his stare, you move slowly when you pull it back to its home on the top of your shoulder. Soft fingertips drag across your skin, leaving the kind of goosebumps he usually gets and it makes his jaw clench. He needed to get out of here. 

He knocks back the rest of his glass, saying something to the men that have stolen enough of his time from you. He finally excuses himself with a few strong handshakes and that million dollar smile. The one that always makes your thighs press. Running a hand through his hair as he pushes through the crowded bar, his eyes stay locked on yours, heavy lidded and hungry and it makes your stomach do flips.

“Ready to pay attention to me?” You pretend to pout when you turn around to face him. When you lean back on your elbows he can’t help but take in everything you’re offering him. 

Big hands grab at your waist, pulling you against his chest. He’s got a lopsided salt and pepper grin when he dips his head down to skim his nose along your jaw before his lips stop right at your ear. They twitch when he feels the way it makes you shiver.

“More than you know, baby.”

The suite is somehow even nicer than you’d imagined it’d be, the kind of nice that makes you giggle when you take it all in. Flat screen TV’s hang from two separate places on the exposed brick walls. The bottle of champagne he’d ordered earlier sits chilled in a bucket on the marble countertop in the small kitchen with two glasses. The stainless steel fridge that you’re sure is fully stocked shines in the bright, low hanging lights. 

The open concept leads to a living room area, a dark gray leather couch sitting in the middle looking way too comfortable for something like this. It faces a giant window that overlooks first base, high enough in the stadium for no one to be around you and gives out to a balcony with four seats to watch the game outside. 

“Jesus Christ.” You laugh wandering around the new space, fingertips touching the cool leather of the couch as you look at one of the TV’s that hang over it. A crystal clear image of the game getting ready to start just outside. The empty stands were completely filled while you were busy in the boys club downstairs. 

“Yeah, it’s a little ridiculous.” Steve chuckles, the loud pop of the champagne being opened echoes in the big space. “I never watch games in the suites. Me and Ed are always in the stands. I was actually a little surprised when Richard offered it.”

Maybe Richard wasn’t that bad.

You can hear the way the bubbles fizz when he pours you each a glass, neither of you speaking. The realization you were finally alone hangs thick in the air. No more interruptions. The crowd cheers outside when the announcer booms through the speakers that line the outside of the field. The sounds of the game starting cuts through the tension like a knife. Steve clears his throat behind you, making you jump a little. 

“Sorry, honey,” He smiles, trying not to laugh as he hands you a glass.

“Champagne and hot dogs? Steve, I think you’re trying to get me to fall in love with you,” you say,  a part of you that feels like it’s already too late. You are in love with him.

“I still can’t believe you asked Antonio for ketchup, shoulda taken a picture of his face.” Steve snorts, cheeks turning pink at your words. 

“Normal people eat their hot dogs with ketchup, Steve. I’ll ask for ketchup at every hot dog establishment in this city. I don’t care.” You roll your eyes at him for the second time today, and he thinks he’ll get a lot more of those by the end of the night as you keep sipping your sweet drink. 

“I’ll make sure not to be there when you do.” Steve winks smiling over the edge of his glass and it makes you just as flustered as the first time.

“Whatever, it’s a stupid.” You mumble turning back towards the window because looking at him was becoming too much you– fingers twitching to touch him, your lips pouting just to kiss him.

You set your drink down on the coffee table, the buzz from before coming back when the alcohol breaks through the food you had on your way up here. The nerves in your stomach become a mess as you walk up to the thick glass. The game he was supposed to teach you was already in full swing below. The tight baseball uniforms have you imagining what Steve would’ve looked like iand the thought is enough to make the softness of your thighs meet. 

Steve sets his glass down next to yours, licking his lips as he gets to take in the way your dress wraps around your curves. You can feel the heat of his stare on you and it makes you shiver, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth. You try to focus on the game and not the way he comes up behind you. He smells like whiskey and summer, the fruity notes from the champagne coming out in the breath that fans down your neck in a mixture of Steve.

“Speaking of rules.” The husk in his voice is back, and the tip of his nose nudges behind your ear. He can’t see the way it makes your eyes hit the back of your head, but he can hear the way it makes your breath catch as his lips brush that sensitive spot on your neck. 

“Yeah, some teacher you are. The game, the-“ you stutter when his hands find their way to your hips, squeezing before they move down, long fingers spreading wide over your thighs. “The game’s already started.” You manage to breathe out, giving into him pulls you against him.

He’s already hard again, and he’s barely touched you. The feeling of your body, with only the thin material of your dress keeping his hands from what’s underneath, sends his brain into orbit, especially when he feels the slow grind of your hips searching for more.

“You actually gonna listen to me?” Steve asks with lips so close to your ear that it almost makes you whimper. All you can do is nod, and he relishes in the way your eyelids get heavy when he hums ‘hmm?’ to ask you again. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll listen.” You can’t find it yourself to care how you sound a little desperate.

One hand stays on the curve of your hip, while the tips of his fingers on the other trace over the goosebumps already blooming on the exposed skin of your thigh. They catch the bottom hem of your dress, dragging the soft material up with them. Wet lips leave sloppy kisses along your neck, smiling against the curve of it when he feels the way you spread for him, silently granting him permission. 

“So, the umpire is the guy crouched behind the hitter,” He whispers, as he keeps moving up at a pace so slow it almost makes you stomp your feet, tempted to throw a fit to make him touch you. “He keeps track of the pitches, the swings and misses. Three strikes, you’re always out.”

He reaches the lace edges of your panties, and it makes him twitch in his pants. How dare you?

“Fuck - baby.” He dips a finger underneath, tugging the material lightly before letting it snap back against your hip. “You wear these for me?”

“Maybe.”  You smirk, arching your back so your ass rubs against him in a way that makes his grip on your hip turn bruising. He exhales a deep breath through his nose to try and regain control.   

“Maybe?” He tsks while the hand under your dress gets bolder, the pads of his fingers brushing over the heat between your legs, groaning when he feels the way you’re already soaked through them. “This doesn’t feel like a maybe.” 

“I’m missing the game because -“ You gasp when he dares to push them to the side, a thick middle finger swiping through your folds, moaning at how you feel like silk.. 

“Because?” He practically purrs as he circles your bundle of nerves with a pointed pressure, like he already knows just what to do to make you fall apart.

He feels even bigger pressing hard against your ass like this. Your hips roll to meet the motions of his finger, offering him a little relief when his hips meet yours at the same pace. 

“You’re -you’re not teaching me.” Your jaw goes slack when another finger starts circling your entrance, lashes fluttering against your cheeks.

“Well, you’re not looking.” He’s smug, especially when he dares to push the tip of his finger in just enough to stretch you out, earning a gasp.

The crack of the bat meeting the ball makes your eyes snap open. The loud cheer of the crowd is enough to make the ground shake underneath you. Steve uses the distraction as his opening to slide the first two knuckles of his finger inside you. Your hand comes down to wrap around his wrist, a small whine escaping you when he pushes it all the way in. He braces himself against the window when your hips start to roll, helping him work you open. Every movement of his hand brings you closer against him to meet in the best kind of friction. 

“See, your eyes are closed, honey.” You can feel his grin when he nips at your jaw, the middle finger on your clit being replaced with the pad of his thumb when he has it join in stretching you more for him. 

Opening your eyes is the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do, especially when he already has you feeling so full with just two of his fingers. They flutter open with every ounce of your strength you have left, and he hums in approval when he sees them again.

“Good girl.” His praise makes you clench around him and he’ll never forget it as he starts littering kisses along your shoulders, the strap of your dress falling down again. “Now he didn’t get a home run, but the bases are loaded. Do you know what that means?” 

The deep baritone in the way he’s talking to you makes it even easier for his fingers to keep up their pace, coating them in even more slick when it vibrates against your ear. 

“No- oohhh,” Moaning when his thumb adds the kind of pressure that threatens to make your knees buckle. He grinds himself against you with a little more force, never this close to cumming in his pants since high school.

He grunts, his cool facade breaking when you meet his hips, circling slow when you feel him push between your ass cheeks again. 

“It’s when the hitting team has a member - god, baby, you feel that? So fucking wet.” He pauses so he can hear the mess you're making of his hand. 

“There’s a player on every base, so if he can hit it far enough and they can all make it to home base, they’ll gain the lead -  You’re so damn tight.” Steve doesn’t know if he can even do what he’s asking of you anymore, too lost in the feeling of the velvet of your walls wrapped around his fingers and what it’s going to feel like when he finally gets to be inside of you.

All you do is nod, the coil in your stomach tightening in a way you’ve never felt before. Your grip on his wrist tightens, and the muscles tense as he keeps working you to the edge. The thrust of his hips against you becomes shameless as he chases his own end.

Another loud crack of a bat catches your attention, you can barely see the baseball as it soars far over the field. Bouncing off of the back wall when no one catches it, the players on their respective bases start making a run for it, making the crowd go wild.

“You gonna cum for me, pretty?” He asks leaving open mouth kisses anywhere he can reach, teeth nipping at sensitive skin while his fingers curl, the tips of them hitting the spot that makes you see white. Your eyes catch the silver around your neck in the reflection of the window and it's enough to make you give in.

“Ohmygod, Steve - fuck, yes, yes, daddy, yes.” 

He doesn’t know if it’s how your voice raises a pitch when you call him daddy or if it’s the way you reach behind him shamelessly trying to work him through his jeans, but it’s enough for his own body to go rigid. He moans loud enough to drown out the crowd, and you feel the warmth of his release under your palm. Your own washes over you hard enough to make your legs shake. You clench around his fingers that struggle to keep up their pace, but still relentless in their mission to keep you falling apart for him. You give him another squeeze through his pants and it makes him whine overstimulated against your neck.

The sound of the sports broadcasters vibrates from the speakers of the TV, signaling the switching of teams with the Cubs in the lead for the first inning. When Steve can finally see straight, the realization of what just happened makes his cheeks tinge the darkest shade of red. You made him cum his fucking pants. The day of touching and teasing took just as much of a toll on him as it did you. Your walls still flutter with every twitch of his fingers still buried inside of your heat, and he swears his dick threatens to get hard again.

He’s gentle when he pulls himself out of you, pressing soft kisses with sweet words against your cheek when you whimper a little at the feeling of being empty again.

“How’s my tough girl?” He whispers nose nudging your cheek as he puts your underwear back the way he found it, tugging down the bottom of your dress before turning you around to finally face him.

Your body still buzzes like a live wire, no one making you cum that hard from just their fingers before. The men your age always want to move so quickly. Steve’s eyes are still glazed over with a post orgasm glow, cheeks flushed, hair mused and all you wanted to do was kiss him.

“Feeling like an expert in baseball.” You giggle, and it makes him throw his head back giving you one of those deep bellied laughs you love so much.

You don’t wait anymore, pushing up on your toes -  your lips meet his in an explosion of things you want to say but can’t. Not yet. He doesn’t hesitate to meet with the same eagerness, pushing you up against the window with a big hand coming up to your cheek, his thumb coaxing you open with a pull on your chin.

That feeling stayed with you the rest of the day, the two of you attempting to watch the game in between kisses cuddled on the couch and teaching of rules that you claimed were stupid just to get him to scoff. It swelled in your chest the whole car ride home, your fingers fiddling with the stone dangling from your neck and his hand finding a home on the top of your thigh.

You almost let it spill when he walked you to your door, kissing you stupid in your narrow hallway despite the sticky thick humidity. He watches the way you silently battle with the urge to invite him in, and despite everything inside of him wanting to just get lost in you for the rest of the night, he couldn’t have you like that once and leave. So he keeps kissing you by your door until sweat drips from your pores and your dress gets rucked up to your hips again. Promising you his time when he gets back, eyes gleaming with sincerity with his forehead against yours.

Yeah, you were in love with Steve Harrington.

———————————————————————

beta’d by @chechelia thank you ily ♥️

dividers by @chechelia

🌇 -> chapter ten

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

aita for avoiding my husband on purpose, like, all the time? my husband (m36) and i (f34) have been married for almost 10 years (anniversary in a few months). we have 3 kids (m10, f8, f1) and he works full time while i stay at home. even before we got married i didnt really have friends other than him, and i always had a hard time finding excuses to get out of the house. frequently, he gets to hang out with his buddies who he also works with, and ever since we had kids he's always going out and leaving me home alone even when hes not at work just to idk. hang out at bars and pretend we don't exist. well lately ive been making time for myself to go out when the kids are at school (my youngest is pretty well behaved so i just take her with me instead of paying a babysitter) and i had managed to get kinda friendly with some of the wives of my husbands coworkers (theyre all members of the same union, so we see each other at those functions every once in awhile). i thought it was all going well and i was having fun and enjoying getting to be social for once, but about 2 weeks ago, the whole family was invited out for lunch (a picnic type thing) with his buddies from work's families. all was going well and for the most part even the kids were having fun, but then my husband got absolutely fucking trashed for no reason. none of the other guys were acting like that, and we've had conversations about him not doing that sort of thing, but he NEVER listens. he's always acting like this, but usually i dont have to see when its in public. well he embarrassed me so fucking much. he was trying to start fights, messing up his clothes, and wouldn't listen to me at all. just in his own world as always. i should've known because its been a decade of this, but i could have sworn it wasn't this bad before. he wasn't like this when we dated you know? so we got home and i was just. grossed out and annoyed. i slept on the couch and pretty much ever since then, i haven't been talking to him. i got a text from one of the ladies saying that a wednesday hangout thing i had been invited to had been canceled, but i pretty much KNOW 100% that it wasn't, and that they just don't want to be associated with me now. the kids don't really seem bothered by the tension around the house (i think its sort of normal to them since hes frequently not around anyways). i wouldn't be near as annoyed if there wasn't a part of my brain telling me "he did it on purpose". i know that's just how he acts but i could SWEAR its almost like he just doesnt want me to have friends. he doesn't want to hear about it, he just wants me THERE at home, watching the kids and existing solely for his convenience. i used to consider divorce, before we had our youngest. but i haven't had a job since high school, and i couldnt put the burden of asking for help on my sisters. they hate him, but i couldnt ask them for that support. and i dont even know what the kids would think, i cant do that to them. but yesterday, my husband brought it up (cornered me in our room pretty much) and asked why i was ignoring him. what if he really didnt know why? i TOLD him, but its like he forgot or just expects me to be "over it" by now. all i wanted was just this one thing, to HAVE FRIENDS, have that time away from being just "mom" and do what i want. he gets to do that so why cant i? or AT LEAST he could put some more effort into being around and doing things as a family? but i still wonder if im being the asshole, for giving him the cold shoulder for this long. he didnt have a happy childhood or good examples for parents so maybe he just thinks this is normal? i never asked because i assumed he knew it wasn't. and he does seem like, disappointed that i wont come to bed. maybe ive been driving him off and that's why he doesnt like to come home? idk at this point, im at a loss. aita?

[antiodote]

she can't finish and they fight - part III

warnings: drug/alcohol abuse, mention of purging, slight mentions of sexual activity (but not really)

"fuck you, harry."

part I & II

+++

she had slept in her car that night.

more specifically, she had parked in her gym’s parking lot and fell asleep in her car. her idea? get to the gym at 6 in the morning, run for an hour straight at an ungodly speed that might make her sick, shower and scrub her body so thoroughly that it hurt, get ready in the bathroom of said gym and arrive at work bright and early as if nothing ever happened. she even thought about getting some iced coffee on the way. you know, as a treat.

she also felt numb. so, so numb.

after she had left home - no, harry’s place - she wondered if all of it was a nightmare. some sort of hallucination that manifested itself into her brain after 6 weeks of straight malnourishment and sleep deprivation. never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that he would ever speak to her in that way or do something like that to her; question her trust like that. she asked herself if she even knew who he was or if the last four years had been a lie, but somewhere between taking an impossibly hot shower and slapping tons of concealer under her eyes in an attempt to cover her dark circles, she had decided to not think about it for as long as she possibly could. she just wouldn’t think about it, wouldn’t talk to anyone about it and she definitely, definitely, definitely wasn’t going to face him anytime soon.

and so, she arrived at work at 8:54 am, ready to get some work done and pretend that everything was as it should be. fortunately for her, it seemed to work out - for most of the day, that is.

she had greeted some co-workers, wrote down a list of to-do’s for the day, checked off those to-do’s one by one, had some coffee, ate some lettuce wraps for lunch and threw up said lettuce wraps, returned to drinking coffee and nothing but. with a few meetings here and there, some office gossip and a pile of work later, her work day was finished. she found herself wishing that she could be stuck in that loop for the rest of her life - or at least for another few hours - so she could escape the reality of things for just a tiny bit longer. things don’t seem to go to plan for her lately.

“you’re leaving early? is it christmas already?”

she turned around to find tony, one of her coworkers, looking at her with an expression that indicated humour. she wasn’t really up for humour right now, but she also didn’t want to seem any more off than she probably already did. so, she forced a chuckle and answered.

“well, technically, I’m not leaving early. I just finished my work on time and don’t really feel like staying longer today, honestly.”

“so compared to your usual hours, you’re still leaving early.”

she looked at him with a frozen smile that didn’t reach her eyes. she hated when people - no, men - repeated her exact words back to her as if she were stupid. she hated it with a passion. harry never spoke to her like that. she should tell him all about it once she gets home, she thought. 

as she realised that she couldn’t do that, she quickly turned away from tony to resume packing her bag.

“I suppose you’re right, tony. what can I do for you?”

he hoped her tone indicated her lack of interest in their conversation. she truly desired nothing more than to get out of this office and figure out her plan for the next few days.

“some of us wanted to get some drinks at this bar down the street. you know, the one that does trivia on wednesday nights? would you like to join us? you can tell your boyfriend to come!”

every single part of those sentences made her feel woozy. the idea of having drinks with her coworkers was absolutely atrocious; she couldn’t physically think of something that she would’ve liked to do less at that moment. however, the mention of him made her suddenly want something to drown out her thoughts with. she usually never resorted to alcohol, but the burn of some heavy liquor in her throat would for sure help her out, at least for now. she needed to feel something. so, without giving it much more thought, she turned around, smiled, and almost robotically replied.

“sure, I’d love to come. thanks for the invite! I’ll ask if he can make it.”

+++

8pm arrived and y/n was piss drunk. 

when they arrived at the bar her coworkers ordered a round of different dishes for the table while she immediately went for the drinks. beer wasn’t her favourite, so vodka would suffice. one drink turned into two, two turned into four and before she realised, she found herself 7 drinks deep into her own abyssal torment. none of her coworkers seemed to notice, either because they lacked interest or she was too good at hiding her intoxication. she barely spoke at the table, anyway. 

“so, y/n! where is that lovely boyfriend of yours? we haven’t seen him since last year’s christmas party. he was fun!” one of her older coworkers, maude, chirped. 

y/n looked up from her drink, slightly disoriented at first. she kept forgetting that the outside world wasn’t aware of how her life crumbled into pieces at her feet. 

act normal. act normal. act normal.

“oh, he’s been pretty busy. you know, with his music and stuff. I’m sorry he couldn’t make it tonight.” she replied. funny how she didn’t even know where he was, right now. 

“oh, that’s a shame. make sure to bring him around again soon! he did a whole coffee run when he visited you last time. even paid for my extra pumps of hazelnut syrup, the ol’ charmer.” maude giggled. y/n forgot how older ladies seemed to adore him. then again, everyone did.

she also did.

in an attempt to seem flattered, she shook her head with a smile on her face. she couldn’t possibly have any of them suspect anything. the last thing she needed was to be the subject of infuriating office chitchat. luckily, she found it quite easy to keep up fake conversation and with that, fake emotion. she truly didn’t care for the people she worked with. a job was a job, nothing more. sure, she loved what she did, but it didn’t change the fact that her job wasn’t her life, or at least, shouldn’t be. she barely cared about her boss, but she did care about the money. a lot. 

for all she cared, she was going to keep up the lie for as long as she had to, and she was fine with that. but maybe, just maybe, it gave her an excuse to pretend that everything was still okay between her and harry. she might as well treat her workplace as an alternate reality; a parallel universe where she could still go home to her lover and had never been kicked out of her own home. a home she helped to build with all the love she possessed in her heart. 

oh, what a waste of love, she thought.

“y/n, are you still with us?” 

“huh? what?”

people laughed. her eyebrows furrowed. she glanced around. she was confused. she felt embarrassed.

“oh, darling, maybe cut back on those drinks you’ve been chugging! I mean, I know you’re a heavyweight and it’s the weekend, but you just totally spaced out on us!“ lena - a younger coworker of hers - said, giggling her way through her remark.

“oh god, sorry. it’s been a long week, you know how it is.” she tried to go along with the joke, while truthfully feeling mortified for letting her guard down. “what were you saying?”

she honestly couldn’t care less. 

“oh, we were just talking about potentially making this a regular thing! you know, to strengthen team morale and all.”

she smiled. there was no way in hell. 

“sure! sounds fun.”

they nodded in agreement, believing her made-up enthusiasm. maybe she should’ve gone to acting school with how believable her act was. or they might just not care about her, just like she doesn’t care about them. they definitely didn’t care enough to ask.

the question was: who did care about her?

her coworkers don’t seem to do so. she’d barely seen any of her friends for a long while now. she hadn’t spoken to her family in what felt like forever. 

she always thought that harry cared.

harry. oh, harry. 

harry. harry. harry.

she suddenly rose up from her seat, pulling everyone’s eyes in her direction.

“I’m gonna use the restroom.”

and gone she was. 

her heart was beating unbelievably fast. she wasn’t feeling good, at all. maybe the alcohol did take a toll on her.

without checking her surroundings, she almost bolted to the restroom. as soon as she entered, she picked one of the empty stalls and found purchase on the sticky floor, almost dramatically sliding down along the closed door. she needed to breathe. her head hung low between her bent knees, her hands clasping around her ears. with her eyes screwed shut and her hearing now impacted, she was now robbed of most of her senses, grounding her somewhat. ‘please, please, please’ was chanted in her head like a mantra; she couldn’t lose her composure like this, anything else was not as important at this moment. 

“everything okay in there? should I get someone?”

her head shot up. fuck.

her breathing must’ve been heavy or maybe the words she repeated weren’t as quiet as she thought. she wasn’t sure who was behind the door, but she wasn’t strong enough to face them.

“uh, I’m okay! thanks for asking.”

silence. 

“y/n? is that you?”

wait, what? she knew that voice.

she got up to open the door and was suddenly faced with a very familiar face.

“jane?”

+++

harry doesn’t remember the last time he felt so hollow. with every moment that passed, he felt more and more like he was drowning. like he was making a terrible, terrible mistake.

the last thing she had said to him before she went to pack a bag was ‘fuck you, harry.’ and truthfully, at first, he was angry. angry at how they argued, angry at her for leaving, angry at himself for not asking her to stay. it was a little later though, right after the door slammed shut behind her that he realised he couldn’t have asked her to stay when he was the one who told her to leave.

and then it dawned on him. he told her to leave. he kicked her out. in the middle of the night. in a city where he himself had been robbed at knifepoint not too long ago. 

the panic kicked in soon after.

so, he called. and called. and called.

but she never answered. 

after the 30th call, her phone went straight to voicemail. that was when harry really started freaking out. 

where did she go? was she safe? what if something happened? harry wouldn’t forgive himself if something were to have happened.

he bit and chewed on his fingers until they bled. he didn’t sleep. his mind and soul were surrounded by an image of her in danger. in pain. hurt.

though, he hurt her that night. 

he was the one who put her in that situation. he hurt her. why the fuck did he do that? why the actual fuck did he do that?

when the panic passed, the self-loathing soon followed. he didn’t understand how things were so quick to turn around when they were more than okay a mere few weeks ago. he treated her like she was disposable and he doesn’t think he will ever forgive himself for it. 

when the hatred for himself outweighed the worry he had for her, he resorted to pills to find slumber that night. the sleep was terrible, but it was better than nothing.

he woke up the next morning, finding himself on his kitchen floor. he must’ve passed out then and there. he checked the clock just above the fridge. the time was 9:15 AM. if she was okay, she must be at work. he could go there to check on her, see if her car was there. but, then again, he felt like he was the last person she wanted around her at this moment. if she was even alive, that is.

his rationality came back to him somewhere after 11 in the morning, just after his shower. she was a strong and capable woman, she was probably fine. she had to be, or he was never going to be fine again.

he went back to the kitchen to fetch himself some water for his run. if there was one thing that helped him, it was running for miles and miles and miles ahead and drowning out his surroundings with music through his headphones. as he opened the fridge he was faced with a bowl that was filled with cubes of fruit. the bowl was shaped like a lemon and had the colour to go with it. he remembers how y/n had picked it out online, gushing over how cute and fitting it is.

‘you always sing about fruit! might as well have a lemon-shaped bowl, if you ask me.’

he remembers how he had chuckled in response, pulled her in for a kiss on her temple, and replied ‘whatever you want, love.’

why do those days feel so far away now? 

he looked all around the kitchen and observed how every nook and cranny of this house had pieces of her littered all over it. the kitchen clock; a soft yellow one with slender, roman numbering on it - she chose it. the light pink cabinets - she painted them. actually, they painted them together and made sweet love on that very floor when they were finished. every piece of decoration - she had collected them whenever they had travelled. he particularly took notice of a framed picture right next to the sink. a moment captured when they made fresh pasta at his mother’s house when they were there for her birthday, two years ago. he remembered the moment so, so vividly.

‘harry, for goodness’ sake! you’re making a mess!’

she was the one who rolled out the dough by hand, since harry had previously dropped the pasta maker on the floor, resulting in its break. feeling a little useless, he wanted to do whatever he could to make her laugh. so, he did what any child would do: poured flour over them. first, her nose. then, her cheeks. shortly after, her head. and when she was sick of him, she grabbed the packet from his grasp and poured every last bit over him. her glimmering eyes looked straight at his playful ones. she bit her lips, in order to deny him the satisfaction of a laugh, and he looked just about ready to burst at the seams. 

in that moment, his sister quietly took a picture, making sure to get it back to them for one of their birthdays. when she was done, she clapped her hands to gain their attention, and suddenly they stood there like deers caught in headlights. 

then, laughter erupted. loud, hearty, full laughter. 

harry had to physically shake his head to lose the memory. when a sudden sickness overcame him, he found himself emptying the contents of his stomach right into said sink. was this kind of behaviour normal after a breakup? he didn’t know.

breakup. breakup. breakup.

the word swam around his vision, making him want to gauge his own eyes out. were they broken up, now? could she ever forgive him? then again, could he forgive her for lying to him? his mind was swarmed with all sorts of questions that he had no way of finding an answer to, at least not anytime soon. 

he needed to go on that run.

so, he did. and ever so conveniently, he ran by her workplace. low and behold, her car was there, unscathed. relief flooded him, but so did dread. because if she was at work, that meant she was fine. which also meant that she didn’t pick up his calls on purpose. she didn’t want to talk to him. 

good. maybe they shouldn’t talk for a while. whatever. 

he ran back home and didn’t leave the house for the remaining day.

+++

jane was y/n’s lifelong friend. they went to high school together and were usually inseparable. however, with both of their schedules being as crazy as they were, they rarely saw each other these days. when jane saw the state of her in that bathroom stall, she paid for her tab and drove her home. y/n didn’t say much in that time, still in a state of sensory overload. it was only when she saw how they were approaching harry’s driveway that she spoke. 

“we can’t go there.” 

jane whipped her head towards the passenger seat. “what do you mean, petal?” 

y/n stared straight ahead. “we can’t go to harry’s place. can I stay with you tonight? I’ll explain everything.”

jane looked at her for a few beats longer, worry etched deep into her features, until she turned her car around and drove to her own apartment. just over 30 minutes later, they arrived.

y/n soon realised how drunk she truly was, especially when the glare of the white lightbulbs in jane’s bathroom made her head throb and her guts churn. she ended up leaning above the toilet bowl in an attempt to empty the contents of her stomach, however, her attempt was in vain; nothing left her stomach. and yet, she felt so empty. 

she wished that she had shouted at harry, maybe even slap him across his annoyingly pretty face. she wished she had done something to stop him from doing what he did. but alas, just like nothing left her now, nothing left her then. she was always so perfectly contained. harry had even told her on multiple occasions that she needed to let loose, even if it was just a little bit. he was good at helping her with that. she always felt so unbothered and carefree in his presence. 

oh, harry. what have you done?

“god, harry. you fucking idiot.” 

the first sob of the night left her. then came the second. the third quickly followed. all of a sudden, she found herself crying in agony over her best friend’s toilet.

“y/n, you okay?? can I come in?” jane called from the other side of the door, but y/n didn’t hear. the echo of her cries within the toilet bowl was too loud for her to be aware of her surroundings. thus, a very worried-looking jane came bursting through the door. as she found y/n in literal shambles across the bathroom floor, she couldn’t help but choke up herself. she’d never seen her like this, and it truly broke her heart.

“hey, hey pretty girl, it’s alright. I’m here, good god, I’m here. let it all out.”

jane ended up cradling y/n, almost like you would calm a crying baby, and y/n didn’t realise how much she truly needed it. however, she still didn’t dare to speak. she feared that, once she recalled the events out loud, they would become reality. she wasn’t ready for that to happen, not yet. maybe not ever, but definitely not now. 

so she cried and cried and cried until there was nothing left to give. jane and her wordlessly went to bed that night, bundled up in blankets to keep out the cold. 

y/n feared she might never feel normal again, if she even knew what that was. she felt like harry completed her, and that scared her to death.

when she woke up the next day, she finally threw up. with the vodka finally out of her system and her stomach basically cleansed, she felt a lot better than she thought she would. the headache was manageable and the nausea came and went. she could survive this.

she didn’t know about the rest of her circumstances, though. 

whenever the thought of him popped into her head, she did whatever she could to distract herself. first thing in the morning? she showered after her journey to the toilet bowl. after the shower? extensive skincare. when she saw her tired expression in the mirror? left the bathroom to borrow some of jane’s clothes. eventually, she had run out of distractions in the bedroom, so she escaped to the kitchen. when she started preparing breakfast and turned up the radio just a touch, she was reminded of him, again. soon enough, she realised that everything reminded her of him, and there was nothing she could do about it. would be too easy, right?

for the first time in a while, she felt vulnerable. raw. like there was no skin over her pain and a gust of wind could make it bleed.

the realisation knocked the air out of her for just a moment, but it was enough for her to turn the stove off and sit down. she felt as if she had just run up the stairs, in fear that somebody was chasing her. she felt out of breath, disoriented and weirded out. maybe she should go to that doctor to talk about her anxiety, harry had always-

“hey, you! making some breakfast? how kind.” jane chimed, bright and chipper, ripping y/n out of her thoughts. she caught her gaze, offering a smile. “oh, I was just up early today. the eggs are probably burnt, though. just a heads up.”

jane nodded and went straight to her bag of toaster waffles and popped one of them into her mouth. a quick turn later, she faced y/n with an apologetic expression. as much as she wanted to grant y/n her bit of privacy, she needed to know what happened. before jane could open her mouth, y/n spoke. she spoke and spoke and spoke, retelling the whole thing, from the moment she felt overwhelmed at work, right up to the point where harry kicked her out. this was the second day she wasn’t at his place, refusing to refer to it as ‘home’, and everything still felt awfully unreal. jane listened and listened until she snapped. 

“hold on, what? you slept in your damn car? why didn’t you call me? y/n, that was so unsafe, dear god!” 

she was pacing up and down her lengthy kitchen, trying to wrap her head around how her best friend’s picture-perfect relationship went to shit without anybody else noticing. 

“I know, jane, I know, but I wasn’t really thinking and I didn’t want to bother anyone. the two of us have barely spoken lately, and-“

“as if that matters! y/n, you’re my best friend, okay? my ride or die. it doesn’t matter if I see you once a week or once a year, I am the person you tell these things to, okay? I’m the person you ask for help!”

y/n didn’t answer, shame clouding her senses. instead, her gaze turned downwards and she started picking her nails.

“you’re staying with me until we figure this out, okay? I don’t want to hear shit.” 

when y/n didn’t answer, jane physically forced her to look at her by nudging her hand under her chin and gently dragging it upwards. “got it, petal?” 

y/n nodded.

“wonderful! oh, and if I see harry, just know I’m gonna beat the shit out of him. lord knows he deserved it-“

“you will not, okay?”

jane looked at y/n as if she had grown a third head. confusedly, she goes: “wait, are you planning to forgive him, or something?”

y/n became frustrated. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do yet, okay? I just don’t know. I can’t face him for a bit, but I can’t tell you what’ll happen afterwards. please don’t hurt him, I know that you actually would.”

jane listened, processed, and nodded. she didn’t want to cause her any more emotional turmoil. 

“okay, dude. whatever you say. now, let’s plan this sleepover of ours!”

+++

it’d been seven days since harry had last seen her. with every day that had passed, his emotions spiralled.

his first phase: hatred. 

he hated her. he hated her boss, her work, her mindset. he hated all of the things he could blame for their fallout, thus also hating himself. he hated himself so much that he couldn’t bare to look at himself. when he wasn’t excessively punching things in his at-home gym, he got high and broke stuff. he called her and spoke spiteful things onto her voicemail. he cried angry tears and listened to angry, devastating music. 

the music triggered the second phase: sorrow.

he cried and cried and cried, especially to sad coldplay songs or the old records that his stepfather used to collect. the crying made him tired, so he slept a lot during this phase. though, as soon as he woke up, he’d be crying again. 

when the crying stopped, the depression came.

heaviness shaped his form. his feet felt too heavy to lift,  thus his bed became his permanent residence for a bit. his mind was hazy and everything he attempted to do sucked every last bit of energy out of him, resulting in a permanent state of exhaustion. 

his empty bed triggered his longest phase: loneliness.

he missed her. so fucking much.

he missed her smell. her peaceful, sleeping state. he missed how she would always have to collect individual hairs off of their covers because her hair just shed in heaps during her slumber. he missed how she’d look up at him when the first few moments of consciousness kissed her in the morning. he missed how he could lay his head on her soft chest and listen to her steady heartbeat. he missed how she would sometimes lovingly grab him by the jaw and pull him down to kiss his forehead. he missed how she used to make him coffee in the morning and he’d eat her out on the kitchen table to say thank you. he missed her body, every mark and every freckle. he missed her voice and wished he’d recorded it at some point. he missed the way she’d hug him from every angle. he missed how she could talk to him for hours about anything. he missed making love to her.

he missed being able to love her. 

he feared that she was gone now. far, far away from his reach. he had to make peace with it, though. right?

thus he welcomed his current phase: apathy. 

he didn’t care anymore; he wasn’t going to get her back. he’d fucked up too bad, so he resorted to resenting her for her mistakes. the negative emotions that were previously directed towards him only were now evenly distributed amongst her, him, their situation and the world. he didn’t want to talk to anyone, reach out to anyone, or even acknowledge his feelings in any way. as he cleaned up his house from the shards and pieces of the the things he had destroyed, he found a weird sense of serenity in the acceptance of his downfall. all was lost now, what else could go wrong? 

then, his phone rang.

he checked. it was sarah. 

he wasn’t going to pick up, but she’d called him a few times now. he didn’t want to worry her, so he finally picked up.

“hello?”

a sigh of relief left her.

“goodness, harry, where were you? I’ve been trying to reach you for ages! look, some things need to be picked up for the rehearsal dinner on tuesday. could you maybe handle it? I wouldn’t ask you but mitch and I have been super busy with everything else. pleeaasee?”

harry’s brows furrowed. rehearsal dinner?

then, he remembered. the fucking wedding.

mitch and sarah had been officially married for over a year, yet they never had a proper celebration due to obvious restrictions. and honestly, he’d completely forgotten about it within the last few days. a wedding for his best friends, which she was also supposed to attend. how on earth could he make this right?

“oh! and tell y/n to call me back, please! I’ve been meaning to talk to her about the dresses for the bridesmaids, but her phone is dead or something.”

without missing a beat, harry replied. “yeah, sure. I’ll tell her. also, send me what you need picked up and I’ll get it to you.” 

if there was one thing harry and y/n had in common, it was this: they would always put other people’s needs above their own, especially if it concerned their loved ones. there was no way in hell he would make one of his best friends worry about him when her wedding was just around the corner. he’ll pretend if he had to. but he was not going to fuck this up for them.

“oh, you’re an angel! I’ll send you all the details, thank you! I have to go now but give y/n a kiss from me, please. love you! see you later! bye!”

the phone beeped until inevitable silence.

right, so he had to hope that y/n would attend the wedding. no, he had to be sure that she would be there. not only that; he had to hope that she would agree to act normal around their friends, for now. 

harry needed to find a way to reach her. he might’ve fucked up his own relationship, but he was not going to spoil his friend’s wedding. 

wonderful. what could go wrong? except for absolutely everything?

+++

5.1k, not proofread (whoops), lowercase intended

PART THREE IS HERE HELLOOOOO

thank you for your patience !! i know it’s been a long time coming. parts of this were kind of hard to write for me, so excuse any ill worded sentences, please <3

i hope you enjoy this one! as always, all the love xx

-ve !!

[prolix-yuy]

Plus One

Pairing: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader "Ms Jackson"

Summary: It's Ms Jackson's company holiday party, and Frankie makes his debut.

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, references to past escort work, semi-public sex, slight exhibitionism kink, references to oral sex and anal play, unprotected PiV sex (don't be a fool, wrap your tool), spanking, possessive play, little bit of brattiness, Frankie is too damn hot and Ms J is gonna make him pay for it (in the best way).

Notes: Here's my (slightly late) SW!Frankie Christmas story! This is dedicated to @lowlights for saying "All I want for Christmas is SW!Frankie" and I couldn't resist giving her exactly that. She also picked Frankie's holiday party outfit, which is absolute perfection and I would climb him like a tree if he showed up in this fit.

Takes place after Callback.

Cross-posted on AO3

Sex Worker!Frankie AU Masterlist

The internal monologue running in the back of your mind comments on the tasteful decor, how the poinsettias and fake candles and red and green tablecloths really dress up the restaurant. The thought that “HR did a really nice job” skitters through your mind, and the warm scent of cider and mulled wine and store-bought cookies all envelops you in a nostalgic holiday mood.

Well, it would, but on the other hand this holiday party might actually kill you. Honestly. And yet you have to pretend that you’re not dying inside, a calm smile on your face while you fight back against the urge to scream.

It all started with an email.

Hi Team!

It’s that time of year again - our annual holiday party! Please join us for appetizers and drinks at Lesandro’s at 6pm Friday, December 23rd. If you want to enter the raffle for a special prize, please email Alison for a ticket.

This was all fine and dandy until you got to the next line.

Plus ones are welcome!

You shouldn’t have been surprised. It’s not the first time your office has extended invites to partners. You had brought your ex-husband in the past, the brief sting of the memory flitting through your mind. It was to be expected every year, a night to enjoy yourselves on the company’s dime in lieu of bonuses. 

You would gladly accept a check rather than the cocktails and finger foods, but you weren’t not on the planning committee. 

A little tremor of excitement over that line lightened your spirits for the rest of the day. Thinking of Frankie schmoozing with your coworkers made a smile come to your face, and his solid comfort being by your side actually made you look forward to the event. The scales tipped more towards anxiety when you walked into your home, Frankie coming down the stairs with damp hair.

“Hey sweetheart,” he said, a quick squeeze of a hug before heading to your car for groceries. Worrying at your lower lip, you waited until you were both in the kitchen sorting produce before you spoke up.

“I’ve got a company party coming up in a couple weeks,” you said, toppling a few apples onto the counter.

“You’ll be out late?” Frankie asked, dumping fruit into a colander in the sink. The running tap let you take your time with your response.

“Actually, I can bring a plus one,” you tried to say breezily, rolling a stray lemon under your palm. It grounded you as Frankie turned to you. “If you want to come,” you added at the end. When his pause went on too long you hazarded a look up at him. He was smiling in that somewhat exasperated way that let you know you’d been overthinking again.

“Why wouldn’t I want to come? Maybe I can guess which one of those girls steals your yogurt on Wednesdays.” The remark made you giggle, leaning back against the counter as Frankie’s mischievous eyes eased your tension.

“I don’t know, I built it up in my head, asking you.” You shrugged, voice getting a little softer. “My ex never liked going to these things. Complained for weeks before and after, then would barely talk to me when we were there.” You shifted, crossing your arms over your chest. It wasn’t the first time you’d talked about your past relationships with Frankie, but having to feel the grief, the sickness in the pit of your stomach, the tension of revising those memories still made you want to crawl out of your own skin. Frankie’s hands, heavy and soothing, wrapped around your biceps.

“If you want me there, I’m there,” he said, rubbing your arms with a reassuring smile. You nodded, letting your forehead drop against his shoulder when he stepped closer. Sucking a deep breath in, Frankie’s clean musk and fresh soap smell released the tight muscles in your jaw. “Where are they having it?”

“Lesandro’s.”

“Oh, so it’s like, a nice party,” Frankie mused, hand kneading at the back of your neck where you held much of your stress. You melted into the massage, pressing your cheek to his plush chest.

“Eh, we come from the office, you don’t have to dress up,” you mumbled into his worn t-shirt. He hummed in response.

“Could be fun, though,” he said, working his thumb into the meat of your shoulders. “Dressing up for it. I’d like to make a good first impression.” 

Leaning back, you raised an eyebrow at Frankie.

“Oh really?”

He blushed, and you thought your heart might explode at the sight. Slipping your fingers into the wisps of gray-brown hair at the nape of his neck, you swayed against your boyfriend.

“Then bring your A-game, handsome.”

Which is why you’re standing here now, close to literally exploding.

Because when Frankie texted to tell you he was here, you didn’t expect what walked in the door.

First of all, no Standard Oil hat. You didn’t expect him to wear it, but it’s such a part of himself now you forget he can go without it. He styled his hair loose and curling, not a wild mane but controlled wisps that flick out around his ears and bounce along his forehead. Little glints of silver you refuse to let him cover up at a salon catch the glittering lights in the restaurant. He’s wearing a white button-up, the top two buttons open to bare a delicious vee of tan skin around his throat. He clearly wasn’t patient enough with the sleeves, though, because he’s rolled them up around his elbows, accenting his strong forearms. You’ve never seen the pants he’s wearing, some sort of dark blue-black slacks that hug his trim hips perfectly before descending to black leather monkstrap shoes. 

And he’s wearing his fucking glasses.

Your cunt throbs at the sight.

He searches the crowd, the smile that breaks out when you lock eyes making your legs weak. He weaves his way through your coworkers, a few watching him curiously as he scoots by. Once he’s made it to you, a hand on your lower back and a kiss to your cheek, the eyes that followed him now land on you. The pride this swells in your chest makes you giddy.

“Have I missed all the food?” Frankie asks in your ear, your response a shaken head. He mock-sighs in relief before Cindy strides up to you both, ever the nosy one. Her smile is too big, hand outstretched to Frankie.

“And who have we here?” she asks, eyes flitting between you both. You brim with a little more pride when Frankie takes her hand, giving her a kind but firm handshake.

“Francisco Morales, the boyfriend,” he says with a little jest in his voice, Cindy laughing louder than necessary. 

This is the theme of the night, Frankie approached by coworkers and chatting his way through the first impressions. You smile and schmooze along with him, but inside marvel over how smooth he is. The perfectly timed jokes, the attentive smiles. As Cindy (and some people you’ve never even met) approach and leave, he knows exactly how to engage and play off their differing personalities. Giving space to the chatterbugs, coaxing conversation from the quiet ones, engaging in interests and offering his opinions. 

“This won’t be my first time in a room full of strangers with high expectations,” Frankie had said a few days before when you offered him an out on the party. The implication flew over your head until he added, “I’ve been hired as an escort too.” 

The revelation led to another one of those matter-of-fact conversations that were so fascinating with Frankie. He talked about sex work (and escorting, in this case) with no more emotional attachment than discussing what cars he worked on.

“I did a charity event once, older woman who wanted a younger man on her arm but didn’t want to look pathetic.”

“A girl had a bodyguard fantasy we played out at the Plaza. One of the nicest hotel rooms I’ve worked in.”

“You learn a lot by acting like the trophy, and people will tell you the wildest shit if you just listen.”

All of these skills were in action now as you watched him listen to someone from customer support discussing chatbot services. The second glass of champagne in your hand is warming under your fingers but you barely notice because this is a Frankie you rarely see. He’s in an element that’s foreign to you, used to his soft competency and attention and now witnessing his surety, his confidence, his ease at shifting into exactly what everyone wants.

Even the moments when you feel a stab of jealousy - Debbie touching his arm when he makes a joke, how he gives everyone his undivided attention - he always makes his way back to you. His hand rests on your lower back,  pulling you into conversations when you’re being edged out. And when you’re leading, having a discussion with a coworker, he listens closely by your side and nods along, even if you know he’s lost as to the topic.

It’s turning you on way more than you want to admit. 

The party is grating on your nerves after an hour and a half, your brain screaming at you to leave. Listening to Carl complain about the cost of events planning pales in comparison to showing Frankie exactly how much he’s been affecting you all night. The ache only worsens when you catch a glimpse of his profile, smiley and easygoing, as his shirt gapes to reveal no undershirt underneath. You could slip your fingers inside and drag them along the smooth expanse of skin there, before slipping them down to pop every button open as you descend lower and lower…

“Your man not dress up for you much?”

Erica, one of your favorite coworkers and confidant, sidles up next to you as Frankie tries to leave a conversation by the drinks table, two glasses in hand. Your face heats up as you fan yourself surreptitiously with a napkin.

“Mmmhmmm, okay no need to answer that one for me. Boss left ten minutes ago, go get your man out of here before Johnson bores him to death,” she murmurs, giving you an approving look before going back to her lost-looking husband. Her revelation, coupled with your increasing need, rockets you across the room to Frankie’s relieved face.

“Sorry Johnson, I need Frankie for a minute. Nice seeing you!” you rush out, depositing Frankie’s proffered glasses on a waiter’s tray. Hands free, you tug Frankie to the exit, his voice lost in the rush of blood to your ears. 

Out of the stuffy room and into the cooler night, Frankie huffs in surprise when you push him back against the building’s exterior and steal a heated kiss, a quick press of the lips preceding your tongue pressing into his mouth, stifling his moan with your own. Taking the hint, he pulls your hips flush with his, attacking your mouth with as much fervor as you’re giving. His teeth scrape against your tongue, letting you grind him against the concrete wall before he spins you to switch places.

“You had to wear the fucking glasses,” you gasp when he pulls back enough to nibble along your jaw. 

“Thought they’d make me look smarter,” he whispers in your ear, palming one breast with the broad expanse of his hand. You mewl under the attention, mind hazily realizing you’re way too out in the open to be getting groped so thoroughly. 

“Thought you’d ruin my panties is more like it,” you hiss back, spreading your legs to invite him between them. He shakes his head against your neck.

“Not here, let me take you home and take my time,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss behind your ear. The whine you squeeze out surprises you both, “needy little thing” the next words that Frankie drips against your skin. 

“C’mon Frankie, feel how wrecked you made me,” you goad, the roll of his hips against your core revealing Frankie’s desire as plainly as your own. Stealing a glance towards the front door, he slides a hand under your skirt and swiftly pulls your panties to the side, sliding two fingers through the slick mess.

“Fuck, baby, all this for me?” he asks, and the buck of your hips against his hand slides his fingertips inside you shallowly. He growls in your ear, that feral noise that makes you want to push him until he snaps and takes from you. Pulling you away from the wall, he sucks his wet fingers into his mouth with a flash of darkness in his eyes.

“Get in the truck, we’re going,” he says quickly, his stride longer and faster paced than usual. His own need mirroring yours makes a wicked idea bloom in your lust-addled mind. It would get you into some trouble, but the reward would be as good as the punishment. Maybe better.

Frankie buckles in and drives you swiftly out of the parking lot, your house only a twenty minute trip from Lesandro’s. Twenty long, aching minutes with Frankie so close you can almost taste him. You need to taste him.

Palming his hard cock through the slacks earns you a groan and a swat at your hand, Frankie’s knuckles tightening on the steering wheel.

“Baby, stop, I need to get us home. You can last twenty minutes,” he admonishes, which only mounts your need. Another long stroke, another warning, and you’re popping the top button of his pants open. He says your name now, hand coming to wrap around your wrist as you slide his zipper down.

“Please, Frankie, just let me taste you. I’ll be good, I promise,” you beg, one hand slipped under your own skirt and sliding through your slick. “You got me so worked up, I just want to make you feel good.” Leaning over you blow a puff of hot air onto his cock, still straining against his boxer briefs. A string of curses fall from his lips as you mouth him, wetting the cotton with your tongue.

“Fuck, you just can’t wait, can you? Okay, baby, okay, but you can’t…you can’t suck me off, I’ll crash the fucking truck if you try. Just hold me in your mouth if you need it that bad,” Frankie gasps, the words finally allowing you to slip his cock from its confines and into your hot mouth. He groans loud at your heat engulfing him, your clever fingers finding your clit and stroking quick circles as you try your best to follow his rules. But Frankie is large and thick in your mouth. You can’t help sliding back up to adjust your jaw wider. Or when you slide back down your tongue flattens against the underside, lapping at the thick vein. That’s just a force of habit. 

When you hum at the feeling of his head brushing the back of your throat, you can’t help but admit that you’re doing it on purpose.

“Fucking Christ,” Frankie swears, and you feel the car move from asphalt to dirt before coming to an abrupt stop. You slide your lips up and off his cock to ask why he stopped, but Frankie is already unbuckling his seatbelt and pulling you up to his mouth. He crashes his lips against yours, holding you in place with one firm hand on the back of your neck. 

“Little tease,” he purrs, and the rush of heat to your cunt has you arching into his chest, burying your wet fingers in his hair. “I was going to take you home, spread you out on our bed and make you cum so many times you’d lose your voice.” Frankie’s thick fingers pinch your jaw, widening it so he can delve deeper with his tongue. You’re practically dripping on the bench seat, trying to move to your back but he holds you there, and the roughness of his touch makes your body thrum like a live wire.

“Was going to lick this pretty pussy until you came on my face, then flip you over and do it again. Maybe even tease your perfect little asshole,” he continues, your heart hammering in your chest as he pushes your arousal higher and higher. “Then I was going to make you cum around three fingers. Get you to squirt for me.” 

“Frankie, fuck, please…” you whine, hips rocking against nothing, but he wraps his hands around them and bumps your noses together.

“Oh I’d have you begging by then too, but no, you couldn’t behave. Couldn’t wait the twenty minutes to get you home.” Your world spins as Frankie turns you to face away from him, pulling your ass tight against his hips. Heat blooms along your chest and face when you realize you’ve pushed him enough to lead to this.

“So you’re getting what you wanted, sweetheart. I’m gonna fuck you, needy little thing. Gonna give you my cock and you’re gonna take it just like this.” With that he flips your skirt up over your ass and slides his cock through your slick. Your jaw drops open; the truck is barely off the road, hidden by a few overhanging trees and a lack of streetlights but still very visible to another car passing by. Thighs trembling, you try to steady your breathing. It’s dangerous and mollifying, exhilarating and terrifying. 

“You know what to say if you don’t want this,” Frankie murmurs in your ear, gentler than before. You do, you know the colors and the words that will slow Frankie down. But like hell do you want that right now.

“Green, handsome,” you shoot back, wiggling your butt against him. He chuckles darkly, guiding your hips to slide his cock over your clit. 

“Then put your hands on the door,” he says, nudging you forward to brace yourself against the passenger door. Knocking your knees apart, Frankie’s bulk settles against your ass before his thick head begins breaching you.

Eyes rolling back and your mouth open in a silent moan, you savor the girth of Frankie’s cock with no preparation. You’re so slick and yielding, but he always stretches you to your limits. Even as he fucks shallowly into you, getting you used to him, you beg for more.

“Please Frankie, fuck me, want you to wreck me, been wanting you inside me all night,” you groan, pushing back to bury him deep inside, grinding the base of his cock to tease your throbbing clit. Frankie’s hands tighten around your hips, and with a sharp snap that knocks a gasp out of you as he sets a powerful pace. 

The truck cabin fills with the lewd sound of Frankie’s fat cock fucking into your wet cunt, his guttural moans mixing with your higher ones. When you look behind you, Frankie’s baring his teeth and puffing air through his nose, curls sticking to the sweat at his temples.

“This what you need, beautiful? Needed me to pound this pussy until you can’t think? Needed me to claim what’s mine?” His filthy words hit a chord deep inside you didn’t know existed until he spoke it into life. You roll your hips back against him, leveraging your thrusts with your hands on the door.

“Yes Frankie, need you to fucking take me, make me yours, take what you want, I want everyone to know I’m yours,” you babble. A sudden crack of skin on skin makes you cry out, flooding your cunt with arousal. Frankie soothes the red handprint on your ass before tapping his fingers along it. 

“Fuck, baby, you like that?” he moans as you nod vigorously in response. “Yeah, I can feel how much you liked that. Take it,” he orders before he slaps your other cheek, admiring how your movements get sloppier as you writhe in pleasure. “Mine,” he growls, another gentler slap. “Mine,” he pants as he yanks you back and pushes your chest to the seat, arching your ass up high for him to keep pounding into. “Mine,” he growls into your ear when he folds over your body, his thrusts shortening but hitting that powerful spot, tightening you around his cock.

“Oh fuck, sweetheart, I can feel it, you’re so close. Cum on me baby, I’m…fuck, I’m yours,” Frankie gasps, the possessiveness now curling in your own heart as you listen to him rail you within an inch of your sanity while repeating “yours” under his breath. 

“Frankie, please…” you ask, not sure of what you need but he nods against your spine. Threading his fingers between yours, he slides his other hand to your clit and strums it fast and hard, the intensity throwing you off the edge of your impending orgasm. 

With a muffled shriek you cum, feet scuffling against the leather seats and your hips bucking beneath Frankie’s weight. He holds you down, guiding you through it as he works his cock slowly through the grip of your channel. When the aftershocks subside, Frankie pumps into you a handful of times, then pulls out to spill on your ass with staccato moans. 

For a long moment the truck is filled with gasping breaths, Frankie using your own skirt to wipe up his spend. When his heat disappears you prop yourself up to catch him leaning against the driver door, legs splayed and his head tipped against the cool glass, chest heaving. It takes a moment to rearrange your limbs but you finally slide between his legs and rest your head against his chest. His arms come up to cradle you there, stroking your back. You enjoy the silence, the comforting cadence of Frankie’s breathing bringing you back down.

“Was that too much?” he asks, a little apprehension in his voice. “I know we don’t go down that kind of path often…”

“Frankie, that was fucking amazing,” you soothe, grinning into his chest. “And I instigated that, I knew what I was asking for. Though you did almost make me end it with that plan you laid out.”

“Oh did I?”

“Very tempting.”

“You made your choice.”

You both laugh a little, the glow of the truck’s clock reminding you of the late hour. But Frankie has one more question to air in the dark.

“You weren’t jealous tonight, were you?” he asks, tucking his chin to look at you. “Because nobody in that room held a candle to you tonight. Or any night. I’m yours, babe,” he says, stroking his thumb along your cheek. The love that blooms in your chest is all the answer you need, but you’ll still say it.

“I loved being yours tonight. And every night.”

After getting back on the road, Frankie hums thoughtfully.

“If you wanted to do that every now and then…” he says tentatively, drawing your attention to his stunning profile. “You know, tease me, get me riled up, I’d be into that.” 

A wicked smile curls your lips, half hidden in the dark.

“You like it when I rile you up?” you ask, leading Frankie’s hand back between your legs. You could find the energy for another round, your folds still soft and dripping. He gives you a look like he could devour you whole.

“I like it when I can show you you’re mine,” he rumbles, cupping your sex as the minutes until you’re home tick by.

“Show me again, then.”

END

The story continues in Frankie's First Time

[utilitycaster]

I feel like a lot of people are projecting their own feelings towards what Taliesin did onto the cast as they seemed to me more stressed than necessarily angry at Taliesin but I don't actually play DnD so I thought I might ask you if what Taliesin did really was extreme enough to have actually made the cast as other playerd mad. I've just seen the claim that the cast is mad at x before, with Sam having scanlan leave or Bowlgate or Liam handing over the beacon and then the cast weren't actually mad at all.

Hi anon,

So just a blanket statement for the various questions I have received: until like, Wednesday, today was supposed to be a work from home day, as I often try to make my Fridays; I was pulled in to help an injured coworker briefly this morning, which I understand and which was relatively painless and would have left me free to work from home after 10 am, which is entirely reasonable. I then was sent to a last minute additional site and it turned out they were completely unprepared; this wasted about two and a half hours of my time and I'm now, understandably, extremely annoyed. This may bleed into my responses, though by and large I'm going to specify if I'm annoyed at you or not. Anyway, anon, I'm not annoyed at you at all and any "you" I say below is addressed to the fandom on the whole; this is a valid question.

Yeah the cast is mad. Yeah that's valid; as Matt pointed out there were extensive warnings specifically indicating that this would be a bad idea for Ashton to do. The cast is attached to each other's characters! They were, in fact, mad about Scanlan leaving and Tary showing up, because they care about Scanlan and that was an intense scene; Liam genuinely thought Sam was leaving the show. They were mad about this! They are also, probably going to get over it pretty quickly, or be "mad" about it in the way that your friends still roast you in the group chat over a typo years later. This isn't really even a D&D thing other than that Matt had Evontra'vir and Allura repeatedly say "you might fucking shatter." It's an anger born of concern that Ashton might have been permanently killed. But they weren't, and even if they were, it's fine. (The cast was not remotely mad about bowlgate though; see following paragraph.)

Which brings me to my next point. I have really only checked the blogs of people I follow because of aforementioned work problems and have barely glanced at the tag, and this is in conversation not just with this episode and that discourse and me being pissed off over real-world personal inconveniences, but also the larger discussion of "must stories have conflict?" and the fact that all the people who until quite recently insisted that actually Bells Hells are ROCK SOLID TIGHTLY BONDED and shat repeatedly on the astute point that Bells Hells are actually very surface level pleasant and don't ever discuss their issues have done a 180 that they will never acknowledge. Anyway:

It's extremely normal to be mad at people you care about, and to have arguments with them, and in fact it's likely more unhealthy to not have disagreements and get mad ever, and some of you sound like you've never been outside or had any friends. Like really that's it in the end. Actually believing Marisha and Liam were mad at each other? Friendless behavior. It's completely fine to wonder if this anger was valid, but like, honestly, people get mad over dumb shit every day and the point is that even if it's a stupid thing for the cast to be mad at (obviously, I think it's fine), be fucking normal and recognize that friends can be mad over dumb shit or valid shit and talk through it. Like. Some of you have no conflict resolution skills because you see all forms of confrontation as inherently evil and couldn't be me. I get in fights all the time and I get out of them and it's great. I am glad I no longer live in the midwest but god I cut swathes through problems there because I had zero investment in being Minnesota Nice when I was angry. Somehow this has turned into life advice, which is not what I thought it would be, but anyway. It's okay to be mad at your friends and expressing it in the way the cast did is super normal and they will probably all go out for drinks; as a person who has never chilled once in her entire life, I think we should all chill.

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Here, Kitty, Kitty (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Aizawa x Black!Catgirl!Reader

Synopsis: In which you find yourself in the weirdest predicament after you’re scooped up and taken to a cat cafe after you decide to take the streets to fight some crime, and you’re adopted by your very anti-social and hot coworker Aizawa aka Eraserhead.

Story Warnings: Smutty smut, 18+ (MINORS GET AWAY), Swearing, Adult!Reader, Ear and Tail Stroking, Light Degradation, Spanking, Exhibitionism, Multiple Positions, Creampie, Unprotected PIV Sex, Facial, Scent Play, Collaring, Deepthroat, Cunnlingus, Begging, Edgeplay, Power Play, Rope Play/Shibari, Master Kink, Some Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Some Action

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: Back from my cruise with an update! I should be finished this fic soon cuz I have about three chapters left. Imma cry. Thank you again for the love! P.S. Never go on a cruise in the summertime. That boat was CROWDED AF -Jazz

Read on AO3 here!

Other Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-One. Twenty-Two. Twenty-Three. Twenty-Four. Twenty-Five.

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

TWENTY.

When you step into the bar one warm Wednesday night, you don’t feel like having a cocktail after midnight at all. 

But since Nemuri said she’d pay even though your favorite bar has happy hour after midnight during the weekends and you decided to take off on Thursday, you came. What else do you have to do besides pretend like you have chores to do so you can avoid visiting Aizawa and those intrusive, negative thoughts that call you a liar, a bitch, and a horrible person? 

You dress accordingly, tossing on a simple sundress and some blocked heels. The bar is surprisingly crowded despite it being a weeknight and the activity is buzzing. You find Nemuri sitting at the Cherrywood bar immediately, dressed in a low-cut purple blouse and cut-off shorts that you’re sure will get her a couple of numbers tonight. She smiles when you wordlessly come up and sit on the empty stool next to her. 

“It’s about time you showed up,” she greets, crossing her dainty legs over each other. She already has her little cocktail with an umbrella in it. You’re not feeling too much like drinking tonight, so you order something with as little alcohol as possible. “Just a cranberry seltzer for me,” you say to the bartender. He nods, moving to get your drink together. 

“Soooo what’s been going on?” Nemuri asks, not even letting the awkward silence stew for a moment. “I haven’t seen much of you since that night.” 

“You mean the night where I found out you and Mic have been talkin’ about me behind my back and made me feel like the worse person alive?” you mutter, tapping your nails against the cherrywood bar. “Yeah, it has been a while.” 

“A while” is actually an entire week. You haven’t spoken much to either Nemuri or Mic since the night they caught you sneaking out of your dorm to meet Aizawa on his mission. You’ve avoided them at work, opting to eat lunch elsewhere, and make sure you take your bathroom breaks during times you know they have classes.

You don’t like it, but you are too damn stubborn and afraid to be the first one to throw in the towel. To you, they still had no right to discuss you behind your back or make you feel worse than you already did. None of them know you were with Aizawa the night he was attacked by Toyoma. In fact, nobody knows except for Aizawa. 

“Y/N,” Nemuri sighs, “you know we didn’t mean it like that, but we had to confront you! We were just worried about you and your relationship with Aizawa.” All you do is scoff to yourself, still hurt with disappointment and betrayal. 

But you don’t want to talk about that. You need to know about Aizawa, and Nemuri promised she’d give you the rundown on how things are going with him if you agreed to meet her tonight. “How’s he doing?” you timidly ask as the bartender lowers your cocktail down. You feel like you should’ve ordered two, now realizing how difficult this conversation will be. 

“You know, you could always just visit him at the hospital to get your answers,” she says, raising an eyebrow at you. “According to Mic, he’s been asking about you.”

She slings an arm over the bar, giving you the softest, most gentle eyes you’ve ever seen on a person. And that hurts you to your core. You don’t need her gentleness or her sympathy. You don’t need any of this. It only makes you feel even more guilty than you already do. 

Other than Nemuri and Mic, you’ve been avoiding visiting Aizawa in the hospital for over a week as well. You sent flowers the day after Toyoma attacked him and was successfully arrested, so you’d hope that they were received well. Mic never told you if they were, but then again, you haven’t been speaking to him either. So many times you’ve thought of just biting the bullet and visiting Aizawa after work on or on the weekends, but sometimes has always stopped you from making that move: guilt. 

That horrible, churning, gnawing feeling of guilt that has been keeping you up at night, constantly seeing Aizawa losing consciousness on the floor of his dorm and Toyota’s bloodied, slashed face. You feel incredibly responsible for Toyoma’s attack that night. If you had focused and hadn’t lost focus, you wouldn’t have been vulnerable enough for Toyoma to have pushed you off the roof.

You would’ve gotten him. You could’ve knocked him out as soon as you sat next to him in the theatre. But instead, you got too excited and overzealous. You wanted to prove yourself to him, Aizawa, and yourself that you were a worthy fighter and instead, you nearly cost yourself and Aizawa your lives. 

You hope the apology you wrote on the flowers sufficed, but you know that’s stupidity and wishful thinking. Knowing Aizawa, he’d want you to say it to his face. But to witness him all bruised up in a hospital bed and knowing it’s because of you, it’s far too much for you to take. So you’ve busied yourself with work, chores, and nights out at Night Claw, kicking ass and taking names. You desperately want to be out there now, strutting the streets in your boots and distracting yourself from your emotions, instead of sitting here, facing them.

“Nemuri, please,” you sigh, pinching your sinuses. 

Nemuri doesn’t push it, but she doesn’t look happy with your refusal either. “He’s doing great,” she unenthusiastically responds, but your heart leaps with joy regardless. “So far, he’s been there for a week and has been showing signs of improvement. He’s moving with no trouble and the bruises have begun to heal. If he continues to show improvement, he should be out by next week with antibiotics for his ribcage and medicine to apply to his scalp.” 

Relief overcomes you, causing you to take your first sip of your cocktail. “That’s great,” you exhale. “That’s…really great.” You stare at your drink while Nemuri stares at you, burning a hole in the side of your face. “Are you ready to tell me what happened now?” she asks. "Mic and the others still think you were in Aizawa’s dorm sleeping with him when the villain came barging through.” 

Other than Nemuri and Mic being left in the dark about that night, nobody knows at all what occurred or why you were in Aizawa’s room before his door was broken in. The running gag around campus is that you were sleeping with Aizawa that night, snuggled up in his room when Toyoma came sneaking in. You take a sip of your cocktail for liquid courage, knowing you can’t keep your friend in the dark for too long. 

“That’s because I was,” you bluntly reply. 

Nemuri’s eyes widen at you. “N-Not like that!” you stammer, flushing under the bar lights. “I was in my cat form visiting him that night. I had gone with Aizawa as backup on his mission to catch Toyoma, but then he escaped. As soon as we got in the dorm, I could tell something was wrong…that’s when I saw him.”

You had felt it as soon as Aizawa walked in. It was way too quiet for one and for two, your fur started standing on end as if your body knew something was wrong before you did. As soon as you sensed something coming from Aizawa’s dorm wall, you knew you had to warn him. Your cat-like behavior took over you and all you could do was hiss and yowl until the threat finally showed itself. 

“Aizawa locked Eri and me in her room,” you solemnly continue, "but I managed to squeeze underneath the door. When I saw Aizawa on the floor bleeding and Toyoma holding that knife…”

You press a hand to your forehead, trying to erase those horrible images. “I blacked out after that,” you confess, alluding to when you attacked Toyoma. “All I had in my mind was to save Shouta.” The amount of fear and rage that poured inside of your tiny feline body when you saw Toyoma hovering over Aizawa is indescribable. At that moment, you wanted Toyoma to bleed. You wanted him gone. 

You’re just glad you managed to stop Toyoma at the knick of time. Your stubbornness and quick thinking of sneaking under Eri’s door to help possibly had saved Aizawa and Eri.

“And that, you did,” Nemuri soothingly says, putting a hand on your knee. “When we saw Toyoma, he looked like he came straight out of a horror movie–blood dripping down his face; skin hanging off his cheeks…” She shudders at the mental image. “You really fucked him up, girl. You should feel proud of yourself. You saved Shouta’s life that night.” 

Though you know it, deep down, you don’t feel it. There is still a part of you telling you that you could’ve done better; that you could’ve protected Aizawa from a simple scratch, but you didn’t. That only makes the guilt grow more until you’re sinking deeper into the deep, dark hole that your insecurities and self-doubts have built for you. 

Nemuri does her best to pull you out of it now. “Y/N, why don’t you just stop it and go see him?” she suggests, looking sick of your shit. “You’re punishing yourself when in reality, all you need to do is tell him the truth!” 

You take a sip of your cocktail for more liquid courage before slamming it down against the cherrywood bar. It isn’t loud enough to grab any unwanted attention, but it’s enough to startle Nemuri. “You think I don’t know that?” you hiss. “I've been tryna get up the nerve to go see Shouta and tell him everything for over a week now, but as I told you before, this isn’t easy for me. I don't give a fuck about if he wants to see me anymore, but if I tell him everything, I’ll break his and Eri’s hearts. They don’t need that right now.” 

You turn away from your friend as tears of frustration begin to rise to the surface. Why can’t your life just be a Disney movie or something? Why does everything have to be so damn complicated?

“Is this what you brought me out here for?” you cooly ask, ignoring Nemuri’s pained expression. “To be the voice of reason? Well, it ain’t working. I’ll visit Shouta when I’m ready and I’ll tell him the truth when I’m sure he’s healed. He doesn’t need any more BS in his life right now.” 

Nemuri’s plump lips tighten into a thin line as you down the rest of your cocktail. You don’t look at her as you pull $10 out of your purse and place it on the bar. “I’m gonna go,” you deadpan. “Thanks for the drink.” You then turn and storm away from your seat, never stopping despite the angel on your shoulder screaming at you to go back. 

“Y/N, wait!” Nemuri calls but you don't turn around. You won’t be swayed in your decision or argued against. You don’t care what she or anyone thinks. You understand what is right, but you refuse to do it right now while Aizawa is recovering from his injuries and the trauma he faced that night. You will tell him everything when the time is right. 

‘I promise,’ you think as you venture into the warm night, but even that sounds like a lie.

Even to yourself. 

[streaminn]

Gift to you, and celebration of the new trailer for Spider-Man 2 PS5.

Red and blue lights briefly color the monochrome clothes of one Wednesday Addams, as she begrudgingly waits to give her statement to one of the pigs officers on the scene. Some villain of the week decided to take his revenge on one of the basketball coaches in the middle of their semifinals. One ass beating by a certain spider later and the gym stood with minor damages and a bruised idiot. Wednesday wasn’t even supposed to be there, she was trying to get a copy of Yoko’s notes for Enid. (“You know Wednesday, I could’ve just texted these to her. Is this really your best excuse to go see your sick gal pal?”)

Enid had been out of commission for a couple days. She claimed to have a cold, but Wednesday knew she was still recovering from her recent fight with Shocker. The villainess was able to land a good hit, but she still lost in the end when Enid short circuited her gloves…again. Wednesday had been taking notes in her stead, and in this occasion, getting notes for classes she didn’t share with Enid. If this just so happened to also give her a reason to visit Enid, she’d never admit to it.

She watches as Spider-Beast gives Yoko two thumbs up before walking over. “Hel- Hi Ms. Addams,” the Spider says, her voice dropping an octave as she speaks.

“You know my first name, I’ve told you before,” Wednesday replies.

“Right, sorry Wednesday.”

“It’s quite alright.” The Addams looks at her costumed companion, making note that Enid has altered her costume during her recovery (Eventually she’ll learn it’s now shock(er) proof). She notices that the beast seems more jittery than usual. “Something on your mind Spider?”

“What? No, just ya know, totally pumped that I took that guy down.” Wednesday looks into the eyes of the mask, picturing Enid’s beautiful blues behind it, currently on a face with a forced smile.

“Nothing at all?” Wednesday doesn’t want to push, she can always try again when Enid’s out of costume, but it doesn’t hurt to try. She sees the hero relax her shoulders before letting out a short sigh.

“It’s just…I’ve been away on a…business trip, a spider business trip if you will, which meant I was away from…a coworker, a spider coworker.”

“You have coworkers?”

“Spider-coworkers, yes.” Wednesday motioned for her to continue, though she pocketed this coworker nonsense for later use when she herself is suited up, anything to fluster Enid. “Anyways, I’m away from this coworker, hoping they’re okay while I’m gone, and then like a second later they’re in danger at school. Not this school, a different school, coworker was at a school on the other side of town.”

“Of course.” Wednesday really needs to teach her to lie better. “I’m sure they’re fine now, probably waiting to go home as we speak.”

“I know, they’re really tough, but still, I worry. I just always want them to be okay.” Before Wednesday can respond, she’s called over to give her statement. “Looks like I’ll let you go.” As Wednesday gathers her stuff, she turns to the Spider.

“This “coworker” of yours.”

“Spider-Coworker.”

“…Spider-Coworker, maybe you should visit them later. I’m sure they’d appreciate seeing you back from your…Spider-Business trip.”

“Oh, I’d love to, but I don’t want to bother them by dropping in unannounced.”

“Shame, because after the day I just had, I believe I would personally appreciate it.”

“…what?”

“In fact, after I give my statement, I’m going to visit my best friend and give her a hug, I’ve been trying to show more affection after all. Plus, I have notes for her classes that she’s missed.”

“Oh wow, haha, that is super cool of you. You should really get on that. I’m gonna go do spider things, keeping the city safe and whatnot. Have a good afternoon Wednesday!”

Wednesday watches as the Spider-Beast shoots two finger guns at her before she thwips away into the skyline. She lets a smirk form on her lips. “See you in a few, Enid.” She can’t wait to see her smile without the mask in the way.

WEDNESDAY IS SO OBVIOUS 😭 and omygod not Enid being clingy yet trying not too and stumbling over her words, I love that

The things Wenclair do to me man.. The signs is so obviously there yet does Enid pick up on it?

No, she's too busy picking up Wednesday, literally

Bet Enid came rushing into Wednesday room and scooped her into a hug after this. Her voice frenzied as she asked how willa's doing because she heard the news

Wednesday will a hundred percent melt into the hold and humm, totally mentioning how it's better since beast stepped in

Enid beams in return and Wednesday knows that she puffed her chest a tad in pride

Cute

[bibuddie]

wip wednesday

tagged by the beloveds @wandiinha and @engagedmadney mwah!! here's some from my as of yet untitled wip. hope u enjoy besties mwah!!

“Eddie, c’mon. You know what I’m talking about. When did you know?”

He sighs then, the last of his defenses falling away as he focuses on whatever sports game is playing on the TV, thumb picking absentmindedly at the label on his beer bottle. “He came to my house, y’know. The night I had my breakdown.”

If the news surprised Hen, she did a good job of covering it up. “I figured. Did you call him?”

He shakes his head, finally meeting her eyes. “Chris did. Fancy that, I was in a crisis and the first person my son thought of calling was Buck. I think that speaks volumes, don’t you?”

Hen hums somewhere low in her throat, smiling slightly at Eddie in a way that makes him feel seen. “I had a feeling, you know.”

Eddie has to fight the urge to choke on his beer. “You did?”

“I mean, I couldn’t know anything for certain, but there’s been more than one occasion over the years where I’ve caught you both looking at eachother, and to be frank Eddie, it felt like I had to look away. It felt like I was intruding on a private moment.”

Her words give Eddie pause. If he’s being honest with himself, he can’t identify a solid time when his feelings for Buck crossed the threshold from rivals into coworkers into friends into not quite more. It’s not even like he woke up one day and thought Oh. I’m in love with you. It felt more like slipping on his favourite sweater. It felt a little more like this all makes sense. I feel like I’m home when I’m with you. It feels right. Being by Buck’s side felt right in a way that nothing else had in Eddie’s life, and he’d fight to be there for the rest of his life.

as always i'm not sure who's done this as of yet so tagging uhhhh @burnthatbridge @henswilsons @trippedandfell @capseycartwright @swiftiebuckleys @gayhoediaz and anyone else who would like to partake mwah!!

[thewritingginger]

It’s the middle of the week so heres an overdue post for your Wednesday.

I just quickly wrote this so mind any mistakes :)

Fandom: Attack on Titan Pairing: Levi Ackerman x GN! Reader Word count: 1.1k+ words Warnings: Modern AU, Business man Levi, Age gap, Fluffy & cheesy, Kinda shitty oops 

Enjoy ~

Erwin was a long time family friend that you’d known since you were little but had lost touch when you went off to college. Though when the news of you moving back reached him he asked you to meet up with him and a few of his coworkers, that’s when you met a man they called Levi Ackerman.

You sat across the table from him, mostly spent admiring him from the corner of your eye as you pretended to listen to the others' conversations. He was older than you, like the others, but you couldn’t help but be attracted to him. Although he was short in stature he possessed this energy that you couldn’t quite place and being a man of few words only added to the mystery that was around him.

Since then, joining their group on outings has become a regular thing. Each time you tried getting the stone faced man’s attention and when you captured it for a few words you found yourself a bit stunned under his steely gaze. His voice was low with a rasp that vibrated through you. Soon enough you two found yourselves in eachothers company, away from the others, and after a few times talking he asked you out on a date.

~~~

It’s Saturday afternoon and you’re meeting Levi at a little tea shop you mentioned when he shared his liking for tea. The street that the shop is on is full of people working and window shopping. You see the sign that hangs above the door up ahead and then through the crowd you spot the raven hair of your date waiting for you. Picking up the pace he turns and you’re greeted with a warm smile, it was small but it still managed to make the butterflies in your belly flutter.

“Hey.” You smile back, giving him a quick greeting hug. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“It’s no problem, just glad you made it.” He says, holding the door open for you. You sigh in relief of the warmth and inviting smell of spices and baked goods on the inside.

Finding a table in the back of the small shop you sit across from each other.

“So- how’s work been?” You ask, not knowing where to start. This is the first time you’ve been truly alone with him and you’re a bit nervous to say the least.

“It’s been good. However, instead of talking about my boring job, I was hoping  to learn more about you, Y/n.” His low voice, rich and mellow, melts over you making you flustered.

“Oh, well there isn’t much to say. As you know I’m a college student and I just recently moved back to finish up my degree at home. But I guess something you don’t know is-.”

You continue to talk back and forth for the next couple hours. After ordering some tea and a few treats you swapped stories and tidbits of information about each other's lives. Laughing and smiling with moments of just looking at each other from across the table over the rims of your cups, it’s safe to say this date is making your stomach do somersaults in the best way.

Wrapping up the date, Levi insisted on paying even though you tried to fight it. Now outside the shop you were about to start saying your goodbyes.

“Let me walk you to your car.” He offers.

“Oh no, that’s okay. I took the bus anyway.”

“Then let me drive you home, I want to make sure you get there safely.” You think about his offer and decide to accept it. You’ve met him a handful of times and Erwin trusts him so you felt safe enough to take him up on it.

“Great. I’m parked in a lot a few blocks down.”

Following him, side by side your hands brush against each other a few times before he tentatively wraps his larger hand around yours. Smiling to yourself you’re about to break the comfortable silence between you till you feel a few drops of water hit your face. Looking up you see it’s beginning to rain and it didn’t take long for it to begin pouring.

The two of you make a mad dash to his car. You laugh at Levi as you see him hike the back of his jacket over his head to attempt shielding himself from the downpour but it’s no use, your hood is already soaked through.

Pulling his keys out he unlocks his car and opens your door for you to duck into. When he shuts his door you’re still laughing.

“You look like a wet dog.”

“You’re one to talk.” He retorts back with a toothy grin, you admire him a moment as he combs his wet hair back. Even completely soaked from head to toe he still managed to look so handsome and distinguished.

“Sorry for getting your seats wet.” You say, warming your hands in front of the vents he turned on.

“Don’t worry about it. Here, put this on.” He reaches back and pulls out a coat he had in the back.

“Now where was this when you needed it?” You tease.

“Well, to be fair, I didn’t think I’d need it.” He puts the car in drive and begins down the street.

Doing as he said, you stripped yourself of your wet jacket and shouldered on the dry one he gave you. Pulling the collar up to warm your nose you can’t help but breathe in, letting the smell of his cologne and natural musk fill your senses. You relax further into the leather seats as you give directions to your home.

The car ride was comfortable and it’s safe to say you really like Levi and you hope he does too.

Pulling to stop, the engine still running, Levi unbuckles his seat belt as you do. You watch him walk around the front of the car to your door and open it for you again. The rain has let up a bit but is still coming down. Taking the hand he extended to you he helps you out and walks you up the steps to your front door.

“Thanks again.” “Like I said, it was no problem.” He smiles.

“Oh! Your jacket.” You go to take it off but he stops you. “Keep it. It looks good on you and besides it’ll give me a reason to see you again.”

“I’d like that.” You smile, lightly biting your lower lip with schoolgirl happiness.

As you were saying your final goodbyes you stop him before he can take the first step off your porch.

“Levi-.” He turns just when you cup his face and place a small kiss on his cheek. “I had a lot of fun today.” If you weren’t mistakened you’d think that you might have seen a slight blush dust across the short man’s face.

“I did too.”

This was really short and maybe a bit rushed but I hope you liked it anyway 

Feedback and interaction is always appreciated :3

💛 ~

~ Valentine’s Masterlist ~ ~ Masterlist ~

[sajiri]

Okay guys, let me tell you what the past 2 weeks have been like for me.

(Important piece of info. I work in a school for autistic students and I have arguably one of the most challenging classes in the school with multiple violent students).

So first, my class was already more heightened than usual. One of the mornings, the school bus comes in and I’m asked to go down and help because one of my students was dysregulated on the bus and was attacking people. I get down there, talk to him, offer him a hug and he jumps into my arms. I start to carry him out of the bus when something triggered him again and he bit my shoulder. Took him to class, got him settled then finally went to handle my shoulder. The pain became so bad that I had to take the next day off work because I couldn’t lift my arm. Took a few days until it was recovered enough to do anything, and this cut into my art commissions too.

Friday, my hot water at home stops working. We contact our realtor and they don’t get someone out until Wednesday to fix it. It was 5 days we didn’t have any hot water.

Monday, my students are starting to fight again. It’s getting worse each day. They break several of the things I have bought with my own money. I get injuries not only from my students, but the students in other classes. They aren’t always trying to hurt me specifically, but when they target other kids I have to get between them. I was kicked, slapped, punched in the face, had a rock thrown at me, spit on, and one of my students suddenly developed some inappropriate touching habits and started squeezing my boob and touching my butt.

By Wednesday, it becomes so bad, and the class so unruly that for the first time in the 4 years working there, I broke down crying from stress. I held it together long enough to get them calmed until i managed to go to my lunch break. I was so anxious that one of my students was going to get seriously injured (thankfully they didn’t and I was the only one who ended up with bruises.) My coworkers were very supportive and my boss offered to let me leave early, but I knew the students would struggle even more if I left so I stuck it out. On top of all this, I’m having issues with a coworker/s who keep removing my stuff from my class storeroom without asking. I’m happy to share my personal resources, but I don’t think it’s too much to ask that people don’t just waltz in and take things without asking.

Thursday I woke up with a sore throat and headache, realising I was coming down sick :|

Friday, my 1 month old computer started BSODing. It took hours to figure out the issue (turns out the ram had somehow got jostled and just needed to be reseated).

Saturday, I go to hang my washing outside and see that the water heater is spraying water all over the backyard. We call the electrician who had fixed our water issue a few days earlier and he tells us he had noticed a small leak at the time and had notified our agent, telling them to send a plumber out to fix it. They never did (presumably because we pay the water bill). Called an emergency number for a plumber and he came out within an hour to fix it.

That night as I’m telling someone I’m convinced some divine entity is playing a joke on me, I say “what’s the bet I wake up tomorrow and my period starts?”

WELL GUESS WHAT HAPPENED WHEN I WOKE UP THE NEXT MORNING?

Now it’s Sunday evening, I’m laying here sick and with cramps, super behind on my commissions and tasks, hoping I’m well enough to go to work tomorrow because we have a new student starting in our class and I don’t want his first day to be with a substitute. Whatever mysterious force out there is having fun with me, please just give me a break for a bit ;o;

[beardedmrbean]

A Chicago family is celebrating how a 40-year-old woman and her coworker were able to survive a violent attempted armed carjacking thanks to the coworker and his firearm. 

"If you see all those bullet holes and only one hit my child. That's a miracle," Janice Sims, the mother of Jaquita Sims, who survived the armed attempted carjacking, CBS News reported. "Angels covered her. God covered my daughter. Thank you, Lord."

Early Wednesday morning last week, Jaquita Sims’s car suffered a flat tire as she made her way to O'Hare International Airport amid holiday travel, her mother told the outlet. Her coworker, identified only as a 65-year-old man, offered to give her a lift and picked her up on Chicago’s West Side in his Toyota Corolla. 

"It's just sad that a person trying to make a living could almost lose their life just trying to make a living," Sims’ pastor Terrell Stevens told CBS News. "And so those that are out there with gun violence - this is somebody's daughter. You're not just shooting at random targets."

Four men soon approached the Corolla in a silver SUV at about 4:40 a.m., brandishing firearms at Sims and her coworker and demanding they exit the vehicle, CBS News reported. 

"I started screaming my coworker’s name out," Jaquita Sims told the Chicago Sun-Times.

A gun fight ensued as the 65-year-old, legally armed coworker pulled out his own gun and used the only five bullets he had to defend himself and Sims, the outlet reported. 

"They wanted to carjack them," Janice Sims said. "They just shot the car up maybe 20 times."

The suspects fled, and the 65-year-old drove himself and Sims to a local hospital. Sims suffered a gunshot wound to the chest, while the 65-year-old was grazed by a bullet on his thigh. 

2ND AMENDMENT STEPS IN AFTER COPS STEP BACK IN WAKE OF DEFUND MOVEMENT IN CHICAGO

"All I heard was loud noises after that, and my eyes was closed," Jaquita Sims told the Chicago Sun-Times. "I heard [my coworker] kept screaming my name, but I couldn’t answer him."

Police said the coworker had a concealed carry license and a valid firearm owner's identification card for his firearm, the Chicago Sun-Times reported. Police said the coworker fired first, though Sims said the suspects opened fire upon seeing her coworker was armed, according to the outlet. 

Both Sims and her coworker have been released from the hospital. 

"When I see this car and all the bullets on her side of the car, and she was the passenger, and it's about 20 bullets just on her side," Janice Sims said. "And only one of them hit her, and it didn't kill her. Thank you, Lord."

CHICAGO WOMAN WITH CONCEALED CARRY FIRES AT WOULD-BE CARJACKERS: 'HE LOOK SURPRISED'

Sims’ pastor was joined by strangers and loved ones at West Suburban Medical Center last week in a prayer circle for Sims and her coworker’s health. 

"This family has been saved from a funeral, saved from a burial - just saved, saved, saved," a man said in the prayer circle.

Sims’ mom noted that while her daughter was able to survive the violence, another Chicago mother will inevitably answer a more tragic phone call. 

"Somebody else's mother is going to get the same call that I got this morning - that their child got shot, by the same people, because the guns are still in their hand," Janice Sims told CBS News. "And they're going to do it again, and we'll never know who they are – 'cause they shoot and they run."

Chicago PD told Fox News Digital on Wednesday that there were no updates on the case and that the investigation into the shooting remains ongoing. 

Chicago closed out 2023 with a drop in homicides and shootings compared to 2022, according to police data, and returned to pre-pandemic levels. Robberies and car thefts, however, have skyrocketed in the city, jumping by 23% and 37%, respectively, last year compared to 2022, WTTW reported. 

[meraki24601]

Future

This one is a hard one. The subject has been on my mind for a while now and I wanted to write something about it, but PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. This one deals with suicide, but I promise it has a happy ending.

TW: Suicide attempt, depression, positive healthy ending though

Civilian is ready to go. Coworker is taking care of their pet while they’re “on vacation”, and they had always wanted their own furry friend. Civilian is certain Coworker will take good care of them for the rest of the animal’s short life. Civilian had made sure all their work was completed for the next 2 months and organized so it won’t be too hard on Boss when they have to hire a new replacement. 

They had done research on which was the highest roof in the least busy area. Their note is tucked away in their pocket. The sun heats the metal railing they are clinging to, keeping their mind focused on the task ahead with a little pain. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be too gruesome when someone found them. That’s probably the only part Civilian regrets. Someone is going to have to find them. 

“Hello. Didn’t expect to find you up here.”

Civilian’s grip on the railing tightened making them hiss against the heat. They weren’t supposed to be found before they jumped. Only after. This. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Why would anyone be up this high?

Slowly, Civilian turns around to face the intruder. 

Hero is standing there, a smile on their face, but concern in their eyes. “It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it? I come here every Wednesday to eat lunch and watch the world go by. It can be quiet and lonely all by myself, but it’s worth it to stick around. To come back every week.”

Hero is too far away. They won’t be able to stop them in time. “Turn around,” They whisper, just barely loud enough to be heard over the wind. “Hero or not, you shouldn’t have to see this.”

“Please, Wait!” Hero’s hand reaches out for Civilian. Too far. They’re too far to stop them from leaning backward and letting the sunshine heat their face one last time. “Please, just hear me out first.” 

“Turn around, Hero.” Is all Civilian says as they close their eyes. They let go. 

It’s a long way down, but the fall is quick. 

They hear a little girl screaming. Civilian opens their eyes to find themselves looking down at their own dead body. It’s a mess. They can’t help but feel sorry for the person who has to clean it up. A child screams again and they turn to see a small girl in a school uniform staring at their body. She shakes, her mouth still open in a silent scream. 

Hero bursts out of the building through a side door. They only take a moment to assess the situation before they pull the small child into their arms and tuck her face into their chest. “I’m so sorry. Don’t look. Everything will be alright. Just don’t look. You’re safe.” 

Civilian’s heart hurts.

Time seems to fly by. They see Coworker getting in a fight with their spouse. The divorce. Their Ex taking away Civilian’s pet. The Ex throwing cans and anything they can get their hands on at the creature before throwing it outside for good. 

They see Boss hiring a new person to take over Civilian’s position. That person getting their coworkers fired and bringing in their friends. They see Boss crying over the weekly reports and the business shutting down. 

They see the little girl going to therapy for years. They see her climb up to the top of that same building they had fallen from so long ago. 

Civilian watches her jump.

“I’m sorry, Civilian.” Hero’s voice breaks through the vision and Civilian is back on the roof. Their grip loosens and they nearly fall before they regain their composure and cling tightly to the rail, eyes clenched shut against the pain. “I’m so sorry. My power is called Future. I can show you the future based on your decision. It doesn’t always turn out the way I show, other people can always make a different choice, but from my experience, it’s mostly accurate.”

Their heart is pounding in their chest. Civilian’s life doesn’t mean anything. Shouldn’t mean anything. That future can’t be true. How. How does Hero know their name? 

Civilian opens their eyes. Hero is sitting next to them with Civilian’s ID in their hands. “I activated my power when I reached out to you. It works even over long distances.” They tuck Civilian’s ID back into their bag and sling it onto their shoulder. Hero stands slowly, keeping their hands at their sides, “Would you like to see the future where you don’t jump? See if its worth living just a little longer?”

All Civilian can see is that little girl jumping. They nod, desperately hoping for a future better than the one they saw. Hero holds out their hand. This time, when Civilian lets go of the rail, its to take the helping hand and climb back over the rail. 

Hero and Civilian talk a bit. They watch as the school girl passes the building, singing a happy tune. With Hero’s help, Civilian decides to spend some time in a mental health treatment facility. The program is only 3 weeks long and since Civilian is already on vacation for 2 weeks, it shouldn’t cause problems for Boss.

It helps. By the end of the time, Civilian hasn’t fully healed, but they’re in a much better place and have a good therapist to help them reach their goals. 

Civilian brings their pet and some cookies back up to that roof the next Wednesday. Hero is there, just like they said. They tell Hero about the friends they’d made and their new relationship. Hero listens to every word. This repeats every week, and Hero and Civilian become close friends, sharing the good and the bad with each other. They go out to celebrate when Civilian brings in a big client and Boss doubles their salary.

Months turn into a year. 

A year turns into two. 

Finally, Civilian believes Hero. It took a long time, but Civilian is happy. They kept going. Kept trying until they reached this point. Civilian looks over at Hero as they bounce Civilian’s new baby girl in their arms, Hero’s Godchild, and sigh. “Okay. I think I’m ready, Hero.” Civilian breathes. They kiss their child on the forehead and lay her down. 

“Ready for what?” Hero asks, their mouth full of chips.

“To live. I don’t know why it took me so long to believe this could be my future, but I do now. I’m ready to step back over the rail. I’m ready to try to live. To work for this future.”

Hero chokes. They cough so hard it makes Civilian’s chest hurt in sympathy. 

“I thought you knew.” Hero gasps.

“Knew what?” 

“I never used my power. Not the second time.”

“What?”

“Civilian, this is real. I didn’t use my power to show you the future where you lived.” Hero looks bashful, but unrepentant. “You really stepped over that rail. When you took my hand you chose the future where you lived before you had even seen it. You did it.”

Civilian looks down at their sleeping daughter, “This is real? I’m alive?”

“Yeah. Wasn’t it worth it? Worth the highs and the lows?”

“Yes. Yes, it was.”

[lesbianlotties]

tagged by @hellsfireclub thank youuu <3

rules: post the first lines of your 10 most recently published AO3 stories. if you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics

okay here we go!!

Some that fall, don't land in bubbles - Ronance Mermaid AU

Underneath the pain, the rage, and the despair, Robin felt relief.

Aftermath - Wenclair Post-Hug™

The vicious and unforgiving battle is over. Unfortunately, Wednesday thinks.

through the grief can't fight the feeling of relief - Avatrice + Ava's slow halo-less recovery

Ava, unfortunately, had more than a little experience with the feeling of dying. That, in addition to the firm belief that she was dying for a good cause, brought her a feeling of calm. Dying to save the world and everyone she loved was a good thing, right? 

First Kisses (and more) - Ronance one shot collection

“Oh my God.” “Robin…” Nancy said slowly, pulling back from the kiss and feeling her entire face heating up in a deep blush.

Please don't forgive me, it'd be a pity after all of that - Ronance Angst Part 3

Nancy wasn’t sure when her life dulled so much that she lived from one small victory to the next. That night, after one more mildly successful lunch, Nancy retreated to her bedroom and… closed the door behind her.

Christmas Cookies - Ronance on Christmas

“Hey… Nance… Can you…” “I got it,” Nancy said. She walked around the counter with an amused smile on her lips and stood right behind Robin so she could help her tie the back of her apron.

make my menace into someone you'd adore - Ronance enemies to lovers

“And another one bites the dust.” Her coworker’s deeply annoying and insensitive raspy voice broke Nancy out of her brief moment of embarrassment in front of the latest cute guy to stop by the Scoops Ahoy counter. “That’s O for Six, princess,” Robin went on.

This girl is a gun and we've been havin' some fun - Ronance + irresponsible use of a gun

“Robin, if you have a problem with this you have to say it,” Nancy said as the couple stormed into their shared apartment. “I don’t have a problem with it,” Robin grumbled, lying through her teeth.

Rated G for Good Halloween Fun - Ronance + El, Max and Erica

After opening the door for three groups of children asking for candy, Nancy finally was rewarded with her girlfriend standing in the doorway with an adorable grin on her face.

I'm writing the future, I'm leaving a key here - Ronance Terminator Dark Fate AU

In 2020, Nancy Wheeler had never fallen in love, had never used a gun, had never seen someone she loved die, and she had never had to kill another person, or anything else for that matter. 

well!! that's nice. that's a lot of Ronance. these are all my babies and i love them so much. the beginning of the Mermaid AU makes me want to cry <3 the beginning of Menace is iconic to me personally js. This girl is a gun is like... girl go back to hiding. also i swear i had forgotten how the Terminator AU started, i srsly thought this was the Conjuring AU and I was like ??? 2020????

i will overthink this but uh let's go tag some fic writer mutuals that i love and admire!!

tagging: @villanelleskiss @dufrau @eskawrites @candle-lion @lavenderlevetan @lilolilyr @badcures

(ok ran out of courage. that's enough tags. no pressure anyone!)