#i’m so busy but i managed to churn this one out this evening

[mmmairon]

smash bros taunting emote

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Simmer #5

CH5. Wake 'n' Bake | The Menu [4.9K] Eddie Munson x shy fem!reader: a line cook au.

“Well, you don’t know what we can find. Why don’t you come with me, little girl? On a magic carpet ride.”

The diner was quiet and the radio was louder than usual, lilting through the kitchen and between the empty tables. It was a too hot Sunday, with most of the usual clientele swapping leather booths for loungers by the community pool. Only Mr Creel sat in his usual stool by the bar, parked perfectly underneath the TV screen that was playing the same old western movie that came on every day at three o’clock. Jonathan was manning the counter, pouring the old man refills when he grumbled, whistling as he went. 

Everyone else had either gone home earlier or was preparing for the night shift that started at eight that evening. The diner was too hot, the old AC barely keeping up, blowing out a whisper of cool air that you and Jonathan had taken turns standing under, watching the glass door for any signs of life out on the street. 

None came. 

So you’d long taken off your apron and after some internal arguing with yourself, you had plucked up the courage to push the doors to the kitchen open. There wasn’t much happening there either. Eddie was the only chef in, clock watching until there was a customer to feed or for when Argyle would arrive to take over the next shift. 

And now? Well, now you think you were just annoying him. But he was allowing it, and that was something. 

“And what’s that?” You asked for the fourth time. 

You were hunkered down on the stool you’d dragged over to Eddie’s station, elbows on the stainless steel and your cheeks squished between your hands as you watched the boy work. He’d told you and Jonathan he’d made some lunch, and after some back and forth (Eddie argued enough until Jonathan gave in), Eddie was making some ramen. 

“It’s gochujang,” Eddie mumbled back. He was too busy concentrating as he tapped a teaspoon of the red paste into the pot on the stove. He was more relaxed than you’d seen him, with no big orders to cook, he’d been humming along to the radio, his curls knotted on the top of his head to keep himself cool. He’d merely smiled when you plopped yourself down at his table. “And if you ask me what something is again, m’gonna put you in this pot too.”

You didn’t take offence, not anymore. You scrunched your face at him. “Mean,” you said. “When’s it ready? It smells real good.”

“Soon. And I’m not mean,” he grumbled back, tossing some ramen noodles into the pot that had been ready to overspill with bubbles. “You’re annoying.”

You gasped, all faux dramatics. “And he’s rude too,” you told no one. You grinned when Eddie rolled his eyes and shook his head, but when he bent over to chop up some spring onion at a scarily fast speed, you saw him smile. “Can I do anything?”

“You could get us some drinks,” Eddie suggested and he peered out of the hatch at the empty tables. Mr Creel glared back. “Seeing as you know, you’re not doing anything. At all.”

You huffed but there was a laugh under it that Eddie was beginning to recognise. He raised his brows at you as you let your sneakers slap onto the floor, hands pushed to the worktop as if getting up was an awfully exhausting thing. “I suppose I could manage that,” you told him wistfully. “If you’ll cope without my help for five minutes.”

Eddie snorted, stirring a delicious smelling broth he had simmering in another pot. He levelled you with a stare that a month ago, would’ve made your stomach churn with nerves. “I’ll try,” he played along. “I’ll tell Jim it was your fault if the kitchen burns down though.”

“Snitch. Coke?” You asked him as you made your way to the door. 

“Just the one line, sweetheart, I’m driving,” Eddie smirked back. 

He had an adorable habit of letting his head tilt to the side when he joked with you, as rare as it sometimes could still be. Dimples in both cheeks, stray curls over those big eyes, thick lashes that he liked to bat at you when he thought he was being real funny. It was becoming a problem. 

“You’re hilarious,” you told him flatly from the other side of the hatch, shooting some soda from the gun into a glass for him. “Jonathan, coke?” You called to the other boy from across the diner, holding up an empty glass for him too. 

“Shhh!” Mr Creel hissed at you, teeth bared, brows furrowed and you grimaced back, a smile that wasn’t customer service worthy but you’d long learnt to stay away from him. 

“God, stop annoying the customers,” Eddie told you when you came back in holding two pints of coke, he was grinning as he ladled your lunch into a big blue bowl, letting his eyes settle on you as you passed him his drink. 

“Don’t tell Jim,” you joked, but the humour in your voice fell flat as you watched Eddie bring the glass to his lips and gulp the fizz down. 

His neck bobbed as he swallowed, chin tilting up and back as he led his eyes flutter close and you could help but stare at the line of his jaw, the up and down of his Adam’s apple, the push of his lips against the cup. Your mouth felt dry, your head a little empty and when he opened his eyes and put the empty glass down, you were still staring. 

“What?” Eddie was staring back. 

You shook your head, words unable to form. You stuttered and stammered and shrugged your shoulders, gripping tightly to your own glass. “Nothing,” you finally managed. “What?”

“What?” Eddie squinted at you. 

“What?” You asked again, before you could help yourself and you realised too late that you’d asked him a question there wasn’t even an answer to. “Shit.”

The corner of the boy’s mouth lifted and he looked at you, amused, if not a little concerned. “Okay,” he drawled, sliding your lunch over to you. “Here, eat. Lack of good food must be makin’ you loopy or somethin’, christ.”

So you ate in silence, sitting across from Eddie and exchanging shy smiles as he watched you hum at each flavour, nodding at Jonathan when he slapped him on the back in thanks, taking his own bowl outside so he could smoke at the same time. It was a new kind of friendship that still made you nervous, too aware when Eddie looked at you - like, really looked at you. Eyes earnerst, watching, gauging what you liked and what you didn’t. He knew that a scrunch of your nose meant you were unsure, a little taptaptap of your feet on the stool meant you loved it. 

He still made you shy, even though you spoke more. Stomach dipping and somersaulting when he called your name out of the hatch, some kind of plate made up for you, grouching good naturedly about how you needed to stop skipping meals. It made your heart jolt when he got too close, when fingers brushed as he passed you a bowl of fruit, a sandwich you could inhale between serving tables. 

But then again, maybe that wasn’t nerves. Maybe that was just the crush you were telling yourself you didn’t have. 

It was becoming harder to lie. 

“Good?” Eddie asked like always, letting his foot kick gently against yours. He’d finished his own bowl and was watching you with a fond look on his face as you wrestled with the last few noodles. 

You nodded and hummed happily, “mhmm. Could’ve done with some more salt though.”

Eddie did a double take, lips parted to argue because he knew that broth was damn perfect, before he realised you were joking. He narrowed his eyes at your grin, tried to hide his own smile when you laughed. 

“Oh, she’s actin’ real cute today, huh?” He snarked but everything about him told you he thought you were hilarious. He took your empty bowl from you, poked at your shoulder with a chopstick. “The self proclaimed crybaby s’gettin’ bold.”

It was a meaner type of teasing that you’d grown used to, but still, you wrinkled your nose at the boy as your cheeks burned, head ducking down at the memories of your teary eyed encounters with certain customers. You heard Eddie laugh as he dumped the bowls in the sink, but it wasn’t a cruel sound at all. And when you lifted your chin back up from your chest, he was back on the other side of the work station, elbows on the stainless steel and leaning over to you. Close. Closer than before. 

You blinked and Eddie smiled, a lazy, knowing thing, his eyes darting over your face like he was able to read you. Maybe he could. “There she is,” he murmured softly. “Shy thing.”

“Oh my god,” you tried to joke weakly, your voice a soft, embarrassed drawl. “Stop.”

It made Eddie laugh, a wide grin pushing at his cheeks until the dimples you rarely got to see appeared. You wanted to push a finger to one, to see if the tip of it would fit perfectly into the dip. You sat on your hands instead. 

“What?” The boy asked. “She’s got no jokes now?” But he smiled a little softer and went back to preparing the dough for tomorrow’s rolls, not saying anything else when you leaned back over the counter to watch. If you’d looked up, taken your eyes off the way his big hands kneaded at the sticky mess, you’d have caught the boy watching you, still smiling. Awfully fond. 

—————

“Hey,” you interrupted a while later, once Robin had arrived to take over you shift, once Argyle was throwing some burgers on the grill for the customers that had finally shown up. “What’re you doing tonight?”

 Eddie looked a little startled as he closed over his locker, chef whites in a bundle in his bag, ready for washing. He blinked at you, pretty, pouted lips parted as he wondered where this conversation would lead. “Uhh, I- I dunno. Probably gonna go home, roll a joint and wait for another day in this shithole to start. Why?”

You wondered if Eddie could hear your heartbeat. ‘Cause it echoed in your ears, inside your head. A thud that made your mouth feel a little dry and suddenly the bravery you’d felt when asking that question melted away with the boy’s gaze on you. You weren’t sure what you’d planned to ask. Maybe if he knew of any good films to rent. Maybe if there was a nice park to explore. Maybe if he’d want to hang out—

“That sounds like a really good night,” you said instead, a nervous laugh following your words and Eddie’s brows shot up in surprise. 

“You smoke?” He asked in disbelief. 

You shrugged, leaning back against your locker as you tried not to sound completely uncool. “Kinda? Not really. I don’t like to smoke it but- but I’d sometimes, you know, bake some brownies or something. I haven’t done it in a while, but—” you wrinkled your nose. “—moving to a new city really makes you wanna just… get really fucking high.”

Eddie was laughing and nodding, beaming at you with a pink flush covering his cheeks. You watched him swallow hard and then gesture to the door. He almost couldn’t meet your eyes when he said, “d’you, uh, wanna come hang out? Smoke with me?”

It took Eddie a whole ten minutes to drive to his house. A trailer that was tucked into the back of the park you passed every day. You shot him a look when he parked up and he rolled his eyes, like he knew what you were about to say. 

“You drove me all the way home that day, when you live, like, seconds away from—“

“Oh, shut up,” he told you, scrunching his face. “It was a fuckin’ tsunami that day. You weren’t walkin’ anywhere.” He nipped his fingers playfully at your knee as he bent over to snatch his rucksack from the footwell. When he sat back up, he was too close. You held your breath. “Besides, Wayne told me I had to, remember?”

It was your turn to roll your eyes then, shoving at his shoulder as he cackled. “God, you’re such a gentleman.” 

He was still laughing as he jumped out the van, surprising you as he appeared at your door to open it as you busied yourself with gathering your bag and jacket. Eddie waved his hand in a dramatic gesture as you got out, eyeing him suspiciously. 

“I’m gentlemanly enough to be sharing my weed with you, sweetheart, don’t put me down too much.”

It made you soften and you followed him to his front door, the trailer humming from a generator you couldn’t see. “Thank you,” you told him shyly. “For this. For the invite.” Somewhere in an ugly part of your head, was an even uglier voice that was telling you you’d made him feel bad enough that he had to invite you. That he felt sorry for you. 

You told it to shut up. 

But Eddie turned the key and looked back at you over his shoulder, his eyes soft. “S’alright. What’re friends for?”

You blinked, unable to help the smile that spread across your lips. Your cheeks ached with it.  “We’re friends, huh?” 

Eddie walked into the trailer and waited for you to follow. “I know,” he drawled dramatically. “I don’t know how it happened either.” He was grinning, an awfully pretty thing. 

You didn’t know what to say, or do, for that matter. This felt close to flirting, something that made that horrible crush you had rear up in interest, it’s heart pounding. But maybe that was just your own. 

“Here,” Eddie gestured to a small dining booth, a c-shaped bench around a little table. He cleared a pile of laundry from it and looked flustered as he decided where to put it. It got thrown onto an armchair in the corner. “Sit down, you want a drink?”

 That’s where you sat with a can of soda, watching with a stuck laugh in your throat as Eddie upended his tiny kitchen, looking for the bag of flour he insisted he had.  “I swear, it’s in here,” he told you, holding various jars of spices and cake moulds. “What the fuck?”

“You’re supposed to be a chef, Eddie.”

“I know,” the boy wailed mournfully, swearing when he dropped a whole tub of dried fruit, chocolate sprinkles and vanilla pods. “Shit, kid. Looks like you’re gonna have to be a big girl and smoke up.”

He turned, raising his eyebrows at you like a challenge. You huffed, tipping your head back so he wouldn’t see the panic in your eyes. “Fine.”

And that’s how you ended up in Eddie’s bedroom, a space filled mostly with his double bed, a glaringly personal thing that you felt like you couldn't even look at. But he blushed and spread back the unmade sheets, fluffing up his pillows before he told you to make yourself at home. So you perched on the edge and toed your sneakers off, watching as Eddie flitted around his room, kicking things under the bed as he went, pushing cook books and comics back onto his shelves. Then he plopped himself down beside you, knees almost knocking, an old tin lunch-box on his lap. He flipped the lid and grinned as he produced an already rolled joint, wagging it in front of your face. 

“A chef is always prepped,” he whispered conspiratorially. 

“You’re a dork,” you whispered back but you leaned into his pillows as he brought it to his lips. 

A lighter flickered, a flame lighting up his face in amber just for a second or two, and then he was blowing a cloud out towards his open window. You watched Eddie’s eyes shutter closed, pretty lashes fanning over his cheeks and his lips hung open for a second or two, letting out a sigh along with blue-grey smoke. He let his shoulders drop, his head roll. Melting, like butter in the heatwave.

Then, “here, have at it, sweetheart.” Eddie handed you the joint, careful that you didn’t burn yourself on the glowing ash. He watched you take it dubiously, eyeing it with caution as you prepared yourself to bring it to your lips. You cringed a little, inhaling too sharp, too quick, coughing it all back out before you could even inhale it properly. 

You were mortified, coughing into your hand as you handed the joint back to Eddie blindly, eyes tearing up, blurring him and his room. He took it quick, making sympathetic noises as he rubbed his other hand down your spine. He waited until you wiped at your eyes, until you managed to catch your breath. “You alright?”

You wanted the ground to swallow you. “Mhmm,” you managed, keeping the heels of your palms pressed to your eyes, just so you wouldn’t have to look at him. “Sorry.”

“Nah,” Eddie said quietly, voice soft. “None of that, c’mon. You want another drink?”

You ignored him, reaching for the smoke instead, insistent on showing him you weren’t a complete loser. But Eddie tsked and held it out of your reach, frowning at you with concern. You wanted to tell him you’d almost missed that stitch between his brows. “Hey, woah, slow down, yeah?” Eddie knocked a hand into your knee, a comforting touch that didn’t push either of your boundaries. Yet. “You sure you wanna smoke? I can run back to Jim’s, see if I can smuggle some flour and we can make brow—”

You shook your head emphatically, not wanting to be any sort of annoyance. “No, no, it’s fine. I can try again.”

You weren’t sure if it was the setting sun that was coming through Eddie’s window that was turning his face fuschia, or if he was suddenly blushing something furious. It took him a second or two to meet your gaze and when he did, you saw a shyness there you’d never really seen before. Eddie was blushing. 

“I could, uh,” the boy cleared his throat noisily, awkward and fumbling. He gestured to the joint he still held, to you, to himself. “I could, I could help. I could help you. You know?” He frowned at himself, annoyed at his own stuttering. 

You frowned too, confused. “No?” You replied, unsure. Your hands were fisted in his sheets, a nervous reaction.

“Shotgun. I could, well— I could shotgun you.”

“Oh.”

The room suddenly felt infinitely smaller. Warm and intimate, soft with the last of the sunlight, dust motes floating in the rays that came through slats of the blinds. You were on Eddie Munson’s bed. With Eddie Munson. You sucked in a breath. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Eddie seemed as surprised as you were at your answer but you nodded firmly, keeping your gaze on his, your chin lifted in a boldness you so rarely felt. So Eddie nodded too. “Right. Um, yeah. Just— c’mere.”

It was a clumsy thing, the way you both shuffled closer, the mattress dipping, sheets rippling. You moved until your knees knocked against Eddie’s and he was watching you so carefully, cautious enough that you felt too shy, a burning in your chest that spread up across your neck, your face. Eddie was holding the joint out to the side, the smoke being drawn to the open window and you looked back and forth between the cigarette and the boy. 

“Done this before?” Eddie asked you quietly. 

It was suddenly silent in the trailer, in the whole park. Fuck, Hawkins had fallen asleep, you were sure of it, because looking at Eddie this close, you couldn’t hear the way the generators hummed, you couldn’t hear the crickets or cicadas, no car engines or muffled televisions. You could hear Eddie breathe though, normal enough before it hitched a little and he had to exhale that little bit heavier - like he was nervous too. 

You shook your head and swiped your tongue over your bottom lip, chasing the taste of the orange soda you’d drank at the kitchen table. “No, never like this. I— I know what to do though.” You sounded so naïve, small and a little silly, but Eddie smiled and nodded encouragingly. 

“Atta’ girl,” he murmured and then he was bringing the joint back to his lips. He spoke around it, muffled. “Ready, yeah?”

You watched the way his cheeks hollowed out, how his gaze got a little heavier even though he kept looking at you. And this time, instead of blowing the smoke out to the window, he leaned in, one hand holding the joint away from you both, the other gesturing for you to come closer. You obeyed, moving forward with your heart lodged in your throat. You moved until Eddie’s fingertips met your jaw, skimming over the skin there and he tapped gently with his thumb. 

His gaze was lowered, lashes fanning out over his cheeks as he leaned in closer still, eyes searching yours for some kind of hesitation, a sign that you’d maybe changed your mind. And when he found none, he coaxed you a little further until his nose bumped yours and you gasped, lips parted and waiting. The boy opened his mouth, just barely, smoke slipping from between his lips and he gently blew it into yours. You didn’t realise how his hand had fallen to your neck, fingers curling around the sides of it, the cool metal of his rings on your overheated skin and the blunt scratch of his nails in your hair. 

You inhaled, a shuddering breath, shaky from how close the boy was - nothing to do with the weed. Eddie’s hand on your throat made you feel higher than anything else had before. And when there was no smoke left, when the last of it had floated up towards the ceiling and had turned into wisps in the sunlight, neither of you moved. You were still close enough that your nose bumped his when you tilted your head and you could see the freckles on the bridge of it, the tiny silver coloured scar at the end of his right brow. You wondered what Eddie could see when he looked at you, if he’d find your imperfections, if he’d find them as pretty as you did his. 

You watched as his eyes looked into your own, unabashed and completely shameless, like another hit of the joint made him a bit more bold than before. Maybe it had, because you were feeling fuzzy, a warm, heavy feeling pulling you into the mattress, into Eddie. 

Your forehead touched his. 

His thumb was on your jaw, tucked into the space underneath your ear and it was pressed there like he meant it. Like he wanted you to feel it and god, you did. You did. His eyes wandered, flicking from yours to your lips and back again, warmer than ever, a honey colour in the setting sun. You wondered what you both must’ve looked like, sitting cross legged and knees knocking on Eddie’s unmade bed, heads bent together like you were sharing secrets, like you were going to share more. 

The boy swallowed harshly, Adam’s apple bobbing and his stare on your mouth and it all made you feel so heavy and warm and lightheaded at once. You weren’t sure if it was the weed, you weren’t sure if it was Eddie. 

“Your eyes are really pretty,” he whispered and he sucked in a breath when your idle hands found his bare knees through the rips in his jeans. 

You played with the frayed hem, the loose threads and tried not to squirm at such a compliment. You hummed, nose wrinkling even when you smiled. “Thank you,” you replied politely and just as quiet. “Your eyes are pretty too.”

The boy turned pink, a pretty flush over the bridge of his nose that you wanted to trace with your fingertip. He tilted his head, inspecting you, eyes flicking over each of your features like he was drawing you in his head. “You shouldn’t be handing out compliments,” he mumured bashfully. “Not when I was such a dick to you.”

You shrugged, smiling as you leaned back just a little, too focused on the way Eddie’s lips moved as he spoke. The small space you put between you both gave you some air and Eddie’s hand dropped from your neck to trail down your arm. His fingers found your ring, a dainty thing on your middle finger that was so different to his own that it was comical and he played with the gold as you did with the rips in his denim. 

Touching. Still touching. 

“S’okay,” you told him gently. “You’ve made up for it now.”

A wry smile, a thumb brushing over the inside of your palm. “I have?”

“Oh, yeah. Free food and free weed?” You grinned when Eddie scoffed. “What more could a girl want?”

It was a rhetorical question. Eddie knew that, but still, he hummed as if he were thinking about it, his fingers dancing over your wrist now, climbing, climbing, climbing. You wished he’d cup your jaw again, warm, wide hands making you feel small and soft. 

“I dunno,” he mused. “What about a d—”

Whatever Eddie was going to say was interrupted by the opening of the trailer door. A sharp noise in the quiet and it rattled off of the wall as Wayne barged his way in, arms full of pizza boxes and a giant bottle of soda. “Ed!” He yelled out in greeting, oblivious. “Grubs up, boy, come get.”

It made you spring apart, the mattress squeaking obnoxiously at the movement and you burned at the noise, at what it made it sound like you were up to. You stared wide eyed at Eddie, like a teenager caught doing something they shouldn’t and suddenly you wondered if Wayne would shout at you both for getting high. 

But then Eddie was yelling back something noncommittal as he got off the bed, looking back down at you with an amused expression. He bent at the knees, shins hitting the mattress and his hands found your knees where he squeezed them reassuringly. “Hey, hey,” he smiled like he found you funny. Maybe he did. “S’all good, relax. Wayne doesn’t care.”

You sucked in a breath and willed away the weed induced panic you could feel brewing in your stomach, a knotting of nerves that Eddie managed to unravel with the way his fingers smoothed over your lower thighs. So you smiled back and nodded even though you felt like cardboard and when Eddie offered his hand to help you stand, you took it. 

“Hey, Wayne,” Eddie called out into the living room. “We got a dinner guest, that alright?” 

You could hear the rustle of pizza boxes being opened, the smell of basil and tomatoes wafting through the trailer. Your stomach rumbled and Eddie laughed, chuckling harder when you batted the back of your hand into his side for his lack of manners. 

“You can’t just announce that!” You hissed. “That’s so rude.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and then held out his hand to the bedroom door as if to say ‘see?’ when Wayne grunted and said, “If it’s Steve, tell him I ain’t paying extra for those damn mozzarella sticks when there’s already cheese on the pi— oh, hey, kid.”

Wayne looked surprised to see you as you shuffled out of Eddie’s bedroom in your socks. The boy had his hand on the small of your back as he coaxed you forward into the main space of the trailer. “Hi,” you waved shyly, watching with a hot face as Wayne looked at you, at his nephew and back again, brows raised in interest. “Sorry I interrupted your dinner plans, I—”

“Nonsense,” Wayne said at the same time as Eddie scoffed, “shut up.”

“C’mon, now, sit and grab a plate,” the older man urged. “Hope you like Jeopardy! ‘‘cause that’s pizza night tradition.”

You smiled and nodded as Eddie slid into the breakfast nook beside you, hips nudging yours as you budged up. And as Wayne argued with the remote control, the boy loaded up your plate with pizza slices, ignoring your protests completely. 

“God, you’re such a feeder,” you joked weakly, still embarrassed to be crashing the Munson pizza night. 

Wayne was still frowning at the buttons when he grunted and laughed. “Yep, the boy doesn’t know how to give someone a damn hug, but he’ll make sure you never go hungry. Gotta show love one way or another, huh?”

Nobody said anything and Wayne won the battle as the channel flicked over and the voice of Alex Trebek filled the room. You couldn’t quite look at Eddie and both of you sat side by side as you ate your pizza, Eddie’s curls hiding his face from view. You wondered if he was pink again, blushing and cursing out his uncle in his head. 

You wondered if you should’ve said something.  

But then, as if to prove some kind of point, Eddie barely glanced at you as he picked up the last slice of pepperoni from the box, and slid it onto your plate. 

[miupow]

‧₊˚✩彡 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 /ˎˊ˗ 𝚌.𝚢𝚓 *ੈ✩‧

┆ rockstar!choi yeonjun x fem!reader ╰--⪼ one of the hardest things about dating a rockstar is the distance; when he’s on tour he’s thousands of miles away, busy and unable to call, and you spend months alone in a cold counting down the days until he gets home. but your boyfriend put some extra time aside to make a very special video call to his favorite girl.

. . . RATING ! NSFW, MDNFI! . . . WORDS ! 1.7k . . . WARNINGS ! soft dom!yeonjun, daddy kink, lots and lots of pet names, praise kink, sex toys, facetime sex, mutual masturbation, guided masturbation, a little angst in the beginning

for @napofamoon's growing pain rockstar!txt event! this is also a little christmas gift for her and all of my followers~~ thank you to @taegimood and @wolfytae-exe for proofreading!

You purposefully let the call ring out for a bit before answering– you didn’t want him knowing you had been pacing for an hour, waiting impatiently by the phone. 

“Hey beautiful,” Yeonjun croons immediately upon you picking up, pretty bare face filling up the screen of your phone– he must’ve just gotten out of the shower, his hair wet and pushed back, black tank top and flannel overshirt pulled on haphazardly like he had been in a rush… sometimes you hated how he looked so beautiful so effortlessly. It reminded you just how horrifically out of your league he was. “What are you up to? How was your day?”

“Mm.. not much. It’s been boring without you.” You sigh listlessly, giving Yeonjun a tight, unconvincing smile. “I didn’t have work today so Yunjin took me shopping– got some things for the apartment, some new clothes. Waited for you to call. I’m honestly more interested in how you’re doing, babe.”

Yeonjun gives you an apologetic little grin, eyes unreadable– it does nothing but makes you feel worse. At least he was aware he promised to call three hours earlier. “I’m sorry it’s so late, we had a show.”

“I know.” You reply, a little curt. Yeonjun doesn’t have complete control over his own schedule, pushed and pulled around everywhere he goes by both his managers and his other band members, bending over backwards for breaks snuck in between press appearances and shows every time he and his band were on tour… you’ve beat yourself senseless trying not to let it get to you.

“I’m sorry, baby, I really am.” Yeonjun repeated, voice low as he leaned in closer to the camera. “There was a problem with the sound system so our open started an hour late, and then there was a fight in the pit so we had to stop for security to kick them out, and then Beomgyu wanted to get drinks after the show and–” 

“It’s alright, Jjun. I understand.” You cut in, voice soft. Yeonjun gives you a look like he doesn’t quite believe you. “It sounds like you had a busy night… you always have a busy night.”

“Yeah, I’m sure things are real quiet when I’m not around.” Yeonjun gives you one of his signature grins, lopsided and handsome, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Missing me yet?”

He wants you to respond with some snide joke, lighten the mood– Yeonjun’s begging for it, brown eyes nervously flitting across your face as his smile cracks and splinters, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. “So fucking much, Jjun.” you croak, “I miss you so fucking much.”

His face drops immediately, his unconvincing grin giving way to one much more solemn and sad– it makes your stomach churn, unable to stomach the helplesslessness in his eyes. “I miss you too, baby. I’ll be home soon.” 

“But when?” You press, even though you knew you shouldn’t. Conversations over ETAs only ever lead to fights– Yeonjun loved to make promises he knew he couldn’t keep. 

“Soon.” He repeats, his stare hard as he shifts on his hotel bed. “I’ll make it work. I’ll come and see you.” 

You knew he wouldn’t, but he was always such a sweet liar.

The look on your face must have given you away, because Yeonjun gives you a desperate, pleading pout, kissable lips pulled down into a grimace. It tears your heart to pieces. “Just bare with me baby, okay? The tour’s almost over, I’ll be home soon–”

“And then you’ll just go on tour again.” You spit, nastier than you meant for it to come out. The wide-eyed, guilty look Yeonjun gives you makes your heart drop to your stomach; you’re fairly sure you would have felt better if he had just gotten angry with you instead.

The sigh he lets out weighs a ton, settles on both of your shoulders. “Can we just talk about this later? We can talk about this when I get home, just– I love you. You know that, right?”

“I love you too,” You reply in a whisper.

“I love you more than anything in the world, baby, more than this.. stupid fucking job, okay?” You had never heard Yeonjun refer to his career as a “job” before… you weren’t sure what to make of it. “Everything I’m doing right now is for our future together; if I pull this off right we won’t have to work another day in our lives, do you understand? It’s fucking rough right now but we’ll get through it, baby, I know we will. It’s all for you, beautiful.”

“I love you,” you repeat, voice wobbly with unshed tears. You’ve heard this speech a thousand times but it never failed to break you down, make your heart full.

“God, gorgeous, I love you too. My everything. My future. Enough sadness, yeah?”

Yeonjun’s gentle, soft words snaps you out of your reverie, reminds you of your plans before getting lost in your own emotions– you hadn’t wanted this call to go this way at all… in fact, you had wanted it to go a different way entirely. You nod and quickly rub your eyes.

“Jjunie…” you start, still semi-sad voice melodic and now charged with a sweet, playful lilt. “I got you something, when I went shopping earlier…” 

Yeonjun catches your drift fast, his eyebrow raising with a mischievous grin; he was always so in sync with you, always understood your wants and needs like he could read your mind. “Oh? What’d you get me, sugar?”

You giggle, blink away the tears as you smooth your hands over your baggy sweater, play with the hem– you scoot back a bit, letting more of your body come into frame; Yeonjun hisses in a loud breath when he sees that sweater was the only thing you were wearing.. “I dressed myself all pretty for you, daddy– do you wanna see?”

“Fuck,” Yeonjun breathes, leaning even closer to the camera. His pretty brown eyes are blown wide, lids low as he bites at his plush lower lip. “Take it off, let daddy see.”

You’re slow in sliding off your sweater, teasing as you tug it up over your thighs, over your hips– Yeonjun drinks in every inch, hungry eyes locked on your thighs, and he lets out a low, nasty groan from deep in his chest when you reveal to him your pretty lace thong. 

“God, baby, you’re so fucking pretty,” he growls, “Turn around for me.” 

You follow his directions obediently, turn your back to show him your lace-covered ass as you finish peeling off your sweater— the sound Yeonjun makes is unholy, deep and nasty and matching the grin on his face. “Fuck, such a perfect ass. So beautiful.” 

“I miss you, daddy.” you whine, turning back to the camera to show Yeonjun your pout. His lips are gnawed raw, shiny with spit and pretty pink as he takes in greedy eyefuls of your bra-clad tits, coos at you so sweet and condescending. 

“Mm, I miss you too, sugar. Go on; show daddy how much you miss him. Take that bra off ‘n show him those pretty tits, hmm?” 

“Yes, daddy~” you purr, quick to reach behind you for the clasp. You’re teasing in sliding off your bra, let the straps hang off your shoulders for a moment before you take it off entirely. Your perky nipples pucker in the cold air, begging for attention— you know better than to touch without Yeonjun’s permission, however. 

He can read you like a book, knows exactly what you need as you squirm on camera. “Go ahead and touch, my good girl.” 

One hand flies to your breast, tweaking your nipple between your forefinger and thumb; the other moves to rub your clothed clit in tight circles. you let out a breathy moan at the feeling, fight every fiber of yourself to keep your eyes open— you don’t want to miss a single second of watching Yeonjun. He’s breathing heavy, hastily angled the camera down to show you the big bulge in his sweatpants. He strokes himself over the fabric with the lightest of touches, teasing the both of you as he pants into the microphone. “What I would do if I was there...”

“What would you do, daddy?” you ask lightly, feigning innocence, pinching your nipple with a whimper. You’re so wet you’re soaking through your little panties— you’re sure Yeonjun had noticed. 

“God, I’d fuck you so hard. Dressed up so pretty for me, you deserve a reward, fuck— I’d leave those panties on while I bend you over and fuck you good, fill you up with my cum… you’d let me, right angel? Let me breed that little pussy?”

You moan high in your throat, hips stuttering as you continue to circle your clit, play with your bud. “Yes, yes! M-more, daddy, I need more!”

Yeonjun squeezes himself through his sweats, snickers at your fucked-out face. “Oh, baby… how about you go and grab that little vibe you love so much, give daddy a little show?”

You don’t need to be told twice; nodding desperately, you reach for your bedside drawer and pull out your favorite vibrator, thin and pink and powerful enough to make you scream. You settle back into frame, position yourself with your thighs wide apart  so that Yeonjun has a full view of your drooling cunt, the soaked fabric of your thong clinging to your lips obscenely. You feel vulnerable and exposed, and you embrace it as Yeonjun drinks in your form.

Yeonjun’s too impatient to tease you, giving you an affirming nod so you can start running the vibe across your throbbing slit. “Don’t take those panties off,” Yeonjun orders, slowly untying his sweatpants. “Want you to play with yourself with them on, okay?”

You don’t like the sound of that. “But I want my fingers,” you whine, pathetic, “want something inside—“

“Nuh uh,” Yeonjun chastises, pulling his hard pink cock out and giving it a stroke— you hadn’t realized how much you missed it until you saw it again, cockhead flared and dripping precum. “Listen to daddy, baby. Nothing goes in that cunt except my cock, you hear me? Be patient— I’ll fill you up when I come home.”  

And it isn’t until after he’s made you cum in your panties, vibrator on your clit and fingers on your nipples, that he explains why; he has a surprise for you too. 

The rest of the tour was canceled. He’s coming home.

[glow-worms-are-believers]

I think we Khan do it if we try (dp x dc)

Danny’s well-deserved Sunday of rest was interrupted by the sound of their doorbell ringing throughout the house. With barely a mumble, Danny cracked an eye open, observed it was much too early to be awake, and burrowed back in the covers.

He was brutally ripped away from sleep once again when the stupid doorbell rang again. With a groan, Danny rolled to the side as his brain slowly started to churn again. And with it, he slowly remembered that both Jazz and their parents had said they’d be out for the morning, which meant he was the only one home.

The doorbell rang for the third time, and Danny gave up the idea of out-stubborning whoever was at the front door. Through much effort, he managed to drag himself to the front door, and slam the door open on two older teenager/young adults, with one of them his hand raised and poised to ring a fourth time, and the other holding onto the guy’s wrist. Both of them, their eyes wide in surprise.

“Who’s it?” Danny yawned out as he leaned against the doorframe.

“Is this the residence of Madeleine Walker?” One of the guys asked, while looking suspiciously around as if he wasn’t expecting a positive answer.

“Yeah. Who’re you,” Danny mumbled, as he fought to keep his eyes open. 

“I’m Bruce and I want to learn all that I can from Master Walker,” The other guy, with the darker hair said. 

“Doctor,” Danny corrected as he rubbed at his eyes, his brain feeling like it was working through molasses. “And it’s Fenton.”

The lighter haired guy took over smoothly with a smirk towards the other guy, who’s jaw tightened in a way that couldn’t have been comfortable. “Anton,” he introduced himself, “I’ve come to seek Dr. Fenton’s guidance as I have done with masters of the craft from all over the world.”

Danny squinted as he struggled to make sense of the string of words coming out of the guy’s mouth. “What, so you guys are, like, exchange students?”

The lighter-haired guy opened his mouth, only to be elbowed in the gut by the darker-haired dude, but Danny was too busy trying to remember if there had been any talk of an exchange student recently. He knew his parents had considered it and even applied, but the house hadn’t passed muster for the committee’s criteria, which fair enough. Maybe they’d reconsidered? Danny sighed. Whatever, it was too early for this.

“Alright,” the halfa said. The room his parents had set up was still ready and they had applied. It wouldn’t be too surprising if his parents had forgotten to inform Jazz and him of the newcomers, or just forgotten about them altogether. “Alright come in.”

“And don’t forget to take off your shoes,” Danny added as he led them into the house, “mom hates when we walk on the carpets with them on.”

With his back to the two man, Danny missed the alarmed look they gave each other. “Mom?” He could hear one of them whisper to themself.

Weeks later, Danny would come to regret that decision with every fiber of his being.

“Mo-om, the exchange students are fighting again!”

“Leave them be, Jazz,”

“But mom, they’re blocking the way to the bathroom!”

Danny clenched his eyes shut as he tried to stuff his ears harder. 

Still better than the time he’d caught them both half-naked and wrestling on their front lawn like a couple of insane people.

[ickadori]

++ 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈

[summary] nanami comes to the school per gojo’s request, but finds you instead.

[cws] fem reader -> reader is a student. unedited.

Nanami wasn’t a teacher, but he wasn’t ignorant to the fact that a lot of the younger sorcerers saw him as one, and even admired him to some degree.

It was… troublesome.

He knew what becoming overly attached to people in this world meant and it wasn’t worth it. It would only make their death that much more painful when the time came, and Nanami had already experienced enough pain to last him in the next lifetime. So he kept everyone at a distance, even Ino, and especially you, but you had always been good at closing that distance time and time again and finding a way to burrow yourself into his thoughts and under his skin.

This is just another one of those times - except this time, his usual resistance had been nowhere to be found. You had managed to chip it away bit by bit with your salacious ways - a brush of your painted nails along the back of his neck whenever you passed him by, a sly bite of your lip whenever you caught his stare, a brazen spread of your legs whenever you wore a skirt in his presence, a brush of your breasts against his arm whenever you solicited him for his help, voice set in a low tone as you invaded his personal space.

You had employed those same tactics today; a low cut shirt coupled with a skirt that was completely out of regulations, and freshly painted nails that housed the same design as the tie looped around his neck.

He had come to the school on rare business with Gojo, and you had somehow managed to corner him in an empty class instead, eyes practically shining as you ensnared him in your trap.

“How nice of you to stop by to see me, Kento.”

“I’m here to see Gojo, not you.” He stepped around you, fully intent on leaving the room and you with it, but your hand snagged hold of his jacket. He looked down to your hand, then followed your wrist up to your arm and so forth, tired eyes clashing with your playful ones. “I don’t have time for your games today.”

“Luckily for you, this isn’t a game. I genuinely need your help.” You smiled, and he should have shaken you off and left right then instead of letting you step closer. “I’ve been having a bit of trouble with something, and Gojo-sensei is always too busy for anything one-on-one.”

“We’re both aware that I’m not a teacher here. I can’t help you.” There’s only an inch of space between the two of you now, and the faint scent of your perfume wafts up from your neck, and Nanami feels a strong urge to duck his head down to get a better smell.

“Oh, I think you can..” You look up at him through your lashes, teeth softly biting down into the plumpness of your glossy, bottom lip before you’re releasing it. “It won’t take up much of your time - pinky promise.” You cheekily offer your pinky to him, and to keep the smile on your face he lets you hook it around his larger one.

You lead him to one of the desks of his youth, and he settles down into the wooden chair, briefly wondering if they were always this small and uncomfortable or if he had really gotten that much bulkier in his older years.

“Like I said earlier, something’s been giving me a lot of trouble recently. I just can’t seem to get it right.” You plop yourself on top of the desk he’s sitting in front of, and his eyebrows raise just a bit as your hands move to clench the ends of your skirt. “It’s a bit embarrassing, so promise not to laugh, ‘kay?”

Your shoes hit the floor, leaving you in a black socks, and Nanami breathes through his nose when you settle your feet on his shoulders.

He swallows.

“What are you doing?” His voice is a low rumble, something churning deep in his gut, and he sucks in a sharp breath when you spread your knees and lift your skirt, revealing your lack of panties. Your lips take a moment to spread, the stickiness of your slick to blame, and his mouth runs dry at the sight of your clit just barely peeking out.

“I haven’t been able to come the last few days, and I’ve been trying so hard, Kento. I even think about you while I touch myself, because you’re so handsome and I like you, y’know? But I still can’t do it…so, can you watch and tell me what I’m doing wrong?”

And that’s how Nanami found himself frozen in his seat, eyes zeroed in on the way you rub fast, tight circles around your clit, hole clenching around nothing as it drools.

Your chest heaves as you work, and he thinks he might croak in his seat when your other hand dips down to push two fingers inside your pussy, a loud, dirty squelch sounding as your slick bubbles up around your digits.

“Ah, Kento,” you gasp, and a bead of sweat trails down the side of his face, over sharp cheeks and an even sharper jaw before disappearing into the neckline of his shirt. “You see…‘s just not working.” Your calves tense, fingers slipping out of your hole to spread your juices around, and Gods is he thirsty. “I need your help, Sir. You’ll help me, won’t you?” Your fingers, still wet and glistening, curl around his tie, and Nanami doesn’t resist as you tug him closer and closer to your heat, your overwhelming scent muddling his thoughts until you’re all he can think about.

Once again.

[clockwayswrites]

A Broken Sort of Normal Part 11

WC 1326, Masterpost CW: anxiety

“Hey, kid,” Flash the older said as he raced up beside Danny.

“Still not a kid, old man,” Danny replied. It was already a well worn argument by this point after several dinners or weekend meals over at the Flash’s household. Sure it was used before that, but once Danny had started seeing Barry out of the mask, he’d only been worse about it. Danny guessed it was their thing now. It was weird to have ‘things’ again with people, but a good sort of weird.

“Still not an old man, kid. I’m not even a grandpa yet!”

Danny almost dropped the tablet he was working on. Barry didn’t have any kids, not aside from Wally who might as well count. Did that mean…?

“I’d tell you to watch your sass in your new position,” Barry continued, unaware or uncaring of Danny’s sudden crisis about the idea of children, “but one, I’d be a hypocrite and two, it’s a solid third of the reason I recommended you.”

“Well, that’s good because the sass isn’t going awa— wait, what new position?”

Barry grinned under his mask in a way that just felt dangerous. Not, like, dangerous in general, but dangerous for Danny who was the focus of that smile. “You’ll see. Flash Two will pick you up Monday at nine am. Don’t worry, you’re cleared off work already.”

“Fla— and he’s gone. That’s great. What the fuck,” Danny said to himself. It was a struggle to focus on finishing up the post event check in and then his reports and then going over his team’s report and then some more paperwork, but Danny managed. As soon as he got home he was immediately was texting Wally.

After the Reveal, Danny had gotten Wally’s civilian number too, but there were strict rules for using that number. Danny understood the caution. Apparently the first number he had been given was encrypted by Batman’s crew, which was crazy to think about, even when he was dating a Flash, so there were less rules other than no civilian names. Just for the ease of it, Danny mostly stuck to the old number unless they were planning a purely civilian date. Or if Danny wanted to say things that he knew would make Wally blush. Things Danny would very much never want anyone else to read. They may have mostly kept to kissing in person, but teasing Wally was just too much fun.

Danny: Why is Big!Flash having you pick me up on Monday??? What did he mean about a ‘new position’?????? I like my job! FLASH!

Quick Boy: You’ve got to give me a second to answer, dude!

Danny: You’re supposed to be fast. 😑

Quick Boy: Who’s always telling me electrical signals can only move so fast?

Danny: FLASH 🤬

Quick Boy: Sorry, babe, I’m not allowed to tell! But you’ll love it! Promise!

Danny: 🥺

Quick Boy: Don’t make those eyes at me! Trust me, babe, just wait until Monday.

Danny: Fine. But know I’m pouting.

Quick Boy: 😭

Danny behaved. He didn’t bother for updates. He sent more cats dressed as Justice League members and finished off the last Percy Jackson book, sending Wally updates along the way. But the whole weekend the fact that he apparently had a new job he knew nothing about and would be taken to Monday churned in the back of his mind.

It made him anxious in a way that he hadn’t been since he left Amity Park for Central city.

He didn’t much like it.

-

“Please at least tell me that I’m dressed fine for this new job?” Danny asked when he opened the door to Wally’s knock.

He didn’t really have many other options if Wally said no, he already had on his best dark jeans, cleanest boots, and his new cross body bag. He might have a button up shirt he could change into instead of the long sleeve one he was in, but that was as good as it was going to get. He just didn’t have business casual clothes with the jobs he had.

“You look fine,” Wally said.

“Not exactly a supersuit,” Danny said with a sigh, taking in Wally’s uniform.

Wally pressed a quick kiss to Danny’s cheek. “Not the kind of hero you are.”

That was something Wally had been doing, insisting that Danny was a hero. Whenever he protested, it only seemed to make Wally more insistent so Danny mostly let it be. Plus, the cute smile Wally got for ‘winning’ was nice to see.

It was gracing Wally’s lips now as Danny stepped out of his apartment, locked the door, and shoved the keys securely in his bag. One lost set of keys due to super speed was enough to make sure they were safely clipped in from then on.

“Okay. Right, let’s get this over with.”

“It’s a good thing,” Wally insisted as he squatted down for Danny to climb onto his back, “not your execution or anything.”

“I just don’t like not knowing,” Danny said.

“You love surprises.”

“Little surprises like picnics and presents, not life changing ones.”

“You’ll love it,” Wally insisted and then they were off.

-

“I’ll love an abandoned warehouse?”

“Apparently abandoned warehouse,” Wally stressed with a wave of his hands, like he was a two-bit magician.

“Convincing appearance. Once again, Flash, it’s a good thing you’re a hero because this as serial killer vibes.”

The windows were blacked out. There was a heavy layer of dust on most surfaces. The stairs to the foreman office were long rusted away. It was a mess.

But there was that feeling of being watched that crawled up Danny’s spine. None of the dust actually moved as they crossed the floor over to Barry. And the doors were either welded shut or solidly reinforced.

“Ready kids?” Barry asked.

“Still not kids,” Danny replied almost absently.

“Still don’t care!” Barry pressed one of the bricks on the wall and the whole thing shuddered and pulled back like some massive pocket door to reveal a… a portal behind the wall.

“Ta-da!” Wally said, complete with jazz hands.

Danny couldn’t tear his eyes away from the portal to look at him.

Did they know? Was this…?

“Danny?”

“What?” Danny started, forcing himself to look over at Wally who was beside him again.

“You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Danny winced. He just couldn’t hold back the twitch of his body at that word. “Sorry. Um, so what is that?”

“A Zeta tube, it’s how we travel to the Justice League. It’s like a transporter,” Barry explained.

Okay, right, not a portal to the Ghost Zone. No one knew. He was safe. Danny closed his eyes. It was just a transporter that looked a lot like a portal.

Wally rested his hand on Danny’s arm and Danny almost jumped from the light touch. “Babe?”

“Um, remember how I told you there was an accident in my parent’s lab when I was a kid? Yeah, um, sorta similar look, is all. It just freaked me out for a moment.”

"Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” Wally said. He squeezed Danny’s arm gently.

“No way you could have known. Who has a phobia over portals, right?” Danny said as he summoned his best attempt at a smile for Wally.

“Are you okay to…” Wally glanced from Danny to the portal nervously.

“I, yes? Can you just explain to me how it will go?” Danny asked. He pressed himself close to Wally, doing what he could to scrape together his frayed nerves. It wasn’t like he hadn’t gone through the actual portal that had killed him all the time. It was just that now all that felt like a lifetime ago, a lifetime no one remembered but him.

“Of course, babe,” Wally said, twining their arms together before he launched into a passionate explanation of the Zeta tubes.

It would be alright.

He could do this.

He had Wally.

-----

AN: Wally and Barry: We have something so cool to show you! Danny: *has portal based ptsd* ._.

I no longer tag people, but you can subscribe to the masterpost!

[fic-over-cannon]

Part 4: The Plan

part 3 | series masterlist | ao3 link

jason todd x f!reader

summary: one step back, one step forward in this dance with jason’s warring desires for intimacy and distance

tags: swearing, UST, light angst

rated explicit (mdni) | wc: 2.7k

a/n: i’ve never experienced an american thanksgiving so all of my knowledge of it comes from pop culture. this is basically the last of my ‘set up’ chapters, so plot + relationship development is going to really hit their strides starting from here.

Jason is learning to live with the thousand pangs of guilt that go hand in hand with his determination to be your friend and only your friend. Guilt churns his stomach so often that it fades to just another background distraction. Every time you stiffen up when he pulls back, every time you try to catch your face before the disappointment can shine through, he sees it all. He should keep his distance, stop reeling you in close before drawing back unexpectedly, but he can’t quite manage it.

A more recent encounter is still seared into his brain. It plays behind his eyelids as he swims laps around the pool with Rei.

The two of you had been heading to the dinner two blocks off of campus after Duvall’s class, the fiery light of the sunset colouring the worn paths across the quad. Class had been predictably… painful. Reading it for his own purposes or for a group of students to discuss, Frankenstein has always struck a raw nerve. I am thy creature and I will be even mild and docile to my natural lord and king, if thou wilt also perform thy part, which thou owest me. Seen and made raw by a woman and her monster years in the past, and isn’t that just the rub? The world spins, new generations live and die and live again to be just as disappointing to the men that created them. Jason’s heart had ached behind his sternum and even the usual balm of your chatter had taunted him with everything he denies himself. He’d made all the right noises, kept his head down and hands jammed into his pockets as the two of you had finally made it to the diner.

“God I almost lost it when what’s-his-name in business started talking.” You’d snorted as you’d opened up your menu, plastic pages clinging together. “Like is it really so hard to have an ounce of empathy? We should start a list of worst takes because that had to be a top five. Jay?” Jason must not have been playing his part well enough because now you’re looking at him, too silent, too caught up on the long stale nickname. “What are you thinking Jay, because I’m thinking pancakes for dinner.” All he could think of is the one and only Dick took him out for pancakes. Begrudgingly. And how it had ended with Dick storming out, suddenly excited about hanging out with the Titans, only to come back disappointed when he had realized he was Jason’s only ride.

“Don’t.” It had come out low and mean, lobbed through gritted teeth like something hot and vicious. Jason had watched it hit you, the way you’d leaned back from the table and hunched your shoulders closer. “Just don’t call me that, yeah?” It had taken concentrated effort on his part to breathe, mimic loosening the tension in his body, to look smaller and non-threatening.

“Oh. Okay, Jason.” Silence had stretched out between the two of you, an almost tangible distance. The words to explain, to apologize and smooth things over had stuck in his throat. The fading light had caught your face for a moment, your face crumpling in hurt before shuttering closed. Your blank face was burned into his mind’s eye just as clearly as all the ways he had not repaired things between you.

Jason surfaces, water sluicing off of his shoulders, before going back under for another stroke. His body takes over the pattern of striking and breathing while his mind returns to the diner. There’s a small animal part at the back of his mind that’s wary of the water. Keeps a small part of him on the look out for any tinges of green to the liquid in the irrational fear that he might also come out of this body of water changed. Actually taking Rei up on his offer to go swimming was in some ways a punishment for Jason, adrenaline thrumming through his veins until his muscles flagged from exhaustion.

Rei is waiting for him at the entrance to the gym, water bottle half empty and lid still unscrewed. His glasses keep sliding down his still damp face but he grins at Jason anyway.

“You sure you’re not looking for a spot on the swim team? Because I’m sure the team captain would get the coaches to make an exception for you.”

Re-shouldering his duffel, Jason asks, “Now why would he do that?”

“I’d do it because I want one last trophy for the relay team.” Rei says wryly.

“No shit?”

“Yeah, I don’t really advertise it because I’ve been doing it for so long that I keep forgetting new people don’t already know I swim. But if you want a spot you’re in. You lapped me like what, four times?”

“Five,” Jason says sheepishly. “Not much of a team player, so I’m gonna have to turn you down.”

“Fair enough,” Rei shrugs. “But I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit. You probably dodged a bullet though, the coaches are hard asses about not drinking before meets.”

“Yeah, speakin’ of drinkin’, what the hell was in those drinks you made the first night.”

Rei laughs and the conversation takes a more lighthearted turn as they head across campus to the student union. It doesn’t take much to keep the conversation going so Jason has time to turn over Rei’s invitation over in his head. Jason would never have been able to accept — spackling over his extensive scarring for even just today had been a pain — but it had given him hope that maybe even after all his mishaps with you, that he might still be achieving ‘normal’.

Wednesday comes by and Jason makes up his mind to show up the weekly study session. With the Thanksgiving weekend coming up he’s got less work than ever but an even stronger desire not to be alone. Campus has emptied out in anticipation of the long weekend, the student union almost echoingly empty. Lina and Rei are already taking up a bench, sickeningly affectionate and dodging the balled up paper scraps Danika is tossing at them. You sit next to her, rolling your eyes at her antics then egging her on whenever Lina swoops in to leave another lipstick stain on Rei’s cheeks. He hesitates before committing to the seat at the end of the table nearest to you. The fresh loukoumades burning a hole in his bag will have to be shield and apology enough.

He’s nearly there, three feet out from his target, when the sound of a chair getting angrily out of the way diverts his attention. Will is dragging his bike through the field of chairs, cursing up a storm that has even Jason with all of his years in Gotham taken aback. Quite possibly its the most words Jason’s heard Will say out loud in the scarce months he’s known the man. The incongruity of the scene with who Will generally is as a person sends most of table into nervous half laughter.

“Will? Will what’s wrong? The biking parking finally full or something?” You ask, disbelieving.

“What the fuck does it look like?” He snarls, before throwing the bike to the ground in frustration.

“Hey—“

“Will, what happened?” Lina cuts Jason off, uncurling herself from around Rei and leaning forward. Her eyes are wide and searching, and in Jason’s opinion, not suspicious enough for the uncharacteristic rage on Will’s face.

“Some motherfucking cock sucking moron nearly ran me off the sidewalk in their piece of shit gas guzzler. That’s what happened.” He goes to throw himself into the seat next to you but Jason beats him to it, larger frame boxing him out. Throwing Jason an annoyed glance, Will slouches into the only seat left. He brandishes his coat clad arm in front of Lina and Rei, still thrumming with pent up energy.

“Look what they did!” He exclaims.

“I don’t think any of the bandaids in my bag are big enough for that scrape.” Rei says regretfully.

“What— never mind the scrape, look what they did to my coat!” He pulls the fabric tight across his wrist, shoving it under their noses. Rei and Lina give each other confused looks over Will’s head.

“There’s a lose thread?” Questions Danika.

“Yes! Thank you, yes! That idiotic jackass made me scrape up my Loro Piana jacket, do you know how much this costs?!”

“So,” Danika interjects, “won’t your family just buy you a new one and write this off for taxes or something?”

“That’s not— okay that piece of shit not only destroyed my jacket and put my life at risk but he’s also polluting with his mid-life crisis pollutant puker. You know there’s a reason Gotham ranks worst in pollution for cities in New Jersey? It’s thanks to people like that who don’t care that their cars are leaking oil and going knocking people — who are just trying to be nice to the environment — off of their bikes when they were just minding their own—“

“Report it to the police or campus security then.” Jason interrupts, before Will can get into the rant he’s building up steam for. “You got close enough to see the oil leaking, you probably saw the license plate too.” Jason pulls the loukoumades out of his bag and slides them over to you, keeping eye contact with Will the whole while. Will breaks eye contact first, pulling his perfectly intact black wool coat tighter around him before shoving his hands deep in the pockets. You’ve cracked open the container and let out a hum of delight. Will’s eyes dart to the table.

“Didn’t get it. How was I supposed to know that one minute I’d be riding along, and then the next I’d be traumatized for life by some inconsiderate brute?” He sulks. And oh, yeah, not everyone had grown up with B and all of his lessons on paying attention to your environment for evidence.

“Yeah, speaking of trauma, who’s got plans for thanksgiving yet?” Danika asks, mirth and humour her weapon against the atmosphere.

A sharp elbow knocks once into Jason’s ribs. He turns to look down at you, hoping your bid for attention won’t turn out to be disappointing. You meet his gaze with cheeks stuffed full of fried dough and honeyed syrup, eyes narrowed and considering.

“They’re not pancakes, but I thought you’d like ‘em anyway.” Jason says.

You swallow, before beginning to speak in a low voice, letting the flow of conversation continue around the two of you undisturbed. “If this is an apology, there better be more from where that came from.” Your small lopsided smile is sincere, but it doesn’t quite erase the image of your blank face from the dinner from his memory. Nodding, he goes to pull out the second Tupperware container that he’d had the foresight to prepare and you begin to lick the leftover syrup from your fingers. Jason’s vision narrows down to your thumb and forefinger, glistening in the fluorescent lights. He could swear his heart skips a beat when your pink tongue flicks out, his breathing certifiably irregular when you start to suck on your fingers. The image of your lips shiny from syrup will probably be engraved on his second headstone as the cause of death.

“—son, Jason.” Danika’s voice, high pitched and insistent, breaks the moment. He’d be embarrassed at tuning out his situational awareness if he wasn’t also scrambling to answer her half-heard question.

“No plans for me. My family and I aren’t really in a ‘gatherings and gratitude’ place right now.”

“Whoops, we’ll add your family to the off-limits list. What do you usually do then?”

Your phone starts buzzing, and you swear under your breath as you navigate sticky fingers and tight jean pockets.

“I just make a fancier meal than normal, watch the parade on the tv. Not much to it.” He replies off-handedly. He doesn’t mention the extra patrols he’ll do, in anticipation of one of the Rogues deciding to make a splash across holiday headlines.

“Sorry, I’ve got to answer this.” And already you’re trying to climb over Jason to get out from the booth and away from the table. It brings your face closer to his than it’s ever been and Jason would be trying to pin a name to the exact shade of your eyes if it wasn’t for the worry on your face. The nearly empty building means that you don’t wander far from the group. You pace as you listen to whoever is on the phone and play with the charm on your necklace. Will catches on to Jason’s line of sight and rolls his eyes, still sulking in his chair.

“So there’s a whole list, yeah? Things you don’t talk about?” Jason asks, trying to distract himself.

“Oh I wouldn’t call it anything so official.” Lina dismisses.

“No but we totally should!” Fires back Danika. “It would make things sooo much less awkward if Jason knew not to bring up just how much money Will’s rolling in, or the fact that Rei hates talking about the team right before a swim meet, or that when she,” and here Danika lowers her voice and nods in your direction, “plays with her necklace on a phone call fifty bucks says it’s someone from her family.”

“Got it, no askin’ her about the secret phone calls.” Jason says with a tight smile.

“Oh it’s nothing super secret.” Danika leans back into the corner and waves a lazy hand. “Just that most of them were dead set against her doing English instead of some ‘useful degree’ like pre-med or engineering. Don’t know why though, I don’t think’ I’ve ever met anyone that hates calculus more.”

But Jason, Jason thinks he does know why. Puts together the little pieces of your past you’d entrusted to his scarred hands and looks to the shared weft of your past. Looks at a girl whose family had scraped and fought to make a life untouched by poverty in a city that doesn’t easily forgive, and knows that it took luck and bone wearying effort to make it out of the Alley’s clutches. He looks at the girl who is used to being told her opinions don’t matter and yet believing in them anyway, who has put together a path leading right to her dreams even if the detours take her back to the place her family was happy to leave behind. Jason looks around the table at these fresh faced kids in their $6000 jackets and knows that none of them understand the constant, cavernous fear that all of the little luxuries they take for granted will suddenly disappear like morning fog. Jason knows the kind of courage it takes to push past that dogged fear and refuse the path your family pushes you down in order to achieve loftier goals.

The conversation has moved past him now, wrapped in his reverie. Rei and Danika have devolved into the kind of hardline negotiation Jason would have expected to see between seasoned lawyers rather than undergrads.

“C’mon Danika, I know you want a Pinterest worthy friends-giving but it’s just not going to work out this year.” Rei chides. “There’s just no time that’s gonna work for all of us.”

“Yes but it’s our last year when we’re all for sure going to be in the same place for the holiday weekend!”

“Look, we should all be free the Friday after the long weekend. We’ll do another night out, me and Lina will host the pre, and it’ll be our version of friends-giving. I’ll even make turkey themed cocktails if you want.”

“Gross! Fine, fine.” Danika most definitely does not whine. “But make them pumpkin pie themed cocktails instead.”

Jason’s got half an ear on the conversation, but continues to study you as long as his input isn’t needed. You sigh and seem to deflate as your call ends.

“So boys, are you ready to see the damage Rei can do when he’s got his full bar cart with him?” Lina asks, coy as anything. “I’m sure he’ll be able to make something that will even get you dancing, Jason.”

You shuffle around Jason, trying to squirm back into your bench seat. For a brief moment, your thighs bracket his.

“If that’s the plan,” Jason breathes out shakily.

Part 5

[lila-lou]

✨His second exception - Pt. 13/?✨

Summary: The moment Ben found out you were pregnant was probably the happiest moment of his life. However, happiness proved fleeting. Now, he is faced with the aftermath of his shattered dreams. Of what is left of you, and what is left of him.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Language, fluff

Word Count: 6157

A/N: This is the sequel to “His only exeption” - and Part 13 of "His second exception".

English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

As the evening arrived, you stirred in Ben’s arms, still feeling a bit groggy from your extended nap. You blinked slowly, adjusting to the dim light of the room as you realized the day had slipped away while you rested.

Ben, feeling you move, tightened his hold slightly and murmured, “Hey, good nap?”.

You nestled closer to him, enjoying the warmth and comfort of his embrace. “yeah”, you admitted, your voice soft and slightly raspy from sleep. “How long was I out?”.

“Pretty much the whole afternoon”, Ben replied, a grin playing on his lips. “You needed it, though. Growing a little supe is hard work”.

You chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against his chest. “Yeah, I guess it is”, you agreed, a sense of contentment washing over you.

Ben’s fingers traced light patterns on your back, his touch soothing and affectionate. “I was thinking we could just stay in tonight. Maybe order some takeout and watch a movie or something?”.

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. “That sounds perfect”, you said, smiling. “I’m not sure I’m up for anything more strenuous than that right now”.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment.

A week later, on Monday, the two of you got up early to head to work. While Ben made coffee in the kitchen, you busied yourself getting ready. To your disappointment, every pair of jeans you tried on felt like it cut into your stomach. You felt beyond bloated, and the constant tiredness lingered, making everything feel like more of a chore. Eventually, you decided on a comfy, soft dress that gave you some relief.

As you walked towards Ben in the kitchen and leaned in to kiss him. But as you tasted the coffee on his lips, your stomach churned violently. "Oh shit", you mumbled, holding your hand in front of your mouth as you bolted towards the bathroom.

Ben's brow furrowed in concern, though he couldn't resist a slight grumble, "That's one way to react to me". He followed you quickly, the worry evident in his eyes as he reached the bathroom door.

You were kneeling by the toilet, your body heaving as nausea overtook you. Ben crouched beside you, rubbing soothing circles on your back. "Breathe, baby. Just breathe", he murmured, his voice soft and comforting.

“You okay?”, he asked softly, his voice laced with worry.

You nodded weakly, taking deep breaths as you tried to settle your stomach. “Yeah, I think so”, you managed to say, your voice shaky.

“I guess the baby doesn’t like coffee”, he said with a gentle tease, trying to lighten the mood.

You couldn’t help but smile at his attempt to make you feel better. “Seems like it”, you replied, leaning against him for support.

“Ugh”, you mumbled. “I certainly didn’t miss this”, you said, referring to the morning sickness.

Ben chuckled softly, guiding you to the sink. “You and me both”, he said with a playful glint in his eye. “Though, I have to admit, you’re even more adorable when you’re all grumpy and groggy”.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “Flattery will get you nowhere, mister”, you teased back, squeezing some toothpaste onto your toothbrush.

Ben grumbled under his breath, “You know, I’d much rather have you at home than at the tower. Less stress for both of us”.

You shot him an annoyed glance. “Ben, we’ve been over this. I’m not just going to sit around at home”.

He sighed, knowing he wouldn’t win this argument. “I know, I know. Just fucking wishful thinking".

After you finished brushing your teeth, you both headed out to the car. The morning was still cool and crisp as you settled into the passenger seat, Ben taking the wheel.

As the two of you sat in the car, Ben driving, you couldn’t help but gag repeatedly, fighting the persistent nausea that refused to let up. Ben glanced over at you with concern, then tried to lighten the mood with some teasing.

“You know, if our baby ends up being as picky as this, we’re in for a wild ride”, he said with a smirk.

You managed a weak smile despite feeling miserable. “I hope it get your iron stomach, not mine”.

Ben chuckled.

You gagged again, and Ben quickly added, “At least you’re getting it all out now. Imagine if this happened during a meeting”.

You groaned at the thought. “Please, don’t jinx it”.

Ben laughed softly, his eyes full of affection. “Hey, maybe I should start carrying a bucket around for you. Or a ‘morning sickness emergency kit.’ It could be a new trend”.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the mental image. “You’re ridiculous”-

“But you love me for it”, he replied, a teasing lilt in his voice.

“Unfortunately, yes”, you teased back, feeling a bit better thanks to his humor.

By the time you arrived at work, you felt more composed, if not entirely free of nausea. The two of you got out of the car, and Ben, in his supe suit, naturally drew attention as he always did when walking through the tower. His hand rested at your lower back, guiding you to the elevators.

Inside the elevator, A-Train stood there, sipping his shake as he saw the two of you. “Soldier Boy, I wanted to talk to you. I have an idea about—”, he started, but Ben cut him off, grumpy as always.

You rolled your eyes at Ben’s abruptness and turned to A-Train. “What idea?”, you asked gently, trying to smooth over the interaction.

A-Train looked at you with gratitude, then launched into his explanation. “I was thinking about founding a training camp for supe kids and normal kids from troubled families. Kids who are into sports. I’d train them, help them develop their skills, give them a sense of direction and purpose”.

You nodded, intrigued. “That sounds like a fantastic idea, A-Train. It could really make a difference in their lives”.

Ben grunted, clearly not in the best mood but still listening. “And how exactly do you plan to manage this? Between missions and everything else?”.

A-Train straightened up, determination in his eyes. “I’ve already thought about that. We can schedule training sessions around our missions, and I can get some of the other supes to help out too. It’s not just about training their powers but also teaching them discipline, teamwork, and responsibility”.

You smiled, impressed by A-Train’s passion and foresight. “I think it’s worth a shot, Ben. We always talk about how the next generation needs better guidance”.

Ben sighed, looking from you to A-Train. “Fine. I’ll consider it. But you better have a solid plan ready to present by the end of the week, or it’s off the table”.

A-Train nodded eagerly. “You got it”.

The elevator dinged, signaling it had reached the top floor. The doors slid open, and the three of you stepped out, making your way toward the meeting room. The hallway buzzed with the usual activity, staff members moving about their business.

As you entered the meeting room, you were greeted by the smell of nail polish. Kimiko sat at the table, calmly painting her fingernails as if it were the most normal thing in the world. The sharp scent hit you hard, and you gagged, trying your best to hide it.

But, of course, Ben noticed immediately. “Eh! China, don’t do this fucking shit in here!”, he snapped, his patience clearly wearing thin.

Kimiko rolled her eyes and responded in sign language, her expression unimpressed. You’re such a dick, she signed.

Frenchie, sitting next to her, couldn’t suppress his chuckle. “She’s right, you know. Not everyone is cut out for your military discipline, mon ami”.

Ben glared at him but didn’t respond. Instead, he turned his attention back to you, concern evident in his eyes. “You okay?”.

You nodded, though you still felt queasy. “I’ll be fine”, you whispered, grateful for his protective nature despite his grumpiness.

The meeting began, and you did your best to focus on the discussions, even as the lingering smell of nail polish made your stomach churn. Ben kept a close eye on you, his hand occasionally squeezing yours under the table as a silent show of support.

At one point, Ben cleared his throat and turned to the team. “What about the supe kids in Europe? Are they keeping it lowkey, or are they being crazy again?”.

Frenchie leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “It’s a mixed bag, really. Some of them are trying to stay under the radar, but we’ve had reports of a few causing trouble. Mostly in Eastern Europe. The authorities are having a hard time keeping things under control”.

Kimiko, who had finished her nails and was now fanning them dry, signed, They’re young and reckless. They need guidance, just like A-Train’s program.

Ben nodded, taking in the information. “We need to keep an eye on that situation. Last thing we need is an international incident because some kid can’t control their powers”.

A-Train, ever the eager participant, chimed in. “Maybe we can expand the training camp idea internationally. Set up satellite programs to help those kids too”.

You smiled at the idea, appreciating A-Train’s enthusiasm. “That could be a great long-term goal. But we should probably start with one successful camp here first and use it as a model”.

Ben grunted in agreement. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. One fucking step at a time. But it’s something to think about”.

The rest of the meeting went smoothly, with everyone contributing ideas and discussing ongoing projects.

While Ben continued to talk to Butcher about the situation with the supe kids in Europe, the rest of the team began to file out of the meeting room. As you stood up, your stomach rumbled loudly, catching the attention of both Ben and Butcher.

Butcher raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Oi, Soldier Boy, you not feeding her properly or what?”.

Ben rolled his eyes and shot back, “Last I checked, I don’t need fucking advice from someone who thinks a balanced diet is a six-pack and a pack of cigarettes”.

Butcher laughed heartily, clearly enjoying the banter. “Touché, mate. Touché”.

You couldn’t help but grin at their exchange, feeling a surprising surge of hunger wash over you. “Actually, I could really use some food right now”, you admitted.

Ben’s expression softened as he turned to you. “Let’s get you something to eat then”. He placed a gentle hand on your back, guiding you towards the cafeteria.

Butcher called after you both, still grinning. “Take care of her, Soldier Boy. She’s the brains of this operation”.

Ben waved him off with a smirk. “Don’t I fucking know it”.

As you walked down the hallway, the smell of food from the cafeteria became more enticing. Your hunger grew, making you realize just how much you needed to eat.

When you arrived at the cafeteria, Ben quickly found a table and then went to gather a variety of food items, ensuring there was something you’d be able to stomach. He returned with a tray filled with toast, fruit, yogurt, and a cup of herbal tea.

“Here you go”, he said, setting the tray down in front of you.

You smiled gratefully. “Thanks, Ben. I don’t know where this sudden hunger came from, but I appreciate it”.

As you started to eat, Ben sat beside you, his arm draped casually over the back of your chair. “Feeling any better?”, he asked, watching you with concern.

You nodded between bites. “Yeah, actually. This is helping a lot”.

At noon, you made your way towards Ben’s office, ready to grab some lunch. However, when you arrived, you found that he was at an appointment with the vice president and Butcher. With a sigh, you decided to wait for him, taking a seat on the comfortable couch in his office.

The morning’s events, combined with the lingering effects of your morning sickness, had left you feeling more exhausted than you realized. As you settled into the couch, your eyelids grew heavy, and before you knew it, you drifted off to sleep.

A little while later, Ben entered the office, fresh from his meeting. He paused when he saw you sleeping peacefully on the couch, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He carefully approached, not wanting to wake you, and gently draped a blanket over you.

He then sat down at his desk, working quietly to avoid disturbing your rest. The soft tapping of his keyboard was a soothing backdrop as you slept, providing a comforting sense of normalcy.

Ben still got used to all the technology, but he did a decent job by now, though you did most of the work for him.

The next two weeks passed without anything special happening. By now you were eight weeks pregnant, still feeling tired all the time and vomiting nearly 24/7.

One particularly rough night, Ben was trying to get some sleep, but you found yourself hanging over the toilet, feeling utterly exhausted. The relentless nausea and fatigue had taken their toll, and you felt as though you were running on empty.

Ben stirred and noticed your absence from the bed. He sighed softly, pushing back the covers and getting up. Padding quietly into the bathroom, he found you leaning over the toilet, your face pale and drawn.

“Hey”, he said gently, kneeling beside you and rubbing your back in soothing circles. “Rough night?”.

You nodded weakly, not having the energy to speak. The retching had left you feeling drained, and all you wanted was for the nausea to end.

Ben, trying to lighten the mood, offered a gentle tease. “You know, when they said pregnancy was a beautiful journey, I don’t think they mentioned the part where you become best friends with the toilet”.

Despite feeling miserable, you couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle. “Yeah, they definitely left that part out”, you replied weakly, appreciating his attempt to make you smile.

He continued to rub your back, his touch soothing.

“You should go back to bed”, you mumbled softly, feeling guilty for keeping him up.

Ben shook his head, a determined look in his eyes. “Not a chance. I’m not leaving you alone like this”.

You sighed, appreciating his support but also worried about his rest. “I don’t want you to be exhausted too. You need sleep, Ben”.

“Shut up”, he grinned, kissing your temple. “I’m right where I need to be”.

For over an hour, Ben stayed by your side, kneeling next to you and rubbing your back. His presence was a constant source of comfort, and despite your exhaustion and discomfort, you felt grateful for his unwavering support.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the nausea began to subside enough for you to think about standing up. You sighed in relief, feeling a bit steadier. “I think I can stand now”, you said softly.

Ben helped you up gently, his arm around your waist to support you. “Take it slow”, he advised, his voice filled with concern.

You nodded, leaning on him as you made your way to the sink to brush your teeth. The simple act of cleaning your mouth helped to remove the lingering taste, making you feel a bit more human.

As you brushed your teeth, Ben stood beside you, ready to catch you if needed. You appreciated his constant vigilance, even if he didn’t say much. His presence was enough.

Once you finished, you rinsed your mouth and looked at your reflection in the mirror. You looked tired and pale, but you felt a bit better.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed”, Ben mumbled, his voice filled with gentle concern. He guided you slowly and carefully, making sure you were steady on your feet.

Back in the bedroom, Ben helped you settle into bed, arranging the pillows to ensure you were comfortable. He pulled the blanket over you, tucking you in with tender care. “You need to rest”, he said softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from your forehead.

You nodded, feeling the weight of exhaustion pulling you down. “Thank you, Ben”, you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Ben just kissed your forehead before slipping next to you under the covers and pulling you close. His arms wrapped around you, providing a sense of security and warmth that made it easier to relax.

“Try to get some sleep”, he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. “I’ll be right here if you need anything”.

You nestled into his embrace, feeling his steady heartbeat against your back. The comfort of his presence and the gentle rhythm of his breathing began to lull you into a deeper state of relaxation.

“Love you”, you mumbled, already half-asleep.

“Love you too”, he replied softly, his voice filled with warmth and tenderness.

The room fell into a peaceful silence, the only sounds being the faint hum of the night outside and the soothing rhythm of Ben’s breathing. You felt a sense of calm wash over you, and despite the rough night, you knew you were in good hands

The next day, Ben’s alarm went off, its soft chime breaking the tranquility of the early morning. He reached over to silence it quickly, not wanting to disturb you. The faint light of dawn was just beginning to seep through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over the room.

You stirred slightly, feeling Ben’s presence beside you. He looked down at you, his expression tender. “Morning”, he whispered, brushing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“Morning”, you replied, your voice still heavy with sleep. “What time is it?”.

“Early”, he said softly.

You sighed, feeling the weight of exhaustion still lingering from the night before. “I’ll get up”, you mumbled, trying to muster the energy to move.

Ben wrapped his arms around you a little tighter, his hand finding its way to your still flat belly. “You should better stay at home”, he mumbled into your ear, his tone a mix of concern and playful insistence.

You sighed, knowing he meant well but also feeling the need to keep up with your responsibilities. “Ben, we’ve talked about this. I can’t just stay home all the time”.

He sighed, relenting. “Fine, but you’re taking it easy today. No overdoing it, and if you start feeling sick, you’re coming going back home”.

“Deal”, you agreed, feeling a bit more energized by his support.

Ben helped you out of bed, his hand lingering protectively on your belly for a moment longer. “I’m serious”, he said. “I worry about you”.

“I know”, you replied, kissing him gently. “And I love you for it”.

A few minutes later, Ben was in the kitchen. Just when he was about to hit the coffee machine, he remembered the smell of coffee making you gag. He grumbled quietly to himself and looked through the fridge, finding some energy drinks that you used to drink but couldn’t anymore. Sighing, he decided to give one a try.

He took a sip and immediately grimaced, clearly not enjoying the taste. Ben looked around the kitchen, his eyes landing on your black Stanley cup. An idea came to mind, and he grinned mischievously.

He filled the Stanley cup with the energy drink, then grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet and poured a generous amount inside, nearly filling the cup. He gave it a good shake, making sure it was well-mixed. “Desperate times call for fucking desperate measures”, he muttered to himself.

Just as he was about to take another sip, you walked into the kitchen, still looking a bit pale but determined. You saw the Stanley cup in his hand and raised an eyebrow. “What are you up to?”.

Ben grinned sheepishly. “Trying to find an alternative to coffee. This… concoction is the best I could come up with”.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his creativity. “Is that an energy drink mixed with whiskey?”.

“Yep”, he admitted, taking a cautious sip. He made a face but swallowed it down. “Not great, but it’ll do the job”.

You shook your head, amused. “You’re something else, Ben”.

He grinned, pulling you close by your waist and kissing your lips gently. “Better than having you fucking puke all over me”, he mumbled against your lips, his playful tone making you smile.

You chuckled, resting your forehead against his. “I appreciate the sacrifice”, you said softly, feeling a warmth spread through you despite the morning’s challenges.

Ben held you for a moment longer, his hands resting protectively on your lower back. “You sure you’re up for today?”, he asked.

“I’ll be okay”, you reassured him, feeling a bit more confident with his support. “We have a lot to do, and I don’t want to fall behind”.

He sighed but nodded, knowing how determined you were. “Alright, but remember our deal. Take it easy and let me know if you need to come home”.

You nodded, biting your lip as Ben crouched down in front of you, pulling up your dress just high enough to reveal your stomach. He gently pressed his ear against your belly, closing his eyes to focus. With his enhanced senses, he could hear everything – your bloodstream, the baby’s heartbeat, and every little movement.

“Hey intruder”, he murmured in his own rough way, his voice filled with affection. “You be good to your mom today, alright? Don’t give her any fucking trouble”.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at his choice of words, playfully shoving his shoulder. “Ben, you can’t talk to the baby like that”.

He looked up at you with a mischievous grin. “Why not? Don’t want to raise a fucking pussy, do we?”.

You rolled your eyes but smiled, knowing this was his way of expressing love and care. “Fine, but maybe tone it down a bit?”.

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your belly. “Love you”, he whispered so quietly against your belly that you couldn’t hear it. He instantly blushed, quickly clearing his throat.

“What did you say?”, you asked, catching his sudden change in demeanor.

Ben stood up, avoiding your eyes for a moment. “Nothing”, he mumbled, clearly flustered.

You grinned, sensing an opportunity to tease him. “Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be, huh? Whispering sweet nothings to the baby and leaving me out of it? You better not be planning on playing the baby out against me”, you teased, playfully poking his chest.

He finally met your gaze, his blush deepening as he realized you were teasing him. “What? No way. I just… well, I didn’t think you needed to hear it”, he stammered, clearly not used to being on the receiving end of teasing.

You laughed softly, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I’m just messing with you, Ben. But just so you know, this baby and I are a package deal. If you’re going to be all sweet and sappy with it, you’d better include me too”.

He smirked, finally relaxing a little. “Fine, but don’t expect too much sap”.

You tilted your head, pretending to think it over. “I don’t know… I think you’re secretly a softie”.

He rolled his eyes before the playful glint in his eyes returned as he grabbed the back of your neck with a firm grip. The roughness was affectionate, unmistakably Ben’s way of showing his feelings. He pulled you close, his breath warm against your lips before he pressed a firm kiss on them.

You melted into the kiss, feeling the mixture of his tenderness and strength. When he pulled back, there was a teasing grin on his face. “You keep calling me a softie, and I’ll have to prove you fucking wrong”.

You smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, I’d like to see you try”.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re trouble, you know that?”.

“Maybe”, you replied, a playful glint in your eyes. “But I’m your kind of trouble”.

“Damn right”, he said, his voice dropping into that familiar, rough tone that always made your heart skip a beat. “Now, come on, let’s get through this day. And remember, no overdoing it. I don’t want to have to carry you out of the tower like some damsel in distress”.

You laughed, leaning into him as you both headed toward the door. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. But if I do need rescuing, you better make it look good”.

Ben grinned, holding the door open for you. “Oh, I’ll make sure it’s one for the history books”.

The days passed, and by now, you were 12 weeks pregnant. To both your and Ben’s surprise, you were already starting to show. Despite losing a few pounds due to the relentless nausea, your belly had begun to stand out, giving you a slightly bloated appearance. Most days, you opted for loose clothing to hide the bump, not quite ready to share the news with everyone just yet. But the nausea and exhaustion remained constant companions, making even the simplest tasks feel like monumental efforts.

Today was no exception. Your parents were coming over for a barbecue, and you were determined to put on a brave face, even though the smell of the raw meat made your stomach churn. Ben had insisted on handling most of the preparation, but you were stubborn, wanting to contribute in some way.

As you stood in the kitchen, trying to marinate the meat without gagging, Ben walked in, eyeing you with concern. “You sure you’re up for this?”, he asked. “You don’t have to push yourself. I can handle everything”.

You forced a smile, though the nausea was making it hard to keep up the facade. “I’m fine”, you insisted, though your face paled slightly as you caught another whiff of the marinade. “Just… taking it slow".

As you stood over the counter, the smell of the marinade suddenly became overwhelming, and you gagged again, bringing your arm up to cover your mouth. You tried to push through it, but the nausea hit you in waves, making it nearly impossible to continue.

Ben, who had been watching you closely, quickly stepped in. “Alright, that’s enough”, he said with a chuckle, gently but firmly shoving you away from the counter. “Go wash your hands. I got this”.

You didn’t need to be told twice. You hurried over to the sink, trying to steady your breathing as you scrubbed your hands. The cool water felt refreshing against your skin, but it did little to ease the queasiness swirling in your stomach.

As you leaned against the counter, trying to collect yourself, Ben glanced over at you with a teasing grin. “You know, if you wanted an excuse to get out of cooking, you could’ve just said so”, he quipped, his tone light and playful.

You rolled your eyes, managing a weak smile despite the lingering nausea. “Trust me, I’d much rather be able to cook without feeling like I’m going to puke everywhere”.

Ben chuckled, finishing up with the marinade and setting it aside.

After finishing up with the marinade and washing his hands, Ben turned to you with that familiar mischievous grin. Without warning, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you close, his body pressing firmly against yours. You could feel the heat of his body, and his hips pressed suggestively against you, making you flush.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “If you need a distraction from feeling sick, I can think of a few ways to help”.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, though you playfully swatted his chest. “Oh, is that right? I’m not sure that would help with the nausea”.

He chuckled, his breath warm against your skin as he nuzzled your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. “You never know. Could take your mind off things”, he teased, giving you a little more pressure from his hips.

You rolled your eyes, though your smile widened despite the queasiness. “You’re impossible, you know that?”.

Ben’s grin widened, and the mischievous glint in his eyes grew more intense. “Impossible? I’d say I’m just getting started”, he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as he pressed his body even closer to yours. “You have no idea what I could do to make you forget all about that nausea”.

His words sent a thrill through you, and you felt your cheeks heat up as he continued to nuzzle your neck, his lips grazing your skin. “I could take you right here”, he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “Make you feel so fucking good, you’d forget all about the kitchen, the barbecue, and everything else”.

You bit your lip, feeling your pulse quicken despite yourself. “Ben…”, you started, but he cut you off, his lips capturing yours in a heated kiss that left you breathless.

When he pulled back, he gave you that roguish smirk you knew so well. “Or maybe I’ll wait until later”, he teased, his hands sliding down to rest on your hips. “When we’re alone, and I can take my time with you. Slowly, thoroughly… until you’re begging for more”.

The combination of his words and the feel of his body against yours made your head spin, and for a moment, you almost forgot about the queasiness that had been plaguing you all day.

You had been trying to ignore it for days, but the way Ben’s dirty mouth, his touch, and even the scent of his cologne seemed to set your entire body on edge was impossible to deny any longer. The truth was, you were hyper-sensitive to everything about him lately. His deep, gravelly voice sent shivers down your spine; the way his hands gripped your hips made your knees weak; and even just the smell of him—woodsy and masculine—was enough to make you feel like you were on fire.

It didn’t help that it had been a while since the two of you had really been together. Between his duties at the tower and your constant exhaustion, opportunities for intimacy had been few and far between. But now, with him so close, his words laced with that tantalizing promise of what he could do to you, it was becoming harder and harder to resist the pull.

You could feel the heat rising in your body, an ache building in your core that you knew only Ben could satisfy. The way he was looking at you, the way he was pressing against you—it was driving you crazy.

“Ben”, you whispered, your voice betraying the longing that was building inside you.

He noticed the shift in your tone immediately, his teasing smirk turning into something more intense. “Yeah?”, he asked, his voice low, almost a growl as he leaned in closer.

Your breath hitched as you looked up at him, your heart pounding in your chest. “You’re killing me here”, you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s been too long”.

Ben’s eyes darkened with desire as he realized what you were saying. He moved his hands from your hips to the small of your back, pulling you even closer, if that were possible. “Is that right?”, he murmured against your ear, his voice thick with heat. “And here I thought I was being patient, waiting for the right time”.

Your hands clutched at his shirt, your body trembling with anticipation. “I don’t want to wait”, you whispered, your need for him making you bold. “I need you, Ben. Now”.

For a moment, Ben seemed to be considering something, his eyes searching yours. Then, with a sudden movement, he lifted you up onto the kitchen counter, making you gasp in surprise.

“You sure about this?”, he asked. “We’ve got people coming over soon”.

You nodded, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him closer. “I don’t care”, you breathed, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “I just need you. Please”.

That was all the encouragement Ben needed. With a low growl, he captured your lips in a fierce, hungry kiss, his hands roaming over your body with a possessive intensity that made your head spin. All thoughts of the barbecue, your parents would soon be arriving, flew out of your mind as he claimed you right there on the kitchen counter.

As the intensity between you heightened, Ben was mindful of the limited time you both had. With swift movements, he adjusted your position, sliding your dress up to your hips and gently tugging your panties aside. Meanwhile, he managed to unbuckle his belt and lower his jeans and boxers just enough to free himself.

The urgency in his eyes matched the quickening pulse you felt racing through your body. He aligned himself with you, his gaze locked with yours, seeking a silent consent which you eagerly gave with a nod. The atmosphere was charged with an electric anticipation.

Ben paused, the head of his hardness pressing against you, both of you savoring the moment of exquisite tension. Then, with a controlled but deep thrust, he entered you fully, filling you in one smooth, firm motion. A gasp escaped your lips, not just from the sensation of him stretching and filling you completely but also from the deep connection that pulsed between you with every heartbeat.

Just then, the sound of the doorbell suddenly rang out, loud and jarring in the quiet of your shared space. The timing couldn’t have been worse—it was like being doused in cold water, pulling both of you abruptly back to reality. Your parents had arrived early.

Ben froze, his body tense as he processed the situation. His breath came in heavy pants, mingling with yours as you both tried to come to grips with the interruption. The frustration was palpable, the moment so close to completion yet torn away by the ringing doorbell.

“Fucking shit”, Ben muttered under his breath, his voice filled with both irritation and regret. He rested his forehead against yours for a brief second, the tension in his body clear as he struggled to decide whether to pull away or finish what you’d started.

You, equally desperate and breathless, gave him a look that was a mix of longing and exasperation. “They’re early”, you whispered, the words barely escaping your lips.

Ben sighed deeply, then slowly, reluctantly began to pull back. You both groaned at the loss, the sudden emptiness leaving you feeling even more frustrated. He paused for a brief moment, pressing his lips against yours in a soft, lingering kiss, as if to apologize for the interruption.

“I’ll get the door”, he murmured, his voice thick with the desire still coursing through him.

You whimpered in frustration, the ache of desire still throbbing through your body as you reluctantly slid down from the counter. You could feel the loss keenly as you pulled your panties back into place, your body still yearning for the completion that had been so cruelly interrupted.

Ben, equally frustrated, took a deep breath to steady himself. He quickly pulled up his jeans, his movements tense as he adjusted himself, trying to hide the evidence of your interrupted moment. His eyes met yours, and you could see the same mix of desire and annoyance reflected in them.

"Later", he promised, his voice low and rough, as he brushed a thumb gently over your lips before turning to head toward the door.

You nodded, your breath still shaky, feeling the lingering heat of his touch as he walked away. You could hear him trying to compose himself, taking a few deep breaths as he approached the door.

You ran a hand through your hair, trying to smooth it down and compose yourself. Your heart was still pounding in your chest, and you took a moment to steady your breathing before stepping out of the kitchen.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think. 🥰

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Part 14

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Taglist: @deangirl96, @thatgirljayy, @suckitands33, @deans-spinster-witch@mimaria420@kaz11283@uncle-eggy@jackles010378@vxnilla-hxrddrugs @meowmeowyoongles@sarahgracej @zemosdarling228 @leila22rogers @mostlymarvelgirl@emily-winchester @blacknoirr @onlyangel-444@seasonofthenerd@staple-your-mouth@artemys-ackles@selfdestructionandrhum@mystic-mara @kat-nee @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @star-yawnznn @me1501 @CheyNovaK @faephoria @hobby27 @baby19sthings @fitxgrld @winchesterwild78 @uddiifiigj @libby99hb @urgogodancer @urinternetmom @mochminnie

[eoieopda]

🙏🏻 This is my first time submitting a request because I can’t stop imagining Dino helping his drunk BFF home while secretly being in love with her 🧎🏼‍♀️Please if you have time!

superpower

summary: not all heroes wear capes, but chan would probably do so if you asked. pairing: lee chan x reader type: drabble genre: fluff au: friends to ?, pining word count: 1.4k (oops) rating: pg15 — still, minors do not have my consent to interact. cw: alcohol/drunkenness, obvi; no pronouns or gendered language is used for reader. a/n: not even remotely proofread (double oops), but i still love this down-bad doofus, so i hope you do, too!

“I’m not saying I have superpowers, but I’m not not saying it.”

Your eyes are blinking a little more slowly than usual, but the unimpressed look you fire off at Chan can’t be missed.

“Can you just —” A hiccup cuts your question in half. You frown with your whole face just to make it clear how serious you are. “Hold my hand? It’s wobbly.”

Chan knows you’re referring to the sidewalk — where you stand and sway along to music that isn’t playing — but that description fits his knees, too. 

He hopes you’re too busy pouting at him to notice the way he wipes his palms against his jeans, afraid you’ll notice how nervous you make him. You start to lean a bit too heavily to one side for his liking, though; and he thinks it’s safe to bet that you’re not noticing much of anything.

That settles it.

The second he envelopes your hand in his, you take it a step further, tugging him close enough that you can slot yourself under his arm.

“Smell nice,” you mumble from his side. “‘s that the new stuff? From the place?”

Now, Chan is the one that’s blinking slowly. He was as drunk as you were until you needed him, and despite his sobering up on a dime — which is a superpower, thank you very much — his processing speed is lagging. You nudge him with your elbow, as if that’ll make what you just said make sense.

“Ahhh!” He plays along, making a big show of realizing things. “Yes, that place. By the thing, right?”

You nod. “Exactly.” 

Behind you both, the Uber that dumped you back at your place pulls away from the curb. Three beats later, you tilt your head and cheer “goodbye” at a long-gone Kia. He feels his heart swell three sizes in chest.

“You like it?” He redirects you because he’s a little bit greedy for your praise — and also because he bought this cologne with the hope that you’d compliment it. Chuckling, he notes, “Considering how much I’m propping you up right now, you’ll probably end up smelling like me.”

When you smile and mutter, “Good,” Chan suddenly feels weightless.

It takes some concentrated effort, but he manages to guide you up the front steps to your apartment building. It takes significant concentrated effort to corral you into the elevator once you clear the threshold. You would’ve spent your night talking the doorman’s ear off, otherwise, providing a dramatic retelling of every single step you took over the last few hours. It takes everything Chan has not to laugh at the relieved sigh he gets in thanks for intervening, although it’s hardly altruistic to want your rambling to himself.

Surrounded by the metallic walls of the elevator car, you point to your joint reflection and muse, “Someone’s awful smiley this evening.”

Chan makes eye contact without having to tilt his head. His brain works overtime to churn out a response that isn’t self-incriminating, but the only thought ricocheting around his brain relates to how cute you look, nestled into him.

With a ding, your reflection is gone. The moment goes with it, and without a barrier in front, so do you — like a bat out of hell.

“Oh, my god,” you wail when your apartment door comes into view. “I thought I’d never see you again!”

Chan chases after you, arriving embarrassingly out-of-breath — and more than a little fond — just in time to watch you wrestle your keys out of your pocket. They clatter to the floor the second they’re free. You groan, bereft at the loss.

“Stay here,” he says firmly with a finger pointed because he knows you, knows you’ll take one or both of you out of commission if you don’t heed his warning. 

Your eyes cross a little bit as you stare down the barrel of it, but you listen, thankfully; and he’s able to pick up your slack without anyone receiving a concussion. He’s able to usher you into your own home without further incident, too.

Once again: superpowers.

The task of kicking your shoes off is apparently too much to ask of you, so you wander off to your bedroom without even trying. His Nikes are discarded so hurriedly that they barely hit your mat by the time he takes off after you. The second he catches up, he wins the pleasure of watching you flop backwards onto your mattress.

Funny, he thinks. His heart makes a similar thwump when you smile at him the way you are right now.

Gesturing to the feet dangling off the edge of your bed, he laughs. “Can I please help you?”

You shoot him with dual-wielded finger guns. He takes that as a yes, please, and gets to work on the triple knots you managed to install in your laces.

“Chan?”

He hums in acknowledgment without looking up, too confounded by your drunken rope-work to take his eyes off his fingers.

Were you a sailor in a past life?

A little louder and a lot more pathetically, you whine, “Chan,” adding several seconds’ worth of the vowel sound in the process.

Chan has no option but to look up at you. As far as he’s concerned, he’s got no choice but to smile with all of his teeth, too. “You rang?”

“You’re so nice.” It’s supposed to be a whisper, he suspects, but it sounds much more like a shout. “How?”

His bemused snort is disguised by the sound of your right shoe hitting the floor.

“I mean it!” You laugh — like he’d ever doubt you — and smack your palms against your duvet for emphasis. “Like, hello? Good boy alert!”

That — well, that does something to Chan that he’s not willing to unpack right now. Instead, he shucks off your other shoe, bites back his smile, and sits back on his heels.

For a minute, the two of you stay that way: you gazing at him, him gazing right back at you. In every second that slips by in comfortable silence, he works to convince himself that the twinkle in your eye is a byproduct of the shots you took, nothing more. You’re smiling at him like that because you won’t have to sleep in your shoes tonight.

Right?

You nibble thoughtfully on your lower lip before your smile turns sheepish. “Chan?”

He’s not thinking that an angel gets its wings whenever you say his name, but he’s not not thinking that.

“The one and only,” he says with a nod, and he only cringes a little bit at his words, after the fact.

Whatever you want to say next seems to be stuck on its way out. In fact, you open and close your mouth twice to no avail. Patience is a virtue, and you are divine, so he waits there — on his knees, no less — and lets you take the lead. Your eyes flick from his face to the fidgeting fingers in your lap, then to the blank space at your side.

“It’s cold out,” you finally declare.

It’s July, but that’s neither here nor there.

“You shouldn’t have to walk home in this weather.”

The sky simply couldn’t be clearer, but Chan would take your word for it if you said that it was green.

“Maybe you should stay.”

He tries not to let the giddiness overtake him. Really, he does. He attempts to shrug nonchalantly, but it's more of a shiver than anything else, and he’s scrambling to his feet before he can chide himself for it.

You laugh — with your whole chest, no less — when he leaps into the spot beside you, settling flat on his back and grinning up at the ceiling. You’re still giggling when you mimic his graceless movements, still beaming when you turn your head to look at him. The air still feels electric, somehow, even after the laughter peters off.

A few moments pass, probably. He doesn’t notice them on their way out.

In a whisper that is actually a whisper, you say his name again, and it kicks off that wild thwump inside his chest.

“Yes?” He responds, much more quietly than his pulse in his ears.

You tug gently at the pillow under his head to draw attention to it. “You’ll probably end up smelling like me now.”

[whosyuno]

hotel paradise 2 (m) | ft. jung jaehyun & johnny suh

summary you visit an exclusive brothel for the second time to satisfy your needs. cw smut, oral (m&f receiving), anal, threesome, blind fold, double pen word count 3.5k a/n this... came out much filthier than i had intended it to. and also this is me recreating that "god gave me two holes for a reason" tweet (see here) chap one three

Your second visit to Hotel Paradise came after a total of eight days, eighteen hours and ten minutes from your first. You counted, but of course you counted. No one had made you feel the way Jaehyun did. It was all you could think of, the memories churned in your head day-in day-out. You had abstained from touching yourself all this time, in part due to pure exhaustion from work but mostly because you wanted to keep yourself ready for Jaehyun. This time, you had dressed for the occasion. Well, at least, under your baggy hoodie and sweatpants. You wore a matching white lingerie set under your unassuming clothes. With white lace details around your chest, a similar printed lace pattern on the high waisted panties and a corset attached, you’ve never felt sexier. Plus, you had decided to put on a fuller face of makeup than previously, -. thicker eyeliner, a bolder pink lipstick and mascara. 

Slut.

Just recalling Jaehyun’s velvety voice sent excitement down your spine. You wanted to parade your body to him, make him touch you in ways you’ve never been. Most of all, you wanted him to see your efforts to impress him and call you all sorts of degrading things. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Taeyeon - the same receptionist as before - said in a small pout, “he’s currently busy. Would you-” 

Before she could complete her sentence, a rich baritone voice interrupted from the middle of the spiral staircase, “I’m free.” 

Your attention was instantaneously drawn by the man - which started to seem to be a repeating pattern with all the workers at Hotel Paradise. The man had his chestnut coloured hair neatly pushed back, every strand deliberately placed, and his half-lidded eyes were trailed on you as he walked down. He wore a simple loose white t-shirt and blue denim jeans, an outfit so simple but somehow managed to look like he had stepped straight out of an issue of Men’s Vogue. A blush creeped on your cheeks. 

“I’m free for you,” the man was quick to reach for your hand, planting a soft peck on the back of your hand, “so won’t you choose me?” 

“Johnny, you can’t-” Taeyeon began, but you had already made up your mind.

“It’s okay,” you assured her, your eyes entirely captivated by Johnny’s dark chocolate gaze, “I’ll take him.” 

Your answer widened his mischievous smile. The attention that Johnny gave you was impossible to shake, a testament to his cool charisma., Your eyes remained locked with his the entire time Taeyeon was settling the administration. You hadn’t even noticed Taeyeon speaking to you until Johnny gently tugged on your now-intertwined-with-his hand, urging you towards him. But before he could whisk you away, you managed to sneak a glance at the plaque in anticipation. Johnny Suh, Blind Fold and Anal.

The short minutes spent reaching Johnny’s room - the second room to your right - felt like complete eternity as your mind filled your imagination with explicit images. Of course, you’ve never taken part in blindfold play, much less anal. Yet that ignorance only served as fuel for your excitement. You wanted to be completely ruined at the hands of a man that knew your body and, although you had hoped for Jaehyun, Johnny seemed to fit the bill. 

Johnny barely gave you any chance to breathe the moment you walked into his room. He pushed you up against the corridor, even before the door was completely closed. His full lips met yours in a passionate kiss. Whereas Jaehyun was fervorous, Johnny took it slow. His lips moulded to yours entirely, allowing both you and himself to enjoy the initial kiss first before slipping his tongue in. His tongue swirled in your mouth, not in a fight for dominance but rather in a dance with yours. HIs kiss was soft and tender and almost romantic. You felt yourself melting into him.

Then, his big hands started wandering your body, caressing your every curve over your clothes.

“I want to show you what’s under this,” you breathed out against his lips. 

You didn’t know how or where you got your confidence from. Perhaps it was solely empowered by wearing such lingerie, perhaps some part of you really did enjoy parading in front of men, dying to be showered in compliments and praises. You were quick to slip off your unassuming clothes, as the both of you made your way onto the bed, and not even Johnny could hide his utter shock from seeing what was under your clothes.

“Wow,” he said, eyes fixed on your body as he ran his gaze up and down, “that’s definitely staying on. Damn, you look so beautiful.” It wasn’t an everyday occasion that someone dressed to impress a brothel worker.

Pink dusted your cheeks under his intense gaze. You could visibly see cracks forming in his chivalrous and gentleman facade as a more mischievous grin spread across his face. 

“On your back,” he said, “legs open.”

And you complied. Adrenaline coursed through your veins as he approached your body. His lips kissed yours, then trailed down to your jawline, then your neck to your torso before stopping just at the hem of your white panties. He adjusted himself to lay between your legs. Then, his fingers gently grazed your clothed core, the touch already enough to elicit a moan from you. 

“You’re already so wet, darling,” he murmured, pulling your panties to the side. His breath served as a cool respite against your warm core. 

His index finger gently traced against your wet folds, as he marvelled at the wetness that coated his finger, a thread of wetness spreading between his finger and where his finger was. 

“Please,” you urged him for more, your entire body aching just to be ravished. 

His index finger ran up to down along your slit, drawing the wetness upwards before lightly touching your swollen bud. Your moans encouraged him to put another finger on your clit, rubbing it in circular motions. It barely took him over a minute before he dipped both his slender fingers into you, stretching you out. His fingers were much longer than yours, hitting new spots that you’ve never felt. Lewd noises of his fingers pumping into your wet cunt filled the room. He replaced the attention on your clit with his tongue, twirling and sucking on the delicate bud of nerves. He didn’t try to rush things, instead relishing in how unravelled you became through half-lidded eyes. He watched with utmost attention how you’d buck your hips when his tongue hit a nice spot, how your fingers balled up the sheets with each methodical thrust of his fingers and how your voice got gradually louder. His other free hand managed to reach your breast, his fingers gently toying with your erect nipple through the thin lace fabric. The gentle tugs and rolling at your nipple set your body on fire as a new wave of sensitivity washed through you. 

Overwhelmed by the surge in pleasure, you could only retaliate in soft whimpers and pleas for more. Your heavenly moans spurred Johnny on; he wanted to watch you completely fall apart by his touches. It didn’t take him long before he slipped a third finger into you, this time drawing out a more primal mewl from you, an indication of your impending orgasm. With a curl of his fingers hitting your sweetest spot, you came undone. Your orgasm washed over you, resulting in your hips bucking and grinding themselves against Johnny’s face. Meanwhile, he was more focussed on lapping up the delicious gush of nectar from between your legs. 

“Now, for the other hole,” Johnny said with glee, prying himself from your body as he reached for the lube lined up with a silk eye mask by the bedside desk. 

Your eyes widened at that suggestion, and Johnny caught that. 

“First time?” 

You nodded. Fear crept into your mind at the prospect of a new experience, but it was quickly silenced by Johnny’s words.

“Don’t worry,” Johnny said, pouring an excessive amount of a clear and sweet-smelling liquid all over his fingers, “I’ll show you a good time.”

He winked as he tossed the bottle of lube back to the bedside table. You felt heat rising to your cheeks again. 

“Get on all fours for me, darling,” Johnny instructed. 

You obeyed, flipping yourself on to your elbows and knees before arching your back. He took his clean hand and caressed your bottom. Again, he adjusted your panties more, now revealing your butthole. 

“Now, just relax,” he said, his fingers spreading out the cool liquid all over your puckered hole. 

He pushed his thumb in and the foreign sensation had you gasping out loud. Now, it wasn’t painful. But it felt… different. A new feeling that you’ve never experienced. 

“Shh…” Johnny cooed, “relax.” 

You try your best to relax, and to welcome his thumb into you. 

“You’re doing so well now babygirl,” Johnny said pushing his thumb deeper in., “such a good girl, that’s it.”

And just hearing his sweet compliments made you want to follow through with this experience. The initial fear melted into eagerness and curiosity. You braced yourself for more impact. Johnny slowly started thrusting his thumb in and out and you tried to remain as relaxed as humanly possible. It took you a while but soon, you got used to the new sensation. Your squirms had begun slowly turning into soft moans. That gave Johnny the cue to push another lubed up finger in. This time, you took it in much better than the first time. The foreign sensation had begun melding with pleasure so form its own brand of delight. Still, despite your moans, Johnny didn’t try to rush things. But you weren’t willing to wait. By the time he managed to comfortably fit his third finger, you were moaning and pleading for his cock. A free hand of yours began playing with your nipple to supplement his delay. You couldn’t and didn’t want to wait anymore. 

“Please Johnny, I want your cock in me now.” 

Hearing those words were enough to get Johnny riled up. He was patient, but he wasn’t that patient. He was quick to undress, slip on a condom and retrieve the bottle of lube, pouring a copious amount all over his length. 

“Please,” you whined. You ached to be filled, you had waited over a week for this. 

He chuckled, “Alright princess. I ain’t going anywhere. But first… this.” 

He handed you a silk eye mask. 

“Put it on.” 

As if your desperation wasn’t already clear, you pulled the eye mask over your face obediently - willing to do anything that would get his dick in you. With your vision gone, it felt like you had to strain your other senses just to anticipate Johnny’s movements. Was he approaching you? Or was he teasingly watching you? You couldn’t tell. 

“No peeking.”

Just then, Johnny pulled you over the edge of the bed. He adjusted your limbs, so that your legs were tucked towards your chest, and, without a warning, lifted your body up by wrapping his arms around your body and through the underside of your thighs. His sudden action drew a yelp from you, but he was quick to whisper an apology in your ear. You’re unsure if it was the eye mask heightening your other senses but his baritone voice next to your ear sent shivers down your body. He’s careful as he slid his cock into your puckered hole, but it didn't stop the waves of almost-painlike pleasure as you stretched yourself to fit him. Moans had turned into semi-screams, still you enjoyed it. Tears were quick to prick your eyes but were immediately absorbed by the soft fabric. 

“You're doing so good, you’re taking me in so well,” Johnny continually repeated in your ear. Each word sent a small wave of pleasure right to your core. 

It took a moment for you to adjust to Johnny’s cock. His cock wasn’t as long as Jaehyun’s but his girth more than sufficiently made up for the difference. It was still quite a feat to take his entire cock in your ass, but with some time and with Johnny’s praises, you finally swallowed his whole length. 

“I’m gonna start, alright?” 

You nodded, already giddy in lust. Johnny’s thrusts started out slow; a combination of lifting you higher up in the air as well as rocking his hips into you. Again, he showed his patience gauging your response obsequiously. 

“You’re so fucking tight,” his whispers had turned into harsh groans, “You make me feel so fucking good.” 

You felt yourself melting into Johnny, the new experience completely overwhelmed you as each thrust pushed you closer and closer to the edge of something unfamiliar. Your stream of noises became increasingly strained. Pleasure overwhelmed your system so much so that you didn’t notice a new pair of hands holding your thighs. Not until you hear a delightfully familiar voice in your ear. 

“You’re such a greedy little cockslut.”

But there was barely any time to react, Jaehyun had pushed himself into your dripping wet and aching cunt. New tears sprung in your eyes at the impact. Your arms flew instinctively to the figure before you, balancing your body on the shoulders of Jaehyun. He leaned into your embrace, his head nestling in the crook of your neck as he teethed the skin below your ear. You’re almost completely certain that he’d leave bruised red and purple marks in his wake, but you didn’t have the energy to protest his doing. The combined sensation of being filled up both from the front and the back was enough to tip you over into another orgasm.  

“Wait-” Words could barely leave your lips before your body convulsed in lust-driven pleasure. Your nails dug into Jaehyun’s shoulders as your entire body quaked involuntarily. 

Johnny obliged in your protests, opting to sing praises by your right ear, “That’s right, cum for us baby. You’re doing so well princess.” 

In the other ear, Jaehyun berated you with jealous venom dripping from his words. “Did you cum from me just thrusting in? You’re such a whore. And now, I guess you like getting fucked in the ass by other guys, don’t you?” 

The mixed message from each side of your ears reignited the knot in your core. Johnny removed his length from your ass, carefully placing you back down on the bed, on your back, while Jaehyun took this transition time to ram himself into you, without much thought or concern for your recent orgasm. You enjoyed the way his cock buried so deeply within you, even more so when your walls were still clenching down tightly around Jaehyun. A new fear sprang as the orgasm ripped through your body. You weren’t used to this new side of yourself, one who took great gratification in being used and teased by the men of Hotel Paradise. Everything they did from the foreign to the familiar all felt so fucking good, you weren’t sure how much pleasure a human body could take before it broke completely. But you liked it. You were willing to test the limits.

“You liked that, didn't you? Getting fucked by two guys at once?” Jaehyun’s words made you flush with shame. “Maybe I should just call everyone in here.” 

“You’re too much, Jae,” you heard Johnny say, “she looked so pretty cumming on both our dicks. Wasn’t that why you wanted to join?” 

Jaehyun didn’t answer him. 

“Anyways,” Johnny said as he straddled your face, careful to not put his entire weight on you, “you have to agree that she looks so much better with two dicks in her, isn’t that right?” 

You felt Johnny’s cock slap against your cheek once, before a pressure against your lips. You could still smell the residual sweet smell coating his length as you took Johnny into your mouth. You struggled with it because the girth had almost completely dominated all the space in your mouth, with little to no space for airways. Oxygen quickly became a luxury as Johnny moved his hips. Your fingers dug into his thigh with one hand, hoping to adjust his cock in a manner where you could breathe. Instead, Johnny only shoved his length deeper down your throat, forcing drool and spit to gather and spill. An ache had already begun to form in your jaw, solely from accommodating Johnny.

 With both men thrusting into you, you couldn’t stop yourself from writhing in pure euphoria. There was no stopping either man, they both worked at their own pace. Jaehyun’s hips were animalistic and with vengeance, whilst Johnny’s cock slowly buried any moans into the back of your throat, opting to relish at the sight of your face stuffed with his dick. His thrusts, although not fast, were deep enough that its outline could be seen from your throat. Johnny’s free hands toyed with your nipples, which only brought you closer to another release. 

“She’s grinding her hips down like a greedy little slut,” you heard Jaehyun saying amidst pants and grunts, “I think she’s gonna cum soon.” Jaehyun flicked your swollen clit which caused you to flinch with a loud muffled moan. He laughed at your response. 

“D’you wanna cum?” Johnny asked, caressing one cheek with his hand. “Shall we cum together, darling?”

You nodded with enthusiasm. You couldn’t help it, every touch, sensation, painful or not, felt good to you. 

You hit your orgasm, first of the three. Whining and groaning and writhing in utter pleasure against the two men, but none of them stopped through your mind-numbing orgasm. Instead, Jaehyun thrusted deeper and harder into your spasming core, taking complete advantage of the tightness to chase his own orgasm. His orgasm came a few seconds after yours. Not much longer after that, Johnny’s breathing started to get increasingly shallower. With one last deep thrust, pinning your head into the bed, warmth slayed down your throat in intervals as Johnny rode out his orgasm in your throat. You choked on his cum, tightening around his cock in the process, which caused Johnny to bury his cock deeper into your throat. It wasn’t until Jaehyun pointed out that you needed to breathe that Johnny flopped off of you and onto the bed, beside you.

You thought it was finally over when Jaehyun slipped the eye mask off your face. The sudden brightness of the room blinded you for a moment and it took several blinks for your eyes to adjust. From white blinding vision to a soft glow, you finally laid eyes on the lovely face of Jaehyun. His eyes were dark, swirling with more than lust and it seemed he wasn’t done with you just yet. 

His fingers, soft but firm, directed your gaze to the full body mirror at a corner of the room, and you saw, for the first time, how the two men had completely messed you up. 

Dark blueish black streaks from your mascara ran down your face, drool had coated the entire sides of your lips and dripped all the way down your chin and your lipstick had shifted to a smear that the joker would be envious of. Worse of all, you saw in the mirror your desire to be completely subservient to the whims of the men in the room. 

“Look at how pretty my cumslut looks,” Jaehyun said, his smirk widening at the sight in the mirror. 

The difference between Jaehyun and Johnny became more obvious as Jaehyun yanked off your panties: where Johnny was romantic and enjoyed the art of dressing in lingerie, Jaehyun was more practical. He pushed you forward, so that your arse was up. There was no teasing, no need for pleading as Jaehyun buried himself deep within your cunt. You watched as desperation contorted your face. Jaehyun held your hips firm with one hand, and another squeezed the fullness of your butt, marvelling in your figure before thrusting into you at a brutal pace.

You locked eyes with him in the mirror, his eyes too fixated on the pornographic scene playing out. You found a new warmth swirling at the pits of your core, it was almost voyeuristic watching the mirror. You caught Johnny laying further back on the bed and although he didn’t attempt touching you, you see him stroking his cock at the sight before him. Your brain felt entirely too foggy and overrun by lewd desires that you weren’t even able to construct a coherent thought. Pure animalistic mewls and moans escaped your lips, the sight of you reduced to a puddle of mess served as aphrodisiac.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed since you entered the room, only that now your legs were trembling, numb and weak. You could barely feel your toes when another orgasm ripped through your system, this one serving as your limit. Your vision hazy and your mind swaying, you fell forward but Jaehyun held you firm. His orgasm, too, came an instant later. 

You collapsed on the bed, mind blank and completely drained of every ounce of energy, and shortly after drifted into a long slumber. 

The next time you opened your eyes, you had been tucked into the bed, your sullied lingerie swapped out for a comfy bathrobe and laying by your side was Jaehyun. 

“Morning love.” 

You smiled, basking in his attention. “Morning.”

[korraofthereef]

BASED OFF THIS ASK

warnings — smut , p in v , jealousy trope

18+ MDNI

Bruce Wayne had always been a busy man. As much as he tried to make time for you, there were always pressing matters that demanded his attention. Tonight was no different.

You sat in the corner of the lavish gala, watching as Bruce engaged in polite conversation with a stunning woman. Her laughter echoed across the room, and the way she casually touched his arm made your stomach churn.

Why did he have to be so charming? You knew it was part of the persona, part of being Gotham’s most eligible bachelor, but it didn’t make it any easier to swallow.

He glanced your way, a brief flicker of acknowledgment in his eyes. You forced a smile, hoping it didn’t look as strained as it felt. When Bruce finally managed to remove himself from the conversation and make his way over to you, you tried to keep your voice steady.

“Having fun?” you asked, aiming for nonchalance.

“Just business,” he replied, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “You know how it is.”

“Business with someone who looks like she walked out of a fashion magazine?” You regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth, but it was too late to take them back.

Bruce raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Are you jealous?”

You looked away, fiddling with the hem of your dress. “No, of course not. It’s just... I’m not blind, Bruce.”

He gently lifted your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You have nothing to worry about. You’re the only one I want.”

His sincerity was disarming, and the jealousy that had been gnawing at you began to fade. “Promise?”

“Promise,” he said, pulling you into a reassuring embrace.

Bruce spent the rest of that night’s evening with his arm wrapped firmly around your waist, letting everyone with eyes take in the scene for themself.

But once the guests had gone and Wayne manor was left to the two of you, Bruce had you face down on his fancy leather count, dress bunched up to your waist with your knees tucked under you.

His hot breath fanned your cheek but it was hard to notice with the constant sensation of Bruce Wayne pounding into you like there wasn’t just an old couple occupying this couch not even twenty minutes ago.

“No one could rip me away from you, you know why, hun?” His gravel filled voice scratched the ear of yours facing the air.

All you could manage was a slight whine—and boy did it make Bruce feel pride swell in his chest.

“Because no person on the planet could be this perfect for me. . . This pliant—because my woman knows me better than anyone.” And god bless anyone who tried to deny it.

With his hips increasing in speed at the same time your moans grew in pitch, an ending so beautiful to your night that you couldn’t have pictures it better yourself.

He filled you so good, he always did. Laying in the aftershocks of your orgasm with Bruce already pulling up his pants and grabbing ahold of your shoulder to pull you up the couch, the billionaire sat in the space where your face previously called home and placed you head in his muscle riddled lap.

“There’s no need to be jealous, hun. Only my girl will do it for me.”

[asnowfern]

Everything is fine when your hand is next to mine

A soft nessian drabble because that is all my completely exhausted being has the energy for.

WC: 743, Modern AU setting

The dread of realisation rose in Nesta with the increasing strength of the tidal waves. The ferry that transported them to the island was nothing more than a floating speck, helpless against the vast body of tumultuous water.

It was a short ride to the resort island that housed their team retreat: not even a mere hour.

While prone to often bouts of terrible nausea, Nesta’s seasickness had never devolved into the realms of vomiting. So she never found a need to medicate herself, choosing instead to rely on time trusted practice of a light meal and comfortable clothes that gave her chest and abdomen ample breathing room.

Though she had still hoped when she spotted the charcoal threat of cumulonimbus clouds in the faraway distance that it would wait the hour, not striking down its wrath until they had safely docked at shore. But alas, it was not to be - the waves grew just a little taller with each push and pull, the speed at which the ferry climbed and fell with the waves a jumbled inconsistent mess.

Nesta’s stomach lurched at the next descent and she squeezed her eyes shut, her mouth pursed into the slightest of an oval, pushing out a slow steady stream of air. Her meditative habits kicked in on instinct.

I am the rock against which-

Oh, for goodness sake. She couldn’t even complete the sentence without her abdomen clenching at the mere thought.

“Hey, Nes,” the voice dripping in pure swagger greeted as the cheap leather seat grumbled at the sudden weight.

Her brows knitted on its accord, annoyed. Nesta kept her eyes closed in pure refusal to acknowledge the business development executive. Maybe if she stayed quiet long enough, he would go away.

He didn’t.

He said nothing for a while, letting the little squeaks of leather alert her of his continued presence.

“Nes?”

“Now’s not the time, Cassian.” She sighed wearily, her jaw clenched as her belly threatened to push acidic bile up her throat. She took a shallow breath in and released a long shuddering exhale, forcing it under her control.

One, two, in.

One, two, out.

“You ok?”

One, two, in.

“I’m fine.”

One, two, out.

One, two, in.

“You don’t look fine.”

Silver blue eyes flew open as she whirled on him, snapping with the exhale, “Would you just leave me alone?”

It was uncalled for. It was rude but Nesta refused to backpedal even as something within her chastised her for chewing him off for no good reason. She ignored the voice and levelled a withering gaze at slightly widen hazel eyes, pretending not to notice the flash of hurt in them.

He slipped away when the moment broke, brushing her off with a wry smile that masked any other emotions, “I’ll be back later.”

And Nesta was alone again.

She fished her phone out of her bag to take note of the time - another thirty minutes to go, and sighed.

Leaning back into the seats, her knuckles turned white as her fingers gripped onto its handles. She forced it loose in hopes of loosening her tightening stomach. Her eyes stuttered shut and resumed her control of gated entry of air into her lungs.

Warm rough fingertips gently enveloped the back of her palms, rousing her from the fitful sleep she hadn’t realised she had fallen into. Dazed eyes drifted to the paper cup he extended to her, nothing but soft understanding on that ruggedly handsome face. Nesta accepted it wordlessly with a slight downward jerk of her chin, surprised at the heat from its papered surface. It was beyond her how he managed to find any hot drinks on this small transport ferry.

Cassian smiled and settled back into the seat next to her. Nesta lifted the edge of the cup to her lips, cautiously sipping its hot content. Immediately, a warmth spread in her chest and stomach. The gentle bitterness of the oolong tea soothed the churning.

Shifting her grip of the drinking receptacle to one hand, she slipped slender fingers over broad ones and soft palm over the back of the much larger hand.

“Thank you.”

His hand moved under hers, flipping so that their hands are clasped together. With the smallest of a smile gracing her lips, her shoulders relaxed into the seat and she let the comforting heat of his palm and the soothing presence to tie her through for the rest of the ride.

[escapingrealtiylovinginsanity]

Will Halstead: Roommate Part 2  

This series is going to be really light and playful. 

Will looked at the boxes piled in the living room and was already regretting his decision to let you live with him and that was before you walked in holding a leash. A leash connected to a huge hairy white dog. “No,” You looked up at him with no shame, “Absolutely not.” 

“Will, you already agreed.” 

“Yeah, reluctantly and under distress.” You rolled your eyes at his melodramatic words. “And that was before I knew you had a small horse. Which you didn’t mention.” 

“Well, I thought if you knew, you would be...more hesitant to agree to me moving in.” 

“I would have told you no.”  

You shrugged smiling guiltily at him, “Yeah or that.” Will scrubbed his hands down his face shaking his head. “Oh, come on Halstead. It’s not like she will even be your responsibility. She is completely housetrained and doesn’t chew anything.” He eyed her wearily as she started sniffing his new tennis shoes. “You have to at least like dogs, you're not a monster.”  

Will had begrudgingly agreed to let you and your miniature horse stay. “But I’m not taking care of her. And she’s not allowed in my room or on the couch.” You had nodded, giving him your assurances. You were trying to be as agreeable as possible. You didn’t want to make waves. This was your only option for housing.  

It had to work. 

You didn’t like the thought of locking your dog up while you were out of the house. You knew she was a good girl. She wouldn’t chew or break anything. You couldn’t guarantee she wouldn’t jump on the furniture so you were stuck. It made your stomach churn with guilt and forced you to move her water and food bowls into your room. 

You stuck to the new routine the next week, trying to make up for locking her up in your room with extra walks. If that meant dragging yourself out after dark. Things started to change gradually. You are so consumed with how busy you are that you barely notice it.  

First, it's little. Will letting her out of your room when you are gone- “I didn’t want to listen to her whine.” Will sneaked her scraps of food when he was cooking or he couldn’t finish. You had noticed white hair on the couch and started compulsively vacuuming in hopes that Will wouldn’t notice. Shooing her off whenever she jumped on. It was stressful and a pain in the ass but you managed. Will seemed to be over his irritation with his unwanted visitor. 

At least you had thought so. 

You were searching the apartment in a panic and looking for your precious ball of fur. You had been gone too long and had rushed home to take her on a potty break. You felt guilty about how busy you were. She had been lethargic and you usually found her asleep on your bed when you got home. Now she was gone. 

The front door opens and you swing around to see a fluff of white fur calmly entering, tongue hangout and to the side. An exhausted but happy dog. Will trailed behind her leash clipped to his waist. He was glistening in sweat from his run. “Hey, what are you doing?”  

You slump in relief feeling your exhaustion return tenfold. “I was looking for her!” He looks down at the dog for a moment and back at you. His expression is like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.  

“Oh, right-well we went for a jog.” 

“You went for a jog,” You echo blankly, “With my dog- that you hate...” It takes longer than it should for your sluggish brain to process the new information. “Wait- I knew it! You don’t hate her.” He scoffs undoing the leash from her harness. 

“I tolerate her.” He corrects flatly but the twitch at the corner of his lips betrays him. You smile even bigger catching him in his lie. 

“Aw, Will- you big softie. How long have you been taking her on runs?” The exhaustion would explain her lethargic-like symptoms. Then another thought occurred to you as you followed him into the kitchen. “You're the one who’s been letting her on the couch, aren’t you?” 

“A few weeks, and I don’t let her- she just does it.”  

“But you don’t make her get off.” You shake your head laughing, “And I have been cleaning that damn couch every day.” Will meets your gaze across the bar top. “Just admit you like her Will.” 

Will sighs heavily, “I don’t hate her.”        

[youss-97]

Shattered Promises

You and Jungkook had always been the perfect match, or at least that’s what everyone said. Friends, family, even strangers who saw you together commented on how lucky you were to have found each other. And you believed it too. From the moment you met, there had been a spark, something undeniable that made you think, This is it. This is the person I want to spend my life with.

The two of you had been through so much together. Late-night talks that lasted until the early morning, spontaneous road trips, quiet nights spent in each other’s arms—every moment felt like a piece of a beautiful mosaic that you were carefully crafting together. Jungkook was your everything, and you were his. Or so you thought.

It started with small things, things you dismissed at first. Jungkook had always been busy with his career, but lately, it felt like he was drifting further and further away. There were more missed dates, more last-minute cancellations. He was always tired, always distracted. But whenever you asked him about it, he reassured you with that same soft smile, the one that had always melted your heart.

“I’m just a bit stressed with work,” he would say, pulling you close and kissing your forehead. “But don’t worry, we’re fine. I love you.”

And you believed him. Of course, you did. Why wouldn’t you? Jungkook had never given you a reason to doubt him before.

But then came the late nights. The texts that went unanswered, the calls that went straight to voicemail. You tried to be understanding. You knew how demanding his job was, how much pressure he was under. You told yourself it was just a rough patch, something every couple goes through. But deep down, a nagging feeling started to grow, a cold, creeping doubt that you tried desperately to ignore.

It all came crashing down one night when you decided to surprise him at the studio. It was something you used to do often—bring him dinner, sit with him while he worked, just enjoying each other’s company in the quiet moments between takes. But it had been a while since you’d done that, and you missed him. You missed the way things used to be.

When you arrived, the building was mostly empty, the hallways silent except for the faint sound of music coming from the studio. You smiled to yourself, thinking how happy he’d be to see you, to take a break and eat the dinner you’d carefully prepared.

But as you approached the door to the studio, you heard something that made your heart stop. Laughter. A woman’s laughter, soft and intimate, followed by Jungkook’s voice, low and familiar, but in a way that made your stomach churn with unease.

You paused, your hand hovering over the door handle, a thousand thoughts racing through your mind. You told yourself you were being paranoid, that there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for this. But that doubt, that awful, gnawing doubt, wouldn’t go away.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed the door open. The sight that greeted you shattered your world.

Jungkook was there, sitting on the couch, his arm wrapped around someone else. A woman you recognized, someone he had mentioned in passing as a colleague, nothing more. But the way they were looking at each other, the way his fingers were gently brushing her hair away from her face, told you everything you needed to know.

Your heart felt like it had been ripped from your chest, the pain so intense you could hardly breathe. “Jungkook?” you managed to choke out, your voice trembling with disbelief.

He looked up, his eyes widening in shock and guilt. The woman beside him quickly pulled away, her expression shifting to one of discomfort and embarrassment. But you barely noticed her. Your focus was entirely on Jungkook, on the way he suddenly seemed so small, so uncertain, as if he didn’t know what to say, how to explain what you were seeing.

“I can explain,” he started, his voice faltering as he stood up, taking a step toward you. “It’s not what it looks like.”

But you could see the truth in his eyes, the guilt and shame that told you everything you needed to know. He didn’t have to say it. The betrayal was there, plain as day, and it broke you in a way you never thought possible.

“Why?” was all you could manage, your voice barely above a whisper. “Why would you do this?”

Jungkook’s face crumpled, and he reached out to you, but you stepped back, your mind spinning with a mixture of anger, hurt, and disbelief. “I… I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he said, his voice desperate. “It just… it just happened. I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” you repeated, the word tasting bitter in your mouth. “You’re sorry? After everything we’ve been through, everything we’ve built together, this is how it ends? With an apology?”

He had no words, nothing that could take away the pain he had caused. The room felt like it was closing in on you, the walls too tight, too suffocating. You turned and walked out, ignoring his calls for you to stop, to let him explain.

But what was there to explain? The trust, the love, everything you thought you had—it was all shattered, lying in pieces at your feet. And as you walked away from the studio, from him, you knew there was no going back. The person you loved had betrayed you in the worst possible way, and no apology could ever mend the cracks that had formed in your heart.

As you stepped out into the night, the cold air hitting your face, you realized that the person you had trusted the most was the one who had hurt you the deepest. And that was a wound that would take a long time to heal—if it ever did.

You walked away from the studio, your mind a storm of emotions—anger, sadness, confusion. The city lights blurred as tears welled up in your eyes, but you kept moving forward, desperate to put as much distance between you and Jungkook as possible. Each step felt heavier than the last, like you were sinking into the ground with the weight of your heartbreak.

Jungkook had always been your safe place, the one person who made you feel like everything would be okay no matter what life threw at you. But now, that safety net was gone, ripped away by the very person you had trusted the most. You couldn’t wrap your mind around it. How could he do this? How could he throw away everything you had for… what? A fleeting moment of weakness?

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, but you ignored it, knowing it was likely him trying to reach you. You couldn’t talk to him right now, couldn’t even think about facing him. All you could do was keep walking, hoping the motion would somehow help you make sense of the chaos in your head.

You ended up at a small park, one you and Jungkook had visited countless times before. The memories of those times felt like salt in an open wound now, but you found yourself drawn to it anyway. You sank onto a bench, the cold metal seeping through your coat, and finally let the tears fall.

You weren’t sure how long you sat there, letting the tears flow until your eyes burned and your chest ached from the force of your sobs. Eventually, the tears slowed, leaving you feeling hollow and exhausted. But the pain was still there, a dull, constant ache in your chest that wouldn’t go away.

The thoughts kept circling in your mind—how you had trusted him, how you had believed in him, how you had given him your whole heart. You had been so sure of him, so convinced that what you had was unbreakable. But here you were, shattered and alone, while the man you loved was likely still trying to figure out what to say to you, how to fix something that couldn’t be fixed.

As the night wore on, you realized you couldn’t stay in the park forever. You had to face reality, even if it felt like the hardest thing you’d ever done. You took a deep breath, pulling out your phone. Several missed calls from Jungkook, as expected, and a few texts that you couldn’t bring yourself to read just yet. But there was also a missed call from a friend, one who had always been there for you, no matter what.

Without thinking too much about it, you called them back, and the moment they answered, the sound of their voice broke the dam inside you again. You didn’t even have to explain—just hearing the concern in their voice, the way they immediately offered to come to you, made you feel a little less alone.

You waited on the bench until they arrived, the cold air biting into your skin, but you barely felt it. When they pulled up, you got into the car without a word, and they drove you back to your place, the silence between you heavy but comforting in its own way.

Back at your apartment, your friend didn’t push you to talk, didn’t ask for details. They just sat with you, offering quiet support as you finally let out everything you had been holding in. The anger, the betrayal, the confusion—it all poured out in a torrent of words, each one cutting you open a little more, but somehow also making it easier to breathe.

“I just don’t understand how he could do this,” you said finally, your voice raw from crying. “How could he just throw it all away like that?”

Your friend sighed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “I don’t know,” they admitted. “Sometimes people make mistakes, big ones, and they hurt the people they care about. It doesn’t make it right, and it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. But you don’t have to figure it all out right now.”

You nodded, leaning into them, feeling a small measure of comfort in their presence. You still felt like you were drowning in the aftermath of what had happened, but at least you weren’t completely alone.

The days that followed were some of the hardest you’d ever experienced. Jungkook kept trying to reach out, sending more texts, leaving voicemails that you couldn’t bring yourself to listen to. Each one felt like a reminder of the wound that had been torn open, a wound that was still too fresh, too raw to even think about healing.

You stayed with your friend for a while, needing the distance from everything that reminded you of him. They were patient, giving you space when you needed it and listening when you wanted to talk. Slowly, you started to piece yourself back together, though the hurt never really went away.

It was a week before you finally agreed to see Jungkook again. He had asked to talk, to explain, and though part of you wanted to refuse, another part of you knew you needed closure, even if it wouldn’t bring the relief you were hoping for.

The meeting was awkward, tense, filled with long silences as he struggled to find the right words. He looked worn out, his eyes shadowed with guilt and regret, but that didn’t soften the anger you still felt, the betrayal that lingered just beneath the surface.

“I messed up,” he said, his voice breaking the silence. “I know that. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I need you to know how sorry I am.”

You nodded, but you didn’t trust yourself to speak, not yet.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he continued, his voice thick with emotion. “I was stupid, and I let things get out of hand. I let my guard down when I shouldn’t have. I know that doesn’t make it better, but I need you to know that it was a mistake, the worst mistake I’ve ever made.”

You looked at him, really looked at him, and saw the sincerity in his eyes, the regret that seemed to weigh on him like a physical burden. But even so, the damage was done. The trust that had once been the foundation of your relationship was gone, shattered into pieces that you weren’t sure could ever be put back together.

“I believe that you’re sorry,” you said finally, your voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside you. “But I don’t know if that’s enough. You broke something, Jungkook. You broke us.”

He winced at your words, his head hanging low as he nodded. “I know. And I hate myself for it. I wish I could take it all back, but I can’t.”

Silence settled between you again, heavy and suffocating. There were so many things you wanted to say, so many questions you wanted to ask, but none of them seemed to matter anymore. What mattered was that the person you had once trusted with your whole heart had betrayed that trust, and there was no easy way to come back from that.

“I need time,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “Time to figure out where to go from here. I don’t know if I can forgive you, Jungkook. I don’t know if I want to.”

He nodded, his eyes filled with a sadness that mirrored your own. “I understand. Take all the time you need. I’ll be here, waiting, if you ever want to talk.”

With that, you stood up, feeling the weight of your decision settle over you. It wasn’t the closure you had hoped for, but it was something. It was a step forward, even if the path ahead was uncertain.

As you walked away, you felt a strange sense of relief, mingled with the ache that still throbbed in your chest. The road to healing would be long, and you didn’t know if you and Jungkook would ever find your way back to each other. But for now, you were choosing yourself, choosing to put your heart first.

And maybe, someday, that would be enough.

[writing-ca-ira]

HASARDER — PART 1

YJ/Teen Titans Dick Grayson x Reader

Prologue << MASTERLIST >> Part 2

Dick Grayson is no stranger to death, but that doesn’t make it any harder to deal with. As it turns out, however, the grieving process for you would prove to take an interesting twist when Tim calls him with some shocking news.

The reader is gender neutral.

Contains: civilian reader, mentions of death (your death), mentions of a dead body (your dead body), spoilers: you’re actually alive… kinda, I’m probably forgetting something.

“Does the hurt ever go away?”

“I wish I could say yes… but it will get better over time. For you. That, I can promise.”

Dick felt his grip on the picture frame get weaker and weaker. Had he not snapped out of his thoughts a moment sooner, it would’ve slipped out of his hands and clattered on the floor, shattering the glass in the process. The mere thought of that happening caused his stomach to churn, guilt eating away at his heart despite managing to avoid that outcome. To ensure the safety of the picture frame (well, more importantly, the photo within it), he gingerly placed it back in its rightful place on top of his nightstand, right next to his old digital alarm clock and bedside lamp.

You keep thinking..."If only I'd done something differently,” Bruce’s voice echoed in his head. “If only I could've...warned them." But there isn't anything you could've done. There isn't anything either of us could've done.

That conversation happened years ago; over a decade by now. Back when Dick was still processing the death of his parents, and when Bruce was there to help him through it. Despite the consolation those words provided in the moment, he never expected them to carry such weight throughout his life.

There isn’t anything you could’ve done.

His eyes drifted back to the picture frame. The photo within it was taken 4 years ago, during his sophomore year of high school at Gotham High. He still remembers the crisp autumn air against his skin, the red and orange leaves scattered on the ground, and the chocolate flavored milkshake he was halfway through. There was a giant smile on his face, his blue eyes sparkling with such joy and vibrancy.

It’s because you were right next to him.

The photo caught you mid-laugh, your eyes crinkling with happiness. You had haphazardly thrown up a peace sign with one hand while holding your own drink in the other. Though you were too busy laughing to notice, Dick had snaked his arm behind your head to give you bunny ears, which caused you to playfully throw leaves at him when you found out afterwards.

Thinking about that day still causes a fond smile to tug at his lips. Wally had to bail on their plans that day due to a date he forgot about with Artemis, so Dick found himself in the Cave to hand out with you instead. That’s how you two ended up walking around Happy Harbor — your idea, if he recalls correctly — exploring random shops and goofing around outside.

Had that really been 4 years ago?

Whatever warmness that flooded his chest while reminiscing on the past was immediately extinguished by the coldness of reality. It’s been 2 years without you now. The anniversary of your death was a week and a half ago, which was when he found himself so filled with grief that he could barely even get out of bed. It took all of the senior members of the team to rouse him out of his depressive episode; much like the year before.

You were gone. He still wasn’t used to saying that. Even with the time that’s passed since you died, he can feel his heart drop whenever he thinks about it, as though he’s learning about your death for the first time. The tears still wouldn’t stop, and neither would the nights filled with feverish dreams of your face.

If only I could’ve done something differently.

Of course, Bruce was right all those years ago; there wasn’t anything he could’ve done. Much like with his parents, Jason, and now the recently deceased Tula (all whom he still has nightmares of to this day), there was logically nothing he could’ve done to save you. He was all the way in Santa Prisca leading a covert mission when he received a distress call from your phone in Happy Harbor. All he could do was make sure someone was en route to your coordinates — which led to the Happy Harbor boardwalk — and pray you were safe.

But by the time Aquagirl and Tempest got there, it was too late.

Learning about what happened to you was hard for Dick. The ringing in his ears blocked out every sound except for his own shaky breaths, and he could barely even stand without feeling dizzy. But he managed to fight through his state of shock and despair to listen to the report. You were caught in a domestic dispute gone deadly at the Happy Harbor health clinic. A man stormed into the clinic to take back his kid from his ex-wife, who was there for a check-up. Things escalated, and the man shot and killed his wife, threatening the doctor in the room if she didn’t let his son go with him.

You happened to be in the next room over. Hearing the gunshot must’ve made you spring into action, making a 911 call along with the distress call to the team. The doctor that was with the son said that you snuck up behind the man and lunged at him, yelling at her and the kid to run. There was signs of a struggle in the room, but you unfortunately weren’t the one to walk out of there alive.

The man was neutralized by police around 3 to 4 minutes after your estimated time of death. If you hadn’t had your scuffle with him, it’s possible that he could’ve grabbed his son and escaped before the cops arrived. Your face was on the news after that, journalists proclaiming you to be a hero that sacrificed their life.

Except you should’ve never had to in the first place.

It’s not fair, Dick decided. Why did you, the one who wasn’t supposed to be risking their life, have to die because of some other people’s marital problems?! You weren’t even a hero; you were just a normal civilian going about your daily life. So why did you have to die like this?!

Even thinking about it caused his eyes to sting from frustrated tears, his jaw tightening as his fists clenched at his sides. If that guy wasn’t shot down by the cops, lord only knows what Dick would’ve done to him. The fact that he couldn’t even see justice for your death — your murder — get delivered also feeds into his anger. God, why couldn’t he just be there to at least get justice for you himself?!

Justice and revenge aren’t the same thing.

God, he hated it when Bruce was right.

There was nothing he could’ve done. There was nothing anyone could’ve done. Everything happened to fast; from the man barging into the clinic, to the shouting between him and his ex-wife, to the gunshot, to you calling 911 and sneaking up on the man, to the struggle that happened for a solid minute or so, to the gunshot that ultimately ended your life. All of that happened in under 10 minutes, according to the timeline, and that just wasn’t enough time for someone to come help you.

“There isn’t anything you could’ve done,” he had to solemnly tell Tula and Garth, who were both blaming themselves for not being there. Tula Zeta’d in from Atlantis, while Garth had to go on foot from Mount Justice. They were the only ones who weren’t on a mission at the time; the only ones who could respond to your distress call. But no matter how fast they moved, they just couldn’t be there in time.

A buzzing noise snapped him out of his thoughts. It caused enough surprise to him that his shoulders jolted upwards, his heart completely skipping a beat. He soon realized that it was his phone buzzing. Someone was calling him.

Shakily reaching for his phone (which was unceremoniously tossed onto his bed), he held it closer to his face to read the caller ID. Ah, Tim. It was a bit unusual for his successor to give him a call (he was a bit too socially awkward for that), but anytime he did, it would make Dick feel special. In fact, maybe a conversation with Tim would help clear his head a bit.

He cleared his throat as a small test for his voice, then hit accept and held the phone up to his ear. “Hey, Tim. What’s up?”

“Dick—! I… it’s—” Panic was evident in Tim’s voice. Hearing his shaky words on the other end caused Dick’s brows to furrow. At first, he thought that there was something going on with Batman and Robin, but he remembered that it was Tim who called Dick, and not Robin who called Nightwing. So, did that mean something happened at the Manor?

“Tim,” Dick softly began, though with slight urgency in his tone, “is everything okay?”

“They’re… I’m— I don’t…” an uneven puff of air could be heard before the teen tried again. “I’m really sorry, Dick, I didn’t mean to poke around!! It’s just that Ba— Br— B had been spending so much time away from the Manor and the Cave, and I wanted to know what he was doing, a-and I used the Bat Computer and found the file about everything, and— a-and…!!”

Dick had to raise his voice a bit to interject. “Tim!! Tim, calm down… what are you talking about? What’s wrong?”

For a moment, all Dick got was a shuddery breath as a reply. Before he could repeat his question, however, Tim finally responded. “Don’t… don’t get your hopes up, alright? Promise me you won’t get your hopes up.”

“… Okay,” Dick decided after a moment of hesitation. “I won’t.”

There was a long pause. Anticipation and apprehension was building up in Dick’s chest, his heart thumping against his rib cage. It seemed as though Tim was trying to carefully choose his words; trying to find the best way possible to break whatever news he had.

But nothing in the world could prepare Dick for the next few words that came out of Tim’s mouth. “There’s another (Y/N).”

Everything in Dick’s body stopped working.

From his heart to his mind, his hearing to his vision, Dick felt as though he was shutting down. He almost let the phone slip out of his hands entirely, the blood in his veins feeling cold as ice and causing his limbs to tremble. Even trying to get air in his lungs was a tough task, despite his mouth hanging open. The room was spinning for him, and the ringing in his ears almost blocked out Tim’s panicked ramblings entirely.

There’s another (Y/N).

What…

What did he mean by that?

“I-I know how close they are to you, Dick,” Tim practically wailed. “I know how close they are to the team… I didn’t know that Bruce was hiding this from you— I-I-I don’t even know if I should’ve told you… oh, god, Dick… is Bruce going to fire me—?”

Dick swallowed thickly, hoping to get rid of the lump in his throat. Despite his tongue feeling like sand, he spoke up anyway. “What do you mean by another (Y/N)?”

Tim sputtered out something completely incomprehensible to Dick. It was hard to tell if the poor kid was scared of what he knows, scared of Bruce finding out, or scared of both. Either way, Dick knew that he wasn’t going to learn anything from Tim in this state. He bit the inside of his cheek before dawning the most imperative voice he can muster in the moment.

“Tim,” he lowly chided. “Give me a report.”

That got Tim to his frantic rambling of nonsense. Getting him to think of this like a mission debriefing would calm him down, Dick figured. And, from the deep breaths the former Robin could hear on the other end, he knew he was right.

“Someone was taken in by the police a week ago,” Tim started, his cracking voice taking a factual tone. “Said their name was (Y/N) (L/N). Cops ran that name through their database and found (Y/N)’s death certificate. This (Y/N) was confused, ‘n started saying weird stuff about… something called the Titans.”

“Titans,” Dick echoed. It was meant to be a question, but came out more as a statement.

Tim hummed. “Titans. A… supposed team of young superheroes, o-or something. I don’t know, the report didn’t really…” he trailed off, possibly realizing he was rambling again. “Tests were ran. Their DNA is an exact match to the real (Y/N)— but when they… they checked (Y/N)’s grave a-a couple of days ago…”

The thought of someone digging up your grave made him clench his teeth together. They went through with something like that and he didn’t even know? Who gave them permission?!

Probably Batman, he bitterly thought.

“They’re still there, Dick,” said Tim. “(Y/N)’s body is still there. But this other (Y/N) is an exact copy..!!”

Dick’s freehand was digging into the flesh of his other arm. “Cadmus?”

“Isn’t involved.”

“How do you know for sure?”

“No biological trace of Cadmus’ synthetic enhancements in this (Y/N)’s bloodstream. No psychic trace of Genomorphs in their mind, either. This (Y/N)…” Tim struggled with his words for a moment, “is natural. Genuine.”

Genuine. Dick couldn’t believe what he was hearing. There was another version of you walking this earth, supposedly confused about your own death, and Batman was planning to hide this from him? No, even worse, Bruce was planning to his this from him?!

No biological trace… no psychic trace…

All of these people to run tests, and yet he still didn’t know?

“Send me the file,” he monotonously demanded.

There was a small pause on the other end before Tim’s fragile voice spoke up. “What… are you going to do?”

“… I don’t know,” Dick answered, a tired sigh escaping his lips. It was an honest answer; what was he supposed to do after learning this? There was a (Y/N) alive out there, but not his (Y/N)…

“Are…” Tim trailed off, then tried again, “are you mad at me?”

“No—!!” Dick’s answer was quick. When he heard the sharp intake of breath on the other line, he realized that he might’ve spooked the poor boy, so he took on a softer tone. “No, Tim. It was good that you… brought this to my attention. Why would I be mad at you?”

“Bruce is going to be mad,” Tim practically whispered. “I shouldn’t of gone through his stuff… and… he would’ve wanted me to keep this all from you…”

Dick took a few moments to think of his response. “Well, you made the right choice telling me. He shouldn’t be keeping secrets like this in the first place.” Definitely not secrets that revolve around you…

“… ‘M sending the file now.” Distant clicking noises could be heard through the call, and then Tim followed up with, “I’m… sorry that Bruce didn’t let you know.”

“It’s not your fault, Tim,” was Dick’s soft reply. “He’s always been like that. Thinking it would protect us, or something.”

Protect us. The words were like acid on Dick’s tongue. Using secrets as protection always made Dick feel sick to his stomach. Looking at the past couple of years, Bruce’s secrets have done anything but protect others. They drove Dick away from him, they put Jason six feet under, and now…

God, why wasn’t Dick the first person to know about this other (Y/N)?

Maybe it was selfish of him to think that. He wasn’t your only friend, so the rest of the Team had just as much as a right to know as he did. But he still should’ve known. He should’ve been involved with the investigation; he knows you better than anyone. And Bruce knows this.

“You… gonna be okay?”

Tim’s voice pulled him back to reality. With a weak cough, Dick wet his lips and said, “yeah. I’ll be alright. Just gonna read over the file for myself and… figure out what to do from there.” An awkward pause, then he continued. “Thank you for this, Tim. Call me if anything else comes up.”

“Yeah… yeah, of course. I-I will.”

And, with that, the call ended.

His hand dropped to his side, the phone in his hand almost slipping from his grip. This couldn’t be real. None of this could be real. You were dead, yet… you were back. Someone with your face was out there talking about some other team… the Titans, and he was just now finding out about this.

After a week, he bitterly recalled.

Taking a final glance at the picture frame, his eyes scanned over your face. This new supposed (Y/N) wasn’t you. It couldn’t be you. The memory of your dull, lifeless face at the morgue still haunts him to this day, causing a chill to run up his spine and his hair to stand on end. Dick knows what death looks like, and you were, without a doubt, dead.

So, who was masquerading as his dead friend?

The answer seemed to be simple; you were masquerading as his dead friend. But… not you. Even if your DNA was an exact match, and Cadmus didn’t have any involvement, whoever you were, you weren’t his (Y/N). He’d like to believe that his (Y/N) would demand to see him, to assure him that you were still alive. You wouldn’t have let him go an entire week without knowing, leaving him to mourn someone that was still alive. As far as he concerned, this new (Y/N) was a stranger.

But, that just led him back to square one; who was this stranger?

Guess I’m about to find out.

[nyoomfruits]

im sorry but 80 green-eyed epiphany just screams max about charlessss w 58 accidental eavesdropping maybe??

once again sorry this is so late ;-; still slowly going through all the prompts that are still in my inbox!!

80. green-eyed epiphany + 58. accidental eavesdropping

After the race, after a truly disappointing P6 that should've been a win, and after all the media obligations are done, Max goes to find Charles. Or, well. He doesn’t realize that’s what he’s doing until he does find him, leaning against the wall of the Ferrari motorhome, slightly hidden from view.

He takes a step forward, towards Charles, planning on asking him about that overtake on lap 36, about if he had struggled with the apex on turn 12 as well, when he hears another voice, one decidedly not Charles.

“Your tire management was immaculate,” whoever says, and then another guy comes into view as he leans his arm next to Charles’s head against the motorhome, moving ever so slightly into Charles’s space, and into Max’s view.

The guy is objectively hot. Classic tall, dark, and handsome, with black hair and broad shoulders that are clad in a leather jacket that would look tacky on anyone else but on him just looks effortlessly cool. Max frowns. The comment seems a bit on the nose, if anything. Almost a bit tacky.

But Charles. Charles honest to god blushes at the guy’s words, stuttering out a thank you as he stares into his eyes, seemingly mesmerized.

And that’s. That’s a problem.

The guy keeps talking, compliments Charles on his race pace and asks him about the overtake he did on Max on lap 36, and Max’s frown deepens as Charles seems to hang on to his every word, responding enthusiastically to every question.

Max can’t help but note how good Charles looks, race suit zipped down to his waist, hanging down to reveal his tight fireproofs underneath, his hair sticking in every which direction, his face still a little flushed from the race. But the way he’s looking at the guy, with an almost love struck expression on his face, has something ugly churn in Max’s gut.

He realizes, all of a sudden, why this is bothering him so much.

He wants to be the one talking to Charles right now, leaning into his space, making him blush, making him laugh, smiling at him the way that guy is right now, leaning in to-

Max feels his stomach churn again as the guy leans closer and closer, with the clear intention to kiss Charles. And for a second there, it looks like Charles is going to kiss him back.

But then suddenly Charles glances up, and makes direct eye contact with Max. Max, feeling like a deer caught in the headlights, abruptly turns around and starts walking away, even though he has no idea where he is going.

Charles comes after him, because of course Charles comes after him. He grabs Max’s arm, forces him to turn around. Max frowns at him, but lets himself be stopped anyway, doesn’t rip his arm from Charles’s grip.

“Hey,” Charles says. “Hey, I was looking for you.”

Max raises an eyebrow, can’t help the venom in his voice as he says, “Are you sure? Because you looked pretty busy.”

Charles flushes, awkwardly rubs the back of his head. “Listen, what you just saw, that wasn’t. I’m not. Well, I mean, I uh-“

“Don’t sweat it,” Max says, effectively cutting off Charles’s rambling. “I’m not going to tell anyone. That’s what you are worried about, right?” Charles blinks at him. “I mean, if anything I kind of get it,” Max says, feeling like he needs to reassure Charles somehow. “He’s not really my type, but I guess he uh. Is kind of hot? So I’d see why you’d uh. Want to kiss him.” Max internally cringes at his words, and for the first time in his entire F1 career, he desperately wishes for a reporter to show up to save them from this trainwreck of a conversation.

Charles’s face goes to a complicated range of emotion. “He, uh, looked like you.” He eventually settles on, voice soft and a little hesitant. “That’s why. That’s why I was going to kiss him. Because he looked like you.”

Max frowns, desperately trying to process the information he’s receiving. “What are you talking about? He looked nothing like me.” He says, thinking back to tall, dark, and handsome as he leaned over Charles, and then quickly waving the memory away again.

Charles shakes his head. “You didn’t- It was the eyes. They were the same shade of blue. And the way he was talking to me, about racing, he was so blunt about it, too. For a moment I felt like I could pretend. That it was you.”

“Oh,” Max says, eyes a little wide. “Oh,” he repeats, a little more urgently.

“Yeah?” Charles asks, a little soft, a little uncertain, and Max has never wanted to kiss anyone more. But he can’t, not right now, not right here, when the paddock is still so busy an anyone could spot them.

“Yeah,” he says, and it has to be enough, for now.

(They’ll have plenty of time to talk more, later, in the privacy of a hotel room. They’ll have time for other things then, too. But for now, there’s just the blinding smile on Charles’s face, and the soft brush of his knuckles against Max’s cheek, before they go their separate ways.)