Steve and Nancy carry him out of the upside down, with the help of a sobbing Robin and a screaming Dustin. They get him out. They get him safe. They get him to the hospital.
The government clears his name. They clean up Hawkins as best they can. All while Eddie is in a coma. The doctors don't know if he'll ever wake up. Steve sits next to Wayne everyday. Waiting. They talk. Get close.
And almost 3 months later. Eddie wakes up. He smiles at Wayne, reaches for his hand with tears in his eyes. And once they're done hugging, his eyes land on steve. Full of confusion, his hands gripping Wayne's shirt tightly, his head shaking.
He doesn't remember.
He remembers meeting Chrissy after school, taking her back to the trailer. And then nothing. Steve feels his chest ache, feels tears coming. He excuses himself quickly, and then he runs.
He hears about Eddie, through Dustin. He helps Eddie around school now, helps with his classes too. Eddie is different now. Quieter. Dustin tells him this. Tells him he really only seems like old Eddie when they meet for hellfire.
But Dustin also tells him that he's pretty sure Eddie thinks maybe he did kill Chrissy. Because people talk. The town talks. And no amount of hush money can make people less vindictive and awful. Can't make the way they call him a freak with more venom now than they ever did before, go away.
But the thing is. Eddie still sees so much. About people. About how they're feeling. If they're upset, and sometimes why they are. He's observant in a way that Steve has never been able to get used too.
And Dustin drags Steve and Robin and Nancy back into Eddie's orbit. Willing their closeness to bring their Eddie back. He gets closer with Dustin and Lucas than before. Even apologizes to Lucas unprompted, about how harsh he was about hellfire that day. Asks for his sports schedule to make sure they don't overlap again.
And Steve's chest keeps aching. Because Eddie has learned from the things he can't even fucking remember.
Dustin drags Eddie around them all. And Steve can't help the way he looks at him. Can't help the way he watches him. But every now and then. He finds Eddie watching him back. Both of them startling and looking away.
But Steve always glances back at Eddie, has to keep his eyes on him. He'd spent so much time in that hospital room, watching Eddie sleep, and not move, and be still and silent. And he'd hated it.
So he watches him. Watches him move. Watches him smile. Watches him hold up a move case to Dustin, a funny voice floating from behind it. It makes Dustin laugh and Steve smile. And Eddie sees it. Looks up and locks eyes with Steve as he watches them goof around the store, and he doesn't look away.
But steve does. He has too. Because there's no recognition behind Eddie's eyes. Not the way Steve wants there to be.
Three months later Lucas and Dustin show up at his door, looking worried. It's late friday night. Steve had to work so he couldn't pick them up from hellfire, but they were both still clutching their dnd manuals to their chests.
Steve doesn't even have time to open his mouth before dustin says,
"He's remembering." And Steve's heart flutters but he stays as calm as possible, lets the boys in.
"What do you mean he's remembering?" Steve asks, all of them falling into chairs and couches in his living room.
"The new campaign. It's got.... things. The bats. The vines. It's even got a creepy house." Lucas says, slowly, like he's afraid to tell Steve. Steve frowns, nods.
"There's other stuff too. There's a few characters, npcs, they're a lot like you and Robin. There's one that could be Nancy, with a stretch. But your's is... playing a big part." Dustin grimaces when he says it, and Steve's cheeks burn, maybe Dustin sees more than he lets on.
"What? What kinda part? And does he know? That it's me? That it's...that it's real?" Steve asks, his hands rubbing over his jeans roughly, his palms damp as he presses them against his thigh.
"We don't think so. Not really. But he gets this look in his eyes sometimes. When certain things happen. He'll look at us, me and Dustin, and it's like..." Lucas shakes his head, like he doesn't know how to describe it.
"It's like he's challenging us. To say something. To like- confirm the things he's saying? Like he knows that we know something. That we know it's real." Dustin swallows, hard.
"And then it passes. And he's back to normal DM Eddie. Just, doing his normal shit. It's- it's weird. There's something there. And we thought... maybe..." Lucas trails off, glances at Steve. His stomach drops.
"You thought what?" He asks, but he knows.
"We thought maybe you could talk to him." Dustin says, a cringy smile on his face.
"Why me?" Steve asks, but he's already thinking about what he'll say to Eddie. How he's supposed to talk about this.
"Because he seems fixated on you. Not in a weird way. Just... you're in the campaign. A lot. And he asked Dustin about you last week." Lucas says, looking to Dustin so he can be out of Steve's attention.
"He what?" Steve asks, eyes locking on Dustin, who glares at Lucas.
"It was nothing bad!!!" Dustin screeches, holds his hands up.
"He just... asked if you and Nancy were still dating. Had this confused look on his face, like he was trying to peice something together." Dustin shrugs, like it's nothing. Like his words didn't just completely shift Steve's world.
"I'll do it."
He goes to Eddie's the next day. Knows he'll be home. Wayne's been taking weekends off to spend time with him.
Wayne opens the door, smiles softly when he sees it's steve.
"Hey kid. Was startin to wonder if I'd be seeing you again." He says, his voice soft, but happy. Not accusing like Steve had been worried he might be. Steve sighs, smiles back.
"Hey Wayne. I uh... I was wondering if I could talk to Eddie? If he's around?" He shrugs, pretends they both don't know that Eddie doesn't leave the house much anymore. Wayne looks at him for a moment, really looks at him, and then he's smiling again and motioning for Steve to come inside.
"He's in his room. I'm gonna go for a walk. I won't be far. Holler if you need me." Wayne says, and steps through the door. Leaving Steve standing alone. He takes a deep breath and walks down the hall.
Eddie's sitting in bed, scribbling in a notebook in his lap. Steve clears his throat and Eddie's head snaps up. He sees Steve and shuts the notebook quickly, rearranges himself, sits up a bit straighter. But there's no look of confusion this time. Steve raises his hand, wiggles his fingers, hovering in the doorway to the bedroom.
"Hey. Can I come in?" He asks, and he's nearly whispering, not sure why.
"Hey." Eddie says, nods and waves for Steve to come into his room. He does. And then he stands awkwardly in the middle of Eddie's room, not sure what to do or where to go from here. Eddie snorts, and Steve's eyes jump to his face, find him smirking, just a little, his eyes full of amusement.
"You can sit if you want." Eddie taps his foot against the bed twice before pulling his knees up to his chest, resting his chin on them and watching Steve as he sits across from him after kicking his shoes off. He sits cross legged, looking at Eddie look at him.
"So Dustin wanted me to talk to you." He says, apropos of nothing. Good start Steve. Eddie's eyebrows jump on his head.
"Dustin..." Eddie trails off, watching Steve. Steve nods, slowly. Can't seem to gage whether Eddie is fucking with him, or waiting to see just how much Steve will divulge without being prompted.
"About the new campaign. And some of the... stuff. You've been putting in it." He frowns, but Eddie's eyes flash dark for a moment, and Steve's sure this is the look the boys had mentioned. And like they said, it's gone in a flash.
"What about it?" Eddie asks, his voice a touch higher. Steve sighs, rubs at his face. He really should have brought Robin, or Nancy. He shouldn't be the one doing this. He pushes his hands through his hair and then finds Eddie staring at him.
"Can I ask you a question?" Eddie asks, his voice quiet. Steve blinks at him.
"It's a weird question. And I don't" he pauses, his face scrunching, like he's in pain.
"You can ask me. Whatever it is. It's okay." Steve assures him, has to curl his fingers into his pants to keep from reaching out to Eddie, wanting to sooth him. Eddie frowns, is silent for a moment before he looks at Steve.
"Were we-" he stops, shakes his head, his fingers pressing into his comforter by his foot.
"Were we... something?" He's frowning again, his head shaking gently as his eyes jump around and then land on Steve, he looks like he might be about to cry.
"Uhh... what do you mean by something?" Steve asks slowly. Eddie wraps his arms around his knees again, tucks his feet closer, presses his lips to his knee before he takes a breath.
"I keep having these dreams." He says, eyes on the bed between them.
"And you're in them. And it just feels..." he shakes his head again, sniffs, and Steve can't help it. He moves forward, curls his fingers around Eddie's ankle. Eddie sucks in a shakey breath, his eyes snapping to Steve.
"Feels like what?" Steve asks, softly. Eddie stares, his eyes watery.
"It feels so real. And then I see you. Here. With Dustin. Or at family video. And it just..." he shakes his head again,
"It just feels like I'm missing something. Until I see you. And then it feels... like I've found it. But.... not? Because we aren't. I mean we weren't.... were we?" He's frowning now, tears falling, and he looks so confused, and hurt. Steve licks his lips, shakes his head, slowly, and almost crumbles when Eddie nods, quickly, and looks away, pulls his ankle away from Steve.
"Yeah. No I figured. Sorry. I shouldn't have said anything." Eddie looks so small, curls around himself, not looking at Steve.
"Eddie it's-" he doesn't know what to say, or how to say it. So he bites his lip, remembers the way Eddie smiled up at him in that fucking RV and decides to tell him the truth.
"We weren't. No. But I- I wanted to be. I just realized it too late." Steve watches as Eddie turns to him, slowly, his eyes wide. Steve shrugs, give him a sad smile.
"You- you wanted- with me?" Eddie's voice is high, disbelieving. Steve nods.
"Yeah. But I didn't make it back in time. And then you were dying. And then you didn't remember and I-" his voice breaks, tears blurring his vision, burning his throat, he clears it, tries again.
"I just thought it would be better to let you go. Get back to normal. I didn't wanna... push you. You needed to heal. So I just..." Steve moves his hand in front of him, gesturing to nothing, hoping Eddie understands.
"You stayed away." And of course Eddie does, get it. Steve smiles, huffs, shakes his head and wipes at his face. And then he sees Eddie's notebook pushed into view. Eddie holding it out to him.
"I didn't forget. Not really." Eddie says, nodding to the notebook, holding it until Steve takes it. He moves to open it, checks with Eddie first, looking at him, Eddie nods.
Steve flips the first page open and his breath catches. A tornado of demo bats fills the page. It's followed by pages of vines. Pages of Chrissy. Pages of Dustin, and Nancy, and Robin, Max and Erica.
All of them. Some of them in the RV. Some of them riding bikes. All of them littered with drawings of Steve. Steve in the boathouse, Steve being strangled by bats, Steve with blood in his mouth from killing said bats. Steve wrapped in bandages, and Steve wearing Eddie's vest. Pages and pages and pages of Steve.
He looks back, sees Eddie watching him.
"I've been dreaming about you. I dreamed about you in the hospital too. And as good as my imagination is, it's never been this good." He smiles a little.
"It just seemed so unreal. I mean... Steve Harrington? It didn't make sense." He almost laughs then, a breathy little sound as he shakes his head again. Steve snorts.
"Yeah. Trust me. I was just as surprised as you. Eddie Munson wasn't really something I was prepared for." Steve admits, smiles at Eddie.
"So you... what you like me?" Eddie asks, nose scrunching, rolling his eyes a bit.
"Yeah. Little bit. I just didn't get the chance to see if you liked me back." Steve shrugs. Eddie laughs then, and it sounds maniacal.
"What?" Steve huffs, his chest feeling lighter already, just the sound of Eddie's laugh after so long making him wanna smile.
"Dude. I've had an unfortunate crush on you since freshman year." Eddie sighs, rolls his eyes. Steve bites his lips, feeling himself going red.
"Really?" Steve asks, his hand inching back toward Eddie's ankle.
"Yeah. Never thought I'd get to even be on your radar. But then these dreams..." he picks up the notebook and drops it again. Steve laughs.
"You were on my radar. We had classes together." Steve mumbles, his ears feeling hot.
"Was I? Really? You seemed pretty wrapped around any girl who smiled at you." Eddie says, teasing, shoving his toes at Steve, pushing them under his thigh. Steve grabs his ankle again, squeezes.
"You were. I just... didn't know it... back then. Didn't know what I was feeling." He shakes his head, frowning. They sit in silence for awhile, and then Eddie taps the notebook again.
"All this stuff is real then? The bats, and the vines, and that creepy house? This all happened?" He sounds unsure again. Steve nods slowly, widens his eyes, stares at Eddie's comforter.
"All real." Steve confirms.
"Could you-" Eddie starts, his hand reaching out, fingers curling around Steve's wrist. Steve blinks at him.
"Would you tell me? Tell me all the stuff I don't remember?" Eddie asks, his fingers squeezing.
"Like a story?" Steve asks, his free hand moving to cover Eddie's. Eddie nods.
"Yeah. I remember a lot I think, I just need... I need you to tell me what order? Or like... how they happened. So I can peice it together." His brow furrows, like he's not sure. Steve smiles, moves his hand up Eddie’s arm, cups his cheek and smiles when Eddie leans into the touch.
"I'll tell you. I'll tell you everything." Steve breathes between them, his thumb soothing over Eddie's cheek. Eddie's eyes flutter, he leans closer, Steve leans forward too, like he's being pulled by a magnet. But he feels like he should have been here months ago, like maybe he's been waiting for this moment his whole life.
"Steve?" Eddie whispers his name between them, Steve can feel his breath on his lips.
"Yeah?" Steve asks, his eyes darting between Eddie's lips and his eyes.
"Have we done this before?" He asks, his voice small. Steve smiles, bumps his nose into Eddie's, his head shaking slightly.
"No. This is new." Steve breathes, his fingers moving into the hair at the nape of Eddie neck.
"Oh. Good. I like it." Eddie laughs, a small thing, he sounds giddy. Steve huffs a laugh too, pulls Eddie just a fraction closer.
"I like it too Ed's." He breathes the words against Eddie's lips and closes the space. Smiling into the kiss when Eddie hums happily, his hands grabbing at Steve's shirt.
They lay in Eddie's bed for the rest of the day, Steve telling him everything. All about Chrissy, and the upside down, and El and Max, all about Vecna. He tells him everything. All of it. And tries not to make it too much about how Eddie got under his skin. Won him over. Made him fall, hard, for this weird nerdy metal head.
And mostly it works, or Steve thinks so, until the moment he's finished talking. Done answering Eddie's questions, there are several. And Eddie pokes him in the ribs and teases.
"You've got it bad for me huh?" Wiggling his fingers and making Steve squirm. Steve grabs his hands, rolls them over and presses Eddie into the matress. His hands move up Eddie’s wrists, lace their fingers together as Eddie blinks up at him, owlish eyes locked on him.
"Yeah. I've got it bad Munson. That okay with you?" Eddie's mouth opens and Steve dives in, doesn't wait for his answer.
But he doesn't need too. Eddie's dreams had been full of Steve, just like Steve's had been full of him.
Monster Mayhem: Lion's Pride [Part 3]
Gender Neutral Reader x Leona Kingscholar
Word Count: 6.2k
Summary: Your new job as a Full Time Royal Therapist does not pay nearly as well as you'd like. Or, Leona is more of a problem child than he would ever admit, but you're surprisingly okay at dealing with that.
[PART 1][PART 2] [PART 3]
Sometimes you felt like you hardly knew what it meant to be a functional person, living a comfortable life on the fringes of society. So in comparison, trying to think of what it meant to be an actual prince, ruling over all of said society was something you literally could not comprehend no matter how hard you tried to wrap your head around it.
“If you’re a Prince, what were you doing in a hole?” you asked, because you had far too many questions and concerns, and this one at least seemed easy enough to address. And also because you were genuinely pretty curious.
The newly dubbed ‘Leona’ twitched against your back and you felt the low rumble of his snarl work its way from the depths of his gut all the way up through his chest and out his mouth.
“Holy shit,” Ace wheezed. “Screw this. I’m getting out of here before I wind up implicated as an accessory in your murder.”
And so your trusty friend abandoned you to the wolves lions?—darting away so quickly he always forget his bag, shoes, and everything else in the process.
You waved after him as he departed, knowing full well that he’d wind up stumbling back within the week, maybe two at most. He always did, no matter how much he complained about your Present Company. Plain old ‘murder’ was actually one of his more polite accusations. When he’d run into your Hunter friend the first time, Ace had gone on a wildly incoherent rant about how he was going to find your corpse strung up in a tree like some weird, ritual, sacrifice. And then that had devolved into something-something cannibalism or other. The visiting Hunter had just thrown his head back and laughed, positively enamored with the grisliness of it all. Ace had vanished for almost an entire month after that encounter, but he did come back—glaring up at you with a miserable pout like you were the one who’d gone and fucked off for thirty whole days.
Leona snorted and you felt the puff of breath against the back of your neck.
“Coward,” he grumbled, though he didn’t sound particularly displeased about your friend’s sudden departure.
“Fear lets us be brave,” you responded, wise as a sage. Or maybe an old frog in a puddle.
“Yeah?” he intoned, rolling his eyes. “And when’s that little rat ever been brave?”
“There’s always tomorrow,” you chirped, and that snort turned into something dangerously close to a chuckle. Which—gasp!—how dare such a pleasant sound fall from the lips of someone so obstinately determined to be otherwise! You grinned at the low tones of it, only for the snickering to cut off sharply in his throat once he’d realized what he was doing. And then of course he shoved you forward and out of his lap with a great amount of indignant snarling.
You laid there for a few minutes—face down in the sun-warmed grass and laughing quietly about just how ridiculous this stupid Lion was, before finally sitting up with a pleasant stretch. He could put on airs all he liked, you knew there was kernel of something far less angsty and murderous buried at the heart of him.
“So,” you hummed, lazily making your way back to your feet. “What exactly have I done to draw the realm’s Prince to my doorstep?” You squinted at him suspiciously. “You’re not here about the fairy gate thing, are you? Because that was actually an accident.”
“The what?” he frowned, brow pinched in confusion.
You waved him off. “Ah, nothing, nothing.”
Something in his jaw twitched, like now he was going to push the subject out of principle of you being shifty. But he just sighed and brought a hand up to pinch at the bridge of his nose.
“I need your help,” he said finally. Just as crabby as the first time he’d asked, if perhaps just a touch less imperious.
You arched a brow. “I think you’ve mentioned that already, yes.”
The Lion stared you down with a slowly deepening scowl, and you stared back with a smile as placid and unmoved as the shallow pond you’d nearly drowned Ace in not an hour before.
“If I apologize, you’ll help me?” he asked after a long moment, the question turning sharp at the end on a bitten of growl.
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” you hummed back and he crossed his arms stubbornly over his chest.
“I’m sorry,” he said, with all the pleasantry of someone undergoing a root canal. And all the sincerity of Ace swearing that this was the last time he’d get caught evading the tax man, promise.
You sighed, feeling a bit cheated. But you hadn’t really stipulated anything beyond those two little words leaving his mouth, so if anything, that was on you.
“Alright,” you huffed. “What is it you need help with?”
The Lion glared at you suspiciously for a long moment—glowing eyes narrowed into slits and tail twitching back and forth like he was swatting flies. Finally, he sighed and lifted his hands out in front of him with a pointed flex.
“It’s not supposed to be like this,” he frowned sourly, wrists twisting to display the pointed claws tipping his fingers. “I’m not supposed to get stuck in between.”
Your eyes traced the fluffy tufts of his round ears, the black-tipped tail swishing irritably at his hind, and allowed yourself a melancholy sort of huff.
“But you look good like this,” you pointed out sadly. Because he really, truly, did. Leona without his squishy lion ears would just be… grumpy. Miserable, and angular, and angry. Nothing soft worth coddling at all.
“That’s not the point!” he snapped, baring his overlarge canines at you. There was a darker cast along his cheekbones that seemed to be making a valiant effort to crawl all the way up into his fringe. “And don’t fucking say that!”
You frowned. One second this stupid dick wanted to be praised to the Heavens and back! Practically swanning about, demanding you bow down and acknowledge his blatant superiority. But, oh no. Apparently your meager half-sentence masquerading as a compliment was too much for his delicate, princely, sensibilities.
“Fine,” you griped. “You’re ugly.”
He growled—low and rumbling—and if he was anymore of a cat you’d say you could see his hackles raising in indignation. But before he could launch into another vicious, verbal, evisceration of your person, you cleared your throat loudly in an attempt to get him back on track.
“What do you mean by ‘stuck in between?’”
He sneered down at you testily for a moment before reaching up to pinch at the bridge of his nose again and letting out a put-upon sort of sigh that was not at all indicative of the fact that he was the one asking you for help.
“The Shift. When you found me in that pit, I should have been able to Shift between that form and this one without issue,” he frowned, brow tugging down tight with something a bit more disquieted than his usual, flat, annoyance. “The iron was a problem, but once I was out of the trap, it should have been fine. I’ve dealt with cursed snares like this before, and the effects have never lingered as long as this one has.”
You blinked owlishly. That did sound… fairly unpleasant. And honestly, if you were in his position you’d also be at least a little concerned that something else was at play. But, still, all that being said—
“I’m sorry,” you frowned, more or less genuine. Perhaps leaning a bit harder into less.“But I don’t understand how that has anything to do with me.”
“You were down there with me,” he argued. “You dismantled the trap.”
Uh, yeah. By messing with bits that looked breakable until they broke. Not exactly a high-level intellectual pursuit.
You didn’t say that, of course. Because after a few days watching you scuttle about your homestead like a particularly vocal lizard in the dirt, you were sure he already thought you were stupid enough without you outright admitting to it. Nevertheless, the Lion observed your zip-lipped silence with an ever-deepening scowl.
“You took it apart,” he tried again, nearly a growl.
“Yes,” you said with a nod.
“You know how you did it,” he continued, firm. At your lack of affirmative, he pushed again. “You know. I watched you do it!”
You raised your hand nervously and made a little so-so tilting motion.
Anyone less refined would no doubt have had their head in their hands at this point, but Leona just curled his lip at you and looked like he was fighting valiantly not to put your own very silly head through a wall.
“It was charmed,” he spat. “Bound up with talismans, and cursed down to its very moldings. That isn’t something any random farmer could walk up and break.”
“Oh,” you blinked, taken aback, and struggled to recall if there had been anything so obviously enchanted about the trap you’d fiddled into bits. “Was it?”
And head had officially met hands. He ground his clawed fingers into his temples like you were a headache that with enough determination and massaging he may somehow be able to will away.
“Couldn’t you go just home if this is such a big problem?” you asked, still genuinely baffled at it all. “Get help from your family? I mean, you’re a Prin—”
“No,” he interrupted, emerald eyes gone glacier cold.
You frowned, as unimpressed by his prickliness as you usually were. But something in you was hesitant to prod at whatever it was that had managed to tug a feral rage so tightly across his face—like drawing a shade over a window until the entire home was cloaked in shadow, or slipping away behind a carved mask too heavy to ever wear comfortably. It was an expression so sharp and so bitter that if you hadn’t only just yesterday watched this stubborn man lounge about in the sun as your chickens hopped all over him like he was the world’s most carnivorous jungle gym, you wouldn’t ever have known that they could be the same person at all.
“Alright,” you shrugged, and some of that angry, hunched, defensiveness eased into confusion.
“Hah?” he frowned.
“Alright,” you said again. “We’ll figure it out here.” He glared over at you balefully, and you waved off the obvious retort on the tip of his tongue about something-something-you have no idea what you’re doing-something-something-dangerous risks and lifelong consequences-blablabla. “I have a friend who would know a lot more about those kinds of traps and talismans that I do. He could help, probably.”
“Probably?” he scoffed. Though when he rolled his eyes, they weren’t quite so hate filled—lids hooded with a familiar, begrudging sort of irritation rather than outright malice.
“He’s a bit of an enigma,” you explained—wiggling your fingers in a little, sparkly, dance to emphasize the, well, enigmatic part.
Another huff. But amidst that grumpy bellyaching, you watched those fluffy ears of his slowly perk back up atop his head, and his tail swish leisurely behind him. The Lion certainly didn’t look happy (but did he ever? So was that really a fair comparison?), but he definitely seemed like he’d thawed into something less ‘frigid dead of winter’ and more ‘unpleasantly nippy spring morning.’
“Weirder than you, herbivore?” he sniffed, looking down his nose at you and crossing his arms loosely over his chest. “I find that hard to believe.”
Normally you would too. But, well…
“He’s charming,” you chirped pleasantly, and Leona’s face twisted up like you’d served him a bowl of rancid yogurt.
That night you composed a letter to your dearest Hunter friend. You thanked him for bringing you the White Moor Stag, elaborated a bit on the new marinade you’d been experimenting with, and then ended the whole thing with a polite plea for his aid in deconstructing the mechanisms of a magical trap you’d encountered. You bribed one of your two carrier pigeons with some snacks and watched it fly off into the unknown with a little, cream-colored envelope tied to its foot. Message talismans were much simpler and far more convenient, but the Hunter always seemed to appreciate the personal touch of postal birds.
Leona glared at you from the window, and made some dramatic swipe at your pigeon like he meant to knock it out of the air. The poor bird tottered about like an overfilled water balloon—jiggling and wriggling in its roundness before eventually righting itself and continuing on into the sky with a warbled coo coo.
“Don’t be rude,” you huffed at him.
“I can’t believe you still won’t let me in,” he sneered from beneath the fluff of that blanket you’d gifted him. “I apologized.”
“Yes, but you actually have to mean it,” you explained, not unkindly, as he prowled just beyond the glass. “But we’re making progress!” you beamed. “That’s something! Maybe you’ll make it in here within the next five years, hmm?”
“Or I could just wipe out the entirety of your ridiculous dirt farm now,” he threatened, a bit of that sandy magic swirling sinisterly along his fingers.
“You certainly could, your highness,” you agreed easily. His lip curled unpleasantly, but that glowing, gritty, arcana faded away and he didn’t move from where he’d tucked himself up under the duvet.
After another solid fifteen minutes of his pissy glowering and barbed insults, you pointedly unclipped the ties on your curtains and let them fall shut so that his ridiculous pouting was hidden away behind the thin, cotton, mess of poorly stitched flowers and herbs.
(You did leave a nice dinner plate on the ledge before that, with extra portions of meat and a neatly frosted cookie for dessert. Because as much as your day had been a bit rough, you had a feeling his melancholy extended far beyond being left out in the dark for another evening.)
The next morning, your doddering pigeon returned with an elegantly bound scroll—all embellished with golden filagree and tied up in a neat, crimson, bow.
“Why does this freak call you ‘mon cher ami,’” Leona sniffed, tongue curling awkwardly over the unfamiliar words.
You sighed and debated snatching the letter back, but all that would probably culminate in was the paper in tatters and a smug beastman lording his superior letter-wrangling skills over your head like a trophy.
“It’s just one of his little ticks,” you explained with a shrug. “I told you—he’s charming.”
“Ah, yes,” Leona drawled, tracing a claw along the parchment’s edge with a soft shhhhhft. A raised, white, line cut across the paper’s surface like the beginnings of a wound. “Waxing poetic nonsense in a foreign language. Rambling on about all kinds of useless fucking garbage. Charming.”
“You,” you snipped, reaching out to smack at his tightening grip before he could rend the poor correspondence to bits, “are not one to talk about ‘charming.’”
“Oh?” he scoffed. He maneuvered around your tutting to hold the letter over your head. Typical. When you leaned forward to try and wrangle it back, Leona leaned in closer—eyes going hooded and lips curling into a smug little smirk that promised all sorts of trouble. “Haven’t had any complaints about that before. Who’d be saying otherwise?”
“The person you left stranded at the bottom of a pit, you inglorious oaf,” you griped. His ears immediately swiveled to pin flat against the top of his head, and you used the distraction of his indignation to finally snatch back your prize. “Besides,” you huffed, straightening out some of the new wrinkles. “Not very Prince-like, is it? A real prince would have swept in to save the idiot in distress. Sword drawn, banners flying,” you sighed, a bit too besotted with your own imaginings. “Why did you have to be such a dick, huh? Ruined my fantasies for the rest of my life.”
“And what?” Leona snapped. “Some rogue bastard sending you cursive garbage does it for you?”
“Better than being left for dead in a hole after saving their life,” you smiled—perfectly, poisonously, pleasant.
Leona rumbled something indiscernible under his breath and turned to glare petulantly off across your garden.
“Besides,” you hummed, looking over the letter. “There’s more important things. Like this—right here. Do you know what a self-bored stone is? He’s thinking maybe there was a process like that with the iron shackles. Or maybe something to do with seeping the components in herbs… Hmm…”
“Whatever,” Leona scoffed. “I’ll try whatever it takes to fix this shit.”
You clapped him amiably on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit, tête de noeud!”
“The fuck did you just call me?!”
“Poetic nonsense,” you chirped, and Leona looked half ready to drop you back into the hole where he’d found you.
The first attempt to aid the Lion Prince in his conundrum didn’t go particularly well.
You’d tried to work off of the whole ‘overlap with a self-bored stone’ theory, but all that really amounted to was you gesturing like an over-serious crossing guard for him to walk under every low hanging branch, every arch, beneath the stunted beams of the chicken coop. You dangled rocks from strings and waved around your little creations like slightly more dangerous pompoms.
Penelope clucked irritably when one of the pebbles fell with a plunk into her nest, and Leona frowned up at you from where the wayward chicken had firmly situated herself in his lap.
“How was any of that supposed to help?”
You drew a blank and promised to try something new tomorrow.
The next day you tried herbs. The Hunter had listed off quite a few that were known to cause lingering issues with magical creatures, and you harvested the lot of them from your garden with ease. You held them up to Leona’s face one by one, brow furrowed in concentration, as you waited for… something.
“How is this any better than the rocks?” he complained.
You pushed the bright, butter-yellow, blossoms of some Saint John’s Wort under his nose until he sneezed and shoved you away with a slew of indignant threats to your person.
The following few days were spent perusing your meager library. You carted every book you owned on magic, and binding rituals, and rune smithing out into the yard. Leona looked over at the slowly growing pile of tomes with a truly unimpressed scowl.
“You could have just invited me inside,” he griped, rolling his eyes. He was splayed out in the grass at your side, his head tossed lazily across your lap after he’d complained that he needed at least some leverage to see what you were trying to read.
“Nice try,” you hummed, reaching for your page of hastily scribbled notes. “But you’re not getting off without a genuine apology that easy.”
A week passed in this fashion, with you attempting to string together more and more ludicrous ideas—throwing everything you had at the wall and hoping something, anything, would stick. But Leona’s ears stayed tufted and round. That tail seemed to only grow more twitchy, his claws longer and sharper.
You sent the Hunter another letter and waited anxiously for a reply. When it arrived the next morning, Leona snatched it from your pigeon before you’d even made it out your front door. It was a miserable sort of day—pouring rain and with nothing but the grey cloud cover overhead to color the world.
He read it over once, twice, before dropping it to the ground. You could see the tendons twitching along his jaw, could practically hear his molars grinding in his frustration.
You plucked the note from the grass and looked it over carefully.
‘Mon ami, while I am loathe to address this, perhaps it is not the make of this trap at all that is causing such a vexation? Is there any chance that rather than this being a lingering malady, that this friend of yours was simply unable to overcome the initial curse in the first place?’
You glanced back up at Leona, who was intermittently clenching his fists at his sides. You could see the harsh indentations from where his claws were digging into the skin of his palms.
‘Sometimes such things just happen, je crains. The flesh may be willing, but often the spirit is weak. You mentioned this Roi du Leon has a powerful family he may turn to for assistance. Certainly one of them may be strong enough to overcome this curse for him, even if he perhaps is not.’
“Of course it’s all because I’m a fuck up,” Leona snarled. Some of that spitting, sandy, magic of his seeped into the air. It bit at the rain like an overeager dog. You could see it dancing along his skin—fighting to pull his features one way or another.
“He didn’t say that,” you pointed out gently. “And even if you were, there’s nothing wrong with needing help sometimes. Your family—"
“—Would rather I keeled over dead and stopped sullying my brother’s perfect fucking reputation!” he snapped. “Heir to the King’s Roar,” he scoffed. “Stupid. I was never going to be a king to begin with. And even if I had been born first, they would have deposed me to put their flawless, favorite, golden boy on the throne anyways.”
That... That was a lot. You stared at the pacing Lion with wide eyes—unsure how to help, unsure if any attempts to do so would only make this worse. This was—this was so above your ‘happy, homey, hermit’ paygrade.
“Of course this is all because of me,” he hissed, that roiling, angry, arcana coiling around him like curdled milk. The pupils in his eyes flickered oddly from round to thin-cut, hard, lines. Beastly. “Of course it was because I wasn’t good enough.”
“Leona,” you tried, as gentle as you could be.
The Prince threw his head back and laughed. And laughed, and laughed.
“I should have known!” he cackled, borderline hysterical. “I should have fucking known!”
“Leona—” you tried again, reaching out a hand.
Only to be immediately knocked on your ass by an explosion of magic.
You’d heard of self-destruction—of implosion. The arcane wonders of the world were a wily and unyielding mistress. While creatures like Leona who were so naturally steeped in ancient magics and sorcery could control that beast more adeptly than some little mortal like you, it didn’t make them any less susceptible to its dangers. If anything, they had it worse. It was like sitting in a shallow stream versus wading out into a roaring ocean. So much more opportunity, such a higher aptitude for greatness, but far too easy to drown beneath the churning tides of it all.
The inky, geometric, swirls along his arms pulsed like a heartbeat. They crawled along his skin and traced black patterns into his veins. Even you could feel the horrible, dark, stickiness of it—as the magic ate him alive. His face twisted back and forth between human and animal, and you watched him contort and snarl under the weight of it before turning on you with a vicious roar.
The first wave of magic seared the ground, leaving nothing but strange, grey, sand in its wake. The more he snapped and clawed wildly at anything and everything, the more that dusty desert spread. You managed to hop out of the way of most of it—sparing a single, sad, thought for all the poor plants you’d worked so hard to cultivate dying a miserable, grainy, death.
The next arc of magic shot straight from his clawed fingers, and it managed to catch the flesh of your forearm. It was sharper than any dagger or sword that you’d ever had the pleasure of accidentally nicking yourself with, and it tore its way down your arm like a raging beast, leaving an eerie, tacky, bubbling mess in its wake. And ouch did it hurt—like someone was taking a fistful of coarse sand and rubbing it into the open wound. You ground your teeth against the strange, gnawing, sensation and hastily wrapped a bit of torn fabric around the weeping gash to keep it a bit more contained. You waited for the worst of it to pass, for that initial bite to fade into a more manageable throb. But it didn’t. It just got sharper and tighter, hotter and hotter. For a moment it felt like your skin was crackling—like firewood popping and splitting beneath the weight of a blaze. From across the field, Leona made a noise like a hurricane given voice, and you bit back a groan.
‘Oh come on,’ you hissed to yourself. ‘Not now, please.’
And while you’d been mostly referring to the Lion losing another brick of his sanity fort, your wound seemed to pulse at the command—a sensation not unlike the soft drone of the wards carved deep into the support beams of your dilapidated home, and an impression of words tingling along your nerves without any real shape or form. ‘Alright. Later then.’ Like a breath of wind along your fingertips. That pulsing doubled back, and the wrap you’d hurriedly tied around your forearm hummed low with gentle arcana.
And then the cracking stopped. Just like that. Like it’d given up on eating you alive and decided to head home early for the day.
Huh, you though a bit dazedly, before hurriedly ducking out of the way of another swipe.
You clutched your still smarting but at least now functional arm to your chest, and Leona turned on you and your ethereal booboo with a raging snarl. But then that glowing glare caught on the blood trailing down towards your wrist in too dark, too thick, rivulets and his eyes went wide. It wasn’t much, but the strange bought of shock rocketing through him gave you a handful of seconds of ceasefire. You reached into your pocket with your uninjured hand and pulled out a thick bit of cardstock. This was supposed to be for emergencies, goddamn it! And you’d spent so much money on this stupid little thing! And—
You shook off the mildly delusional complaints bogging down your brain and unfolded the paper between your fingers. The sigils inked into it hummed against your skin, and the rain sluffed off its face like the cold and the damp were no bother at all.
“Fucking—” you flung the talisman at your ridiculous, rampaging, guest. It fluttered like the beat of a hawk’s wings and dove towards him with just as much vicious precision. “GO TO SLEEP!”
The enchantment smacked into his face with an echoing THUNK and you watched those too-bright eyes of his roll up into his head as he collapsed to the ground in a heap.
With the main source of all the Magical Warfare knocked unconscious, most of the miasma began to disperse—like dust caught up in a gale. The rain washed away the rest. It slid into the mud and seeped back into the earth. The plants and animals seemed to give a collective sigh, and some of your more courageous chickens even started to venture in close to peck at the leftover destruction.
You approached the felled Prince hesitantly. The talisman had been meant for subduing an enemy with a more human constitution, so you doubted it would keep him down for very long.
“Hey,” you grouched, poking his side. He twitched a bit but didn’t move otherwise. “Hey, asshole,” you tried again. Still, nothing. Uh oh.
You reached down to wedge an arm under him and hoist him upright. The singed skin of your forearm brushed along his jaw as you attempted to maneuver his bulk, and his nose twitched sharply at whatever scent was trapped in the dark, cracking, gash there. His brow scrunched up like you’d just doused him in spoiled milk, so naturally you went about waving your wounded flesh beneath his nostrils like the world’s strangest smelling salts.
After a moment he blinked back awake, face twisted up into the most properly disgruntled mien of distaste that you’d ever seen on a person who’d only just barely managed to claw their way back into the world of the living.
“Herbivore,” he rumbled, still looking more than a bit dazed.
You manhandled him back onto his feet as best you could—turning yourself into an impromptu crutch to try and get him mobile again. The sand shifted and sank beneath your heels, making dragging his ridiculous, dramatic, ass even more of a challenge. As you hauled him towards your cottage, you complained to him in earnest. Every little irritation under the sun. Half because you’d probably never have another opportunity to bitch at him so thoroughly without getting your own earful of grievances in return, half to keep him conscious—keep him focused on staying here. With you. And not… Wherever it was he’d gone in those moments of delirium.
“I still don’t get why you call me that,” you griped, readjusting your grip on him when he’d started to slide down to the point his nose had buried itself against your collarbone. “Herbivore. I’ve cooked so much meat for you since you decided to crash here. Talked about how I prepare it, and the flavors I experiment with—I literally gave you some from my own sandwich when we first met! That I ate the rest of! In front of you!—”
When you finally herded him over the threshold and into your little cottage, the wards and their protection slipped around him like the soft current of a stream. You hardly even noticed the way the old magics ruffled his hair—and that was only because you were actively looking, half convinced the house was still about to toss up an invisible barrier and send him sprawling back into the dirt.
Leona wobbled on his feet, and his eyes were still too far away and grey.
You grabbed him by the ear and maneuvered his too-tall self into one of your rickety kitchen chairs. The wood groaned under the sudden press of his dead weight, but it didn’t collapse beneath him so it wasn’t worth fussing over. Once you were certain he wasn’t about to fold over sideways and crumple to the ground (or at least, that he was angled enough over a rug that he wasn’t going to crack his head on the stone floor), you rushed off to your bookcases and shelves and began hurriedly rumaging through your collection of nonsense.
The charms, the charms. Where were your emergency charms?! You’d thought you left them right there on the—Ah! There we go.
You pulled the raggedy binder from its place on the shelf, blew away the coating of dust that had settled over the top of it, and returned to your patient.
You flipped open the worn leather hooks and began sorting through the dozens upon dozens of sheets of enchanted parchment within. They were unimpressive—just small, rectangular, bits of faded paper inlaid with the softest kinds of magic. Not meant for much more than coaxing warmth into chilly limbs or placing a soft kiss over a scraped knee. But medicines were medicines—whether arcane in origin or otherwise. If you—if you just doused him in the things, that would probably work. Right? Of course it would. That made perfect sense.
So you slapped the first talisman square in the middle of his forehead. Leona swayed at the wet SMACK of the paper gluing itself to his soaked-through skin, but aside from the faintest, startled, widening of his eyes, he didn’t do anything else to complain. So you stuck the next charm to his cheek, and then another on the opposite one too.
“Magic overuse is dangerous,” you chastised as you went about layering a veritable novel’s worth of pasty, paper, enchantments up his arms. The soft spells worked their way into his skin, and you watched those twisting, black, shapes skitter back up towards where they’d once sat peacefully curled around his bicep. “Are you trying to kill yourself, hah?!”
Instead of snapping back at you like normal, he just sort of… sat there. Accepting your angry accusations in frosty silence. He absolutely looked like a cat that you’d fished out of a bag in the river. Pathetic, and sad, and droopy. And… quiet. So, very, quiet. You frowned, because as much as you didn’t particularly enjoy being insulted every minute of the day, the Lion’s biting little remarks had become… familiar, at the very least. Even if they weren’t entirely pleasant. Even if he was far from pleasant.
The dampness on his skin was starting to curl the edges of your talismans, and you reached forward with a huff to at least pull the freezing, soaked-through, vest off his shoulders. The leather jacket landed with a wet plap on the stone floor, a cold puddle already pooling around all its stupidly intricate, embroidered, edges. Something fluttered out of one of the open pockets—small, and off white, and crinkled. You stepped over the whole mess to retrieve a pile of towels and didn’t give it a second thought.
“Make a mess of my home, why don’t you,” you complained, dropping one of the towels over the entirety of his head before reaching forward to start drying him off with perhaps a bit more force than necessary. “Drip all over the floors I just mopped, why don’t you. Be emotionally constipated and almost turn my whole yard into a sand pit, why don’t you—”
A hand reached out to snag your wrist, and you let him pull you away from your attempts to rub all that stupidly thick hair straight off his head.
From beneath the curtain of the cotton towel, you could see Leona glaring at the long, dark, scratch curling along your forearm. It certainly wasn’t… nice to look at. The gymnastics of getting him into your cottage had managed to displace the impromptu bandage, so the whole of it was just there. Bruised, and dark, and odd looking. But ugly or not, it was hardly bleeding or anything anymore! And he was the one who had almost just self-destructed in your front yard!
‘Think of the accusations!’ you wanted to wail. ‘Can you imagine the garbage I would have to deal with if I wound up with a dead royal fertilizing my garden?! No thank you!’
But before you could complain about his fussing, his claws flexed against the soft skin of your palm and you saw the muscles along his forearm tense—like he was fighting to keep still.
“You should be dead,” he muttered, terse.
You huffed. “Look, I know you think humans are all sorts of pathetic, but I’m not that—”
“You should be dead,” he repeated, sounding as if the words had to tear their way out of his throat—scraping like shards of glass all the way up.
You stared at his dark eyes and dripping bangs—the shadows playing across his cheeks and the strange, hollow, wrongness that had settled over all of him. With a heavy sigh you plopped yourself down into the chair across from his and dragged a handful of the leftover charms your way. Pointedly, you took one and slapped it over the wound. And then another.
“See?” you said, flexing your wrist in his grip to put the creeping, black, cut on display. The talismans glowed softly against your skin and the lingering whisps of darkness licking at the the injury began to fade. “All better. Not something a dead person would say at all.”
Leona frowned, but at least it looked a bit more annoyed than outright bleak. And besides, frowns were better than whatever that stoic, expressionless, numbness had been.
“Though I appreciate your concern,” you grinned, pointedly sharp and prodding. Like a toddler standing by with a stick, hoping to poke out a reaction. “Truly, whatever would I do without the Great Lord Lion there to fret over me?”
But instead of the acidic ‘I wasn’t fucking worried,’ that you were expecting, or even a more muted grumble of dissent, Leona’s brow just pinched in displeasure and your awkward attempts at teasing faded into terse silence.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, almost too quiet to hear—his head low and eyes lower.
You sighed and twisted your wrist around to pat at his hand. There was the faintest tremor in his fingers and you tangled your own between them to give him something to squeeze, something to hide the shiver of lingering malaise that he would no doubt deny with his dying breath. You observed the stern, tight, expression warping his otherwise handsome face—the miserable, puckered, angle of his mouth and the way the emerald of his eyes was cut through with a shadow of genuine remorse. You reached out with your other hand to pet at his soft, round ears. They squished flat beneath your palm and your lips twitched up into a fond, little smile. Leona tipped his chin just enough to glower at you from beneath his bangs with no real heat, and you sighed and gave him one more pat for good measure.
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I’ll Take Care Of You
“It’s rotten work.”
“Not to me. Not if it’s you.”
My Vash/Reader sickfic that I’ve been promising! I’ve been dinking around trying to get it to a place I like and I like it now, so time to post! Read on AO3 here!
Vash/Reader, 3,700+ words, GN!Reader, sickfic, sick reader, comfort, worried vash, non-sexual nudity, cuddling, sharing warmth, emeto/vomit warning
It's strange, when you're feeling unwell, how easy it is for the tiniest things to set you off.
There are plenty of day to day irritants in life, especially living on a desolate sand ball like No Man's Land. For the most part you'd learned to take many of them in stride, laughing when you could, letting the emotions roll over you like a wave when you couldn't until they receded softly back into the recesses of your mind and you could once again roll over and face the day ahead. It helped to have good company, and despite the crowded dune-crawler and the constant driving it entailed, you usually found somewhere amidst the chaos to enjoy yourself.
You already hadn't felt well leaving the previous town, head and stomach swimming too much to risk eating more than some dry crackers and lukewarm canteen water, and even that made your innards pitch and roil dangerously. The car was constantly shifting, massive tires ping-ponging the entire chassis back and forth whenever you climbed over a particularly rocky bit of terrain and doing absolutely nothing to soothe the vertigo pooling in the bottom of your brain. It was too hot, too cramped, and worst of all?
Too. Damn. Loud.
Wedged between Wolfwood and Vash in the backseat, you had no escape from the blond's excessive snoring on your left and Nicholas leaning up over the center console to pester Meryl about her driving. Of course she was snapping back with equal levels of vitriol, voices rising slowly with each back and forth. In the passenger seat Milly was giggling along to their vicious banter, occasionally peppering in comments or fiddling with the radio dial, weather reports and religious sermons screeching through the fuzz.
The static of the radio crackled, Meryl's window-mounted fan clicked sharply with each rotation, Vash's head made a soft thunk as it connected with the glass of his window and Wolfwood kept hitting you with his elbow as he reached over the console and Milly was laughing and Meryl was yelling and Wolfwood was yelling back and-
Your wet, little gasp silenced the car's occupants like a gunshot, your own hands too slow to stifle it from coming out. You could feel everyone's attention turn to you, even Vash beginning to stir to your left, and you couldn't tell if the heat flushing to your head was humiliation, sickness, heatstroke, or some miserable combination of the three. But you do know that said heat and said gazes made you curl up in the middle seat, covering your face with your long sleeves as you let out another miserable little sob.
"Are you alright back there?"
"Oh no, please don't cry! Do you feel carsick?"
"H-Hey, it's gonna be alright. Is this cause I kept hittin' ya with my elbow? Cause I said I was sorry."
You sobbed again, tears and snot and sweat running down your face and wetting your shirt sleeves as you pulled your knees up, curling as small as you could get. "'M sorry, 'm sorry, I'm fine."
"You're not fine! Did something happen?" Meryl couldn't look away from the road, but Milly had all but fully turned around in her seat to check on you.
"Do you need some water? I still have some if you're all out."
"C'mon, birdie, don't go all silent on us."
You wanted to shrivel up and dissolve into sand in the middle seat, curling in upon your own body as if it may actually make you disappear. This didn't help, it wasn't helping, it was just more noise and more worry and more hot tears running down your cheeks and you just wanted it all to stop.
"Hey, what's going on?"
Pulling your head up from your knees, you were met by Vash's hand gently brushing your forehead. His palm rested there, warm and steady, as he looked you over with a soft concern.
"You feel pretty warm. Is everything alright?" As he pulled away he brought his thumb down to swipe a stray tear from your cheek. You wanted to bawl, to clamber into his arms and let him cover you with his coat, shielding you from the heat and the noise and the (brightbrightwaytoobright) sun. But when you opened your mouth to speak, tongue dry and unsteady, you instead croaked out four, painfully small words.
"I'm gonna throw up."
"...Eh? EH?!? H-HANG ON!" You were jostled back by the force of Vash diving forward, clapping both hands over your mouth with a low groan. Your stomach pitched wildly, thick saliva pooling in the back of your throat as Vash jammed himself over the center console. "PULL OVER!"
"Wh-What? Why?" Meryl yelped when Vash exploded into her line of sight.
"JUST DO IT! PLEASE?!?"
She hardly needed to 'pull over' in the stretches of open desert, but the dune-crawler rumbled and bumped to a jerky halt that only served to make your stomach sickness worse. Not even waiting for Vash to unbuckle his seatbelt, you clambered over his lap and opened the door, collapsing to the ground just in time to empty the meager contents of your stomach into the hot sand. There was hardly anything to hack up, everything you'd eaten over the course of the day splattering out with a few shivering gags. But your body continued to retch out of your control, fresh tears dripping off your cheeks and into the puddle as you helplessly dry heaved on your hands and knees.
"Hey, hey, you're alright. Deep breaths, okay? I've got you." There was a cool hand brushing your hair back from your sticky forehead, and another rubbing the small space between your shoulder blades.
Finally, when your stomach had finished cramping and the last thick glob of saliva had drooled from your open mouth onto the sand, your body pitched forward dangerously, elbows collapsing from exhaustion. You would have face-planted straight into your own mess if Vash wasn't there to catch you, hauling you backwards so you could slump weakly against his chest as he sat with you in the sand. You could hear shuffling around you, footsteps, but your eyes were still blurry with moisture as you squinted weakly in the afternoon sun.
"Thanks, Milly. Here, drink this." You felt the rim of a canteen press to your lips, and let Vash tip your head back to take a swig of water.
"Don't drink too fast now, or you might get sick again!" One of Milly's large hands gently caressed the top of your head. "We've got plenty of time to get to the next town, so take as long as you need!"
"I'm sorry." You whimpered again, feeling twice as pathetic in the face of everyone's kindness. You could hear Meryl click her tongue somewhere off to your right.
"You don't have to apologize! Everybody gets sick sometimes, it's just a thing that happens."
"Yer lucky we're planning on a hotel tonight, way better than sleeping in the sand-OW! HEY!"
"Quit being a jerk! They already don't feel good and you're not helping!""How am I not helping?" Wolfwood hissed. "I'm reminding them they don't have to sleep in the back of a dingy car all night!"
"Ooh, boy. There they go again." Vash sighed out a chuckle, hand never pausing as he carefully rubbed your upper arm. "Whenever you feel up for it, we can get going. Okay?"
As Meryl and Wolfwood continued to bicker quietly in the background, you let yourself melt fully into Vash's chest. His prosthetic arm came around your waist to keep you from slipping too far down, and you lolled your head back against his collarbone as your eyelids fluttered. "I'm sorry…" You slurred again, even though by this point you knew the apology was not necessary. "Jus' don't feel good…"
"You get a little silly when you're sick, don't you?" There was a teasing tone to Vash's voice, one that made you feel all warm and cozy in your chest. "You're being very polite right now."
"'M tired, Vash." You whined, rolling to your side a bit to nuzzle your cheek against his chest.
"I know." He said, so soft and so fond. "When we get back in the car, you can lay on me, alright? Then you can sleep the whole ride there. I promise."
"Mmh, yes please…"
You couldn't remember exactly how long you spent on the ground, just the vague feelings of Vash helping you to your feet, buckling your seatbelt for you after you clambered weakly back to your spot. As soon as he was seated he twisted his body towards you, leaning back against the car door so you could sprawl yourself out across his chest. And sprawl you did, fingers clutching absently at his coat as you tucked your face into the crook of his neck with a content little sigh. The dune-crawler rocked slightly as your other friends climbed into their respective seats, but with your cheek pressed to Vash's chest it didn't make you feel so dangerously nauseous anymore.
"Try getting some rest. We'll wake you up in the next town." His metal hand found the small of your hip and rested there, keeping you curled safely against his chest as the engine rumbled back to life. Eyelids dipping heavily, you mumbled out a few clumsy words of appreciation before blackness overtook your vision.
"Thank you… Vash…"
You didn't jostle blearily awake again until Meryl had already paid for your respective hotel rooms, letting you rest slumped against Vash in the backseat while she chatted with the man at the desk. Given the size of the town itself, it made sense that there would only be a few rooms available. Fortunately Meryl was able to book two doubles and a single, leaving you with your own space to recuperate while the rest of the group split the two double rooms between themselves.
"We'll be right across the street, okay?" Vash gave you a gentle pat on the shoulder as he pointed out the window of your hotel room to the nearby diner. "Try and get a little more rest, and I'll bring you back something for dinner!"
“Mhm… I will.” You mumbled. You'd let your travel bag thunk loudly to the floor next to your bed as you collapsed into the mattress. Some of the vertigo had subsided after your extended nap, but you hardly wanted to push your luck by trying to go out to dinner with everyone else.
"There's even a bath if you want to take one, might help you feel better." Vash gave a final, soothing rub to the space between your shoulder blades before you could hear him stepping away, boots thudding softly on the wood floor. "I'll be back before you know it. Sleep well."
"Have fuuuun." You sighed out, door clicking shut behind him and leaving you in silence. As tired as you were, there was a tacky sweatiness to your skin, sickness and desert heat making you feel distinctly gross to the touch. Maybe a bath would be a good idea after all…
Reluctantly, you slumped into a seated position before getting back to your feet. The bathroom was larger than you'd expected for the size of the inn, and your vision swam slightly as you reached over to fiddle with the knobs and start the sudden rush of water. It was even warm; how much did this place cost? Distantly you felt a little prickle of guilt, Meryl was probably spending extra just to make sure you could rest in a vague semblance of comfort. You'd have to be sure to thank her profusely, when you could actually think straight. You clumsily shed your clothes, letting them fall to the tiled floor as you slipped into the warm water and toed the knob back off again with your foot.
It felt good at first, dunking your head under the water and coming up again with a soft huff as rivulets ran from your hair. But you were far too tired to even wash yourself properly, and though the water barely bordered on warm, something about the heat made your dizziness spike all over again. You couldn't even bring yourself to stand back up to get out, slumping against the side of the tub and resting your cheek on the cool ceramic edge. All you needed was to close your eyes for a moment, and once the spiraling in your head stopped you'd be fine to climb back out again. You'd just get a little more rest in the meantime…
"Heyyy, are you feeling any better? I brought you some soup! We just need to bring the bowl back tomorrow morning."
Vash knocked twice on your door, but received no response. Man, you must be really exhausted. Your bedroom light was visible from the street, so when he saw it on he'd assumed you were still awake. He tried the handle, finding your door to still be unlocked.
"I'm coming in, okay?" He twisted the handle, hesitating just a moment before adding. "...Don't be naked!"
He shouldered the door open, one hand holding your lidded bowl of soup and the other covering his eyes. Kicking the door shut behind him, Vash hesitated a moment before peeking through his spread fingers. Your room was empty, bed still made, bag exactly where you'd dropped it just before he left. Vash's stomach sank, quickly setting the bowl on the table as he called out your name. You wouldn't have gone somewhere, would you? Did someone see him bringing you into the hotel, maybe peg you as a sidekick of The Humanoid Typhoon? There weren't any signs of a struggle, though. Maybe you were sicker than he thought, and he'd left you all alone when you were at your most vulnerable. His gaze flickered around the room, grasping for any sign of where you may have gone or what might have happened.
Finally, it landed on the bathroom door. It wasn't open when he left, and a slim trail of light was glinting from the gap between it and the doorframe. There was silence beyond it, a blistering, agonizing silence. He took two hesitant steps forwards, knocking shakily on the doorframe, before finally nudging it open and letting himself inside.
His heart twisted and stammered in his chest when his gaze finally landed on you, rabbiting up into a thundering panic when you didn't even acknowledge his entrance. You were slumped in the bathtub, one arm hanging over the edge and your cheek lolled against the rim of the basin, eyelids shut but fluttering weakly. There was a sickly pallor to your skin, and even from a distance Vash could see the goosebumps that had broken out across every stretch of it currently visible to him. You were even shivering, hard.
"H-Hey!" He didn't have time to be flustered at your state of complete undress, too busy stumbling forward to lift your limp and unmoving body from the bath. The water was cool, almost cold as he dunked his arms in, soaking the sleeves of his shirt and jacket as he hooked you under the armpits and pulled you into his arms. Letting himself sink to his knees so you could rest in his lap, he let go of you with one arm for just a moment, just long enough to grasp blindly at a towel on the counter to bundle you in. Your head thunked limply against his chest as soon as he had you wrapped in the towel and back in his arms. "Hey, can you hear me? I've got you now, it's gonna be okay."
It didn't feel like it was going to be okay, not to Vash at least. His stomach was swimming with guilt as he carried you back out to your bed, bundling you in the sheets and using the towel to dry the tips of your hair that were still damp. You were still shaking, thin blankets doing far too little to bring the warmth back to your body. Of course there wouldn't be any more stored in the hotel room either; it wasn't like anyone needed them most of the time anyway. He could dip back down the hallway and grab the blankets from his own bed, but that meant leaving you alone again, even for just another few moments. The thought made Vash feel vaguely sick himself.
Only one thing he could do then.
Vash shucked off his coat and tossed it over the back of a chair, hesitating for a moment before doing the same with his turtleneck. Waterlogged sleeves clung to his arms as he wrestled the damp thing off, dropping it unceremoniously onto the floor before moving back to your bedside. He tugged back the top blanket, leaving you swaddled in the sheet as he clambered in next to you and pulled the blanket back up to his chin. You let out a soft sigh through your nose as you curled instinctively into his warmth, tucking your face into the crook of his neck. Oh so hesitantly, like you were made of fine china, Vash draped an arm around your bundled form and splayed his hand out wide along the small of your back.
"I'm sorry…" He murmured, clutching your shuddering body like you would dissolve away between his fingertips if he relaxed, even for a moment. "I'm so sorry. I should have stayed. I won't leave again. I'm sorry."
He jolted, cupping your face with a hesitant call of your name as you blinked miserably awake. Head thumping and body aching, you squinted until Vash's face phased into clarity, all quivering lip and furrowed brow and stinging, glassy eyes. Weakly, you wrestled a hand free from the sheet, wiping at the corner of his eye with your thumb. He choked on a sob, melting into your palm with a relieved gasp.
"Mmh… Head hurts a lot. What time is it?" You grumbled. The last thing your remembered was stooping down to run yourself a bath, then the rest of it faded into a hazy blur. Vash sniffled, pressing a kiss to your palm.
"Evening. Probably around 8? You passed out in the bath… It was really cold."
Fragmented memories began to click back into place, and you gripped the sheets close to your body with your free hand as you suddenly processed your own nudity. A spike of humiliation shot through you, as dulled as it was by your swimming senses.
"God, I'm sorry. I didn't scare you too bad, did I?"
Vash didn't respond, but the look on his face gave you all the answer you needed.
"Oh, honey." The sheets were tucked close up enough to your chest that you didn't hesitate to free your other hand to cup his face as well. His gaze trailed off to the corner of his eye, unable to keep contact with yours. "I'm so sorry, you must have been so worried."
"I-It's alright! It's not a big deal, really. I'm just glad you're okay."
You didn't relent, not yet, instead leaning in and pressing a kiss to the center of his forehead. "It _is _a big deal. I scared you, didn't I?"
"Not on purpose or anything."
"That doesn't mean it didn't feel real. Oh, Vash." His breath hitched when you murmured his name, another fresh tear or two slipping down his cheeks. "I'm okay. You found me and I'm gonna be alright, alright? I'm right here."
A tiny, pained whimper escaped him as he bundled you into his arms, hiding his teary face in the crook of your neck. Both flesh and metal hands fisted the fabric draped across your back as he pressed a kiss to the soft space in between your neck and your shoulder. "I shouldn't have left. I should have made sure you were okay. I shouldn't have told you to take a bath."
"Hey, hey, hold on. You didn't make me do anything, I chose to take a bath. None of this is your fault, Vash. Things happen sometimes." Your cradled the back of his head in one hand, and rubbed soothing circles across his broad back with the other. "You came to check on me, and you found me, and you got me warm. You're so good, Vash. My wonderful boy."
He sniffled against your neck again, but you could feel the faintest hint of a smile pressed against your skin. "...I brought you some soup. Are you hungry?"
You hummed, trailing your fingertips up and down the jut of his shoulder blade. "In a little bit. Can you warm me up a bit more first? You're like a living space heater."
Finally, you could feel some of the nervous tension begin to eke out of Vash's muscles as he began to melt into your arms. He tugged you forward, just enough that your fronts were pressed together from the chest all the way down to where your legs intertwined, thin fabric sheet separating your bare chests.
"Good? Not too warm?" His heartbeat was thundering loud enough for you to feel, his hands so gentle where they rested upon your exhausted body. "Let me know if you get too warm, okay?"
"I will. But this is perfect." You nuzzled your forehead against his shoulder, making him stifle a soft chuckle. "I could fall asleep again."
"Not yet! You've got to at least eat something first, okay? After you eat, then you can sleep."
"Always looking after me.~" You cooed. "I will, okay? In just a few minutes."
Your answer seemed to placate him for now as he pressed another kiss to your neck, light and chaste. He nosed along your jawbone, breath light and ticklish as he murmured. "Can I stay here tonight? I know I have my own room, and you need to rest, and I don't want to be a bother, but-"
"Yes." You replied, before he could talk himself out of it. "Yes, please stay with me. I want you to."
There was a palpable relief in the sigh he let out at your response. "Good. Cause I probably just would have camped out in the hallway if you said no. Might get in trouble with the owners for that."
"Well we can't have that happen, now can we?"
"No we cannot.~"
You chuckled, body feeling light for the first time that day as you let Vash cradle you in his steady arms.
Firsts & First Names
Summary: In a night full of firsts with you, you accidentally slip and say Ghost's real name for the first time. His reaction to it surprises even him.
Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader (no use of y/n)
Word Count: 2k
Rating: Explicit (18+ only, mdni!)
Warnings: kissing, unprotected p-in-v sex (you know the drill, wrap it y'all), edging, a hand on a throat but not really choking, secret relationship, little hints of agonizing over feelings, fluff
A/N: This was so difficult to write but, man, am I happy with how this turned out.
This series: Illicit Indulgences Series Masterlist
“You can take it, love. Just like that.”
You only moaned in response, your upper body melting farther into the mattress. Ghost had you on all fours as he pounded into you from behind, his hard grip on your hips holding you in place as he ruined you. He had kept you like this for hours now, bringing you to the brink over and over again, but never letting you fall over that precipice to find your release.
“P-please,” you begged, your words so slurred he could barely make out what you were saying. “Let me… let me come, I-”
In all your time together, he had never seen you like this. A sheen of sweat drenched your skin from the exertion, gleaming on the small of your back as you arched your ass back towards him. Your hair was wild from the sweat and hours he had fucked you in all different kinds of positions. Small, high whines escaped you with almost every thrust of his cock into you. Even so, you still reached for him and leaned into his every touch. You were fucked out of your mind, begging for him over and over, begging for him to let you come. You usually were never one to beg like this, to let him fully take the reins. Now you had completely let go.
He would be lying if he said that the sight of you like this wasn’t absolutely maddening. You were the most incredible thing he had ever seen. The trust you had in him, all the noises you couldn’t hold back anymore, and the way you begged for him to give you your release all had him feeling like he was floating in a sea of ecstasy.
“You can take a little more,” he assured, his voice low and breathless as he soothed you again. He fought to stave off his own high, but he had done well so far and still had quite a bit more time to go before he would break.
“Fuck, Simon, please!” You cried desperately, twisting the sheets tighter in your fists.
His lust-clouded mind took an extra second to catch up with what you just said. Suddenly, the air was punched from his lungs as he finally processed it. He froze immediately, his cock still buried deep in your heat.
You had never called him Simon before. Ever.
Simon. Simon. Simon. He replayed the way you said it over and over, the sound unlike any he had heard before. You had said it like something good. Like he was someone you needed.
When you called him Ghost and he called you Styx, there was some degree of separation, a barrier between the two of you. You both could pretend this wasn’t anything real. By that logic, he hadn’t wanted to get to the point where you both used your real names because that would mean that this was real. He had wanted to keep this between Ghost and Styx — impersonal and no strings attached. Up to this point, he could pretend that it was impersonal. He could pretend that this wasn’t already something that had long surpassed that point. He had thought he wanted nothing more than to avoid hearing you say that one name.
But now that you had said it, a new heat burned in his stomach. All his previous resistance melted in its wake, his cock aching like never before. There was no logic or reasoning he could muster that could overpower the way his body practically lit on fire the second you said his name, almost like he had been hit by a bolt of lightning.
He liked it. He craved it. Even though he knew somewhere deep down that shouldn’t have, he would do anything to hear you say it again.
You pushed up on your forearms, turning your head so that you could see his almost completely covered face. Although they were still clouded by a thick haze of lust, your eyes were wide and panicked. Another first, he had never seen you this panicked, your demeanor never anything but calm and assured. It wasn’t hard to see that you clearly thought that you had crossed a huge line.
“S-sorry… I didn’t mean to-”
Before you could finish your apology, his rough, callused hands were sliding over your hips, wrapping around your middle, and pulling your top-half up so that your back met his chest, the both of you now in a kneeling position.
Simon took your chin in his fingers, guiding your face to him before he crashed his exposed lips to yours. You moaned into the kiss, clearly caught off-guard by his response. He worked his lips against yours, his fervor increasing with each passing second.
It wasn’t Ghost that kissed you now. That barrier, that persona, had crumbled away the second you said his name. No, it was the man under the mask now. While he still wore the mask over most of his face, he felt truly exposed to you for the first time.
He broke from the kiss, his lips still against yours. His hand slid down to your throat, his grip light. Aching with adrenaline and lust, he pulled his cock almost completely out of your dripping pussy before fucking up into you again with a sharp, pointed thrust that knocked the wind out of you as you cried out. He began to piston in and out again, restarting his pace.
“Say it,” he rasped, more a request than a demand. Now, he felt as if he was pleading with you. “Say it again.”
One of your warm hands wrapped around his tattooed forearm that held a soft grip on your throat, using him as an anchor. You tossed your head back so that it rested on his strong, broad shoulder, your whole body relaxing into him again as you realized that your slip had caused the opposite effect on him than you had first thought. This is how he wanted you, fully blissed out in his affections.
“S-Simon. Simon, please. Yes!”
Heat pooled in his abdomen as his speed increased. The force of his thrusts rocked the both of you, the bed groaning with the impact. He was totally gone now, all thought of edging you long forgotten. Now, he was all fervor and impulse, any rational thought long swept away in the thrum of adrenaline rushing through his veins. He needed you to come and he needed you to take you with him as fast as possible.
Then, without a care for the serious consequences that would follow, Simon moaned your real name for the first time. It rolled off his tongue like honey, like it had always belonged there.
You melted into his strong body, letting him hold the both of you up as you neared your highs. All the while, you continued to moan his name, sometimes a barely comprehensible whine. But it was enough. It was more than enough.
Suddenly, your body went rigid in his hold as you arched into him. Your cunt clenched and pulsed around him as you came, so tight that he moaned himself. He kept fucking you though it, helping you to ride out the aftershocks as he started to chase his own high.
You clawed at his forearm. While you writhed in his hold, you snaked a hand around behind you to lightly grasp at his neck, overstimulated but still holding on. It silently told him that you wanted to feel him when he came.
“Si… Si-” you sputtered.
As he fucked up into you, his hips snapping roughly against your ass, he began to feel the edge of his release. The force of it grew and grew until he couldn’t hold it back anymore, his pace faltering. His hips stuttered as he released his hot, thick cum into your spasming cunt. He buried his covered face in your shoulder as he grinded into you, releasing every last bit he had. Body shuddering, he fought to find his breath again, the orgasm longer and more intense than any he had ever experienced.
After he came back down from his high, he found you completely relaxed in his hold, spent from the hours you had spent taking him.
Simon kissed your neck, then your cheek, and then your lips, moving his hands to better support your midsection. He whispered against your warm skin, his voice gravelly and spent, “Did so fuckin’ good for me.”
Your chest still heaved for air as you leaned into his touch, making a tired, affirming sound.
Bracing his hands on your hips, he slowly and carefully pulled out of you. He held back a hiss as he did, listening instead to your whine. When you were ready, he helped guide you down to lay on the disheveled bed. Then he slid next to you and pulled you close, still left in the afterglow.
You rested your head on his shoulder as you both caught your breath in silence. For the first time, he felt your hand slide over his chest, your thumb lazily and affectionately stroking his skin. This was you. Without the added layer of Styx. The barriers of both of your personas were gone. Now, you were just as bare as he was.
Maybe this development should have scared him. Maybe he should’ve been worried about what this would mean for the two of you. But he didn’t. The worst part was that he didn’t think he would in the morning, either. Not when being with you felt like this. He now had a taste of what it was like and it was nothing short of addicting.
He couldn’t quite comprehend how you always seemed to break through the barriers he put up. No matter what front he used, you had a way of pulling him further and further into this anyways. He always fell deeper no matter what, throwing his previous hesitancy out the window. Whatever this was with you kept growing, kept becoming something more… and he didn’t know if he could stop it now.
More. He always wanted more.
He wanted this, he wanted you. Maybe if it weren’t for the dangerous life you lived and the ranks you held, it would’ve been easier for him to admit that. Maybe then the thought of a real relationship with you wouldn’t have been such a terrifying, weighted thought even now.
“I’m guessing you liked that, then,” you said, finally breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between the two of you.
“I can’t quite deny it, now can I?” he quipped, a hint of amusement lacing his tone.
You laughed a genuine, carefree laugh, burying your face on his muscled and scarred chest. The sound filled his chest with a new warmth, one that was soft. He held back a small smile as he used his free hand to gently pull his mask down over his chin once again. Then, you looked up and said, “Yeah, not really. You really showed your hand on that one, Simon.”
He groaned, his cock twitching. He limply tapped your hip as he warned, “Fuck, don’t say it, I’ll get hard again. And I don’t think you can take another round, love.”
You laid your head on his chest then, completely limp over top of him. “No, I don’t think I could.”
Though he didn’t say it again, he let your name bounce around in his head. Over and over again, he considered it, looking down at you as he did.
Simon’s fingers found your back, running lightly up and down your spine. For the first time, he didn’t let himself ruin the moment. He didn’t think about the fact that he shouldn’t have let this evolve into something this personal. He didn’t think about the potential consequences. That was all for Ghost to reconcile in the morning. Right now, Simon focused on the way your damp skin rested on his, the steady rhythm of your breath, and the sweet glow that encapsulated you both. For now, that was all that mattered.
And for the first time, Simon stayed the night with you.
Danny Fenton, Totally Mortal Hero Consultant (DPxDC)
Snippet for an AU I'll probably never fully write where Danny takes a job as a consultant for the Justice League to help with ghost and demon bullshit. It's a pretty good cash flow to help him with college, after all, and very flexible hours.
He just claims all his knowledge comes from his parents. Unfortunately, the JL has caught word of the elusive yet active hero Phantom, and want Danny to help them meet and assess him. Whoops.
Over the phone, Tucker sighed. “Good Christ, Danny, why do you keep doing this?”
“I’m not doing anything,” Danny said immediately. He winced at the vague sound of screaming below. Demons sucked. “I didn’t know the JL thing was gonna have me finding Phantom. How would I? They were talking about tracking down powerful ghosts, I was assuming Ancients!”
Tucker sighed again, which was really quite unfair of him. “Mhm. Well, Fenton Catcher?”
“Probably not. They know me pretty well at this point, and unlike what Sam says I can be professional. I’d confuse them with the… uh…”
There was more screaming happening, but judging from the pitch it was a demon screaming this time. Danny checked the situation. Yep, demon getting their ass kicked. He didn’t need to get involved with a blaster. Yet.
Instead, he scowled at his phone. “Stop calling it that.”
“You’re gonna tell me flanny Danny wasn’t a pitch-perfect stoner, huh? With the chill vibing and the dopey look?”
“I hate you.”
“Love you too, bud.”
The sound of a clacking keyboard that had underlined their conversation stopped. “But seriously, Danny, what the hell are you gonna do with this?”
“Uh, lie, probably,” Danny said, because it was very likely.
“Alright, smartass, what are you going to do when that lie backfires on you like literally every other one does?”
“That’s when I start gaslighting, gatekeeping, and girlbossing, babe.”
He had a hard time hearing Tucker’s distant groan of “Why am I still your friend?” on account of the sudden explosion. Danny checked again. Hm. Demon dude had a nasty fire thing going on.
Danny switched on his Fenton water gun—holy water included!-- and shot the demon in the face. They let out a cracking hiss of rage, but dropped the fire spell thing. He waited for them to stop looking around wildly for the culprit for a moment.
He went back to the call. “‘Cause you loooove me, Tuck. From the bottom of your twice-dead heart.”
“Unfortunately,” Tucker deadpanned.
Danny just cackled. It was lost amongst the sound of supernatural bullshit below.
“Anyway, I’m still figuring out my plan A, honestly. Might bring in gray-man?”
“Amorpho’s an asshole, though. He’ll ruin the whole thing by taking the opportunity to shift into a JL member for a bit.”
“Yeah, but he’s the main guy I know with that power set.”
“Ask after Desiree?” He could hear the immediate distaste in Tucker’s voice. “Ugh, pretend I didn’t say that. That’s worse than Amorpho.”
“It’s awful,” Danny agreed easily.
Desiree was actually pretty alright nowadays, mostly on account of Danny remembering the last couple minutes of Aladdin and wishing she could refuse wishes she didn’t want to grant. That had made her happy enough to stop actively picking fights.
Unfortunately, spending the entirety of one’s afterlife twisting the wording of wishes to their worst form made it hard to stop being an asshole. Who knew! So getting Desiree to split him in two for like a week had a 50/50 chance of fucking up his work relationship with the literal league of superheroes irrevocably. And this was his main cash flow right now.
So, no Desiree, no siree.
“Come up with something better then, asshole.”
Danny hummed and, since the heroes below were focused on the demon, lifted up a little and did a thoughtful back flip. What to do, what to do…?
“My cousin!” he exclaimed.
“What cous—? Oh, Ellie.”
“Yeah, Ellie, Tuck. Which other cousins do I have?”
Tucker scoffed. “You literally have that whole Nightingale thing going on through your dad?”
Danny couldn’t help the face he made. The remaining Nightingales were worse than his parents somehow. “The Nightingales don’t count.”
“You can’t just say they don’t count.”
“I can say that, actually, and I will. They’re, like, cousins through my great-great-great-grandpa anyway.”
“Isn’t there a fight going on over there? Should you be shooting someone?”
He peaked down through the window once more. The heroes must have gotten the first demon to leave while he was talking, because the horned demon fighting them now was a truly unfortunate shade of yellow-green instead of purple. Or maybe it had transformed for some reason? They had it about as in-hand as the other one, though, so Danny definitely didn’t need to go down there. He shot the maybe-new demon in the face real quick.
“Anyway, Ellie can totally help out, she’s been practicing with changing up her looks. She’s also more, uh, malleable than me, what with her situation and all. Looking fully like Phantom shouldn’t be hard.”
Tucker hummed. “She’d try to embarrass you though.”
“Yeah, that’s a problem.” Danny spun in place. “I could bribe her?”
“With what? Her life doesn’t involve needing much cash.”
“She doesn’t get out to the Zone very much. Not many of the inhabited places, anyway. I can promise her the weird apple things Dora’s been growing with Sam’s help, she loved those.”
“If you think that’ll work…” Tucker trailed off dubiously.
Danny laughed. “She’s annoying sometimes, but she’s not gonna fuck over my job if I ask her not to. I’ll just bribe her extra hard for resisting the temptation to mock me.”
“Fair enough.” The clacking of keys resumed. “I’ve really gotta pay attention now, someone’s trying to stop me from getting into this database. Someone half-decent, actually, did they upgrade? Hm. Make sure no one died, yeah?”
“They’re alive. Bye, Tuck,” Danny said, and ended the call.
He shoved his phone back into his jacket pocket and made his way down the stairs. The fight outside he had been stationed for was basically over—Captain Marvel and Green Lantern (Danny was pretty sure he had accidentally learned the dude’s actual name at some point, but hell if he could remember)—had pulled out the magic restraints one of the other consultants had handed out.
That had probably been Constantine. Ugh. Constantine. Dude could stand to lighten up a little; skulking and smoking all the time wasn’t the base state of someone enjoyable to be around. Then again, Danny knew he annoyed the shit out of some of the league with his own attitude, so he maybe shouldn’t talk. But at least he was annoying with a smile!
Case in point: Danny grinned at the heroes. “Got it handled?”
“Suppose so,” said the Green Lantern, “though a little more help would have been nice.”
Captain Marvel was too busy getting in a minor tussle with the demon to say anything either way.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m like, pretty mortal,” Danny said. “I’m not fucking with demons right where they can hit me. And I did shoot him!”
Green Lantern rolled his eyes, but admitted the point. Danny cheerfully flipped him off anyway.
“I’ll be heading out, then, the hellmouth this guy crawled out of is like three miles away.” Captain Marvel said, hauling the handcuffed demon over his shoulders like a very angry backpack.
“Oh, one more for the road!”
Danny hit the demon with a final water gun shot. Hissing and scrunching their face like a cat, the demon tried to lunge at him. It wasn’t very successful. Weirdly non-verbal for a demon, who usually had to talk to make deals and steal mortal souls, but Danny wouldn’t judge. Might be a minor demon. A really basic imp? Who knew.
“Stop being a little bitch and you won’t get spray-bottled, asshole,” Danny chided.
With a loud laugh, Captain Marvel sped away.
Dp x DC crossover
Danny and gang decide to go to a cosplay convention in Gotham for spring break. Tim and the bat brothers also go to the cosplay convention. Danny is cosplaying Red Robin, tim is cosplaying phantom. Let chaos Insue.
It took a whole 3 months for sam and tucker to convince Danny to go to the cosplay convention in Gotham. Not because Gotham is scary, or because batman's no powered person rule. No it was because they where going to be cosplaying bat clan members.
And danny would be mortified if he met any of the bat clan, while dressed in a shitty cosplay for one of them. So danny spent 2 months making a hyper realistic Red Robin suit. When on he looked almost exactly like the vigilante so instead of wearing the mask he painted one on.
Either way danny was just being OCD, once his cosplay (pluse sam and tukers) where up to his standers, he let his two freinds drag him to Gotham.
They wondered around the con for a while and some people asked to take pictures with the trio every once and awhile, sam, dressed as black bat, and tucker as nightwing. After awhile they decided to grab something to eat, so they ended up in line at a food stall.
And that's when Danny's gaze caught sight of a very firmilier outfit, "sam is that person dressed as me or am I hallucinating" danny whispered to his freind. Sam peered over to where danny was looking and burst out laughing. "Yep, it looks like you got a fan" sam laughed, "but how do they know about phantom?" Danny pressed.
Tucker smirked "well with the GIW being gone we have access to the world wide web again so all the phantom video, memes, fanfics are all out there now, and your actully kinda popular". Danny's face was bright pink, "fanfiction? Memes?" "Yeah you know, like, 'it's not gay if hes dead" "that's a thing?!" "Yep, you know you where dash's gay awakening right?" "I was!?".
"Hay exuse my I noticed you where staring" the phantom cosplayer snaps at the trio. Danny brought a hand to the back of his neak sheepishly. "Sorry didnt mean to stair, it's just not often I see people out side of amity that knows about phantom, you got his look down, well besides the fact that he glows and his eyes are green, but you got the eye bags down" danny rambles.
Danny let's his gaze drag along the cosplayers body. His jumpsuit was a lot tighter than phantoms, it hugged his curves more like a black cat jump suit would. The cosplayer also laked phantoms glowing freckles and long pointed ears, but you can only get so much detail from the videos and pictures of phantom. Tech and ghosts dont get along.
"Hm well your Red Robin suit looks almost like the real one almost thought you where the real deal, I'm tim by the way" the cosplayer tim says "its ice to meet ya, I'm danny" danny says. "Ice" tim questions "ya cause phantom has ice abilities, I was just trying to be punny" danny defends lightheartedly.
"I didnt know phantom had ice powers" tim says thoughtfully. Danny guesses for people outside of amity it might be hard to get info on phantom. "Well I guess it might not be very known to people who art parkers." Danny laughed and smiled at tim.
Tim smiled right back and handed danny a slip of paper "well in that case give me a call mabey we could chat about phantom among other things" and slowly looked danny up and down in a suggestive manner. He then slipped by the trio and dissapiered into the crowd.
"What just happened?" Danny asked his face bright red. "Dude you just got hit on by a cute guy, who was cosplaying you" tucker says placing his hand on Danny's shoulder. "Danny the cute guy also gave you his number, what ya gonna do?" Sam asked poking his cheek. "Well I guess I'll have to send him a text" "that's our idiot!".
Hay its danny from the convention I was wondering if you would like to meet up for coffee?
Yeah I'm down I know the perfect place! See you there <3
If you want to continue this go ahead or if you just want to use the prompt at the top go for it.
The Eddie Munson Guide to Dating an Oblivious Jock Part 4
I actually got it up today, holy crap. Today has been so wild I wasn’t sure it was going to happen. Also thank you to @chaoticlovingdreamer and @yellowdevilkitten about the cramps. I am feeling better now.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
Part Seven: Hand holding
Once you’ve established that he likes you back, the first step is hand holding. You aren’t necessarily dating at this point. Though you could be. For same sex couples this will have to be discreet and sneaky, but for straight couples this can be used as a way to declare your couple status.
“I hate that you can’t hold hands with Steve in public,” Max said. “It’s stupid.”
Eddie cocked his head ruefully. “It is what it is. Some day it won’t be like this, but for now, we do what we can.”
It was movie night sleepover. It was something that all of them did once in a while. And by them it meant all of them. All thirteen of them. Steve’s basement was perfect for it. They could all stretch out and still have tons of space. Not that they did that. They tended to puppy pile in smaller groups.
El, Max, Erica, and Lucas was one pile. Jonathan, Argyle, and Nancy were another. Mike, Dustin, and Will were another. Which left Eddie, Robin, and Steve as the remaining pile.
But that was a problem for future Eddie. Current Eddie was content on the sofa with Steve sitting next to him, their bodies pressed together in a seem from shoulder to knee.
Robin was on the other side of Steve curled up under his arm and Eddie was fine with sharing at the moment.
The hardest part of the night was deciding on a movie they all wanted to watch. There was always someone that didn’t want to watch whatever it was they decided on. So Eddie and Steve came up with the idea of ranked voting. They would grab five movies and everyone would list them in the order they wanted to watch them in and whichever one got the most votes at number one was the one they watched first.
Tonight they were watching The Dark Crystal. When the beetles came on, chittering above the Skekis Robin flinched and buried her head into his shoulder.
“I thought this was a kids’ show!” she whined to Steve.
“Come on,” Dustin said. “They aren’t that scary. They’re just giant bugs.”
Eddie kicked him in the thigh. “Everybody has different things they’re scared of, we don’t mock people for that.”
“I wasn’t mocking,” Dustin defended. “I just don’t think they’re scary.”
Fizgig started wailing and Eddie jumped back. “What the fuck! Why does it have so many teeth?!” Then a warm hand took his and he looked down at the joined hands and back up to Steve.
“Wait a damn minute!” Max cried. “You’re telling me that the first time you guys held hands Steve initiated it?”
Eddie grinned. “I was so proud. Though, he thought he was just being a good friend at the time. Remember this is oblivious jockus. Even though it was pretty clear he liked me back, he wasn’t reading the signs that I liked him.”
“But he still reached out to you?” she asked.
Steve smiled softly at him and Eddie’s heart just melted. Eddie gave Steve’s hand a squeeze, but instead of letting go like he suspected Steve thought he would do, Eddie held on to it for the rest of the movie.
When the movie ended, Eddie wasn’t the only with sniffles from the sacrifices of Kyra and Fizgig.
“But that won’t work,” Dustin said.
“What won’t work, bud?” Eddie asked as he dried his eyes on his sleeve.
“You can’t rebuild an entire race with just two members,” Dustin complained. “Because otherwise you get inbreeding and trust me when I say that’s gross and not just from moral stand point but a medical one, too.”
Max rolled her eyes. “They aren’t trying to rebuild the species. It’s just a love story.”
Dustin grumbled, “Well, it’s a stupid one.”
Eddie and Steve shared a glance and shook their heads.
Steve dislodged himself from Robin, reluctantly letting go of Eddie’s hand. “All right, gremlins, get your bed stuff and set it up downstairs. You don’t have to go to sleep right away but I want you at least in your sleeping bags.”
There was some grumbling from the younger kids but they all packed up and went downstairs, Jonathan and Nancy going down with them to make sure they didn’t start fighting over spots.
The remaining adults started cleaning up the mess that only thirteen people can make.
Robin got bored about half way through and wandered downstairs to see what was happening there.
Argyle tilted his head. “Does she always do that?”
Eddie and Steve looked at each other and shrugged.
“Not always,” Steve said. “Her mind just goes a million miles an hour and sometimes cleaning fulfills that need and other times not. I guess today was a not.”
Argyle nodded sagely. “Do you think she would benefit from the purple flower?”
By now they were aware that that was a brand of weed Argyle had brought over from California.
“She doesn’t like smoking,” Eddie said with a grimace.
Argyle lit up. “Brownies, bro! I bet she’d love my brownies.”
Steve chuckled. “You are more than welcome to ask. Just know she might still say no.”
Argyle smiled his dopey smile. “Never offended by that.”
They finished cleaning and went back downstairs to find that the usual piles were divided differently.
El, Max, and Nancy were doing each other’s nails. While Argyle, Robin and Jonathan were discussing weed in a corner. Mike and Will were snuggled up together as were Erica, Lucas, and Dustin.
“You know I always wondered about that night,” Eddie said. “Why you and Lucas weren’t snuggled up like you usually were.”
Max scoffed and rolled her eyes. “It’s the whole reason for this little guide I’m forcing myself to sit through.”
She put her head in her hands. “I thought we were on again and he did not.”
“He is an oblivious jock, though right?” Eddie grimaced.
“Yeah, but I didn’t realize how much until that night,” Max said with a small whine of frustration. “He said that it was great how we had remained friends after Vecna and then asked me if I was dating anyone at the time.”
Eddie rubbed his eye. “Are you serious?”
“Looks like it’s just you and me, big boy,” Eddie said looking around the room at all the different groups. When Steve didn’t reply, he backtracked, “Unless you want to hang out with Robin and the stoner boys?”
Steve’s head snapped up. “No, no. She looks like she’s having fun. I’d be happy to be your puppy partner.”
Eddie groaned. “Can you not say it like that?”
“Snuggle buddy?” Steve suggested. “Snug bugs? Puddle pals?”
Eddie shoved him playfully. “Knock it off, man.”
“Oh,” Steve said with a wicked gleam. “I see how it is. Maybe I will join one of the other piles. You think Mike will mind if I join him and Will?”
Eddie laughed. “Only if you want to be murdered in your sleep.”
Steve winked. “So I guess that means you’re stuck with me.”
Eddie bit his lip nervously. “I have an idea!” He walked over to the girls.
“Hello, ladies,” he greeted warmly. “May I inquire if you have any black polish among your bounteous plethora of polishes?”
El lit up. “Yes, I have three kinds in fact.” She went digging for them. “I have glitter midnight, death becomes her, and blackest black.”
She held them up for him to see. He looked at each one carefully and chose blackest black.
“Now, my fairest maiden,” Eddie said. “I need a blue for Stevie.”
Steve, Nancy and Max all stared at him in shock.
“You’re going to paint Steve’s nails?” Max asked.
Eddie nodded. “And he’s going to paint mine.”
El giggled. “That’s sooo cute. I have just the color.” She opened a small drawer in her kit and pulled out a sparkling dark blue.
Eddie kissed her forehead. “It’s perfect Supergirl.”
El blushed. “You’re welcome. Have fun.”
Eddie sat down cross-legged from Steve and set the two bottles down between them.
“Can’t have a sleepover without painting your nails and talking about boys,” Eddie said, grinning from ear to ear.
Steve laughed. “All right, Eds. You got me there.”
“I thought I would paint yours first, so you can watch me do it,” Eddie said. “And then you can do mine.”
Steve nodded and let Eddie take his right hand.
“Judd Nelson or Rob Lowe?” Eddie asked, delicately painting the thumb nail first.
“Ooh,” Steve said. “Going straight for the bad boys. Robert Downey Jr.”
Eddie looked up at him and tsked. “Wasn’t an option, but interesting.”
Steve laughed and Eddie swatted him. “Stop moving.”
“Sorry,” Steve said, but he was grinning unrepentantly.
“And people say I’m a menace,” he mumbled under his breath.
Steve leaned in close. “Oh, you absolutely are. But I’ll let you in on a secret. So am I.”
They continued to banter back and forth about their favorite actors and singers.
“You take that back!” Eddie protested.
Steve tapped the back of his hand. “Don’t move!” Eddie stopped struggling. “And I didn’t say it was a bad thing you look like John Bon Jovi, I was just making an observation.”
“His sound,” Eddie murmured, “I wouldn’t even deign to call it music, is trash Steve. Literal trash.”
Steve laughed. “Well there you go, menace. All done.”
Eddie held his hands up and admired them. “Not bad, Stevie. Not bad at all.”
“Not as good as yours,” Steve said softly, ducking his head.
“True, but since this was your first time, you did one hell of a job.”
El came over. “Can I see?”
Steve handed her back her bottles of nail polish and then showed her his hands.
“Eddie did a wonderful job,” she said with a gentle smile. “It makes your hands very pretty.”
“Thanks, El,” he said kissing her cheek.
Eddie showed her his and she nodded. “A couple of mistakes but an easy fix.” She went back over to her kaboodle and got out another bottle and a Q-tip. She scooted back over to Steve and Eddie.
“Here’s what you can do when you accidentally paint outside the nail,” El said and dipped the Q-tip into the bottle.
It smelled horrible. She picked up Eddie’s hand gingerly brushed the sides of the nail where Steve had missed and then it was gone, looking for all the world like Steve hadn’t fucked it up.
Steve picked up the bottle and read the label. “Polish remover?”
El nodded. “It’s great for touch ups or when you want a new color.”
“You’re the best El,” Eddie said with a dimpled grin.
She smiled shyly and went back to Max and Nancy.
And if that night found Eddie and Steve holding hands in their sleep, no one noticed. Or at least cared enough to mention it.
“You smooth mother fucker!” Max said. “It was all an excuse to get Steve to hold your hand for long periods of time!”
Eddie laughed. “It worked, didn’t it?!”
“There is no way Lucas is going to let me paint his nails to hold hands,” she said bitterly.
He shrugged. “So bake bread or make cookies. Something that requires your hands. Like I keep saying, your jock is going to be different, but you find things that work for you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered darkly. “What happens once he gets use to hand holding?”
Part 5 Part 6
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I've been having Steddie Dads & Surrogate Robin brainworms thanks to this ficlet by @unclewaynemunson so I had to write this quick thing. Hope you like it <3
Eddie knew that there was a lot involved with surrogacy. As soon as it was on the table, a topic of discussion — Steve had dove head first into research, taking Eddie along with him. They’d be curled up in bed together, Steve flipping through a pile of pamphlets and magazine articles, with Eddie re-reading the hobbit next to him until Steve places a pamphlet between the pages of his book. Lazy afternoons spent in their living room, reading up on agencies, clinics, Eddie with his head on Steve’s shoulder so they can read together.
He knew there was going to be money spent, many many appointments made, trips to doctors and lawyers and other very boring, very adult, very important things.
What Eddie didn’t realise, was how much time was going to be spent standing in hallways, waiting for Robin to piss on a stick.
Each time made his heart clench, his hands shake, knowing that one little plus or minus was going to change the trajectory of his life forever. In a good way of course. Always a good way. Steve squeezed his hand, looking over at him with a nervous smile. Eddie squeezed back — the cool metal of his rings pressing into the warmth of Steve’s hand — and he thunked his head onto the wall behind him.
“Quit it!” Robin hollered, voice muffled through the bathroom door. “You’re making me nervous!”
“I thought you said you peed when you’re nervous?” Steve shouted back, tilting his head towards the door.
“Not when I’m nervous about peeing!” Robin replied, voice still raised and edged with anxiety. “So quit slamming the wall Eddie!”
“How’d you know it was me?” Eddie interrupted, brows furrowing. Robin ignored him and continued shouting through the door.
“It reminds me that you’re there, and you’re listening, and I get all nervous and I can’t pee-“ Robin started to ramble, words merging together as her voice sped up. “-because I know you’re there listening which I know is the point of this whole exercise. But there’s a lot riding on this, riding on me, and then I start thinking about how big this is for you guys — and also for me again — and what if my eggs don’t work? Or I’m a bad surrogate? And then I get even more nervous because I really want to do this for you guys! You two deserve to be dads, and you’re going to be so good at it, which we won’t know unless I can pee Goddamnit.”
Her words ran out, and Eddie could picture her taking a deep breath as she leant on her knees, hunched over her body. He smiled faintly, and thumped his head onto Steve’s shoulder — knowing Robin would shout if she could hear him thump the wall again. A part of him was tempted to — to see what she would shout through the door again — but he couldn’t do that to her now. Not when she was doing so much for them. So Eddie took a deep breath, inhaling the comforting scent of Steve’s cologne and their laundry detergent, letting it calm him as he gently starts rubbing his thumb across the back Steve’s hand.
“Deep breaths, Rob,” Steve said, voice warm and comforting. “You’ve got this.” A pause. “Need me to come in?”
“Maybe?” Robin says quietly, unsure, before quickly correcting herself. “No. Wait- no. I got this. I’ll run the tap and pretend you’re not there.”
“Just yell if you need us,” Eddie added, hoping Robin can hear him over the sound of the now running water. He tries not to think about it too much, make himself too nervous, or too aware that he was just standing in a hallway waiting for Robin to piss on a stick. Of course it wasn’t just any stick.
The three of them have done this a few times now, and it still hasn’t stopped feeling any less nerve wracking. So Eddie takes another deep breath, and lets his eyes glaze over the pictures and paintings Robin’s hung on her walls to distract himself.
There are a lot of photos of her and Steve from throughout the years, and Eddie smiles at the sight. Them in their Family Video vests, back in Hawkins. At a family BBQ in the Buckley’s backyard, hung next to a painting of a horse she got in an estate sale. One from their first apartment in Chicago. The pair of them at Robin’s college graduation.
A photo with Erica and Dustin as well — the infamous Scoops Troop — all of them eating ice cream together. A couple with her and Eddie, smiling and pulling faces at Steve behind the camera, next to a painting that Robin got at a thrift store because the Victorian lady in it looked like ‘a funky old lesbian, but in a haunted sort of way’. Steve had just said it looked sort of like his Grandmother, and Robin had snorted soda up her nose.
They had decided to do the test at Robin’s apartment, in a futile attempt to make her more comfortable. Or at the very least — less nervous than last time, where Robin had locked herself in their hall bathroom and made them go watch TV until she was done. It was negative.
Eddie closed his eyes. The waiting was the worst. The absolute fucking worst. Knowing that one mark on a piece of plastic was going to tell him if he and Steve were one step closer to becoming parents. Becoming dads. And all he could do was wait.
He was both eager for and dreading the answer. He wanted to be a dad, to give Steve his six little nuggets, to raise a family with him. But at the same time he was terrified of turning into his father. A no good piece of shit who was never fit to raise a kid. Steve had talked him down, calmed him, the first time he had a panic attack about it.
It was after their first appointment at the clinic, and he had held Eddie’s hand and had admitted that he was scared too. Scared of turning into his father. To sympathise, not to dismiss Eddie’s fears. It had helped, listening to Steve’s steady breathing and soft voice as he talked about how it was a good thing they were both scared. Means they don’t want to be the sort of men their fathers were. Steve didn’t think his father was worried about neglecting him, he just sort of did it y’know? Eddie had snorted, blinked away his tears, and had admitted that Steve was right. Steve said of course he was, because he knew that Eddie won’t turn into his father. He’s going to turn out like Wayne.
Eddie had cried then, and he could feel his eyes starting to go misty now, standing in Robin’s hallways with Steve’s hand in his. He tries to blink away the tears that were threatening to fall, but Eddie doesn’t think he’s that successful. He knows he’s definitely unsuccessful when he feels Steve gently kiss the top of his head, lips pressing against his curls.
He doesn’t know how much time has passed when they hear the click of the door opening, Robin stepping out into the hall with her hands behind her back. Eddie can feel his throat tighten, and sort of feels like he’s going to puke. Oh God, this is it. Steve tightens his grip on Eddie’s hand, and they both whip their heads around to look at her. Robin’s face is unreadable as she looks down at her feet, and then up to them.
There’s a glint in her eyes now, a certain twist in the corner of her mouth, and Eddie can hear Steve’s breath hitch. She reaches behind her back, and holds the pregnancy test out in front of them. Their eyes are drawn to it like a magnet, desperate, eager, searching.
Eddie looks for the small screen on the side of the test and finds himself staring at a small, red, plus. His gaze snaps to Robin’s, eyes wide, and she’s biting her lips now, holding back the grin that threatens to take over her face.
He looks over at Steve only to find him looking back, his own eyes now glistening with unshed tears. Neither of them say anything as they look back at Robin. Not yet. It feels like as soon as they say anything, verbalise it, make it real, it’s going to hit Eddie like a truck. So he sits in the quiet of the moment, tearing up, Steve’s hand gripped tightly in his.
Robin’s voice is soft and low as she speaks, breaks the silence. “I’m pregnant.”
“You’re pregnant,” Steve repeats in awe, almost reverential. His eyes shine as a stray tear falls. “Holy shit.”
“I’m pregnant!” She repeats, louder this time, no longer holding back a smile but grinning at them widely. Gripping the pregnancy test in her hands, she starts to jump and rock in place. As if her excitement is an itch under her skin she can’t get out. “It worked!”
Eddie hasn’t said anything, he doesn’t know how to. He know’s he’s standing there looking gormless, doe eyed and teary, mouth agape. It doesn’t seem real. It finally worked. Robin is pregnant and it’s theirs. He whispers. “You’re pregnant.” Then again, louder, as if repeating the words would make it more real. “You’re fucking pregnant!”
“We’re having a baby!” Steve says, words dripping with excitement and awe and almost disbelief. He lets go of Eddie’s hand, but before he can miss it’s presence Steve is throwing his arms around both him and Robin, drawing them in close.
Eddie’s really crying now, tears coming out in a flood and he can’t stop them. Above all else, above the fear and the anxiety and the weight of his father — he’s happy. He’s so fucking happy. Steve’s shirt is dampening with Eddie’s tears, and he can hear Robin sniffling herself. If they’re not careful, they’ll spend the whole evening crying in the hall. He leans over to place a wet smacking kiss on Robin’s cheek, and then turns to Steve to give him the same.
Steve turns at the last second, capturing his lips with his own. And then they’re kissing, and they’re crying, smiling through it all with Robin still trapped in a hug. She doesn’t seem to mind, laughing all the while, clutching the test in her hands like it’s made of gold. Steve pulls back from the kiss with a wet pop, and Robin beams through her own tears as Steve buries his face in her neck.
“Thank you,” Steve whispers, loud enough for them all to hear. “For doing this for us.”
“It’s an honour,” Robin replies, words honey sweet and oh so happy. She smiles at them, sniffling. “But if you think I’m not going to milk this for all it’s worth, you’re wrong.”
Eddie throws his head back and cackles.
“Here you go.” It’s late in the morning on a Sunday, and the sun is pouring through the window, casting honey-coloured light all over the living room. Jude’s half-asleep with his cheek squished against the cushion his mum bought him for a housewarming present, and the sudden sound of your voice startles him into full consciousness; all he’s heard for the last hour is the lull of characters speaking on the show he’s watching and that cheesy laugh track played on all nineties sitcoms alike.
“What?” His words are half verbal and half a content hum through his nose. One of his eyes is closed and the other is squinting, trying to make out where you’re sitting in front of his coffee table with your legs tucked under yourself.
“Put your arm out.” You shuffle towards him, your fuzzy socks gliding against the wooden floor. Months have passed of you trying to convince him to buy a rug, but still the space remains bare and shiny due to his indecisiveness.
Jude pokes his arm out from between the blankets he’s had bunched up by his chin. Despite the sky outside being a stretch of clear baby blue, he’s dramatically complained all morning about his risk of getting hypothermia. There’s a mug of tea on the floor next to the foot of the sofa which you had made him earlier, and it sits there lukewarm because he’s afraid that once he moves all the heat will escape in one go. “It’s cold.”
“Here.” You stretch a bracelet over the back of his hand and onto his wrist; tiny blue and green beads placed perfectly in patterns of three, with a little yellow heart that you fiddle with so it sits flat against his skin. Goosebumps appear on his forearm and you try and rub them away with your palms, which are still warm from the little hot water bottle you’ve had sitting in your lap, the one Jude’s grandma had bought you for Christmas.
“You made it?” His voice is still hoarse from rest and he tries to clear his throat with a little cough, and then another when that one fails. Part of him is mad at himself now, he’s had his eyes shut all this time and missed the image of you adorably poking your tongue out in concentration.
“It’s stupid.” You scrunch your nose up, murmuring something about how you made some over cocktails with your friends one night and bought a kit for yourself because you thought it was fun. A little patch of golden light is illuminating one side of your face and if his phone wasn’t sitting in the other room on his bedside table, Jude would be a very annoying boyfriend and insist on taking a photo.
“No way.” The idea of you being paired with the word ‘stupid’ seems completely morally wrong, like two things that shouldn't exist in the same universe. It’s a firm belief of his that you should only be associated with all things sweet and kind, like old fifties love songs with trumpets in the back or those little flowers that appear at the beginning of spring after an awful winter.
“You don’t have to wear it.” You twiddle the beads around on the stretchy elastic, before moving your fingertips to trace the lines on his palms; the same thing you do when you’re sitting next to each other at dinner or on the train. “You can take it off later.”
“I’m not taking it off!” Jude snatches his hand away from where you’ve been holding it, and you let out a wheeze of laughter that sends a fuzzy rush of love to his heart. A feeling that he wishes he could catch mid-air and bottle up for when he’s far away and misses you so much that his chest aches like he’s pulled a muscle.
“Okay.” You smile down at where you’re picking at a loose thread on the blanket, curling it around your finger over and over again. “If you’re sure.”
“Are you kidding?” To him, you must be. It’s already been decided: He’ll wear it to sleep and in the shower. He’ll tuck it under his sleeve so he doesn’t have to take it off during training. It’ll hang on his hook in the changing rooms during a big game like a little good luck charm. If it slides above his wrist, he’ll search frantically under the hem of his sleeves in fear he’s lost it. He’ll wear it even when all the colour rubs off the beads and they’re left white. He’ll keep it until it inevitably snaps and you have to make a new one, exactly the same. “It’s my most prized possession.”
@magnusbae challenged me to write smut using professional email language, and i'm nothing if not a slut for abusing corporate jargon!
>> Saturday, March 26, 8:32pm – Morpheus <morpheus @ dreaming.com> to Office (All):
Subject: TO ALL WHOM IT MAY CONCERN
I do not appreciate tardiness. Cease your dallying at once come Monday morning. Or there shall be consequences.
>> Saturday, March 26, 8:41pm – Hob <robert @ dreaming.com> to Morpheus:
RE: TO ALL WHOM IT MAY CONCERN
Morpheus, mate, all due respect, what with your being the sole god, ruler, and iron-fisted authoritarian of the place, but do you have nothing at all better to do than send work emails on a Saturday night?
And before you say, "but Hob, you yourself are replying to emails this Saturday," you are so right! I’m currently drinking alone :)
>> 8:42pm – Morpheus to Hob
I should fire you for such insolence.
>> 8:47pm – Hob to Morpheus
Do it then :)
Alternative proposal: we commit several HR violations like we did in the office on Thursday.
>> 8:50pm – Morpheus to Hob
All proposals must be submitted to me in writing.
>> 8:52pm – Hob to Morpheus
You really want a paper trail?
>> 8:56pm – Morpheus to Hob
It has an email trail already, does it not?
>> 9:05pm – Hob to Morpheus
Please find attached my detailed proposal.
>> 9:07pm – Morpheus to Hob
This is twelve pages that only say, “I want to suck your dick.”
>> 9:09pm – Hob to Morpheus
What, have you got edits or something?
Do you need more time to review? Wanna circle back on it later? Block some time on my calendar to go over it? ;)
>> 9:15pm – Morpheus to Hob
My redline is attached.
>> 9:17pm – Hob to Morpheus
I’m amenable to those changes.
But on second pass I think we can accomplish more in this partnership. I think I’d like to take you apart slowly, have you begging. You’re always demanding, I think it might be good for you to beg for once. It’s not good business to agree without a little negotiation. I wanna see you beg for my cock.
What are your thoughts on this addition?
>> 9:40pm – Hob to Morpheus
Hi Morpheus, I hope this finds you well. Just following up on this question :)
>> 9:50pm – Morpheus to Hob
Perhaps I am considering.
You may wish to consider that I am your boss.
>> 9:53pm – Hob to Morpheus
I think there’s been a miscommunication. You seem to be laboring under the misapprehension that I give a fuck about that.
>> 9:54pm – Morpheus to Hob
I truly should fire you.
>> 9:55pm – Hob to Morpheus
Don’t you think you deserve to cum first?
>> 9:56pm – Morpheus to Hob
After I beg for it, you mean?
>> 9:57pm – Hob to Morpheus
Now you’re getting it.
If I correctly guess that you’re in your bed, that you’ve BEEN in your bed while you’re “considering,” do I get a gold star? Employee of the month?
>> 10:00pm – Morpheus to Hob
There is no possible universe where you win such an award.
However, your supposition may be correct.
>> 10:02pm – Hob to Morpheus
Excellent, so we’re on the same page, then :)
Are you touching yourself? Are you imagining it’s me touching you instead? Because I’m imagining I have you under me and I’m fucking into your tight hole instead of my hand. (And typing emails w/ one hand is not so easy btw).
>> 10:03pm – Morpheus to Hob
I have two fingers inside me. But it is not enough. I would have your cock.
>> 10:04pm – Hob to Morpheus
I think you know what I wanna hear.
>> 10:05pm – Morpheus to Hob
>> 10:06pm – Hob to Morpheus
There’s a good boy.
Don’t worry, love, I’ll give you everything you want. You’re taking me so good, I just know it. Going to feel it for days.
>> 10:07pm – Morpheus to Hob
I would have you come in me. If you’re amenable.
>> 10:08pm – Hob to Morpheus
Fuck you make me so hot. Yeah I’m amenable. Will you cum for me first? Can you cum just from the feeling of me inside you?
10:09pm – phone call from <unknown>
“I thought… you would want to hear it.”
“God your voice… did you get this number from the HR directory?”
“What if I did?”
“Kinda stalkery but kinda hot. Are you close?”
“Very. I… I want you. Badly. Please, Hob.”
“I have you, darling. Ah, you beg so pretty. You can come. I want to hear you. Can you do it without touching yourself? Be good.”
“I know you can. Go on. Imagine me with you. Holding your hands to the bed so you can’t touch yourself. I can imagine how beautiful you look. I’d kiss you if I was there, wreck your mouth, too.”
“Go on. For me?”
“There you go, sweet thing. I wish I could see you.”
“Will you… come for me now? So I can feel you inside me?”
“Good. You feel… so good. Worthy of employee of the month, perhaps.”
“Oh, fuck you, Morpheus. You don’t even have awards at this place.”
“Of course I don’t. That would be inane.”
“Are you satisfied with my efforts, at least?”
“I am pleased to say that I am.”
“Still, I think we should probably debrief that meeting. You wanna touch base about it in person? Say… eleven pm? My calendar’s clear.”
Kittens in Space
The first rule of keeping cats aboard a spaceship is don’t lose the cats on the spaceship. I know this. I know it better than the rest of the crew! I’m the Earthling here, the animal expert with actual veterinarian training, and I’m the one who brought them onboard. I told the captain with confidence that I could keep track of them.
Well, guess what I just did.
The problem was immediately obvious when I woke up. Every morning for the last few days had started with cutesy kitten pounces and thumps as they batted toys about the room. Sometimes I’d get a tail in my face; other times I’d hear a crash as they discovered how to reach another yet high shelf. Not once had I woken to silence.
Today I did. And as soon as I realized it, I sat up with a jerk to scan the room, my heartbeat loud in my ears.
Catnip mice and foam balls were everywhere. My shoes were still on the coat hooks; they hadn’t managed to knock them down yet. Nothing was swatted off the shelves. And no kittens lay on the floor dead after eating alien food, so at least there was that. But where were they?
I moved my feet toward the floor, disturbing a lump that meowed sleepily. Tapestry the mom cat was curled up on my bed; I hadn’t seen her. And now that I wasn’t jostling the blankets anymore, she curled back up for some hard-earned rest.
But no kittens. I stroked her tabby fur and looked for smaller balls of fluff, but found none. She didn’t seem worried. Hopefully that was a good sign. I stood and hurried to the bathroom.
My quarters were small, basically just the two rooms, since I spent most of my time with the rest of the crew. There really shouldn’t have been any good hiding spots that I hadn’t already blocked off. The bed didn’t even have space underneath it; that’s where my clothes drawers were. And I’d made sure the little fluffbrains couldn’t open those on their own, much less close them again.
They weren’t in the bathroom. Not in the closed-lid toilet, or the space-age shower stall, or the cabinet of supplies. Not in the trash can (again). They hadn’t gotten closed up in the foldable sink; I always left it sticking out of the wall. Where were they?
They couldn’t have gotten out into the hallway. No. Just not possible. I would have heard if someone inexplicably opened the door to my quarters without knocking, not that anyone would. Especially while I was asleep.
I told myself that there was no way they could be wandering the ship and getting stuck in the engine room. Mimi would notice animals hiding among his engine parts. Heck, the entire ship was bound to have someone around, ready to spot the furry little troublemakers, no matter how stealthy they were. I was pretty sure they resembled food on at least one homeworld. My crewmates weren’t the sort to hurt them, though; everyone knew full well that I had them here. The kittens wouldn’t be mistaken for pests.
I really don’t want to announce to everyone that I’ve lost them, I thought, leaving the bathroom. They’ve got to be in here somewhere. What am I missing?
I surveyed the toy-covered room, trying for the umpteenth time to see catproofing opportunities that I hadn’t addressed.
Bed, bookshelf, other shelves. Bedside table with the lamp bolted down. Desk and chair. The litterbox was in the bathroom, with the food and water dishes along the wall beside me. There were no curtains to climb, and hardly any decorations, just the digital window with its chunky gold frame — someone’s secondhand idea of class — and the fake plants on the shelves. The bite marks on those weren’t new.
But the positioning was.
I stepped closer, staring and second-guessing, and yes they were definitely pushed out of place. And now that I thought about it, the digital frame was slightly crooked too. That spectacular alien sunset with the planetary rings in the background was out of alignment with the corner of the room.
Like someone stepped on it. Now where would they—
I froze in place, feeling stupid. Ah. Right.
Ever look at something so often that you stop noticing it? I may have mentioned that this was a spaceship. Metal walls, plasticky floors, no real windows.
A ceiling covered in twisty pipes.
I hadn’t considered catproofing the ceiling; it was too high to reach (ha), and surely not the kind of place that kittens would hide.
But as I stepped onto the bed and brought my face up close to the lowest curve, I realized that the faint engine sounds I’d long gotten used to sounded an awful lot like purring.
There they were. All five of the fuzzy little bastards were snuggled into a happy pile among the pipes without a care in the world. They meeped sleepily when I stuck a hand in.
“I can’t believe you,” I murmured. They ignored me.
The air was warm but not hot, and the pipes were vibrating faintly. While Captain Sunlight had assured me that there was no radiation to worry about, I figured it couldn’t hurt to double-check. Sleeping on top of the things could easily be a different prospect from sleeping in a bed below.
“All right, down for now,” I told them, scooping up the kittens despite their protests and setting them on the bed. “Be good little fluffbrains and sleep here while I — no? No, of course not.” They were already tumbling to the floor with strident mews for food. Tapestry stretched and jumped down as well.
I sighed and got out the cat food. If I was quick about it, I could get out the door before they tried to follow me. That net I’d tried to rig up as a baby gate hadn’t stopped them crawling under.
“Good kitties,” I said, tugging my shoes on as they ate. “You behave yourselves. I’m just going to make sure your favorite new hiding place isn’t going to give you extra eyeballs or something. Maybe I’ll set up a new shelf there so you don’t fall on my face during the night.”
I slipped out the door just as the first kitten finished eating — appropriately enough, it was the gray shorthair who Mimi had insisted I name after him. There weren’t any green cats in the litter, so gray was close enough.
“Meeeeee,” declared Mimi-the-kitten as the door closed.
“Yup,” I agreed.
Once I was sure the latch wasn’t about to pop loose, I took long strides toward the engine room. My heartbeat was totally calm and normal; why do you ask?
The ongoing backstory of the main character from this book. More to come!
yoon jeonghan x reader
summary: jeonghan asks to roleplay him being jealous and fucks you like the little desperate slut you are
wc is approx 10.7k (wow my biggest fic yet)
tags: roleplaying, jealousy, mirror sex, (mentioned but not explored) secret relationship. door sex. consent n talking!!!!! aftercare
warnings: mdni. reader has female anatomy, use of feminine pet names. slut is used. mentions of mounting (reader thinks it). jealousy, possessiveness, taunting and teasing, reader and jeonghan's dirty minds. the word pervert is used. jeonghan takes pictures. rough sex to gentleness to rough sex. unprotected sex. cumming inside, squirting, fingering, dry-humping. jeonghan is a little mean and also totally in love and finds reader adorable. i'm sorry choi seungcheol.
request: i’m not quite sure if you’re still taking requests but do you think i could request jeonghan (preferably dom but sub would be fine too) smut with mirror? you can take ur time with it hope it’s not a bother! love reading your fics! have a great day
anon idk if this is what u wanted but i ran w it. i'm sorry it took a hot minute!!! i hope you enjoy it <3333
He had been watching you all night.
Jeonghan's eyes always tended to be turned towards you, but not like this. Usually he watched you with unbridled affection, love, adoration. But tonight his gaze was narrowed, his eyes sharp and dark, accentuated by the way he would constantly brush his dark bangs back and away from his face.
You didn't know what you had done to deserve that look from him. You weren't wearing anything revealing, hadn't done anything tantalizing or seductive. All night you had just sat at the couch, sipping at your drink and nodding along to Seungcheol's words.
Your friend was pleasantly buzzed, a large smile on his face and cheeks blushed. He had defeated a few others in beer pong, but that hadn't meant he walked away unscathed.
"I really think we'll be seeing all this warm weather bite us in the ass come summer," he was saying. "There's no way we don't."
You hummed, agreeing. "Remember when it got so cold that one year where it was in the negatives during the afternoon?"
"Yes!" Seungcheol gasped, eyes bright. Mingyu approached the couch, a pout on his face. He wedged himself next to Seungcheol and the arm of the couch, forcing Seungcheol closer to you.
Your thighs were touching his, his shoulder against yours. The two of you adjusted to get more comfortable, but not separating entirely.
There was movement from the wall. Jeonghan was still watching you, eyes taking in your every move. It was obvious he wasn't paying attention to Seokmin, who was dramatically waving his arms around to emphasize his story.
Jeonghan had, uncharacteristically, worn all black, form-fitting clothing. His jeans clung to his legs, revealing their slender shape; he wore a tank-top that hugged his stomach and chest, only hidden by his jacket. His hair was as black as his clothes, adding to the overall look that had your neurons and electrons screaming, eyes constantly smoothing over his form in an attempt to memorize the look.
Seungcheol shifted. He turned towards you, his wide body partially shielding Jeonghan from your view. He moved his arm to press against the couch, caging you in on one side. Seungcheol's bangs obscured his eyes as he ducked his head, voice low.
"I know you're dating Jeonghan." He ignored your gasp, your eyes widening. "And I know he hasn't looked away from you once all night. How about I help move things along, hm?"
"Don't worry, princess," Seungcheol grinned, eyes still holding that dangerously bright look. He reached out, hand cradling your cheek. "I won't tell anyone. Won't have to after this."
Then he was being shoved away from you, his body hitting Mingyu's. Your boyfriend was standing in front of the two of you, his drink gone, his jaw jutting out as he visibly tried to reign in his anger. Jeonghan, however much he tried to appear otherwise, wasn't good at hiding his emotions.
His anger was seen in the furrow of his brows, the firmness of his lips; the harsh, dark look of his eyes and the way his hands clenched at his sides.
"Y/n," He began, eyes never moving from Seungcheol. "Didn't you say that you couldn't stay long tonight? I think it's time for you to be going home. Why don't I take you."
You knew he wasn't asking, but commanding. Confused, but obedient, you stood from the couch. "I guess that's all right. See you later, Seungcheol."
"Bye, baby," Seungcheol sang, relaxing back in the couch. He had a little smirk on his face, pleased.
Jeonghan scoffed, grabbing your wrist. He pulled you towards him, his other hand settling on your waist. "Fuck off, Choi Seungcheol."
Seungcheol's laughter followed the two of you as you left the room, Jeonghan's grip on you never faltering. Eyes turned towards the two of you as you left the house party, taking in Jeonghan's hold on you, how urgently he maneuvered you.
Jeonghan said nothing to you as he led you to his car. He did open the passenger door for you, gently pushing you down onto the seat. You peered up at him with wide eyes as he stood before you, towering over your sitting form. "Jeonghan? Seungcheol wasn't doing anything, you don't have anything to be jealous about, I swear."
A soft smile that countered the past five minutes took over Jeonghan's face. He braced his hands on the car, leaning down and lowering his face towards you. "I know, sweetheart. But let's pretend he was, and let's pretend that I do."
Jeonghan's smile turned into a little smirk, the dark look that he had worn inside the house from watching you with Seungcheol returning to his face. "Pretend, my darling. Let's pretend Seungcheol was intent on fucking your perfect little pussy, and let's pretend I'm driven mad by jealousy, mad enough to fuck your cunt raw."
Every single thought flew out of your mind, eyes wide on your boyfriend. It was like the whole world went silent, shocked by his words.
Then you rewound his words. He wanted to pretend that Seungcheol, his best friend, had wanted -- you gulped -- wanted to "fuck your perfect little pussy", wanted to pretend that he was jealous so he could have an excuse to fuck you roughly.
The two of you had begun having sex a few weeks ago, a month after you had begun your relationship. There hadn't been enough time for the two of you, in your shared opinion, to be fully comfortable with having rougher sex.
Not that sex had been boring with Jeonghan. Not with how expertly he worked his fingers in your cunt, exploring within you. Not with how he was content to just lay between your thighs, arms wrapped around them to keep them spread wide, tonguing lazily at your clit for what seemed to be hours on end.
But still --
"If it's okay with you, of course," Jeonghan hurriedly added. He stepped off the curb, crowding into the car. His fingers sunk into your hair, tilting your head back. Jeonghan's eyes flickered over your face, drinking you in. "We can talk about it more on the drive."
You nodded, swallowing harshly.
Jeonghan smiled. He bent down, pressing his lips to yours in a chaste kiss. The smell of alcohol hit your nose, and you couldn't help but wrinkle it.
Jeonghan laughed. "Cute."
Another kiss, this time deeper. He moved his mouth against yours lavishly, taking his time, as if the world would stop turning just so he could devour you. Each press was quick and wet, his tongue rolling into your mouth and mixing his spit with yours; each press sent a wave of heat through you, your head beginning to spin.
Jeonghan moved away, a string of spit connecting his mouth to yours, the smack of mouths separating sending a final wave of heat, one that landed in your cunt.
He laughed, darting forward to press a sweet kiss to your forehead. "How cute you are. You look like I've been fucking you when all we've done is kiss."
"Hush." You turned your head away from him, breaking his hold. Jeonghan pulled away and shut the car door, but even then you could hear the sound of his giggles.
One thing about Yoon Jeonghan, you had come to discover, was that he was absolutely shameless. The two of you kept your relationship on the quieter end, but that didn't stop him. He'd tug you to the back of the group when you were with your friends, just so he could slip his hand into your back pocket and squeeze. He'd grab you before you walked out the door for work whenever the two of you spent the night together, pressing you against the wall and ravishing your mouth and neck, leaving bites and sucking hickeys.
He took delight in your embarrassment and it seemed the more embarrassed you got, the more pleased he was.
"Aesh," Jeonghan sighed, sliding in the driver's door. "Can't believe you're still embarrassed by a little kissing."
"You kissed me like -- like --" You shot him a look, curling your lip a little, hoping he would drop it.
"Like what?" Jeonghan taunted, putting the key into the ignition. "Like we were fucking?"
You gasped, shooting him a wide-eyed look. "Yoon Jeonghan!"
He laughed, putting on his seat belt. You were quiet as he pulled off the side of the road, the radio softly singing and filling the silence.
"So about me being jealous," Jeonghan began, drumming his fingers on the wheel. "I'm not. Just want to clarify. I know Seungcheol was just fucking around with me. But it would be fun to pretend, wouldn't it?"
You hummed, shifting in the seat. You reached towards the console, pushing on your seat warmer. Jeonghan shook his head when you shot him an inquiring look, declining the warmer.
"What would it include? Being jealous?"
Jeonghan shrugged. His black hair was pushed behind his ears with just enough curl to where the strands hugged the bottoms of his earlobes. He looked so sweet, with his impish little grin and large eyes. Jeonghan was so beautiful, so angelic, so princely --
And underneath it all was a pervert.
"Well. It includes all the territory that comes with being jealous when someone's trying to fuck their partner. Possessiveness, manhandling, hickeys. Fucking your sweet little cunt relentlessly, shoving my dick inside." Your pussy, shamefully, clenched aruond nothing at the lewdness. "Proving that every single inch of you, every centimeter, from the precious hair on the top of your head, your tight cunt, your littlest toe, is mine.
"If you're interested in that kinda thing."
You turned away from Jeonghan, tongue running over your lips.
Against your better judgement you began imagining it. Jeonghan's large hands squeezing your thighs, peeling them apart. His mouth on your breast, biting and sucking in turn, tongue running over your hardened nipples. Nails digging into your skin, shoulders wedging between your legs. Fingers working you open just enough to fit his dick without causing you pain, careless otherwise.
Jeonghan ramming his dick into your cunt, immediately filling you with his entire length and cockhead hitting your core. Your legs draped over his shoulders, his body flush against yours, his fingers squeezing your skin hard enough to leave bruises.
"You wouldn't be mean, would you?" You leaned forward, pushing the seat warmer off. Your ass was warm, and combined with the warmth that was quickly mounting in your cunt made you uncomfortable.
Jeonghan, in a fit of possessiveness, flinging you to your stomach. Hands grabbing at your hips, wrenching you up for him to fuck you on his cock, mounting you like --
Maybe you were the pervert.
"No," Jeonghan agreed, "I wouldn't be mean. And if I say anything you don't like, you can use the safe word and stop it. Besides. You're too cute. I don't think anyone can be mean to you."
You threw Jeonghan an exasperated look. He was grinning, the streetlights casting shadows on his face, exaggerating the cut of his cheekbones, shrouding him in darkness and light both.
"Okay." You licked your lips again. "Let's do it."
"Say it." Jeonghan sang, removing one hand off of the wheel to tuck some stray black hairs behind his ear. "I want you to say it. Say 'Jeonghan, my darling, my love, I want you to fuck me like a jealous lover.'"
Huffing, you turned away from him and looked out the window. Jeonghan giggled. You crossed your legs at the ankles, tucking your hands underneath your thighs. Softly, just enough so he could hear, you repeated his words. "Jeonghan, I want -- I want you to fuck me like you're jealous."
"Why would I be jealous, sweet girl?"
You turned your head to look over your shoulder at him, squirming. He used such sweet names with you, and it was absolutely horrible how they sent warmth flooding through you, how they seemed to settle in the pit of your gut, your pussy clenching and gushing.
"You'd -- you'd be jealous of Cheollie," you murmured. "Jealous of Cheollie wanting . . ."
"What does he want?"
You licked your lips, watching the line of his sharp jaw, the way his dark eyes stared straight ahead. "He wants -- he wants to fuck me."
"Fuck your what?"
A little gasp escaped you. As your words left your lips your pussy began to leak, juices slowly trickling out and seeping into your underwear. "Cheollie wants to fuck my -- my pussy."
It was as if Jeonghan won a competition. His face lit up, satisfaction practically radiating off of him. He looked so thoroughly smug, getting you to say such dirty words.
You glanced down at his lap. His jeans, which had done nothing to hide the muscle of his thighs and the shape of his legs, did absolutely zilch in concealing the bulge of his dick. It pressed against his jeans, and you bet he felt so uncomfortable like that. You wanted to reach over the console and unzip his jeans, reach into his boxers and take out his cock, his pretty long cock.
Immediately your mouth went to watering, and you were mortified when you shifted and felt the wetness of your underwear. You were leaking from both your mouth and cunt and all Jeonghan had done was say some dirty words.
You were such a fucking pervert.
Jeonghan's little hum distracted you from your peril. He lowered the volume of the radio, even though you could barely hear it in the first place. He didn't return his hand to the wheel; instead he laid his hand on your thigh, fingers quickly squeezing your flesh before relaxing.
"You've been so mean to me tonight," Jeonghan sighed, pressing his pretty lips into a frown. "You knew what you were doing, didn't you? Letting Seungcheol snuggle up against you like that on the couch."
His hand squeezed your thigh again. His fingers, his long and elegant fingers that should be used for playing piano or guitar or something other than what your pussy hoped he was going to use them for, shifted up your thigh.
You should've worn a skirt or shorts, damn the winter weather.
"You sat with Seungcheol all night." Jeonghan's fingers brushed against the inside seam of your jeans. You watched, transfixed, as his nails played with it. "Ignored me, your boyfriend, in favor of my best friend."
"Didn't mean to," you whispered, swallowing absentmindedly. He tapped his fingers against your inner thigh and immediately you were spreading your legs, baring yourself for him.
A laugh left Jeonghan, amused by your obedience. His hand slid over your thigh and settled over your clothed cunt. A sharp gasp left you, both of your hands shooting to hold his wrist in place. Before you could help it you were grinding your hips up, driving your cunt against his hand.
"What a needy slut you are," Jeonghan said conversationally, as if he was just remarking on the weather. Then he paused. "Is that mean?"
You shook your head. "No. Not mean."
"Did you like it?" You went silent. Jeonghan, delighted, laughed. "Let me feel your cunt. I bet you did like it."
You released his hand. You were mortified of the mess you knew awaited him in your pants. Wetness had completely soaked your underwear, your cunt hot and clenching frantically, as if you were -- as if you were a needy slut.
Once your jeans were bunched around your knees, Jeonghan's hand returned to your cunt. He pressed it against your underwear, trapping it between his hand and your pussy. "You definitely liked it. Your cunt has fucking soaked your panties. I bet I could drink your juices right from your panties."
You gasped, offended and thoroughly turned on by the image. Jeonghan ignored you. "We'll be pulling into the lot soon. As soon as we leave the car, it starts, okay? Is that okay?"
You nodded. Jeonghan removed his hand from your cunt, making you clench. Part of you wanted Jeonghan to just stick his fingers inside of you already, to press your underwear to the side and fuck you in the car.
That, however, was too much for you right now.
So you hiked your jeans back up your thighs, frowning at the feeling of your underwear sticking to your cunt once again.
Jeonghan pulled into his car space, unclipping his seat belt as he did. Once he had the car in park and turned off the engine, he reached to you. One of his hands went to your belt, guiding it off of you. "Remember, sweetheart. Just pretend.”
“Just pretend,” you echoed back, smiling at him.
Jeonghan rolled his eyes, both of his hands moving to cradle your face. “How fucking cute,” he sighed, as if your cuteness was burdensome. He ducked forward, pressing his lips to yours in a quick kiss. “I adore you.”
You laughed a little, delighted. You reached up, hands covering his and keeping them on your face. Your lips sought his back out, pressing a sweet kiss to them. Jeonghan, who was always eager for kisses and hardly ever turned them down, let out a little moan against your mouth.
His hands sunk into your hair, bringing you closer. Jeonghan’s mouth began to move urgently against yours, trapping your lips between his, each kiss more hurried and sloppy than the one before it.
It was weirdly hot, listening to the slick sounds of your mouth against his, kissing so desperately in his car. Your cunt gushed slick, and when you couldn’t help but pitch forward, grinding your clit down on your seat, your mouth parted in a wide, noiseless gasp.
Jeonghan parted from you, his lips in a little grin. “So needy,” he cooed. Jeonghan pressed a final kiss to your mouth. “You ready?”
At your nod, Jeonghan was taking out the keys and opening the car door. You scrambled to leave your seat, shoving the seat belt back inside the car when it tried to hang out.
Jeonghan was fumbling with his keys, leaning against the car when you joined him. His black hair was obscuring his face, and for a moment you were confused.
Then he sighed, one of his hands reaching up and pushing his hair out of his face. He gave you a sharp look, his eyes hard. “What a greedy slut I’ve got on my hands, hm?”
Realization and heat flooded your system. You gaped, eyes widening a little.
Jeonghan shook his head, pushing off of the car. He crossed to you, his hands settling on your waist. “Imagine how it looked to everyone else at that party, Y/n. Seungcheol was practically wrapped around you, his eyes fucking you right there in front of me. And you just let him.”
He laughed, a humorless thing that had your heart dipping down into the pit of your stomach. One of his hands wiggled up underneath your shirt, fingers lightly digging into your hip. “God. I bet every single bastard in that place thinks he’s the one fucking you at night. Do you think? Do you think that Mingyu thinks it’s Seungcheol making you cry at night with his dick, thinks it’s Seungcheol who makes your cunt seep so much wet that it could drown a man?”
You were saying his name, though no sound left your lips. Jeonghan shook his head, long lashes fluttering as he closed his eyes to further envelope himself in the role. “Do you think Seungcheol dreams of it? I bet he does. I bet he’s going to go home tonight and stick his hands down his pants and think of you.”
“Jeonghan!” You finally gasped, your hand, seemingly of its own will, reaching up and slapping his shoulder.
His eyes flew open, his mouth splitting into a smile that you could only describe as villainous. “Oh? Are you trying to feign innocence? Trying to pretend that you’re some little perfect princess? Trying to convince yourself that you have no part in all this?”
“I --” You gulped. Jeonghan parted from you, though one of his hands remained on you. He used it to guide you away from the car and towards the building. “Seungcheol’s your friend, Jeonghan.”
“You think that matters?” Jeonghan rolled his eyes. “Think friendship matters when it comes to this?”
“He wouldn’t.” Jeonghan’s hand slides down your waist and to your ass as the two of you come upon the stairs, softly pushing and guiding you up the stairs. “Seungcheol isn’t like that.”
Jeonghan laughed. “And if he is? Do you know what it’s like, little dove? Knowing that it’ll be your girl that your best friend’s thinking about tonight when he fucks the nearest cunt? Knowing that it’s your girl who is so blissfully unaware?”
“Or,” Jeonghan began, holding out the word as the two of you ascended onto your floor. He used his grip on you to tug you close, your side against his. “Is that what you’re wanting?”
“Jeonghan!” You snapped. He shook out the keys, long fingers finding the correct one and sticking it into the keyhole. “You’re just being bullheaded about this. You’re making a mountain out of a mole hole.”
“Yeah?” He pushed open the door, immediately flicking on the light. Then he was yanking the keys out of the hole, both of his hands going to your hips. Jeonghan practically shoved you inside the apartment, though his grip was secure. Once the two of you were inside he slammed the door shut, throwing the keys onto the floor.
One of his hands moved from your hip to cradle the back of your head, and then he was pushing you up against the door. Jeonghan’s hand kept your head from slamming against it, and once you were settled he used the grip on your hair to angle your face up towards him. “You really think I’m just being stubborn?”
Your lips were already parted, your heavy breathing drying them out. You gulped, running your tongue over them and not missing how his dark eyes seemed to zero in on your mouth. “Yes. You’re being -- you’re being ridiculous, Yoon Jeonghan. There’s nothing to be jealous about?”
“Nothing?” He practically hissed the word. Jeonghan pressed himself against you, wedging his leg between yours, knee knocking against the door. His other arm came up and trapped you, keeping you still. “Nothing to be jealous about, sweetheart? So tell me, then, if you’re so smart. Tell me that every single time Seungcheol watched your lips, tell me that every single time his hand went to your thigh, every time he leaned in so close --”
At this Jeonghan lowered his head, his warm breath hitting your face. You could count his eyelashes.
“-- he wasn’t imagining kissing you, wasn’t imaging fucking you right there on that couch in front of me, making me watch.
“Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me I’m just jealous over nothing.”
You licked your lips again, feeling trapped. You knew, logically, that all of what Jeonghan had just said were lies. Seungcheol never watched your mouth when you spoke, his hand had never gone even close to your thigh. He never leaned as close as Jeonghan was now, so close that you could just push up to the tips of your toes and your lips would be on his.
But Jeonghan, looming over you, exuded a predator waiting to pounce. His eyes were so dark they were practically black, focused on you. His body was caging you in, leaving you no room to wiggle.
“You’re --” Your hands moved to settle on his arms, squeezing. “You’re jealous over nothing, Yoon Jeonghan.”
He growled as soon as his name left your lips. Jeonghan’s hand in your hair tightened, and he used the hold to bare your neck. Immediately his lips were on it, biting.
A loud gasp left you, your eyes squeezing shut.
Jeonghan’s tongue smoothed over the bite, trying to take away the sting. Then his lips were traveling, skimming, trailing his tongue over your skin and causing gooseflesh to pebble. A little whine escaped you.
“There we are,” he murmured. He reattached his lips to your skin, beginning to suck. While he worked at bruising and marking your neck, he raised the leg that was between your thighs. Once his knee bumped at your cunt you were folding, grinding down on it as if it was his cock.
“Jeonghan,” you moaned, feeling something begin to build. Pressure was mounting in your cunt, and you used Jeonghan’s thigh to rub off as if the two of you were horny teenagers who couldn’t even make it to the bed.
“How needy you are,” he breathed against your neck. He released your hair, his fingers moving to ghost over your neck and the marks he left. You couldn’t help but hiss as he pressed his fingers into a particular spot, wincing. “You’re so fucking needy. No wonder you were off fucking with Seungcheol. Just can’t help yourself, can you? As soon as your boyfriend is looking away you’re searching for the nearest dick.”
You shook your head, hands squeezing at his shoulders and nails digging in. “No! Not -- not the nearest -- not Cheol --”
Jeonghan laughed, moving away from you. His hands settled on your hips, guiding you into a harsh ryuthym as you grinded down on his thigh. “Here you are fucking yourself on my thigh and still thinking about him. I bet you could get off like this, can’t you? Get off on my thigh like a little slut.”
Biting on your lip, you shook your head. “Won’t! I won’t, Jeonghan.”
Jeonghan hummed. “I bet you would if it was Seungcheol.”
“Wouldn’t! I wouldn’t --” A particular drag of your cunt against his leg had your back arching, mouth widening and eyes shutting. Pleasure shot through you, as if you were doing something more than just using your boyfriend’s thigh.
“You would,” Jeonghan argued. “So needy you don’t even need a cock.”
“I need it,” you whined, shaking your heard. Your hands moved from his shoulders, going to grip at his hair. Then you were lowering his head, forcing Jeonghan closer. “Need your cock, Jeonghan.”
He didn’t get a chance to do anything before your mouth was on his, devouring. You took his lower lip between both of yours, sucking. Jeonghan let out a little moan, his fingers digging into your hips and stilling him. He ignored your whine. Instead Jeonghan focused on your mouth, shoving his tongue inside of it, forcing his spit into your mouth, using it, fucking it.
Lungs burning, you pulled away from him. You couldn’t manage to go far, smearing your combined saliva over his mouth and chin as you fought to catch your breath.
Jeonghan squeezed your hips. “All good, dove?”
You nodded, hands releasing his hair.
“Give me the safe word, darling,” Jeonghan pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Need to know you’re not all spent out from just kissing.”
You rolled your eyes, finally straightening. Jeonghan’s eyes were twinkling, though they hadn’t lost that dark, predatory look. “Green.”
His mouth returned to yours, pressing sloppy kisses to your lips. His hands moved from your hips, dipping inside of your jeans. You fought the urge to grind down on his thigh as Jeonghan’s fingers made quick work of your button and zipper, his fingers hooking into your jeans and underwear and pulling them over the curve of your ass.
You stepped out of your jeans, and he was kicking them away. Jeonghan’s hands went to your hips and he was grinding his knee back up into your cunt, the fabric of his jeans dragging deliciously against you. You couldn’t help the little cry that left you, tilting your head back and letting it hit the door.
“I don’t think you deserve my cock just yet,” Jeonghan murmured, leading your hips into motion. He had your clit dragging down on his jeans, insuring that every tilt back or forward had your clit moving over hte fabric, ensuyring that your cunt was soaking his pants. “Gotta earn it. Especially after your little show with Seungcheol.”
You shook your head. “Jeonghan, want your dick. I want it, please.”
“How prettily you beg,” Jeonghan laughed, though there was no happiness, no joy in it. “Love it when you beg. But you’re gonna have to give me more than that, my pretty little slut. Come on, dove. I’m giving you my thigh like a good boyfriend does. If you’re so devoted for me, like you’re claiming you are, you can get off just with my thigh. Can’t you? I know you can, sweetheart. I can feel your juices soaking my pants, can feel your little hole fluttering. Just have to give me one orgasm, lovely. Come on, cum for me.”
The cry that left you was absurdly loud. Your back arched against the door, your hips coming up and off of Jeonghan. He cursed, wrapping one of his arms around your waist to hold you in place while his other hand went to your cunt.
Jeonghan’s fingers went to your clit, working at it furiously. You were still cumming, cries and moans leaving you freely.
As soon as you were finished, panting and squeezing your eyes closed, you relaxed against the door. Jeonghan wrapped both of his arms around you, pulling you into him fully. “Good job, sweetheart. Knew you could do it for me.”
You nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck. Once you caught your breath, you pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “Okay. Green.”
Jeonghan pulled back, one of his hands moving to your face. He reached up and tucked your hair back from your face, smoothing it and wiping off the sweat that had begun to accumulate. “You look like I’ve been fucking you all night.”
You laughed, breathless. “I feel like it.”
“Oh?” Jeonghan’s hands resumed their place on your hips, fingers digging in. You gasped, eyes wide and looking up at him. “But I’m not done with you yet, little dove. In fact, I don’t think we’ve even started.”
Then he was using his grip to hoist you up, your legs wrapping around his waist. Jeonghan moved from the door, stepping further into the hall.
“Wait.” As soon as the word left your lips Jeonghan was pausing, eyes on your face. You tugged on one of the dark strands of hair. “Boots. Have to take off your boots.”
Jeonghan rolled his eyes, but then he was setting you on the floor. “Way to kill the mood, little dove. Go wait for me on the bed.”
You couldn’t help but giggle, jumping onto your toes to press a quick kiss to his chin. Then you were taking off down the hall, ignoring the sound of your boyfriend grumbling behind you.
As soon as you were in your bedroom you were shucking off your socks, leaving them in the doorway. You undressed the rest of the way, leaving your clothes in a trail to your bed.
You practically threw yourself onto it, sprawling out. You could hear Jeonghan stomping about, moving from the hall and into the bathroom.
Absentmindedly, your hands began to wander over your body. Your fingers trailed over your stomach, leaving a tingling path behind them. You pressed them to your nipples, neary hissing in pain from how erect they were. Unable to help yourself you rolled them, toes curling in delight.
“Well well,” Jeonghan began from the doorway. You hurriedly sat up, not having heard him leave the bathroom. “If this is a present to make up for your little act with Seungcheol, I’d consider you maybe a little bit forgiven.”
“Only a little?” You joked, wrinkling your nose at him. “After the whole incident at the door? Only a little?”
Jeonghan laughed, walking further into the room. You watched, eager, as he tugged at the sleeves of his jacket. Jeonghan undressing, you had come to discover, was just as good as undressing him yourself. He always went slow, letting you take in the sight.
He draped his jacket over your desk chair, his forearms flexing. His black tank top clung to his torso, revealing the sharp angles of his collarbone and showing off his long, pale neck. Jeonghan, though not considerably buff, was lean. He didn’t have the biggest biceps or thighs or whatever of his friends, but still you watched his biceps clench as he worked at undoing his watch, watched his muscles jump as he gripped the bottom of his tank top and began pulling.
You don’t know exactly what noise escaped you as his chest was revealed, but you were so turned on that you couldn’t find it within yourself to care. Your eyes roamed over his pale chest, taking in the shape of pecs, the soft little curve of his waist.
Yoon Jeonghan was many things, many contradictory things. He was sweet and kind, mischievous and impulsive. He was the first person you turned to for comfort, the last when you had a secret. He was an angel; a devil.
But one thing that was hard fact, you knew, was that Yoon Jeonghan was absolutely beautiful.
His hands moved to his pants, which he had left undone. You moved from your spot on the bed, shifting to perch at the edge and watch. Jeonghan began moving closer, pushing his pants down.
As soon as he was close enough you were reaching for him. You tucked your hands underneath the band of his underwear, pulling. His cock slapped against his stomach once freed, red and angry, white precum pulsing from the tip.
You liked your lips, moving to grab his dick.
Immediately his hands were around your wrists, pulling your hands away from him. You gasped, looking up at him, affronted. “Jeonghan!”
He gave you a sly little look, shaking his head. “Come on. You think cumming on my thigh was enough to make me forget about your little flirtation with Seungcheol?”
Jeonghan used his grip on your wrists to pull you up and off the bed. The sudden motion had you tipping forward and flat into his chest, face pressing against the fabric of his tank top. He still smelled like the expensive cologne he wore, still smelled sharp and elegant, like wood and richness.
“Please,” he scoffed, releasing his hold on one of your wrists to reach up and press your hair back from your face. Undoubtedly you looked horrible. You probably looked like -- well, you probably looked like you had orgasmed against a door. Still Jeonghan looked at you hungrily, drinking in the way you pulled at his hold, the little breath that left you when he refused to let go. “Do you really think I’d be satisfied watching you get off on my leg? Just anyone could lend you their thigh, little dove.”
He leaned down, his face inches from yours. His breath was warm against your face when he spoke. “But I know only one person who can fuck as you as good as you deserve.”
“Yeah?” You replied, breathless. His eyes were so black that you could barely differentiate between the pupil and iris. “And who’s that?”
Jeonghan chuckled then, but you knew he didn’t find anything funny about what you had said. He tilted your chin up towards him with one of his fingers, his thumb running over your bottom lip. Obedient, you opened your mouth for him and let Jeonghan slip his thumb inside. You wrapped your lips around it, hollowing them and sucking.
“What a good girl,” he hummed, his eyes narrowed in on where his thumb disappeared into your mouth. “Too bad you’re good for just anyone.”
Jeonghan removed his thumb from your mouth. Horridly, you followed, mouth still open to take it back in. He gripped your jaw, holding you in place. “Ah-ah, little dove. Sit down on the edge of the bed for me.”
He released you. The sudden freedom from his body had you staggering, unbalanced from leaning against Jeonghan. His hands went to your elbows almost immediately, adjusting you to be upright once more. “All good?”
At your nod, Jeonghan was pushing you back onto the bed. You watched as he slid his pants and underwear the rest of the way down his legs, revealing his soft, ivory white thighs and calves. You wanted to reach out and hold them, to press your fingers into his skin and watch as your fingers imprinted on him.
Instead you sat still, eyeing him. Jeonghan went to the standing mirror in the room, adjusting it. When he tilted it to the bed, realization hit you. “Can you see yourself, Y/n?”
You gulped a little, shifting slightly. “Yeah. I can see.”
“Good.” He stalked back to the bed, eyeing you. “Now stand up.”
You obeyed. Jeonghan sat where you had been previous, leaning back on one hand. “Get in my lap.”
Jeonghan immediately turned his sharp eyes on you, narrowing them. “What are you doing? You were so desperate to show off for me earlier when you were with Seungcheol. Are you getting shy for me now? Now after you’ve came on my thigh, after you’ve soaked your panties? Or do you only show off for Seungcheol?”
You shook your head. You went to him, and once you were close enough his hands were on your waist, turning you around. Jeonghan guided you onto his lap, pressing you down so you were trapping his dick underneath your ass. He held you down for a moment, grinding his hips up into you, letting his dick rub against you.
“What a good little dove,” he hummed, releasing you. Jeonghan reached around you, grabbing your thighs and spreading them. “Hook them on either side of me.”
Slowly, like prey trying not to move too quickly as to alert the predator stalking them from the grass, you spread your thighs. You tucked your feet behind his thighs. The cold air of the room pressed oppressively against your cunt, which had been kept warm by the heat of your arousal, causing you to shiver against Jeonghan.
“Look at how you glisten,” Jeonghan said, his hands settling on your thighs. “Look in the mirror, sweetheart.”
Helpless, you couldn’t help but drag your eyes to the mirror. You were completely bare, offering yourself to it. You could see where your feet were wrapped around his legs, how his pale hands contrasted against the skin of your thighs. His large dark eyes watching you from over your shoulder, the little smile that he didn’t even try to hide. Your nipples, the way your breast hung, your tongue dragging over your lips.
Your cunt, bare of any cloth covering it, and the wetness that gushed from it.
“How pretty,” Jeonghan said.
You turned your face from the mirror, trying to face him. As quick as lightning his hand was on your chin, directing you back towards the mirror. Jeonghan hooked his chin over your shoulder, curling his lip at you, trusting you to be looking at him through the mirror. “Eyes on the mirror, darling. I want you to keep your eyes open and on the mirror at all times. Want you to make sure you know just who’s fucking you tonight.”
“That’s right,” he cooed, squeezing mouth shut with his hand. “And that’s the only name you ever need to remember.”
Then he released you, his hand smoothing over your skin. You watched his long, elegant fingers, so thin and yet always seemingly so thick when they were buried to the knuckle inside of your cunt, travel down your neck. Your skin pebbled, gooseflesh rising, as his hand traveled. He pressed his hand down over one of your breasts, grabbing it roughly. You watched, transfixed, as he palmed at it, rubbing and kneading.
“Jeonghan,” you sighed, eyes glancing up and meeting his in the mirror. “Hannie, please.”
His fingers took your nipple, pinching. You let out a little cry, face contorting as he manipulated it, stretching and rubbing and tweaking it. His other hand came to join the first with your other breast, abusing your nipples.
You wiggled in his grasp, trying to get away from his evil hands. Jeonghan hushed you, moving to still your hip. Your message had worked, however, and his hands traveled from your breasts to over your stomach before they dipped between your thighs.
It was odd, watching his hands spread open your thighs in the mirror. You could see how his fingers skimmed over the inside of your thighs, stimulating the area and making you shiver. Whenever his fingers neared your cunt you couldn’t help but clench, helpless, yearning for him to just sink them inside of you already.
Finally, after what seemed to be the hundredth time of him teasing you, you broke. You began turning in his hold, whining. “Jeonghan, please --”
Immediately his hand was on your jaw, pushing you to look back to the mirror. “What did I say, you little slut?” He forced his hand back between your thighs, wedging them open. “Keep your eyes on the mirror. You wanted this, remember.”
With two of his fingers he was spreading the lips of your pussy, showing you off in the mirror. He laughed. “Look at how fucking wet you are. I’ve barely done anything to you. How long have you been like this, little dove? All night? Since the car? Have you been wishing, thirsting for my cock in your tiny cunt? I bet you have. I bet you’ve been wet ever since I kissed you on the curb outside of that house, you little slut.
“In fact,” he said, his lips pressing against the shell of your ear. “I bet you’ve been wet since you sat with Seungcheol. I bet you’ve been wet the entire you talked to him, knowing that I was watching you. Knowing that I wanted nothing more than to take you over the side of the couch right in front of Seungcheol and make watch, make him watch as I fuck your cunt until tears pour from your pretty eyes.”
Slowly, tauntingly, Jeonghan’s fingers dipped inside of your pussy. Not enough to do anything other than to gather your wetness but it still had you gasping, arching up into him.
Jeonghan removed his hand, raising it up to the light. “So wet. I bet you’re soaking the bed right now.”
Jeonghan shifted, bringing his hand to his mouth. You couldn’t help but turn your head and watch as his lips closed around his digits, as his cheeks hollowed out and he drank in your pussy juice.
He released his fingers from his mouth with a pop, licking his lips as if he had just tasted the nectar of the gods instead of your cunt. “Fuck. I could taste your cunt all day.”
His hand returned to your pussy, fingers tracing over your folds. You spread your legs involuntarily, subconsciously hoping he would take pity on you and shove his fingers in. Jeonghan tilted his head, and you could feel his hair brush against your bare shoulder. “What’s this? Eager, aren’t we?”
You nodded. “Please,” you whispered, eyeing him in the mirror. “Please, Jeonghan.”
He laughed against you, burying his face into your shoulder. Jeonghan pressed a kiss into the skin there, his lips brushing against your skin as you spoke. “Please what, darling? You have to use your words.”
“Your fingers,” you stuttered, canting your hips up. “Please use your fingers on me.”
Jeonghan settled his chin on your shoulder, pouting at you from over your shoulder. “Hm. But you have to say my name.”
Your eyes moved to his hand, zeroing in on the movement. “Jeonghan.”
He tsked, and you both watched and felt as his finger tapped against your cunt. If you had more of a presence of mind you would be ashamed about how eagerly your hips sought out his fingers, about how your cunt gushed fluid and about how desperately you needed him.
Because you needed him. You needed Jeonghan. You needed his fingers inside of you, needed them arrowing against your core, needed them fucking your pussy. You needed to feel his cock buried to the hilt inside of you, needed him to make you feel full. You needed his mouth on your skin, needed him wrapped around you.
Before Jeonghan, you never knew what it meant to want. You wanted to eat, wanted a million dollars. But you never knew what it meant to want something carnally, not to this degree, not to where you were willing to do absolutely anything if it meant he would fuck you.
“Again, sweet one,” he murmured, voice like silk in your ear. He always had a beautiful voice, even when he was telling lies. But somehow Jeonghan’s voice seemed even more enchanting like this, in your ear and whispering dirty commands. “Say my name again.”
“Yoon Jeonghan,” you said, as clear as glass.
As soon as his name left your lips he was dipping two of his fingers inside of your cunt. A loud gasp left you, your head tilting back against him and eyes fluttering shut. It felt so good. It felt as if this was what you had been missing all your life, as if his two fingers were the oxygen you needed to breathe, as if he could provide the key to Heaven with just his two fucking fingers --
And then he was arubtly pulling them from you, leaving your hole clenching and hungry. You cried out, curling against him, powerless. “Jeonghan!”
“I said,” he began, voice just as smooth as before and yet carrying sternness that had you stilling against him, “to keep your eyes on the mirror.”
You turned back to face the mirror, chest heaving. You looked pathetic. Your mouth was wide, your legs spread, pussy bared for the whole world to see.
“Take your eyes off the mirror again and you’ll be left like this,” he warned, the hand on your hip squeezing harshly. “I’m serious. I want your eyes on the mirror until I tell you to take them off. Or are you such a desperate slut that you can’t even do that? Should I call Seungcheol, then? Have him come and fuck you?”
You shook your head, eyes on the mirror like he said. “No. No, Jeonghan, please. I’ll be good, I promise.”
“Good,” he said, rubbing your hip. His fingers smoothed over your cunt, petting it. “I don’t want to have to leave you all desperate on the bed, little dove. You know that if you’re suffering, I’m suffering.”
If you had more presence of mind, you’d be scoffing at his words, able to pick apart the apathy in them. But as it was, your mind was intent on one thing.
“I’ll be good,” you repeated. “I’ll be good, Jeonghan.”
He shot you a smile in the mirror. “See? It isn’t hard, is it?”
Jeonghan’s fingers sunk into you slowly, the drag of them against your walls making your toes curl. You watched, captivated, with how your cunt seemingly devoured his fingers, as they slowly disappeared from your sight in the mirror.
“God, your cunt really was desperate,” he said, laughing a little. Jeonghan settled his fingers fully inside of you, leaving them there, letting them fill you. “Look at us, Y/n. It’s like we’re meant for each other, don’t you think? Like you were meant to be here, sitting in my lap, my fingers buried to the knuckle in your cunt.
“And can you feel how tightly you grip my fingers?” Jeonghan asked, slowly sliding his fingers from your pussy. Your cunt protested, clenching down on his digits. You couldn’t help but whine, a high thing that pierced through the bedroom. He held his fingers up in front of you, spreading them. Strings of your juices hung from his fingers, dripping down over the ridges of his digits and down his hand, traveling to his arm.
He pressed a kiss to your ear. “And look at this, dove. Look at how you’re dripping down my hand. You’re absolutely soaked. I bet I could slide my cock right inside of your cunt.”
You let out a long, shuddering breath. Your hands went to his hips, reaching back and squeezing. Shifting, you relaxed back against him, offering your cunt. “Jeonghan, please.”
He kissed your ear again, murmuring softly. “That’s right, my darling dove. Jeonghan. It’s Jeonghan who makes you this wet, it’s Jeonghan who gets you.”
You watched as he settled his hand against your side, the stickiness of your slick wetting your skin. Jeonghan slowly slid his hand down over your skin, the stimulation causing your skin to pebble and your toes to curl against his calf. You clenched when his hand made it to your groin, watching in the mirror as his long fingers neared your cunt.
“How needy,” he commented. “What a needy slut.”
Jeonghan dipped his fingers between your pussy lips, taunting. He let them drag against your clit, brush against your hole. He did nothing other than gather your juices, petting your bare cunt.
“Please,” you whispered, brow furrowing in desperation. You could see how your stomach heaved from you fighting to catch your breath, trying to steady yourself from the onslaught of torture brought on by your boyfriend. Your thighs were shaking, tightening and releasing with every brush of his fingers.
“Fine,” he sighed, as if he was being burdened. “I guess I’ll give you my hand.”
Then his fingers were shoving inside of you, all at once. You yelled out, arching back against him, fighting to keep your eyes on your trembling figure in the mirror. Your cunt quivered around his fingers, sucking them in deeper. Jeonghan complied, his smile pressed against your neck as he angled his fingers to reach further inside of you, easily finding that spot in you that had you moaning, thighs hurriedly shutting in an attempt to trap his hand.
“Fuck,” Jeonghan mumbled. Your eyes went to him in the mirror. His eyes were huge and dark, stuck on the spot where his hand disappeared into your cunt.
He untucked his thumb from his hand, setting it on the lip of your pussy. He swiped his thumb against you for a moment, hooking his fingers into you and striking your core.
The sounds made by your cunt were so lewd that you, if you, again, had the presence of mind, would be ashamed.
Then Jeonghan was moving his thumb, wedging it into your cunt and underneath your hood. He shoved it meanly on your clit before launching a hurried attack against it, his fingers slamming that spot inside of you in time with his thumb.
Within moments you were sobbing, tilting your head back against his shoulder. Your orgasm tore through you suddenly, causing tears to streak from your eyes and more fluid to gush from your cunt. You couldn’t do anything but cry through it, helpless as Jeonghan’s hand continued to work at your pussy, his voice filling your fogged mind with sweet little murmurs of affirmation.
Your heart was beating so loudly that you could barely hear Jeonghan, feeling as though your heart were about to leap from your chest and sprint off. Looking in the mirror you could see the way your chest heaved in an attempt to breathe, the way your entire body sagged against Jeonghan as his hand continually worked within you.
Finally you shook your head, whining. “Hannie, Hannie.”
Jeonghan pressed a kiss to your temple. Slowly, gently, he began withdrawing his hand from your cunt. At first your pussy tightened, but ultimately gave up, releasing him.
He wiped his hand off on the bed, but even then when he settled his arm across your stomach, pressing you close, you could feel the stickiness on his skin from your cunt. Your release leaked from your cunt, your eyes caught on the mirror as you watched the fluid make its way down your crevice, dripping onto the bed.
Your eyes flicked up in the mirror, locking on his. Jeonghan gave a small, inquisitive tilt of his head.
You nodded back.
Jeonghan pressed another kiss to your face, his hands tightening their grip on your hips. Then he was lifting you up and shoving you off onto the bed beside him, a loud gasp of surprise escaping you.
“Don’t think I’m done with you yet,” he said, standing up off of the bed. Jeonghan’s hand went to his cock, hissing slightly as he began rubbing at it. “Lay across the width of the bed. Head towards the mirror.”
He rounded the bed as you did as he said, moving slowly, your entire body protesting. Your cunt was fluttering weakly, intrigued by him but so, so sensitive from the two orgasms.
Jeonghan crawled onto the bed with his knees, looming behind you. He shoved your thighs apart, baring your cunt to him once again. You couldn’t help but bury your face into the blanket, muffling the groan that left you.
Then there was an acute sting of pain in your ass, and you immediately were clenching up. You raised your head, this time witnessing Jeonghan’s hand descend through the air and slap your ass.
Pain and heat exploded through you at the contact, and you couldn’t help but weakly curl up in an attempt to move away from him. Jeonghan quickly caught you, both of his hands going to your calves and yanking you flat onto the bed.
“Where do you think you’re going, little dove?” The nickname, which was always filled with such sweetness and love, seemed to hold none of it. Instead it felt cold, taunting, something used to diminish you. Jeonghan’s hands then went to your hips, lifting them up and off the bed, presenting you for him. “I said to keep your eyes on the mirror, didn’t I?”
“Yes,” you stuttered out, breathless. You watched in the mirror as Jeonghan straightened. One of his hands began kneading at your ass, aggravating the stinging sensation left from his spanking. His other hand disappeared, obscured by your body in the mirror, but you knew he was reaching for his dick.
“I just need you to hold still like a good little dove,” Jeonghan announced, his eyes looking down between your bodies. “Just need you to be still and let me fuck you like the slut you are, okay? Just be a good tight, warm hole for me.”
You braced your elbows on the bed, getting leverage to help present yourself to him. For a moment you were still, feeling nothing, watching in the mirror as Jeonghan focused on your cunt.
Then the head of his dick was pressing against your hole, so large and alien compared to the fingers he had prepped you with. You couldn’t help but moan, eyes fighting to stay open.
Jeonghan slowly breached you, letting you feel every inch of his cock. Your walls stretched around his dick, clenching and fluttering, at odds with how sensitive and overwhelmed your cunt felt from the past two orgasms but how desperate it was to feel his cock.
“There,” he murmured, smoothing both of his hands over your ass. Jeonghan shifted the last few centimeters, giving you all of his cock.
You couldn’t help but grind back, a loud sob escaping you. It felt like so much to have him inside. Every single part of your body was honed in on his cock, how it expanded your walls. Your body welcomed the intrusion and fought against it, but in the end you were but Jeonghan’s little dove, caught in his hands.
Jeonghan moved his grip to your hips, fingernails sinking into your skin. You watched as he moved your hips away, could feel the drag of his cock, which seemed so much more than usual, so much longer and thicker.
Dumbly you shook your head in protest as he guided his cock out of your cunt. “Hannie, please, please.”
“Quiet,” he commanded, looking at you in the mirror. His black hair was disheveled, his eyes narrowed. You watched as his pale chest heaved with effort to control himself, watched as he brought back his hips.
Which meant you should’ve been prepared for when he snapped his hips forward, shoving his cock back into the warmth of your cunt.
But you weren’t.
You let out a loud shout, falling forward onto the bed. You scrambled against it, trying to straighten yourself and raise back onto your elbows. As soon as you dug your elbows into the bedding, your eyes meeting themselves in the mirror, Jeonghan was withdrawing abruptly from your cunt.
He set a harsh pace, not allowing your cunt to adjust to his cock further. His fingers dug into your flesh, his cock bullied your core. The loud slaps of his skin hitting yours filled the room, but you could barely hear them over the constant string of moans and sobs that left your throat.
Your fingers clambered on the sheets, desperate for some kind of grip. Jeonghan refused to let up, the pace burning. You could feel his balls slap against your cunt as he drove into you, his hips jackhammering into you.
It was frantic, loud, messy. He was a flurry of movement, shoving his cock into you repeatedly. Each thrust filled you to the brim, seemingly reaching all the way to the back of your throat. It was so much, it was so fucking much --
“Jeonghan --” You gasped, hips beginning to push back into him. “Feel like -- feel full --”
He said nothing, his face twisted in concentration. Jeonghan’s gasps were quiet, his panting nearly unnoticeable. But you noticed. How could you not? He didn’t light up on his fucking, however out of breath he was, keeping the harsh pace that had your ass already feeling sore.
“Hannie --” You sobbed, feeling something burning at the corners of your eyes. “Hannie, Hannie, Hannnie --”
Then you felt something gush from your cunt, as if all of your juices had released at once. Immediately you were squealing, falling down flat on the bed.
Jeonghan cursed loudly, laying down across your back. The change in position had his dick reaching further, had you crying, fat tears rolling down your cheeks and getting in your mouth.
Then he rammed into your cunt twice more, loud moans pouring from his lips. His released shot into you, the warm fluid squirting deep into your cunt and filling you. Jeonghan came thrice like that, more spurts of cum forcing its way out of his dick and finding home in your warm, abused cunt.
Jeonghan slumped against your back, one of his hands shooting out to keep your body from falling flat. His chest heaved against you, the arm around you moving down to your cunt.
“You gotta cum,” he threatened, hand moving to your clit. You sobbed, shaking your head against the blankets. “Yes, you do. You looked away from the mirror, little dove. This is your punishment.”
Your body jumped in his hold as his hand worked your clit, moving sharply and precisely against you. It probably took only a minute to get another orgasm ripping through you, but in your exhausted mind it felt only like a second.
Then you were collapsing against the bed, his body molding into yours. You panted into the blanket, taking loud, desperate gasps to try and catch your breath.
Neither of you spoke, fighting to breathe. Jeonghan continued to lay on top of you, his dick still inside of you. When you shifted you could feel his cum ooze from your cunt, and that was enough to get you out of your post-sex haze.
“Jeonghan,” you moaned, reaching back to shove weakly at his hip. Jeonghan groaned into your back. “I’m so wet ‘n sticky. Gotta clean me up.”
“Not my fault,” he mumbled, mouth warm against your skin. “You’re the one that squirted all over me.”
You froze, body clenching, including your cunt. A twinge of discomfort and pain shot through you at this, and you ignored Jeonghan’s little groans of disapproval as you shoved him off of you.
His dick flopped out of your cunt easily, his cum leaking freely from your hole and mixing with your own release. You slowly, tentatively, reached back to feel the mixture.
“This is disgusting,” you mumbled, pouting.
“It’s wonderful,” Jeonghan laughed, his lips pressing a kiss to the back of your thigh. “Can’t believe you squirted.”
“Didn’t know I could,” you returned, brow furrowed. You moved to roll onto your stomach but immediately got met with a sharp pain that shot through you, your muscles protesting.
Jeonghan’s hands went to your body, stilling you. “Don’t move. You’ll be sore after all that, little dove. I’ll get a wet cloth and be right back.”
You nodded, flopping back down on the bed. You felt the bed shift as Jeonghan got off, the man stumbling a little. You waited for him to round the bed, to make for the bathroom. When he didn’t you shifted, looking over your shoulder.
Jeonghan was staring at your cunt, eyes intent on the spot.
“Yoon Jeonghan!” You shrieked, kicking out. He laughed, startled from his staring. “Stop that!”
“Can’t help it,” he said, the evil little giggles escaping from his mouth so at odds with the filth that had left him twenty minutes before. “You look so good covered in my cum, sweetheart.”
“Take a picture,” you muttered, sending him a pout. “It’ll last longer.”
Jeonghan looked at you, eyes wide. “Can I? Please? I’ll lock it away and won’t let anyone ever look at it.”
You groaned, turning and pressing your face into the blanket. It was soaked from the combination of your tears and drool. “Fine. But you have to send it to me.”
Jeonghan scrambled around the bed, practically sprinting to get to his jacket. He nearly ripped it from the chair it hung on, hurriedly grabbing his phone.
You hummed, tapping your foot against the bed as Jeonghan returned. One of his hands went to your thigh, spreading them back out and revealing your thoroughly fucked cunt. You heard his camera shutter go off.
Then his hand was moving to your cunt. You let out a loud noise from overstimulation as he peeled apart your pussy lips, getting a better shot of the mixture.
“There,” he said, satisfied. “Absolutely perfect.”
He pressed a kiss to your ass before moving back off the bed. You watched as your boyfriend left the room, admiring the pictures. Your eyes couldn’t help but travel down to his ass, watching it flex as he walked away.
Jeonghan returned a minute later, a wash rag in one hand. He threw his phone onto the bed, moving back down your body. Gently, as to not further abuse your sore cunt, Jeonghan began cleaning. He carefully spooned his cum from your hole, ran the rag over your cunt.
The action, no matter how gentle he meant it to be, had your toes curling and your body attempting to wiggle away in protest. Jeonghan hushed you, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your hip. “I’m sorry, baby. But we can’t have you laying in cum all night.”
“I know,” you whined. “Hurts though. I’m sore.”
Jeonghan whined back, and you could see him mimicking your pout from the mirror. “I know. Poor darling, so thoroughly fucked by her boyfriend”
Realization shot through you at his words, quickly followed by mortification. You let out a little cry, digging your head into the blanket. Jeonghan, horrified that he had accidentally hurt you, immediately launched himself down the length of the bed. His hands went to your shoulders, tugging you, chanting your name.
You let Jeonghan move you, eyes wide and horrified. Jeonghan pressed down on you, hands cradling your cheeks and lips brushing over the spot between your brows.”Y/n! Are you okay? Are you hurt? Should we go to the hospital? Do I need to call your mom?”
You shook your head, your hands reaching up to still his face. “Jeonghan,” you began, voice high with hysteria, “how are we ever supposed to face Seungcheol after this?”
i was ready to leave this be but then @designtheendless made this gorgeous art so of course i had to write a bit more The Devil Wears Prada AU:
Dream invites Hob as a plus-one to a fashion event. Hob is ecstatic to get a glimpse into the fast-paced, cut-throat industry that Dream has nudged his way into. He warns Hob that Morningstar might drag him away at any given moment and he’d be left alone, is that alright? Hob shrugs and can’t say he minds. If he gets free food and booze out of it, he’ll gladly wander around for a bit.
And for the first time in Hob’s life, he gets dolled up. Really dressing the part of a fashion mogul’s partner. Dream takes him out, using the money from a bonus in his salary to surprise Hob by taking him to a tailor. Hob wonders why none of his usual blazer and pants combo wouldn’t work and tries not to get offended at the way Dream scrunches up his nose and refuses to answer him.
“Every man should have a tailored suit in their wardrobe,” Dream explains while Hob stands on the short platform and the seamstress takes his measurements. “A perfect fit is the raison d’être of custom suits.”
Hob swallows at the perfect French slipping past Dream’s lips. He had only been in Paris for a couple weeks yet he was already name-dropping influential French designers, recalling conversations he’d had with them in stories he’d recant to Hob in an accent that Hob never knew Dream could pull off. Or that he’d be so enticed by.
“I’ll never get the chance to wear this again, you know,” Hob smiled, a little self-deprecating. Working as a chef hardly afforded Hob time to dress up. And it wasn’t like he ever went anywhere fancy enough for such effort. “After the party, it’s just gonna sit in my closet forever.”
“We’ll make use of it…” Dream says softly, standing up as the seamstress steps away to grab something.
Dream takes up Hob’s arm, fingers trailing down the length of it, covered in a deep blue fabric that probably costs more than their monthly rent and Hob’s eyes never leave Dream as he inspects the pins and cuffs.
“A custom suit,” Dream starts again, dropping Hob’s arm and moving on to the front of the jacket, caressing the lapels. “Is designed to highlight the best features of its wearer. Bespoke tailoring is an art form, and you are the perfect canvas.”
Hob looks down at Dream, standing on the platform gives the illusion of added height, and Dream raises his eyes to look upon him. Hob tries very hard not to dive too deep into Dream’s blue eyes, tries not to get lost in the crystal clear sea of emotions, the way he could drown in them.
“And what are my best features?” Hob grins, raising an eyebrow, challenging.
Dream chuckles, tugging at the jacket. His eyes never leave Hob’s, even as the tailor returns.
“I’ll tell you later.”
There are a lot of big names and top designers at the event and Hob hasn’t a clue who any of them are, but he listens and nods when Dream points them out. He shakes hands with professional photographers and runway models and designers that Hob kind of recognizes but not really. He’s too busy marveling at the immaculate decor, the flowy dresses, and the free champagne.
Dream, as warned, leaves his side constantly. But Hob has perfected the art of fake-it-til-you-make-it and smiles cheerily and engages in simple chit chat where he lets the other person do all the talking and nods along enthusiastically. He tugs on the sleeves on his jacket, amazed how a well-fitted suit can feel like wearing nothing at all. The fabric is also high quality, buttery soft to the touch and moving along his skin with every step like a gentle hug. He feels a little like a poser, but after a few drinks in him, settles more into the mindset of a party crasher.
After about an hour of missing Dream, Hob goes looking for him. Weaving and winding through the crowd, finding Morningstar on a few occasions and blatantly ignoring her, especially as he doesn’t see Dream with her.
Hob finds a back entrance that’s all glass and slips through into the cool evening air and hears Dream’s unmistakable deep tenor, talking with someone privately.
And as Hob approaches, he notes the distinct agitation in Dream’s tone.
“... truly tired of finding you everywhere I go, Christian.” Dream sighs disdainfully.
“You should be in print,” another voice– Christian, speaks quickly, laying on the charm heavily. “I see the way Morningstar treats you.”
“They treat me fine. You, on the other hand–”
“I’d treat you so well, Dream.”
Hob finally rounds a corner and finds Dream leaning back against a wall of the mansion, holding a champagne flute that no longer has anything in it between them, as if using it as a barrier. Christian is leaning just a hair too close in Dream’s space and at the sight of it, Hob nearly sees red.
“Hey, Dream. I’ve been looking for you.”
Dream turns his head and at the sight of Hob, his face relaxes immediately. The impatient, frustrated look in his eyes, the furrowed brow, vanishing in relief.
Hob isn’t a jealous guy, and he knows it isn’t jealousy that he feels rushing through his veins. It’s possession. It’s some kind of embarrassing animal instinct to claim and parade about how that’s mine, back off.
So the way he slips next to Dream, getting an arm around his waist and pulling him into a kiss that absolutely doesn’t need to be as lascivious and biting as it is, feels both appropriate and completely unnecessary.
But the way Dream melts at the slip of Hob’s tongue, the way he’s kissing back, using his free hand to knot into the expensive fabric of his button down and pull, keeping him close, wipes Hob’s brain clean and nearly forgets why he’s doing this… until Christian clearing his throat makes its way past Hob’s ears.
They detach with a wet gasp and the way Dream chuckles, a low rumble that shoots straight through Hob’s chest and down to his crotch, makes Hob go back for another, and another. Lips only and chaste, but Dream still leans back respectably, turning his head to address the man before them with a sly grin as Hob nuzzles his way instead up his jaw and behind his ear.
“Christian, this is my fiance, Robert Gadling.”
“Uh, hi.” Christian bites out and Hob turns his head just enough to stare him down. “Didn’t know you were engaged.”
“You did.” Dream insists, extending his arm and pushing the empty glass into Christian’s fumbling hand. “You can leave, now.”
With a barely restrained sigh of “whatever,” Christian goes, shaking his head as he does and Dream takes Hob’s face in both his hands, bringing his attention forward.
“Sorry,” Hob cracks a grin. “I know you’re trying to network and he might’ve been some hotshot guy–”
“He was no one,” Dream interjects, his fingers getting in Hob’s gelled and combed back hair and pulling it. “And that was very hot. Thank you for saving me.”
“Anytime,” Hob laughs and Dream pulls him in to taste it.
The scars are no longer there, but they still ache.
Late at night, sometimes, when the cabin lights are off and the environmental systems are just a quiet hum against the hull. When she’s just grasping at the first strands of sleep.
That’s when she absently rubs her thumb across the ache that wells up in her left leg, or the twinge on her forehead. Simple acts that had once been habit. Only to startle to full wakefullness when her fingers encounter only smooth skin.
Phantom pains, Chakwas had called it the one time she’d brought them up. The pain felt in a limb that’s no longer there.
But phantom pains are for what has been taken, not what has been given. A new body, one that has none of the memories she’s earned. Something perfect and smooth like she’s never, ever been. A freshly pressed uniform for a solider to step into on command.
Just another weapon with the serial numbers filed off.