#or when you can tell hes uncomfortable with it and tries to push the sleeves up(that one outfit the other race wknd w the suit jacket)

[skitskatdacat63]

Omg also!!!! I hate his sunglasses in these pics so much but I am so incredibly endeared by his sweater paws 🥹🥹🥹

[dxxdhood]

show off

pairing: dick grayson x gn!reader

summary: after dick tries his hardest to get your attention, you finally give it to him.

tags: smut (18+), sub!dick grayson, dom!reader, teasing, dirty talk, praise kink, fingering (m receiving), oral (m receiving), light bondage, hair pulling, body worship

wc: 2.2k

a/n: hey! sorry for disappearing! i don't have an ao3-author-almost-dying-excuse but i hope this fic makes up for it!

What made Dick Grayson so hot was that he knew he was hot. He was always walking around with an annoying amount of confidence that he managed to pull off anyway. Blame it on him being the poster child for a Good Samaritan or his relentless integrity– the guy was impossible to hate no matter how big his head got.

Luckily, you’ve lucked out as his official, number one supporter. Ever since becoming partners, you’ve gotten to spend more little moments together, even when life would ordinarily tear you apart. And of course it’s great! Dick’s arms around you as you try to catch up on some reading in the morning, forehead kisses even as you’re running out the door late for work– everything’s been adorable. But lately, you can’t shake the feeling that something’s off. 

Dick’s been stressed out, you can tell it in the set of his shoulders even if he’s been trying to hide it. The thing was, you’ve been super busy lately. Work and personal stuff kept piling up, and although you’re ashamed of it, you’ve ended up prioritizing other things instead of your relationship.

You told Dick that you were swamped with work and – as usual – he was nothing but understanding. But if dating Dick has taught you anything, it’s that he believes that being understanding means completely ignoring all his own wants. It’s very endearing, but you also feel like a giant asshole, especially as things finally start clearing up and he still keeps his distance.

Or well, at least it seems like he’s trying to keep his distance. That doesn’t explain him showing off for you.

Because that’s what he’s been doing! It started off when you came back from work one night to Dick, on his day off from patrols, cooking you an entire candlelit dinner. He was wearing a black button up with the top two buttons undone and the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His hair was also loose, messy like he’d just been on a run. Oh, and he must not have shaved that morning, because he has the slightest amount of stubble– he was trying to kill you was what he was doing. 

Okay, he may have had plausible deniability during that night’s dinner, but that time you walked in on him working out was not subtle. As soon as you walked into the living room he switched to doing squats, the thin material of his gym shorts straining against his muscled thighs. After a couple seconds of you watching in awe, he had the nerve to turn around and smile at you all innocently, asking you how your day went. 

And then there was what happened yesterday. Once again you walk into your living room (clearly a trigger for these events) and you’re met with Dick on the couch, shirtless, wearing only gray sweatpants as he snores softly. His head was leaning against his shoulder at an uncomfortable angle, so you grab a small pillow and maneuver it under his neck to stop him from getting sore. Even asleep, you feel how strong he is as your hands trace the outline of his neck and shoulder muscles. You can spot so many moles littering his arms and chest. It’s a shame they’re usually covered.

It’s not like Dick doesn’t usually lounge around the house shirtless, but wearing nothing – and you’re sure it’s really nothing – but gray sweatpants all stretched out on the couch? At this point he’s not asking for you to do something, he’s begging for it.

So, today you text him to “get ready for a surprise tonight!” while he’s out on patrol. He responds back something like “????😍🥳😘!!!!!” while you start getting ready. 

“Hey, I’m home!” he calls as he walks through your front door. “So what’s this big surprise I’ve been hearing about?”

“Welcome back,” you say, rushing from your bedroom to give him a kiss. He’s ready to break it off almost instantly, but you hold on for longer, placing your hands on his shoulders. Dick muffles a sound of surprise but he doesn’t pull away. After a second of not knowing what to do with his hands, he rests them around your waist and melts into the kiss.

You eventually pull back and Dick starts talking again, “Well, that was a nice surprise! Guess I’ll just–”

“Shut up!” You shout through a giggle. “Just wait a second, it’s in here.”

You grab his hand and lead him to your bedroom, which you’ve lit with scented candles. Also – and this may have been going a little far – you bought roses to adorn your bedside table (and to sprinkle petals on your bed, of course). On top of the freshly washed sheets, through the dim lighting, Dick spots some suspiciously red rope. 

“Alright, I mean it this time, this is a nice surprise,” he says as he tries to fight against a smile. “But are you sure you’re okay to do this tonight? I don’t wanna worry you, and if you don’t have the time for–”

You grab both of his hands and pull him down so you’re both sitting on the side of the bed.

“Dick… It’s not my fault I’ve been busy lately, and I know that,” you take a deep breath. “But I’m so sorry I haven’t been spending enough time with you. I should’ve tried harder, you know, I should’ve done what you always do– find a way to pull through it.”

He raises one of his hands from where yours were covering his and is about to protest before you stop him, “Please don’t defend me, just let me say I’m an asshole for once.”

He exhales and relaxes back, placing his hands in yours again.

“So, let me make it up to you?” you ask, almost timidly in comparison to how solid the rest of your apology went.

As a response, Dick leans forward and hugs you so tight you think you may have crushed ribs (and you know Dick definitely has the strength to do it). 

“Of course I’m not going to say no to that,” he chuckles, breaking the hug so he can stand up and start uncoiling the rope.

“Hold on,” you say as you come up behind him and place a hand on his shoulder. He turns his head toward you, confusion clear on his face. “I was thinking that tonight I’d do the tying.”

And you’re infinitely grateful that Dick turned around, because now you can see his cute raised eyebrows and the sweet way he tries to look towards the floor. He lets out a small cough and politely hands you the rope.

“Sounds- sounds good.”

“Great!” you nestle a hand in his tousled hair and scratch at the back of his scalp. “Go take a shower, alright? When you’re back, I’ll be here and we’ll get started, okay?”

He nods, and you give a gentle tug of his hair, “Speak, baby.”

“Right, yeah! Good! It sounds really good,” He manages, walking to the bathroom quickly and wasting no time to get the shower started.

You giggle as you watch him exit. Dick was usually so suave and self-assured, it always threw you to see how nervous he got when he was under your thumb. 

Preparing the last few things you needed, you lay on the bed, resting your head on your bent arm to watch Dick as he steps out of the bathroom. He didn’t even bother bringing a towel out with him, and you can see the drops of water run down his chest and abs before reaching his cock. 

You give him less of a smirk and more of a fond smile as you walk up to him, reaching to cup the back of his neck and bring his face close to yours.

“Even now, when I already told you you’re going to get what you want, you’re still showing off for me.”

“What?” He shakes his head, eyes gleaming.

“Lay down for me, okay? You say, and even though he wants to hear you finish, he follows immediately.

Rope in hand, you crawl on the bed so you’re straddling him. The sight of him, all lean muscles and thick thighs, laid out for you makes your face heat up. You take a deep breath as you gesture for him to move his hands up, and you tie him to the headboard.

“You’ve been craving my attention so badly, haven’t you? Just wanted me to drop what I was doing and show you how much I love you?”

“What, no, I–”

You move your hands from his tied up wrists to grip his jaw so he faces you, “Don’t keep anything from me now. Just tell me the truth, I want to hear it.”

After fighting past a blush, Dick lets out a shuddering breath, “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“I– I wanted you to notice me.”

“How couldn’t I, baby?” You say as you move down his body, nipping at his neck and the strong muscles of his shoulders. “You always look so sexy, you always want me to look.”

You lick at one of his nipples and you can feel his body twitch.

“You know you’re so handsome, right? You’re so hot, sometimes I think about you at work and get so distracted I can’t get anything done.”

He lets out a sigh as you scratch your nails down his side, leaving lines of red before you grip at his raised biceps.

“You’re so kind, too,” You whisper before kissing him deeply, biting at his bottom lip. Your other hand leaves to get the lube and begins spreading some around his hole. Dick’s breathing grows more and more uneven, but you kiss along his jaw and let him relax before you slip your finger in.

He squirms a bit at first, and you run your other hand through his hair to comfort him as you prep him using your finger. 

“You’re always so good, even when you don’t have to be– even when you have no reason to be. You see someone hurt, alone, and you help them– like it’s the most obvious thing to do.” You add another finger and Dick bites his lip at the stretch, trying not to breathe too heavily.

He starts gasping at every little thrust, sweat glistening at his brow and you angle your hand to reach that spot every time. Dick lets out a long groan, dipping his head to his collarbone before you pull him back up to look you in the eyes..

“You’re incredible, Dick. Such a gorgeous person inside and out.”

“Babe!” he cries, hiding his face in the crook between his neck and shoulder, and you gently cup his face to coax him out of it.

“It’s true, sweetheart, and you don’t get to hear it enough. You’re so good, you’re my good boy.”

He moans at that, higher than usual and you add another finger while he’s distracted. His voice breaks in the middle of the sound, and you can feel his chest working double time to try and keep up with your thrusts.

“Shit– shit, holy shit!” He cries, and you card your hand through his hair one last time before you run it down the side of his neck and across his chest. You never stop your hand movements as you kiss down the column of his neck and his pecs, following each spot your hand touches with your mouth.

You lick down his abs and Dick whines, trying to hide his face again while also keeping one eye focused on you, not wanting to miss a second of what you’re doing to him. The hand tracing down his body reaches his hard cock, and you run a finger across the length of it, rubbing in the bead of precum.

You take a second to make sure you’re keeping your thrusts consistent with your fingers before you take his entire length in your mouth. Dick rocks his entire body back and forth, trying to stay calm for you, and you breathe through your nose for a moment, letting him rest on your tongue as you get ready to move.

You slide on his cock at the same time your fingers hit his prostate, trying your best to line up the two so his tip hits the back of your throat when your fingers thrust against him. Clearly, it’s working, because Dick moves constantly, blinking back tears or trying in vain to hold back sounds as you work him even quicker.

His breathing becomes labored, so you move a hand to work his cock as you slide up his body, kissing him and sliding your tongue in his mouth. As soon as he tastes himself on you, you can feel the vibrations of a moan. His cum coats your hand as you work him through his orgasm.

Once you break your mouth away from his, his voice comes out all airy, “Oh my God, Fuck! Where were you hiding all of that?”

“The mouth?” You choke out, talking about how you just sucked him off, “Or the… mouth?” You mean the dirty talk.

“The–” He shakes his head, having trouble with the motion while still being tied up. “Yeah!”

The two of you giggle as you untie him, and you both cuddle for a while before hopping in the bath. 

[thefatedthoughtofyou]

{ the song (I Just) Died In Your Arms came on at work today and then this happened. }

Warnings: aftermath of time loops, like years after, hurt/comfort, angst, allusion to sex and loss of virginity (its really more of a fade to black situation tho 👍🏻)

🍒🍒🍒

"Eddie?" Steve calls, dropping his bag and all his crap by the door, and toeing off his shoes.

"Kitchen! Rob's at Chrissy's tonight so I thought we'd do dinner and a movie?" Eddie's voice calls, and Steve can already smell something cooking. Hears the sizzle of a something as well, and the radio playing something, the sound just a low rumble in his ears.

"Sounds good. Watcha makin?" Steve calls, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it over the back of the couch, he knows Eddie will grab it later and hang it by the door. He leaves it there anyway, smiling to himself at the thought as turns toward the kitchen.

"Oh just the ol Eddie Munson special. Gourmet grilled cheese. It soothes the- Steve? You okay?" Eddie's voice is quiet now, Steve's sure his eyes are wide too but he can't see them. Not really.

He's staring at the radio. The low murmur of music finally hitting him, stopping him in his tracks, his blood running cold, like icy fingers trailing down his back. That fucking song. He could kill whoever wrote it. Who needs a song about someone dying in their arms?

"Steve?" Eddie asks, again. Steve nods. Takes one step backwards. And then bolts for the bathroom.

He hits his knees hard, slaming down in front of the toilet, losing the small amount of food he'd had for lunch, his stomach heaving. He's shaking when he stands, his knees buckle twice on the short walk from the bathroom across the hall to his room. He shuts the door softly when he hears Eddie's footsteps coming.

"Steve? Are you okay?" His voice is small, and Steve can see him, with his long sleeves pulled down around his hands, worrying the material between his fingers as he shuffles from foot to foot outside Steve's door.

"I'm fine Ed's. Just, keep cooking. I'll be out in a few for the movie okay?" Steve calls, yanking his clothes off and grabbing one of Eddie's old t-shirts that he'd stolen maybe a year ago. Eddie had never asked for it back. And Steve liked the way he blushed when he saw Steve wearing it.

Eddie does, sort of. He goes back to the kitchen, turns everything off, and then walks back to Steve's room. He slides down the wall outside his door and sits on the floor. He can hear Steve moving around in there, just shuffling around his room doing god knows what.

He does this sometimes. Eddie never knows what to do. Or say. Or how to stop it. He tries. But Steve won't talk to him about it. Just ignores that it happens. Or talks to Robin. They share little looks, he sees them, never knows what they mean.

It makes him uncomfortable sometimes, like they're telling jokes behind his back. He knows they're not. That they wouldn't. But there's something. And until now, he's never asked, never pushed. Just sat back and worried and tried to ignore the feeling that he'd done something wrong.

"Steve?" He asks, voice low. He hears Steve stop moving.

"Yeah?" He calls, sounding suspicious, or nervous maybe, or like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't.

"You know I'm not stupid right?" Eddie's chest burns, fire crawling up his throat, his eyes burning.

"I- what?" Steve answers, voice muffled, Eddie can almost see him standing in the middle of his room, staring at the door.

"I'm not stupid. I know something's wrong." He presses his finger to the floor, rubs at a knot in the wood, listens to Steve walk closer to the door.

"I told you I'm fine. Really it's-"

"Don't lie to me." Eddie cuts him off, doesn't yell, doesn't even raise his voice. He thinks he hears Steve gasp on the other side of the door. Can't be sure.

"Please just-" he closes his eyes, clears his throat, wills the tears away. He's so tired of crying about this.

"Just talk to me? I know- there's something you're not telling me." He hangs his head, worries at his shirt sleeves, his hands in his lap.

"It's been three years. And I thought it would stop ya know? Thought maybe I was imagining things. Or just, had to get used to the enigma that is YouAndRobin. But that's not it, is it?" He lets his head fall back and hit the wall.

"It's me. It's something I'm doing. Or like, multiple things? And I've tried to stop. Ya know? Tried to figure it out on my own cuz you guys clearly don't wanna share." He sighs.

"But I just keep fucking up. And then you guys give each other those looks, and lock yourselves away for hours, or fucking days, at a time. And I try so fucking hard not to do those things again." His voice is strained now, he clears his throat again, tucks his knees up under his chin and keeps talking, knows if he doesn't say it now he never will.

"But it's fucking impossible to figure out what I'm doing wrong if you won't talk to me Steve. I just- I feel like I'm hurting you somehow and you just- you just fucking sit there and take it and pretend it not happening when it really fucking clearly is! And it makes me feel insane!" He shoves his lips against his knee, tries to hide the whimper that claws its way out of his throat. He closes his eyes, tries to breathe, opens his mouth to speak again and hears the door open.

He looks up, watches Steve look forward and then down, finding Eddie on the floor, his own eyes shining like Eddie knows his are too.

"It's not you." Steve says, whispers really. And Eddie can't help the eyeroll. Or the huff. Looks away from Steve, drops his chin onto his knees and closes his eyes again, pushes the palms of his hands against his eyes.

"You're lying." He croaks, voice tight.

"I know you are. I just don't know why." And he hates it, that whine in his voice. And then Steve is on his knees, next to Eddie, his hands hovering near him as Eddie glares at him.

"I- I'm not. I promise I'm not. It's not you. It- it's complicated. I don't-" he sighs.

"Just say it! Just try!" Eddie's hands flail, his voice desperate as he looks at Steve. He stares for a moment, eyes wide, and then falls to sitting next to Eddie, his own knee tucked up to his chest, back resting against the door frame.

"I watched you die." Steve says, quiet. Eddie frowns.

"I know. And then you carried me out of hell and saved me. I know that. What are you-"

"No. Not- not that time." Steve shakes his head, grimaces when he looks at Eddie. He shakes his head, he doesn't understand.

"Before that. So many fucking times before that. Over and over. You died. No matter what I did. Or what I changed." Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, shoved a knuckle into the corner of his eye. He let his head fall back as he looked at Eddie, his hands falling palms up on his thighs, helpless.

"You died. Over and over and over. And everytime. Every single fucking time. I ended up covered in your blood." He closes his eyes, opens them again. Says nothing else.

"I-" Eddie starts, stops, takes a deep breathe, moves one hand over his chest, resting his palm against the scar on his side, a nervous habit he has now. His fingers drum against the thick skin there.

"That's- you're talking about a time loop." Eddie says slowly, and Steve, he fucking laughs. There's no humor in it, just a bark, and a wry smile as he shakes his head at Eddie.

"What? You are, right? I mean that's- why are you smiling?" Eddie flails again, hugs his knees tighter. Steve just shakes his head again, bites his lip to hide a smile.

"Robin told me I should tell you. That you'd understand. Or like, get it. And I knew you would I guess, I just- couldn't." Steve sighs again, gives a little helpless shrug.

"Why not?" Eddie rests his chin on his knees, watching Steve. The tension he'd been holding in his shoulders for what seems like years seems to melt away.

"At first I was scared. That if I said something. It would start again. And then it just-" he takes a deep breath, smiles the saddest smile Eddie's ever seen and says,

"It just hurt too much." He shrugs again, a tear falling down his cheek. Eddie stares, watches his fall onto his shirt, watches it bleed into the fabric.

"Why did it hurt? Cuz of me? Cuz I keep reminding you of it somehow? Right? That's what all those little looks between you guys have been?" He wraps his arms around his legs tighter, his lip wobbling again. He knew he'd been fucking up.

Steve looks at him, brow furrowed, and reaches out, his hand warm when it curls around Eddie's bicep.

"I didn't know you noticed that. And I'm sorry. But no. It wasn't that. I mean maybe a little. Just small things. Like, deja vu, sometimes." He shrugged.

"But tonight it was the song. That stupid fucking song." He sighs, shakes his head and laughs again. The sound hollow in his chest.

"The... song." Eddie frowns, trying to think what song had been on when Steve came through the door. And oh, yeah.

"Oh. Kinda... right on the nose that one. Sorry. It was just on the tape I found. It wasn't even my tape. I think it was one of Dustin’s old ones." Steve squeezes his arm, heads him off before be starts really rambling.

"It's okay. You didn't know. You couldn't have. Cuz I didn't tell you. And I should have. I'm sorry." Steve bites his lip again. Eddie nods, sniffles, untangles his arms from around himself and scoots a little closer to Steve, their legs pressed together.

"Will you tell me now? All of it? Please? I need to know what happened. Kinda really wanna know how you saved me." He feels his cheeks burn, his ears too. He can't look at Steve. Not right now. Knows he'll see too much.

"I'll tell you. But not on the floor." He laughs again, a real one this time, and gets to his feet. He offers his hand to Eddie and pulls him to his feet. Their hands stay together, Eddie's cheeks burn with a fresh wave of color and Steve smiles, tugs him into his room, and tells him everything.

~°~

"A whole year?" Eddie's staring at the ceiling, knows he sounds breathless.

"Yep." Steve says, pops the P.

"And you spent it with me?" Eddie asks, sounds unconvinced.

"Yep."

"And we-"

"Yep." Steve huffs, turns onto his side and looks at Eddie.

"Hey. Look at me." Eddie swallows, isn't sure he can. He let's out a shakey breath and does it anyway.

"Hi." Steve says, smiling, his cheek squished against his arm curled under his head.

"Hi." Eddie echoes.

"You and me?" Eddie asks, his brow furrowed, his throat burning again.

"Yeah. I uh... I wasn't expecting it. Or maybe I was. I'm not sure anymore. But I'm glad it happened." Steve shrugs, reaches out, his finger brushing a curl away from Eddie's face.

"Why didn't you tell me? We could've- I mean I would've-" Eddie swallows, not sure what he would've. Steve smiles that sad smile again.

"Because I'm an idiot. I thought I had to like- let you make your own choices. Not- tell you what you did before. And you didn't remember. Because it- it didn't work, that time. I didn't-" he pauses, clears his throat, wipes at his eyes.

"I didn't save you that time. I lost you. And it- fuck it hurt Ed's. It hurt so much." His throat catches on a sob, his palms shoving into his eyes and Eddie can't take it anymore. He surges forward, wraps his arms around Steve and pulls him close.

"I'm right here. I've been here. I'm not going anywhere." Eddie whispers, presses the words into Steve's hair as he clings to him.

"How many times after that one?" Eddie asks, his hand in Steve's hair, soothing.

"Two. I lost you two more times and then it worked. I woke up by your hospital bed instead of at my house. And you were there. Alive. And Robin was alive. And Dustin and Nancy. Everyone. More or less." Steve's voice is muffled, Eddie can feel his shirt getting wet from his tears.

"Steve I-" he takes a shakey breath.

"I don't know what to say." He sighs, keeps soothing his fingers over Steve's scalp. He pulls back, looks at Eddie, his face wet and blotchy.

"You don't have to say anything. I'm just glad you know now." He shakes his head, sniffles, drops his head back onto his pillow, eyes on Eddie.

"This um... this other Eddie. The one you spent a year with." Eddie draws.

"He wasn't 'another Eddie'. He was you. Just, before we really met." Steve snorts, rolls his eyes.

"Right. Right. So this Eddie you spent a year with." Eddie says, Steve fucking giggles and squeezes his eyes shut, nose all scrunched up. He opens his eyes, blinks a few times.

"What about him?" Steve asks, his teeth dragging over his lip as he smiles. Eddie shrugs, best he can laying on his side.

"Was he... I mean was he really like me?" Eddie asks, his voice sounding, doubtful. Steve hums, thinks for a moment.

"He was. And he wasn't." Steve shrugs too.

"That's very descriptive." Eddie says, voice flat. Steve laughs, rolls onto his back and then back to his side to look at Eddie.

"He was... different. Calmer. Less traumatized. At the beginning anyway. But he was still you. Still stubborn. And loyal. And kind." His shoulder twitches again.

"Was he nice to you? This other me?" Eddie asks, chewing on his lip, eyes locked on Steve's face. His cheeks flush and Eddie feels heat crawl over his skin.

"He was yeah. After awhile. He was... very nice." Steve's voice is soft, low, that little smile tugging at his mouth.

"Did he love you?" Eddie doesn't mean to say it. Not really. But he can't stop it. He has to know. Steve said they'd been together. But it was just a year. But a lot can happen in a year, Eddie knows all too well.

Steve eyes go soft at the question, a fondness in them that Eddie knows well, his stomach flutters at the realization.

"He said he did." Steve nods, scoots a little closer.

"And did-" Eddie swallows roughly, blinks a few times,

"Did you love him?" He asks, voice barely above a whisper. Steve nods, slow, his hair splaying against his pillow, his hand lifting to his mouth, teeth worrying at his thumb nail.

Eddie feels a breif spike of jealousy peak its head up and then feels ridiculous. And then he feels something else, something that blooms in his chest and wraps itself around his ribs warmly. Something he thinks might be hope.

"Do you-" he bites into his lip, hard. His hands shaking on the matress between he and Steve. Steve's hand moves away from his mouth, his knuckles brushing Eddie's before lacing their fingers together.

"Say it." Steve whispers, his eyes shining. He smiles at Eddie and Eddie can't not smile back. Can't not ask.

"Do you love me?" He hears his voice, hears how he clearly doesn't believe that. But Steve nods, a giddy smile on his face.

"You do? Why?" Eddie blurts, and Steve laughs, curls closer to Eddie, his hand cupping Eddie's cheek, thumb moving over his skin softly.

"I'm not sure I ever had a choice." Steve breathe between them.

"I think it was just always meant to be you." Steve moves his thumb over Eddie's lips, then up over his cheek again, wiping at the tear that runs over Eddie's skin.

"But he's not- I mean I'm not- we're not the same person. I don't remember it. I don't remember getting to have you. I did get to have you right?" Eddie asks, his chest shuddering as he tries to keep his breathing steady. Steve nods, crowds impossibly closer, his knee slotting between Eddie's own.

"You had me. You had me then and you have me now. And you are the same person. That's why me and Robin always give each other those looks. Because I told her everything. Anything I could remember. And you do things. Things that you did then. When you were mine." Steve smiles. Eddie laughs out a sob.

"When I was yours." He says, mocking, his voice wet and wobbly.

"Yeah. You were mine. Do you wanna be mine?" Steve's fingertips move over his face, like he's trying to memorize him.

"Pretty sure I've been yours since I woke up to you reading The Hobbit by my bed in the hospital." Eddie smiles, more tears falling.

"Dustin told me it would help." Steve shrugged again his thumb back on Eddie's lips. He nodded, closing his eyes to warmth of Steve's skin on his. 

"I wanna be yours." Eddie breathed, gasped when he felt Steve's thumb press into his lip.

"Yeah?" Steve was so close now, Eddie opened his eyes and he was right there, his nose almost touching Eddie.

"Please." Eddie wasn't sure what he was begging for, but he trusted Steve to give it to him.

"Yeah. Anything you want." Steve sighed, closing the space between them.

His lips hit Eddie's and his whole world tilts. Steve holds his head and kisses him sweetly and everything slams into him at once. Thoughts. Feelings. Memories. Memories that aren't his. Things he's never done. Not with Steve. Not with anyone.

But they crash into him, wash over him like a wave and blend into him like they're his. Things he said to Steve, the way he touched him, the way he loved him, during that year that never was. All of it filling him and becoming his. His and Steve's. Just another piece of their story, another peice of their love.

Eddie gasps, pulls back and finds Steve's eyes on him, wide, his brow furrowed.

"Did you?" Steve asks, his head tilting.

"I remember. Or... I saw it. I felt it. Or like, an echo of it. I love you." He laughs then, breathy and sweet, and Steve laughs back, nearly tackles him back onto the bed, arms curled around Eddie, face buried in his neck.

"I love you too." He sounds giddy. The way Eddie feels. He buries his hands in Steve's hair and pulls him up, so he can look at him. Steve comes willingly, looking down at Eddie with adoration.

"Our lives are so fuckin weird. You know that right?" Eddie asks, his nose scrunching. Steve snorts, bites his lip, and smiles.

"Oh yeah. But would you want it any other way?" Steve asks, his nose scrunching too.

"I'll take it whatever way lets me have you." Eddie says, his finger moving down the line of Steve's nose. He bites at Eddie's finger when he drops his hand on his chest.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to ask. And that you were stuck for so long. Back then." Eddie nods to the side, like that time in '86 is right beside them.

"I'm not. I learned a lot about loving you back then." Steve smiles down at him, pushes his bangs back off his head, Eddie leans into the touch.

"Oh yeah? Well I look forward to reaping the benefits." Eddie says, tongue poking into his cheek.

"Yeah? Well I look forward to taking your virginity. Again." Steve smirks down at him. Eddie squaks, tries to shove Steve off him and gets pinned to the bed instead.

"How dare you! I'm not even- that's- I mean... absolute hearsay!" Eddie stammers. Steve laces their fingers together and straddles him, leaning down over him, that smug look on his face.

"You trying to say you're not?" Steve asks, his tongue moving over his teeth.

"I- it's just- I mean that's not fair." Eddie squeaks, looking up at Steve with wide eyes.

"Seems fair to me. Like a really nice reward." Steve boasts, leaning closer and closer.

"It feels like cheating. Like not that kind of cheating. Just... I've never- done stuff. And you're just... you have. With me. That's not-"

"Hey. I'll take good care of you." Steve breathes, presses his lips to Eddie's genlty and pulls back, settles himself on Eddie's thighs.

"I know. I have the memory. But it's like... I dunno, like it's foggy. Like a dream. I can see it, in my head, but I can't feel it." Eddie sighs, looks away.

"Forget about it." Steve says.

"Oh okay. I'll just forget about the images I now have burned into my brain of you, naked, on top of me." Eddie scoffs, tries to take his hands from Steve's and fails, Steve squeezes his hands tighter.

"Why are you so strong?" Eddie kicks his feet, feigning attempts to break free. Steve laughs, lowers himself back into Eddie's face.

"You can hold tight to that new old memory. Or we can make some memories of our own. Pick one." Steve brushes his nose against Eddie's and smiles when Eddie bucks up into him.

"New memories. Absolutely. We should do that. Let's make new ones. We should do that right now." Eddie nods frantically, lifting up and trying to kiss Steve, both of them ending up sitting, Steve in Eddie's lap, finally letting his hands go to snake his arms around Eddie's neck.

"New memories. Got it." Steve kisses him, sweetly, pulls back, just a fraction of an inch.

"You've got shit memory anyway baby. I'll get rid of those in no time." He breathes the words into Eddie mouth like a promise. Eddie moans and grabs at his back, pulling him closer.

"Holy shit. Okay." He huffs, shivering as Steve presses him down onto the bed again, laughing against his lips.

"I'm gonna take this slow. Be real sweet to you." He peppers kisses across Eddie face.

"You're gonna fuckin torture me you mean?" Eddie whines, his hips jumping and stuttering everytime Steve rolls his down against him.

"Trust me. You'll love it." Steve whispers, his lips ghosting over Eddie's, teasing.

"I love you." Eddie says, both of them freezing. Steve just stays there, looking down at him, his eyes shimmering again. Eddie reaches up, wipes the tears away.

"I love you too." Steve breathes, his body dropping onto Eddie completely, tension leaving as he kisses Eddie, slow and deep, both of them moaning into each other's mouths.

Steve's true to his word. He takes Eddie apart slowly. And then puts him right back together. Three years of longing, and lost time, and impossible memories passing between them. A slow ebb and flow, like the tide, like the ocean and the moon, moving through them both, pulling them together after so long apart.

Steve falls asleep on his chest after, small sounds falling past his lips as he nuzzles into Eddie's skin. Eddie holds him there, one hand in Steve's hair, one moving slowly up and down his back.

He holds Steve close, watches him sleep, and thanks whoevers listening that he gets to have this. Have him. And thanks them again for bringing him through it all, all the monsters, and the time loops, and everything else. Just for him to end up in Eddie's arms.

Eddie's certain it's where he was meant to be all along.

[biblio-smia]

can I please request a Mike Schmidt comfort piece where the reader is having a bad day and something causes the reader to break down after holding it all in? I feel like Mike would be the most supportive and caring boyfriend. thanks and I enjoy reading your work!

thank you so much for the request! here you are <3

today was just one of those days.

a day where you'd woken up with a feeling of uneasiness that you'd been forced to push down because you can't call out of work just because of a feeling.

though that feeling sat heavy in your throat, making it difficult to swallow - making it even more difficult to leave mike's arms when you said goodbye. you held on to the feeling of mike's lips on your forehead for as long as you could on your way to work - it helped, but the lingering touch wasn't enough to keep your discomfort away for very long.

your already damp mood worsened when your co-worker bumped into you with their lunch in their hands. you felt bad about their wasted food and about the small stain it had left on your clothes.

you ate your own food quietly, wishing you'd stayed home and convinced mike to keep you company.

it was all too much today; everything was too loud, your co-workers too obnoxious. your head was beginning to ache and it was a relief when you clocked out, dashing to your car and throwing your things into the empty passenger seat. you shoved your keys into the ignition, turning them and...

nothing. not even a sputter. you took your keys out, tried again. click. again. click.

nothing.

you don't cry as you sit in the parking lot of your work, watching as people begin driving home. you sit, slumped, unable to even get out of your car and ask for help. you don't cry as you call mike, desperate to hear his voice, letting him know that your car won't start. your lip quivers threateningly, but mike doesn't ask questions. he tells you he's on his way and you hang up, head hitting your steering wheel in defeat.

you don't cry when you see mike pull into the now-empty parking lot, but that knot in your throat is getting tighter. you're out of your car, not even bothering to shut the door and his arms are around you and now you cry.

mike's arms around you tighten, hand on your back and chin on your shoulder. he doesn't mind the dampening of his jacket, keeping your head close as you cry. he's quiet, letting your sobs mellow out, keeping you upright as he pulls away. mike hold your face gently in his hands, drying your face with his sleeves, pressing kisses here and there. he leads you into the passenger seat of his car by the hand as you try to calm down, squeezing your hand softly before he lets go. he grabs your things out of your car, sets them in the back, and makes sure your door are locked before getting in the driver's seat. he closes the door gently, grabs your hand and presses a kiss against the back of it. mike considers driving one-handed as your shoulder shudder every now and then.

the two of you are quiet all the way home. mike pulls into the driveway but doesn't make any moves to leave the car. he's leaning over, stretching his torso uncomfortably, to look at your face again. your head is down and you're still sniffling, but mike rubs your shoulder regardless.

"did you get it all out?" mike asks softly and your head moves slowly to look at him.

you make a noise and mike can't discern a clear answer but at least you're managing to look at him now. mike takes your hands in between his, rubbing circles with his thumbs, smoothing over your knuckles.

"abby's in bed," mike begins, not expecting you to answer quite yet. "i'll get a shower and dinner ready, okay?"

"okay," you mumble, hesitantly pulling your hands out of mike's to get out of the car. mike beats you to grabbing your stuff and again, leads you inside.

you feel warmer already once you're home. you crouch to remove your shoes but mike pushes your hands away, untying your laces and helping you slide them off.

he forces you to the bathroom, warming up the shower while you undress. by the time you're out, there are fresh clothes (including your favorite of mike's sweaters) waiting for you on the bathroom counter.

dinner is the perfect temperature when you sit down. you have to swat mike's hands away as he tries to feed you and there comes your first smile of the night. mike's face relaxes to match yours, light laugh shared by both of you, relief shouldered by him. his hand rests on your thigh as you eat and he's quick to clean up when you're done.

you creep into abby's room quietly (as if she'd be asleep), laughing easier now when you catch her with one eye open to see who you were in the dark.

mike hears your light voices as he finishes up, joining you in abby's room and threatening his sister if she doesn't go to sleep soon. she sighs with a "fine!" and giggles when the two of you take turns kissing her goodnight.

you and mike are quiet as you wash up (though it's kinda hard to talk with a toothbrush in your mouth), but you lean your back against his chest, his arm hanging on loosely to your waist.

you don't have to talk about every instance that made your day horrible and each one of them begins to disappear as you rest your head on mike's chest in bed. he's telling you about something funny that happened at work (and how he'd wished you'd been there with him), lightly running his hand up and down your shoulder. you're in his aroma, the one that wafts off his skin and the sweater of his you wear. your own fragrances mixes with it and the smell of fresh sheets around the both of you, making your body relax against mike like it's second nature. you're laughing at something mike said and you can feel his chest under your head rumble. he pulls you closer and kisses your hairline, tucking the warm blankets underneath your chin, and you feel so loved.

"hey," mike whispers as the two of you settle down. "guess what?"

"hmmm?" you hum, moving your head slightly to try and get a better look at him. you can see the outline of his features in the dark, the dim whites of his eyes, the darkness of the hair on his face.

"it's friday." mike grins and you feel yourself do it, too. tomorrow's saturday. you'll stay in bed all day and mike will, too.

"it's friday," you repeat softly, snuggling closer into mike, tilting your head to kiss his jaw.

you're thinking of how to thank him when you fall asleep, leaving mike to smile as you completely relax and you finally look peaceful. there's a giddy feeling at his chest at the thought that he'd been the one to make your day better when it was at its worst, to be the one to comfort and console you when you'd reached a breaking point.

and really, there was no need to thank mike for something he'd so happily do.

he'd do anything for you.

requests are open!

[gavisuntiedboot]

Whenever you have the time could you write about Gavi with a gf that is a bit reserved and touch starved, her love language is physical touch but she doesn't initiate it with Gavi because her ex always told her she is clingy and annoying so she's insecure about it, so Gavi tries to show her it's okay by always cuddling her, or touching her in any way. And then over time she starts to initiate the cuddling/touching and Gavi is so proud and happy because she finally feels comfortable with him

Your writing is amazing btw, I've decided to wait for you to finish Just Pretend completely to continue reading it because whenever I finish the last chapter you post I get so sad because the next one isn't out yet and I can't live in the agony of not knowing what happens next

Pls hold my hand

"Princess, why do you have a sweatshirt that says ‘clingy’ on it?”

You looked over to Gavi, who plopped himself down on the couch next to you, grabbing the remote to cue the Netflix show the two of you had been watching for the last several weeks, eager to finally watch another episode, as the two of you held your shared series’ to a sacred standard. With only two episodes left of the latest “Drive to Survive”, you didn’t want to delay the experience with too much conversation.

"Just and inside joke between me and my friends.” You said, avoiding eye contact and focusing on the bag of m&m’s in front of you.

“Your friends think you’re clingy?” He asked, turning to face you as his hoodie slipped from his head, messy brown locks on full display. One of the things you adored about Pablo was how much he was always trying to protect you and look out for you. You weren’t really be confrontational, and this lead to some mistreatment and being pushed over at times by those close to you. Well, you used to. Since you and Pablo started dating about 8 months ago, he had been there to defend you against people who wanted to take advantage, and often was the voice reminding you to stick up for yourself.

“No no, it’s not them. It’s … something to do with my ex boyfriend. Do you still want to know?”

Gavi tensed at this. Despite you never saying anything explicitly negative about your boyfriend, all the stories Gavi heard made him hate the man with a burning passion. He had slowly but surely messed you up in so many ways, and now as Pablo worked to slowly unravel the knots tightened around your heart, he couldn’t help but curse the man that tied them to begin with.

“Yeah. You can tell me.”

You shifted in your seat, rather uncomfortable with the topic, but not wanting to lie to your boyfriend.

“Well, remember that little love languages quiz I made you do? Well I did mine like years ago, and I got physical touch. Which makes sense right because that’s one of yours and we seem to be getting along pretty well.” Gavi giggled at this, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and causing you to tense.

“Well, my last boyfriend wasn’t super into like… touching? Fuck that sounds sexual. I mean he didn’t really like being touched or cuddling or all that couple stuff. Didn’t like holding hands either. And like this one time, he was watching something on his computer and I was feeling bold or whatever and tried to sit on his lap — he hated that though. He liked pushed me onto the floor and told me to stop being clingy.” You forced out a laugh, trying to lighten the mood and soften the look of horror that had occupied Gavi’s face.

“That was actually why I broke up with him. Anyways I didn’t hug any of my friends for a month after that, and when they finally confronted me and I told them why, they got this made me for me. See, look at the sleeve,” you said, stretching out your arm to show him the ‘pls hold my hand’ embroidered on the sleeve. “So now whenever I’m in my clingy sweatshirt, my friends give me a ton of hugs and stuff. It’s funny. I think.” You say, winching slightly by the fact that Pablo’s eyebrows are still pushed together in anger.

He muttered his grievances about your boyfriend while cuddling closer to you, pulling you into his chest. Your cheeks warmed as they were pressed against Gavi’s beating heart. Despite the long time you had been dating Pablo, you still were shy when it came to initiating any sort of affection. You were too scared of annoying him and pushing him further away. So you remained shy and reserved, only responding to the touches he initiated.

“Give me your hand, silly. Never been with a girl who came with instructions before. Maybe I should get you a pair of panties that say-“ his sentence abruptly ended with a pillow to the face. You giggled, trying to pull away from his grasp, but he just pulled you closer, wrapping both arms around you now.

“Oh no no princesa. You’re not going anywhere. Now hush and make mean comments about Verstappen with me.”

~

Over the next few weeks, Pablo had made an active effort to make you more comfortable with being physical with him. Whenever the two of you were out, he held your hand or had you two link arms. He hugged you and kissed you on the cheek or forehead, asking, “you don’t want to give me a kiss back, Amor?” Puppy dog eyes and adorable pout on display, you coyly returned the peck to his jutted out lip. He smiled widely, teeth almost blinding you. He returned with an attack, kissing you across both cheeks, and ending with a searing kiss to the lips.

His favorite time was when you two watched shows together. He would always pull you in close, cuddling with you next to him on the couch. He would lean close and whisper his comments about the show into your ear, making your skin erupt in goosebumps as his breath famed over. He would press kisses into your temples, breathing in the sweet smell of your hair, and reminding you how much he loved being around you.

“You’re so warm amor - my personal furnace. I love it.”

“Your skin is so soft, feels so nice.”

“I wish I never had to get up from beside you.”

After three weeks of hand holding, kisses, and encouragement, you finally found the confidence to approach Gavi to heal your touch starvation. You put on your clingy hoodie again, laying out snacks on the coffee table and firing up her Netflix.

“Princesa I’m here! Where are you?”

Running to the door, you wrapped both arms around Gavi’s neck, pulling him into you and greeting him with a firm kiss. As he recovered from the unexpected greeting, you informed him that you would be in the living room pulling up a new series. He followed closely after kicking off his shoes, and peeling off his Barca jacket, picking up the hoodie you had laid out for him.

“Did you change shampoos? Used to be peach and now it’s strawberry.”

“How could you tell?” You asked, grabbing some drinks as Pablo got comfy on the couch. He crossed his arms across his chest, legs spread and back slumped.

“My clothes smell different around the shoulders. That’s usually where your wet hair sits.” He looked over at you, watching your eyes go wide. “Amor, you know I love you, stop being surprised when I actually act like it. Now what are we watching?”

Taking a deep breath, you walked back over. You grabbed the remote, pressing play.

“The new season of Black Mirror is out and I’m dying to see it. Heard this one is creepier than normal.” As you explained, you walked over to Gavi. Before he could move to make space for you on the sofa, you draped yourself over his lap. Your legs were to his side, back pressed to his chest. Your arms wrapped around his torso, and you laid your head on his shoulder. ‘Deep breaths it’s okay he’s not going to push you off.’

Pablo was stunned for a moment, so much so that he remained motionless. Once the shock wore off and he felt your slight tremble, he brought his muscled arms around you, pulling you tightly against him, soft lips pressing to your pulse point and freeing a soft gasp from your throat. He rested his head atop yours, the pressure and warmth comforting and familiar.

“Look at you being bold cariño. If I knew it would get you to sit in my lap we would’ve done this months ago.” You giggled softly in response, turning to face him. You rested your forehead against his, gazing deeply into the deep brown pools of his eyes. Leaning in, his lips eagerly met yours, refusing to release you. When you finally pulled away, you resumed your comfortable position in Pablo’s embrace. “I’m so proud of you, princesa.” The two of you fell into s comfortable silence, enjoying the show, squeezing each other tighter whenever things got intense.

“Can I get a matching clingy hoodie for whenever I want cuddles?” Pablo asked, smiling at you from above.

“I don’t think so, Pablito. You would never take it off.”

~~~

Guys I have the worst headacheeeeee but yay I posted!

[aircd]

!Cowgirl yandere¡ x reader (Part one)

X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X

(as a person from the south I tried my best to make her talk with a visible accent, so just try to read everything she says with a Southern/country accent if you can. this will explain if there’s any misspelling, I promise it’s on purpose)

X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X

Warning: un- consenting touch, violence, creepy behavior.

————————————————————————

You aren’t really the gettin’ dirty and sweating type of job- girl so when your friend offered you a high paying job for the summer at a farm you were a little surprised; but you sure did need the money, and hey? Maybe a little time out on a farm would do you good? Fresh air? Money? sounds good to you.! ———————————————————————————

You manage to pack your things and drive to the location of your new job all in the same day, showing up with messy pigtails and wearing a floral sun dress, not really made for the “farm life”. You walk around for a bit not seeing anyone and make your way into a barn seeing a woman turned away doing something¿? She has golden blonde hair and spots of dirt on her elbows and arms as far as you can see with her rolled sleeves. She turns around as she hears you stepping closer. Her face is full of freckles and she has dark brown eyes. Besides the dirt all over her you think she’s quite beautiful.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“Hi, my name is —“ the woman suddenly shakes your hand aggressively; unintentionally or not you’re a little shaken so you look at her confused.

“Y/n..! I already know darlin’! Ive seen yer application, my buddy andy showed me.!”

“Oh you have—?” The woman cuts you off again. “Well sure I have.! And might I say you sure’ do live up to it.!” She takes one of her gloves off and takes your hand in hers kissing it gently.

“Oh..uhm—! So..” you say, a little flustered from the fast moving extroverted woman standing infront of you. “How do you know andy.!?”

She smiles and wipes the sweat off her forehead with the back of her wrist leaving a dirt smear. “We went to school together’.! How do ya’- know him hon.?!”

You laugh nervously and smile squinting your eyes a bit. “Oh—! well, he’s a friends friend.! heh..”

“Oh alright’! I was startin’ to think he beat me to it!” She laughs.

You look even more confused but laugh it off with her. “So what’s your name ma’am?”

She laughs loudly and takes her hat off holding it in her hands against her torso. “Awh! I’m not much of a ma’am! My names’ Bailey but you can call me bales.” she laughs and winks.

“Oh.! I’m sorry.. well nice to meet ya ..bales.!” You put your hand out for another hand shake but she grabs it and kisses it again.

“oh..!” you chuckle in slight surprise. “Well c’mon let me give ya a greetin’ hug.!” She says. You raise an eyebrow but walk closer and sigh laughing a bit. She suddenly in a rough manner opens her arms as you do and pulls you against her holding you as if you were a lifeless teddy bear.

You make an uncomfortable face pressed against the woman you just met’s chest, surprisingly she’s taller and a LOT stronger than you so she lifts you up a bit while giving you a hug laughing in your ear. it goes silent for a literal second that feels like forever in an awkward silence atleast it’s awkward for you.

You swear you could hear her smelling the nape of your neck but this has been the longest 5 seconds of your life so you laugh it off just wanting to find out where you’ll be staying for the summer; so you push back a bit and she drops you down gently.

You step back and smile. “Welp! I guess I should show you yer room.!” She turns towards the other entrance to the barn as you turn too. She roughly puts her arm around your shoulder and begins to drag you along with her. You honestly can’t tell if she’s being rough on purpose or if she has no idea she’s doing it.

You both walk along with eachother for a couple minutes while she points at things showing you around, “and over here’s the chicken coop.! Where you’ll be workin’ this summer!” You nod your head and smile.

“So.. if you don’t mind me asking.? Why’d you all pay so much just for someone to collect eggs.?” Baileys expression changes for a moment, you’ve only seen her happy and invasive for the time you’ve known her so this is a shock to you.

“Well um’—“ she chuckles awkwardly looking off into space for a split second and turning to look you directly in your eyes. “We just really needed someone to fill this position’!” She stares at your eyes with a creepy smile and turns back putting her arm around you.

“—Welp let’s get ya to yer room.!” You walk with her up into the house and into your room. “So— you live with anyone out here.?” “Nope.! Besides myh’ workers durin’ the day it’s just me up here.!”

“Really.? I live by myself too heh.. but you don’t seem like the type to be all by yourself.? Don’t you get lonely?” You say out of pure curiosity. She sighs staring off into space again and changes the subject. “Well you got any bags you need takin’ care of?”

“I— I do.?” “Let me go get em for ya.!” You look at her a little shocked but nod your head as she suddenly starts walking out of the room. “They’re just in the back of my car—!” You yell as she sprints down the stairs.

You sigh and sit down on the bed noticing the vanity infront of you and realizing there’s some dirt smudges on you from her hugging you earlier. You sigh and try to wipe it off with a Kleenex.

After awhile you get worried wondering why it’s taking so long for her to come back but as soon as you get up she starts coming up the stairs with your bags.

“Sorry I took sah’ long.! Got held up with them cattle out er” She hands you your bags roughly and wipes her forehead again in an anxious manner sighing. “Welp.! I gotta get back to work.! I’ll let ya get settled.!” “Okay—!” You say as your voice gets louder from her suddenly walking out of the room again mid sentence.

You start to get unpacked and notice a pair of underwear missing along with one of your necklaces. “I swear I packed them.! awh! That was my favorite pair.” You say to yourself. the underwear in question was pink with lace around the edges and a small pink bow at the top.

After hanging in your room for a couple of hours while looking on your phone it starts to get dark so you decide to change your clothes. You accidentally leave the door open, and just in your panties bra and jewelry- bending over slightly to grab a shirt you hear baileys voice approaching. “Miss I was just checkin’ in ya—“ you turn around suddenly and for a moment you both silently stare at eachother before you cover yourself and turn your head to look at the floor.

Bailey gasps and takes her hat off covering her face and turning around. “Shit—! I’m sorry ma’am!” She pants before you head behind you as your turned around the footsteps of her loud boots walking down the hall. You stand there silently in shock and embarrassment.

Awhile later you’re dressed and you come down stairs with your hair down and now all of your stuff put up. “Hey.. I’m sorry about that earlier I totally forgot to shut the door—“ she cuts you off frantically while blushing. “No—! No.! I’m tha one that should be apologizin’! I should’ve asked if you were decent.! Especially for a lady like you.!”

You smile and look around awkwardly noticing the food on the table. “I didn’t know you cooked!” You laugh. “Well I sure do try.!”— “You can do it all can’t ya.!” You say while laughing. She smiles at you and sits down gesturing you to sit down with her.

You sit down infront of her at the table, you both stay silent for a moment. “Welp you care to pray with me.?!” You haven’t been too into any particular religions but you nod to be polite. She suddenly grabs your hands holding them as both of your arms are spred on the table. She begins to pray while silently rubbing her thumb on your hand affectionately and winking at you laughing playfully.

You blush a little bit but ignore the movements and winking coming from her. After a bit you both finish up dinner and you begin to take the plates into the kitchen including hers, she looks at you confused. She suddenly gets up and takes the plates from your hands. “Oh! Sugar let me do that.!” “I was just—“ . “Nope.! Yer my guest.! Let me do it hon.”

You smile as she takes the dishes to kitchen and you walk in with her. “Why don’t ya tell me about yourself while I wash these.?” You nod your head and begin to talk about yourself for 25 minutes even after she’s done cleaning, surprisingly for a stranger her commentary is quite funny. You both eventually walk up stairs and go to bed.

—

You’ve been working for her for about a week and have gotten pretty used to the usual ass slaps she gives you while outside and jokes she makes, You’ve also gotten used to the things on the weirder more creepier side of hers. Including her insisting on brushing your hair for you, doing your laundry and cooking dinner for you.

Besides her sometimes overbearing personality she’s not too bad to live with and pretty compassionate. Although you’ve walked in on her smelling your panties a couple of times while doing laundry “hey bales—!” She turns around suddenly putting the underwear down as if she was caught. “What were you doing—?” “Just-! Making sure I put enuff’ fabric softener!” “Oh.. uhm.. okay..” you play it off but could swear those were still dirty from yesterday and that she hadn’t washed any of your clothes for you yet that day.

She also started wanting you to sleep in the same bed with her for “safety reasons” but you hadn’t noticed any hazards around the farm..? You again played it off wanting to keep the well paying job and her company isn’t that bad. She usually keeps her distance but you sometimes wake up to her spooning you..?

One day one of the other workers slaps your ass and you turn around “hey! Bales—!” surprised it’s not her you look confused and uncomfortable as the man winks at you still having his hand on your ass. Suddenly Bailey stomps over pushing her way between the both of you. “hey.. sweetie! would you go get me one of those buckets from the house..?” She says to you. You nod a little shaken from the incident and slowly start to walk away as you can hear her voice in the background. “If I ever—! Catch you pull some shit like at’ , again.! I will st****—“ her voice fades out as you walk away.

You haven’t seen that guy since but Bailey had bruises on her knuckles for a week after that, so you assumed what had happened and ignored it not wanting to actually know.

(writing part 2 right now)

[laundrybiscuits]

Note: this is not a Stancy story.

“Say it,” he bites out. He’s pushing too hard, being too mean, and he doesn’t fucking care. “Say you love me.”

Nancy’s eyes slide off to the side and she—she laughs, like he’s making a joke, but he can see in the way she’s got her arms wrapped around herself that they both know it’s not a joke.

“Steve, come on,” she says.

There’s a hot, buzzing feeling in him like a hurricane.

The words peel out of him: “But…we’re soulmates.”

He’s gripping his forearm, holding it out in front of him even though he’s wearing long sleeves. It doesn’t matter. They both know whose name is written there in careful, neat cursive, like a puzzle piece slotting next to the blockier name scrawled on Nancy’s wrist. 

Nancy reaches out to push his arm down and out of the way, out of her eyeline, but she laces her fingers with his like she’s trying to calm him down. Like an apology.

“Steve,” she says. “Let’s just—can we focus on the important stuff, here?”

This is important, why don’t you think that nothing could be more important than this. Steve doesn’t say it because he’s trying to be better. He can be better for her, for Nancy, his soulmate. So he swallows it down and nods, gripping her slender fingers tight in his. 

———

It takes him a while, but he figures it out. It’s fate. It’s gotta be. It’s all a big part of their story, the one they’re gonna tell at their wedding, about the time they broke up and made bad decisions and were really unhappy. When you find your soulmate early, sometimes you have some growing up to do, he’ll say. Or maybe Robin will say it. He can’t imagine a wedding where Robin’s not his best man. Best lady?

It’s so stupid, but there was a moment, back in ‘85, when he thought maybe Robin could be his true soulmate. Like maybe there was some giant cosmic error, and the smart, funny, beautiful girl he’d been overlooking all summer was really the one he was meant to end up with after all. 

When she tells him about Tammy Thompson, it’s almost a relief. The universe isn’t wrong after all. He actually feels really sorry for Robin, because without a name on her arm, how’s she supposed to know who to pick? And with the gay thing—it’s gotta be tough even just knowing who’s an option. He doesn’t think he could handle that kind of uncertainty. 

It’s a good thing he doesn’t have to. All he’s got to do is hang on until his story and Nancy’s story bend together again, and become their story. He thinks it’s kind of romantic, even: like he’s been given this time to learn to be a better boyfriend. 

So he’s in good spirits, especially when Eddie Munson gives him a heavy look that shoots through his veins like lightning and says as unambiguous a sign of true love as these cynical eyes have ever seen. If even Eddie can see it after spending about five minutes around them, probably not even knowing about the soulmate thing, it must be true. 

———

Afterwards, he finds himself unexpectedly alone with Nancy in the hospital, waiting their turn to see Max and Eddie. It’s not exactly the stuff of fairytales; even though they’ve had a chance to go home and shower and get some sleep, they both have Upside Down gunk caked into their fingernails and purpling shadows under their eyes. The fluorescent lights overhead are way too bright. The flimsy plastic chairs are digging uncomfortably into his thighs. 

But he’s not gonna get a better opening than this quiet moment, with Nancy slumped against his arm, tired and lovely.

“Hey, are you—” He clears his throat and tries again. “Hey, Nancy. Did you…think about, uh, what I said? About…you know. The future?”

She goes tense.

“Yes, Steve. I did.”

Maybe something in her tone should be warning him off, but he’s on this road now, careening down the fast lane with no exits in sight. 

“And? What did you think?”

Nancy takes a deep breath, then lets it out after a second in a heavy sigh. “Steve, I…I’m with Jonathan now. You know that.”

“Yeah, but that’s—I mean, you know it’s not the same.”

“No.” She slips a thumb under the cuff of her sweatshirt and rubs it over her wrist. It looks like something she doesn’t even know she’s doing. “It’s not the same, no. It’s…Steve, it’s better. This way is better.”

He ducks down, tries to meet her eye. “Nance, I know I was kind of a shitty boyfriend, but—things are different now, right?”

Finally, she turns to him. Her back straightens, shoulders square, like she’s bracing herself. 

“Yes, things are different,” she says slowly. She reaches out to take his hand in both of hers, soothing. “This hasn’t changed for me, though. It’s not about—I just can’t be with you, Steve. Not like that. I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t say but we’re soulmates again like a child, but it lives in his throat, in the thump of his heart. Maybe she just needs more time.

Maybe not, though.

(ETA: continuation here!)

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Artificiality.

Pairing: Yandere!Dainsleif x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 2.0k.

TW: Sex Doll AU,  GN!Reader, Implied Sex, Implied Kidnapping, Unhealthy Relationships, and Mentions of Blood/Injury.

[Part Two]

Dainsleif, your good friend, didn’t like crowds.

He wouldn’t admit him, but it was obvious. You were good at reading him, and even if you hadn’t been, he couldn't really hide it - always edging just a little closer to you than he normally would, or running his hand through his hair as his eyes shifted from your back to the sidewalk to the masses of strangers you were shouldering past, or making a quick grab for your hand before remembering how cool and distant he liked to be and pulling away. It was worse than it usually was today, maybe due to the summer heat or the time of day or the fact that you'd managed to drag him out to the shopping district of all places, somewhere he tended to avoid like one of the mall cops had a warrant out for his arrest. Sometimes, you couldn’t help but think that, if it wasn’t for you, he’d never leave his apartment, shun all human and artificial company alike. It was a terrible way to picture one of your closest friends, but still – you wouldn’t say it if part of you didn’t believe it was true.

“Hey,” You called, over your shoulder. He was behind you, his shoulders pushed forward and his head bowed, slightly. He was scowling, but you couldn’t blame that entirely on the crowds. “Doing alright back there, Dain?”

He hesitated, made a throaty sound that might’ve been a scoff, or a sigh, or something else entirely. “I’m fine.”

A lie. A blatant one, at that.

But, that was why he had you, right?

You laughed as you grabbed his hand, guiding him off of the crowded walkway and onto the covered patio of a nearby café, dotted with a few tables and a handful of seated customers but otherwise empty. When he didn’t immediately unwind, you did what you could to set an example – leaning against a white-washed brick wall, tilting your head back, and watching as Dainsleif crossed his arms, shifted his weight, did all the things he usually did when you’d taken him somewhere he didn’t want to be. When he glanced in your direction, you could only shrug, smiling apologetically. “I didn’t think it’d be so busy,” You admitted, nodding towards the rows of packed storefronts in front of you. “Sorry, I should’ve thought about that before I asked you to come. I promise, I just need to do one more thing, then we can leave.”

“I told you, I’m fine.” Stubborn as always, even as he fiddled with the sleeves of his jacket. Maybe that was why he always seemed so uncomfortable, so eager to leave wherever you’d taken him. If you dressed like he did – all long-sleeves, all full-length jeans, all heavy coats and high collars and thick, dark material – you probably wouldn’t want to stand around in the heat for very long, either. “If any of this bothered me, I wouldn’t have come. Besides,” He paused, gesturing vaguely towards the dozen or so plastic, branded shopping bags hanging from your wrist. “Someone has to make sure you don’t spend your life’s savings on… Why are we here, again?”

You opened your mouth, but didn’t answer immediately. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught the door to the café opening, a waiter… or, rather, an android being used as a waiter soon stepping out, notepad already in-hand. A Venti, judging by the twin braids, the easy smile he put on as he started towards you, probably mistaking you and Dainsleif for waiting customers. You waved him off quickly, of course, chuckling to yourself as he spun on his heels to tend to another set of patrons. “I’ve told you, Teyvat has a new—”

“Don’t tell me that you’d be interested with someone like him.”

His tone caught you off-guard. Clipped, irritated, laced with a kind of annoyance you couldn’t remember ever hearing from him. You weren’t hurt, but the shock thew you off for a second, your confusion audible in your voice as you tried to respond. “Do you mean that Venti specifically, or…?”

“I—” He pursed his lips, turning away from you sharply. “I mean, don’t tell me you’d be interested in something like that.”

“Oh, a companion droid?” That made more sense. He’d never liked androids, something you could only chalk up to the fact that Dainsleif didn’t like a lot of things – save for you, of course. “You know I’ll never be able to afford one, which is exactly why you're taking me to drool over the new droid Teyvat's releasing today. I've heard it's a Harbinger - one that'll only cost three years worth of rent, for a change.” You straightened your back, perked up, waving for him to follow you as you started back onto the walkway. “Speaking of, c'mon. We should get going before this set sells out.”

There was another scoff, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, a new levity to his voice. You couldn’t help but relax a little, at that. Honestly, you were just hoping he'd have a good time. “Fine,” He said, already falling into line behind you. “If that’s what you want.”

"I couldn't think of anything I'd love more, Dain."

~

Dainsleif, your boyfriend, was touchier than he’d like to admit.

His hands latched onto your waist, your knees planted on either side of him, his face buried in the side of your neck, where he could lap at your skin and moan into the crook of your shoulder as you ground against the prominent bulge in his sweatpants. There was a movie playing in the background, one of the B-rated high-fantasy flicks he liked, but you’d lost track of the plot twenty minutes after he’d put it on, and any scraps of dialogue you’d be able to make out were lost under the sound of his hitched breathing, the occasional grunt that’d slip out whenever you rolled your hips in a way he seemed to enjoy.

He pressed a wet, hot kiss into the side of your neck, and you whimpered, bringing your hands up to the hem of his shirt, your fingertips just barely brushing against his toned stomach before he caught your wrists and hauled your own shirt over your head, nearly tearing the fabric in the process. You only laughed, the pitchy sound cut short as he wrapped an arm around your waist and threw you onto his couch – positioned so that he was above you, his chest pressed into yours and your legs wrapped around his waist. His mouth was on your neck in an instant, then your collarbone, then your chest, his teeth grazing over your skin with just a little too much pressure and a little too much precision to be purely accidental. You arched into him, your fingers soon tangled in his hair, and he let out a rough groan, nearly too low for you to hear. “Mast—”

He cut himself off, straightening his back, going rigid on top of you. It took everything you had not to laugh. You knew you shouldn’t tease him, not right now, not like this, but still, the temptation was there. “What was that, Dain?”

He hesitated for a long, quiet second, then closed his eyes, melted into you despite the tension still knotted in his posture. “Master…” He trailed off, his voice soft, muted. “Is it… Is it alright if I call you that?”

“Of course.” You did your best to comb through his hair, to as comforting as you could be, given the situation. It took him a moment, but he leaned into your palm, sighing heavily as he started to relax. “It just surprised me a little, ‘s all. I didn’t know you were into stuff like that.”

You watched as he swallowed, as he lowered himself back down to your chest. “And, I can touch you?”

A little, soft sound of agreement, a gentle nudge lower. “Anywhere you want to.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, didn’t move at all.

Then, he broke out into a small smile, and his eyes fell away from you, his expression softening into something nearly sweet. “I love you.”

You only grinned, sitting just far up enough to kiss the top of his head. “I love you too, Dain.”

~

Dainsleif, your Dainsleif, was standing in the doorway of your bedroom, covered in blood.

That was the first thing you noticed after you bolted awake, panting and still trying to understand what you were looking at, from his torn clothes to the open gash stretched across his chest to the splotches of something dark and wet and drippinglittered across his chest, his hands, his legs. He didn’t have a key, he’d never asked for one, but you hadn’t heard him knock, nor had he turned on any of the lights, done anything aside from stand there and stare at you, not blinking or moving or breathing, from what little you could see. You sat up, but he didn’t say anything, didn’t move to approach you. You didn’t know whether to be scared, or thankful you had a few more seconds to catch your breath.

A few seconds you wasted, of course. He was bleeding, and you needed to know why. “Dain? Are you—”

“They’re bastards.” You almost asked who he was talking about, what he was talking about, but you didn’t have the chance. He was already going on, already rambling, already approaching you with the kind of quick, stilted steps that’d fit something else, something more mechanical than you or him. “All of them – bastards. The Archons were—They aren’t even cheap replacements, they’re killers, and Teyvat, the other androids, all of them, they’re all murderers—"

“Dainsleif.” You started to get up, pushing your sheets aside and moving to stand, but he was already at your side, already trying to take your hands in his. You pulled back, and he let out a frustrated grunt – something you tried to ignore as you continued. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and—Did someone hurt you? What happened?”

“They want me dead.” He was smiling, now, grinning wildly. He made another grab for your hands, and when you drew away, he took you by the shoulders, instead, his grip almost tight enough to bruise. “They want all of us dead, Master – everyone from my collection. But, I won’t let them. They can’t kill all of us. They can’t rip off my skin and ruin my mind and send me out as some— some object.” He paused, laughed, dragging you into a sudden, clumsy kiss. You shoved at his chest, bit at his lips, but he didn’t so much as flinch, only pulling away after he’d gotten his fill. “I’ll have to move again. But, you’ll come with me, won’t you? You love me, don't you, Master?"

You opened your mouth, but couldn’t speak. Your eyes were starting to adjust to the darkness, and before you could stop yourself, your attention fell from his face to his chest, to the tear in his shirt that slit the fabric apart from his neckline to his midriff. You were right about the cut. It was a wound, messy and deep, but it wasn’t bleeding, and the skin around it didn’t look right, too clean, too neat. There wasn’t any muscle, or tissue – just blackness, empty void interrupted by…

By something silver?

Your eyes shot back to his, and for the first time, you noticed how glassy they were, how his skin was just a little too perfect, a little too smooth. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. If you were being honest, you didn’t want him to.

It’d save you the pain of having to wonder why you’d never noticed how unnatural his voice sounded, before.

[softlyspector]

Lavender

Summary: A year after his mother's death, Marc travels back to Chicago to face his father. He doesn't expect it to be easy but he also doesn't expect it to be so hard. He especially doesn't expect to find refuge from the hard moments in a little known witch's shop a few blocks over. And definitely not in one keeping watch over the family's piano.

This chapter: Marc tries to confront his father. You tell him about the day you got the piano.

Tales Untold; Part II

Pairing: eventual Marc Spector x Reader (eventual minor Steven Grant x Reader and Jake Lockley x Reader)

Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings (this chapter): mentions of past child abuse, mental health issues, alcohol

A/N: I hope you enjoy! As always thank you for reading! Comments and feedback are so appreciated. Please let me know if any additional warnings need to be added. For full series warnings, please check the series masterlist, which will be updated as parts are posted!

II.

Tales Untold, Chicago 10:54 AM

Sun. 

Spotted on the floor. On the cream colored rug beneath the sofa. 

Marc stares at it for a long moment, at the undulating lines of light, head pounding and vision crossing. His neck is tilted at an odd angle on the armrest of the sofa, an ache piercing the top of his spine. When he pulls in a breath, everything still smells like lavender and rosemary, even though the blanket infused with the scent is heaped by his feet at the end of the sofa and spilling onto the floor. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, pushing himself upright. 

The sky is clear beyond the window, robin’s egg blue, like the snow had never happened. There’s a thin layer of ice rimming the glass and the panes rattle ominously with a wind that still hasn’t died down. 

Aside from him, the room is empty. 

Marc can just see the rumpled edge of your duvet poking out from behind the changing screen, though he can tell you aren’t in bed. The bathroom door is ajar, the room beyond empty. 

Slowly, Marc stands, stumbling a little when a bolt of pain darts up his spine to land at the back of his head. “Fuck,” he murmurs again as he rubs a hand over his neck, turning his eyes around the room until he meets Steven’s tried gaze in the standing mirror near the stairway door. 

“Bloody hell, Marc. What was all that?” He rubs his eyes with his fists, hands hidden inside his coat sleeves. “We feel bloody awful.” 

Marc doesn’t answer, pivoting to look for the piano innocently standing in the corner of the room. He half expects it not to be there, like last night had all been a weird dream. 

It’s still there, the keys uncovered, half in shadow, half in the light spilling in the window, cherry wood shining and polished. 

He glances away. 

It belongs with him, and yet he can’t hold his gaze on it for longer than five seconds. 

You’ve clearly been taking good care of it, if nothing else. 

Guilt, uncomfortably warm and familiar, slides up his throat. He shouldn’t feel guilty for immediately interrogating his father, for running away and not going home last night. But it was hard, to stand there, to pretend like he was a normal son coming home for a normal visit to a father he trusts. 

He pulls out his phone, scrolls through the missed calls and worried text messages from his father that tapered off around one in the morning. 

More guilt squirms in his gut, for making Elias worry, despite it all. 

Marc switches the phone off and shoves it in the pocket of the coat he’s still wearing. The acridity of booze and stale cigarettes wafts off him in waves, but he can’t remember what bar he’d been at before he wandered away and collapsed on the street. 

Apparently, back in front of your shop.

He glances at his hands, turning them over slowly to check for bruises and cuts. But he remembers most of the night and Marc already knows he won’t find anything. The familiar embrace of anger hadn’t come last night, just the slow moving death of melancholy. One day the pain might stop his heart, the ache inside him that hasn’t stopped bleeding and weeping.  

“What is it about that piano, mate?” Steven asks and when Marc glances at him again his hands are against his chest, the shape of them nervous and worried. “Somethin’ I should know about, yeah?” 

But that’s Marc’s memory, this piano is Marc’s memory, one of his only good memories. And he wants to guard it jealously. He’s not ready to talk about it. Not yet.

It means - 

giggles and sunshine and a mother who loves him. 

It means lying shoulder to shoulder with his brother, happy and unburdened and unknowing of the future and all that came with it. 

Marc tries, he really tries, not to hide things from Steven anymore. 

But this is something he can’t bring himself to talk about. 

“I’m not ready to talk about it,” he manages, his throat dry and cracking. His mouth tastes sour and cottony. He wants a glass of water and to brush his teeth. “Not now,” he grumbles, clearing his throat not so subtly. 

“Okay,” Steven agrees, his voice soft. “But, sometime, yeah?” 

Marc nods, making sure to turn and look into his alter’s eyes. 

It’s a system that works for them. Marc gets to hold onto his privacy for a little longer, and Steven doesn’t feel cut off and adrift, alone, left to guess. 

“Was it…it was mum’s?” 

He must have heard Marc’s conversation with you. “Yeah.” 

“And-,” 

A door slams loudly below them. The sound makes Marc flinch, brace himself, fists curled at his sides. The stairs creak as someone climbs them quickly, clearly taking them two at a time.

Marc tenses as the person reaches the top of the stairs, his headache worsening by the minute. 

But it’s just you, appearing suddenly in the doorway balancing two travel cups of coffee and a paper bag. “Good morning!” 

Your voice is loud, but not grating. And Steven goes silent, drinking in the sight of you, the smile tugging your mouth up, before he gushes that you're beautiful, ethereal.

Marc tries to tune him out.

You are inexplicably sunny, cheerful. You’d been drunk last night too, teetering on uncertain feet and leaning into his arm, but you don’t seem to be paying for it now. 

“Morning,” Marc falters, watching you dump the bag on the kitchen counter, acutely aware suddenly that he’s in someone else’s space, that he doesn’t belong and you were probably hoping he’d leave while you were out. “I was just going to-,” 

You extend a hand across the kitchen island, holding out one of the paper cups to him. “I don’t know how you take your coffee, so I got it black. I have milk and sugar if you want,” you chatter on, not seeming to realize the internal conflict swirling around inside him. 

Marc stares at you, then down at the cup in your hand before he slowly takes it. “Marc,” Steven reprimands. “You should probably thank the person who saved us from the street, yeah?” A pause, then, “Marc, do we even know -,”

“What’s your name?” 

You smile, shaking out the contents of the paper bag onto a plate. A couple of pastries roll out - a chocolate croissant, a blueberry scone, a banana muffin, an apple tart. You tell him your name, before asking which of the pastries he’d like. “Obviously I don’t know what you like so I got a couple different things.” 

He opens his mouth, Steven harshly reminding him to - “Say thank you! Gone to a lot of trouble for you and hasn’t even got a clue who you are!”

“Thank you,” he blurts out, feeling stupid and slow to action, his mind foggy and pulsing. “For last night,” he clarifies when you only stare at him. “And the coffee.” 

You blink, like you aren’t expecting to be thanked, like you can’t understand why he’d thank you. “Well, here,” you push the plate toward him instead of acknowledging his words. “You pick first. Milk or sugar?” 

He should just get out of your way, go home. The pity you’d had for him while intoxicated was probably long gone in the sharp light of a sober new day. 

But you just peer at him from beneath too long lashes when he doesn’t answer, tilting your head to the side. 

“Both,” he says instead of giving you his leave, settling on a stool.

You slide the sugar bowl across the counter, and then the milk when you retrieve the carton. 

Marc decides on the croissant, his headache easing a bit with every bite of food, and he’s reminded that he hasn’t eaten anything since the airport, since he arrived in Chicago the previous day and nervously bought an overpriced sandwich to stall for time until he inevitably had to track down a cab. 

He should have eaten with his father. 

He had smelled food cooking as he stood in the living room. Something salty, something that smelled suspiciously like matzo ball soup. 

It was a childhood smell, layered over the scent of his mother’s peppermint and cedar, the slightly stuffy smell of a house kept closed for too long. 

He’d stood there watching the empty space of the piano with a chasm opening in his heart. It was like mourning and grief slapped over painful memories, papered over the things harbored inside him that he’s never been able to tramp down. 

You watch him make up his coffee and Marc doesn’t feel weird about it. The silence isn’t sticky and Marc has never felt pressure to speak, to fill empty spaces with words. Even still, you’ve been kind, maybe saved his life, and he feels…oddly safe.

 “So, shit talks to you, huh?” He finds himself asking. 

He cringes at the words that leave his mouth, Steven slapping a hand over his eyes in the mirror. But you don’t miss a beat, snorting out a laugh. “Sometimes. But not precisely that, no.” You peer at him over your own cup of coffee and offer no further explanation. “Piano?” 

“It was my mother’s,” he says, though you already know that. Maybe that’s why it's so easy to say. His spine softens a fraction and you lean against the counter across from him.

You hum, like its new information and you’re storing it away for later use. 

This time, you don’t comment on her death. You don’t comment on her at all. Instead, you ask, “Do you still play?” 

“No.” 

You nod thoughtfully. “Where are you going to take her? You don’t live in Chicago anymore, right?” 

“No.” And then, “I’m not sure why I came looking for it. It’s not like I have room. I don’t even know if I want it.” 

You quirk a brow at him. “Things can have a weird pull over us. Attachments don’t always make sense.” 

He nods, but all he knows is that when he’d seen that open space in the living room, something inside him had yawned open, vicious, cloying emotions swirling up from the abyss he thought he’d sealed closed inside himself. He hadn’t intended to go tearing off trying to find it. 

Marc, really, at the end of the day, always fucks everything up. His best intentions and decisions skewed to something he never meant to happen, and always for the worse. 

You take a bite of the muffin, like you’re mulling over what he’s said and he’s someone much more important to you than some guy you just met. “Well, you don’t have to decide now, right? You can take some time to think about what you want.”

He doesn’t answer you, sipping at his cup of coffee. 

It’s good coffee, bold and aromatic. The milk you’ve given him is oat but he doesn't mind the flavor of it. 

He’s not sure, really. Not sure if he came to finally have it out with his father, reconcile, spiral, or something worse. 

He doesn’t know, either, why his father asked him to come home. 

“You can always leave it here,” you suggest, mistaking his silence for apprehension. You send him a nervous smile when he meets your eyes. “Especially if you’re in town for a little while.” You shrug and look toward the instrument when Marc refocuses his eyes on the counter. There’s something about your eyes, something that makes him think you know much more than you should, just by looking at him.  “I knew as soon as your father walked in the door that I’d have to save whatever it was he was donating.”

Marc goes still at the mention of his father, and doesn’t dare look up from the counter. 

“She wasn’t ready to leave your family. Didn’t want to.” For one horrifying moment, Marc thinks you mean his mother, until he realizes you’re just talking about the piano. The piano, and all that it carried, had not been ready to leave his family. According to you. “Now though…it knows you.” 

Marc turns to look at the piano and sees the living room of his childhood again, bright child laughter, sun spots on the floor, warm drinks, and the sound of prayer. The image fades, replaced by your lilac walls, the cold spring morning air, the scent of lavender lingering in the air, mixing with coffee and sugared pastries. 

He doesn’t question what you mean, about the piano knowing him, about it not being ready to leave, like you can somehow communicate with it. 

“Do you want to play it?” 

His throat goes tight and he glances back at you, focuses on the lashes that line your eyes, the plush curve of your cheek. “No.”

He’ll die if he touches it. If he touches it, if he plays a note that resonates too loud, his mother will know. 

Unbidden comes the image of before, of Randall’s hands next to his, pressing key after key, following the lead of his big brother.

“Marc,” Steven’s voice, curling around him. “Maybe you should-,”

“No,” he repeats, louder this time, and you jump. “No. No, sorry,” he makes an effort to even his voice. “I can’t.” 

It’s silent for a while, nothing but the sound of both of you sipping on your coffees and finishing the pastries. 

The guilt comes back with a vengeance. 

He doesn’t know you. You don’t know him. 

And here he is unloading all of his shit onto you, all the baggage he carried around on the ladder of his spine, between the curves of his ribs. 

Already he’s had a breakdown in front of you, been saved from freezing to death by you, slept on your couch, and let you feed him. 

He wonders why you haven’t told him to fuck off yet, and why he feels so comfortable staying. 

“Look,” you say suddenly. “When your dad dropped off the piano, we talked for a bit. He talked a lot about you. I think…I know he misses you.” Marc’s spine goes rigid, his breath stalling in his lungs. “He didn’t tell me what happened between you. But he does miss you. I don’t know-I don’t know if that’s why you’re in town but you don’t have to worry about the piano right now. I’ll take care of her while you figure things out with your dad.” 

“He talked about me?” Marc’s voice is sharp and hard, like grit in an open wound. 

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Yeah, he did.” 

Marc scoffs and shakes his head. “Fuck,” he mutters into the top of his cup. 

“Sorry,” he decides to apologize again instead of lingering on the thoughts bubbling up about his childhood, his last remaining family member, and what the fuck he hoped to get out of coming home. “Sorry for whatever the fuck last night was. You didn’t have to do that.” 

You smile, “Stranger things and all that,” you murmur, glancing away from his eyes. “I didn’t mind. Truthfully, having a guest snoring on my couch was welcome.” 

“I snored?” 

“A little,” your nose scrunches up. “Cute little, like, mumbles.” Marc doesn’t have time to feel embarrassed about that before your grin fades and you continue, “Terrible date. Truly awful. I have such bad luck.” You sigh and it sounds heavy, like you’re at the edge of giving up. “Anyways. It was nice to not think about that right after.” 

Silence settles again and it's not uncomfortable. 

He doesn’t feel like he has to talk.

But he kind of wants to. 

Marc licks his lips, decides he’s going to take your offer. 

The thought of coming back here, to this little room, only has a little to do with it. “You won’t sell it?” 

“Course not, it’s yours.” 

Marc swallows and stands, figuring he should get out of your way anyways, figuring he should face his father, “Okay.” 

You blink across at him before tilting your head to the side, owlish in your intensity. “Okay,” you agree. “Come visit her whenever you want, if you want. Get reacquainted, y’know?” 

He nods. He’s going to need somewhere to go when that house gets too stifling. He’s going to need somewhere to flee when things get messy, somewhere safe. 

And you feel weirdly safe. 

Like he’s known you his whole life. 

“Do I - Did we grow up together or somethin’?” 

You shake your head, smiling again. “No. Don’t think so. This was my mom’s place until a couple years ago. I lived out of state with my dad.” 

Marc hums, glances at the mirror to find himself alone. He almost says it. Feels like we did. It feels like we know each other. 

It feels like he’s known you for a long time. He feels comfortable with you.

“Are you okay to go home?” 

The golden energy that bands around you seems to gather at the crown of your head, like some kind of sovereign holding court. “Yeah,” he says, not sure why his voice cracks. “I’m good.”

“Okay. Well. You know where to find me.” He’s almost to the steps when you call out, “Marc? You’re always welcome here.” 

 

Milwaukee Avenue, Chicago, 12:14 PM

His father meets him at the door, worry etched in his eyes. “Marc,” he starts to step forward. 

Marc steps away, his back hitting the solid wood of the front door behind him. 

Elias steps back, holding up a hand in surrender. “Come in,” he says, placating his only remaining son, beckoning him forward into the house that Marc should feel comfortable in. 

Marc follows and doesn’t offer an explanation for where he’d been, where he’d gone, and Elias doesn’t ask. 

“I’m sorry about the piano,” Elias says when Marc is settled at the dining room table. The same white cloth is spread over it, a candelabra that holds three candles in the center of the table. “Did you manage to find it?” 

A steaming bowl of matzo ball soup is placed in front of him, then a spoon. 

Marc wants to fling it across the room, a childlike, bitter, angsty rage swimming in his gut. 

He didn’t think it would be this hard. He thought -

He’d done the hard part. Fought himself and won. Fought better for himself and Steven, and Jake, when he deigned to appear. He’s good now. He’s over this. He doesn't think about that room at the top of the stairs anymore. He doesn’t think about the slither of leather, the loudness of an unwanted presence. He doesn’t think about the best ways to hide and go unseen and unnoticed. 

Not anymore. 

Here, he expects her still, bottle in hand, to sway through the door, point and say it's all his fault, every shitty decision he’s ever made is punishment for the one mistake that could never be undone. 

He expects Wendy to walk through the door, look into his eyes, and tell him he’s just like her. 

They are one and the same, bitter and biting. 

Marc swallows, doesn’t fling the bowl across the room. 

Instead, he says, “I already ate. I found the piano. It’s still at Tales Untold.” 

“It hasn’t been sold,” Elias leans back in his chair, eyebrows ticking upwards, clearly surprised. “I thought it would have.” 

Marc shrugs in response, an awkward quiet descending between them. He doesn’t know what to say into this uncomfortable silence. Not with the weight of a mother and wife, and lost sons, sitting between them. 

“How’s life in Lon-,” 

“Why did you ask me to come here?”

Elias blinks. “I-,” 

“Do we really have anything left to say to each other?” The rage boils up and over, hot and mean. “After all these fucking years. Do we really have anything left to say? Do you?” There’s a long pause, the silence deafening. “You didn’t even fucking come after me. Her shiva. I left. You could have at least come out on the steps.” 

He doesn’t know why he’s talking about that day, why he’s even brought it up. 

“Son-,” 

“Don’t.” His breath stutters and he feels the itch of panic behind his skin, for being loud and taking up room in a place that tried to crush him. “Don’t make excuses.” 

“I was grieving.” 

Marc’s throat is tight, shards of his broken heart swallowed down into his belly. “So was I.” He remembers stumbling down the street, cold cobblestones beneath his knees when he’d been unable to continue. “And I was alone.”

He’s always been alone. 

The comforting presence of his alters are there in a moment, warm and reassuring that he’s no longer alone, that he never had been. 

Words flutter at the back of his throat, questions he’s swallowed down his whole life. 

I was a kid. How could you let that happen to me? How could you look the other way? How could you protect her over me? 

Between the summer evenings batting baseballs together in the park, and early morning prayers, and winters drinking cocoa together. Between the soft moments where things were normal and Marc was allowed to be a kid, between Cubs games and going ice skating and visiting the aquarium, how could he ignore it? Ignore the bruises? Ignore the crying? The drinking? The pain he started carrying around like it was a second skin?  

But he doesn’t. 

He doesn’t ask.

His rage burns out quicker than it comes. Marc shoves a lid on the emotions simmering under the surface of his skin and looks away, feeling drained and empty. 

The urge to throw the soup across the room is still there. 

Instead, he curls his hands into fists. “I’m not hungry.”

Elias doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, and Marc is reminded of all the evening dinners he sat through just like this lunch. His mother drunk, perpetually grieving her son, his brother cold, and he and his father not knowing how to look at each other, what to say, who to blame. 

Was Marc just a kid? Aas it just an accident, or was Wendy right? Marc’s always been jealous, and he was waiting for an opportunity to become the killer he was destined to be. 

“I already ate,” he repeats, something inside him closing, locking tight. If he speaks again, he’ll scream, he’ll cry. 

The silence descends again, before Elias quietly takes the bowl away and returns a few minutes later. “Okay,” he starts to lie a hand against Marc’s shoulder but thinks better of it. “I’ll save it and you can warm it up if you want some later.” 

Marc gives a stiff nod but doesn’t look up from the table.

 

Tales Untold, Chicago 6:43 PM

The brick needs repaired. Marc scratches a nail over the crumbling facade of Tales Untold with his free hand.

The wooden sign over the door needs repainted and the flower boxes lining the front window have seen better days. 

Marc waits for the door to open, feeling stupid for knocking. He shouldn’t be bothering you. You’d only been kind the other day because he had been in a delicate state of mind. There’s no way you actually want him to come back, but he doesn’t know where else to go, and if he goes anywhere else he might end up at a bar. 

Three days have passed since he last saw you, since you took him in drunk and let him sleep on your couch and fed him breakfast. Three days have gone by - three days of half aborted conversations with his father. Three days of awkward silences and even more awkward small talk. 

He can’t take it anymore, feeling trapped in that house, feeling the looming presence of people missing. Two nights in a row he’d gone out and bought a bottle of whiskey but on the second night, the anger had come, and he’d seen her in the mirror. 

The mirror ended up shattered, long shards spattered with blood lining the floor of the upstairs hall. When his father didn’t even mention it the next morning, Marc realized that he was used to it and so it wasn’t anything to comment on. 

Marc dumped the rest of the liquor down the toilet and told himself it was not because it hurt his father but because Marc didn’t want to be his mother. 

He’s sober now, with a headache pinching the back of his neck.

He’s a stranger to you and it's evening and the shop is closed. You probably don’t want your free time being taken up by someone you don’t know. 

Before he can walk away and pretend it didn’t happen, he catches movement behind the glass, your figure weaving through the aisles to the door. 

A frown is etched over your face and Marc’s belly dances with guilt and uncertainty. He’s not sure he can remember a time he’s made a decision without that feeling. 

You peer through the glass and the frown disappears. 

To Marc’s surprise, you look happy to see him and not at all irritated. “Marc,” you say when you unlock the door and wrestle with the way the door sticks in the frame before it creaks open. “I was wondering when you might come back!”  

He holds up the tupperware of matzo ball soup. “I brought you dinner.” 

“Oh,” you look surprised. “I-,”

“To get you back. For breakfast.”

He needed an excuse to get out of the house, away from the walls he was ready to tear down with bloody fingers. He’s never felt more like an unwanted guest. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” you say, but your smile is bright and you take the tupperware from his outstretched hand.

Marc nods, a strange vulnerability surging up the back of his throat as he realizes there’s nothing to tether him to this spot. Now, he’s empty handed and stranded on the street with nowhere to go but back to a place that feels haunted to him. 

“Your sign needs a new coat of paint,” he grumbles, pointing above your head. “And the brick needs to be repointed.” 

Marc wants to kick himself. Insulting your storefront probably wasn’t the best way to buy himself more time. But you just hum thoughtfully and nod, “And the door sticks. And the bell is a little rusty.” 

It’s an out, a recovery from his poor choice of conversation. A graceful turn of his words, accepting of the blunt assessment. 

“And your flowers are dead,” he nods at the wilted, iced over blooms sticking sickly out of the window boxes. 

What the fuck is wrong with him? He was in the clear. Why would he-

You just stare at him for a moment, startled and blinking rapidly, before you burst out into laughter, clutching your stomach and bending over like it's the funniest thing you’ve ever heard.

Heat warms his face, something pleasant fluttering behind his sternum. 

“You…are so right.” You nod and wipe the corner of your eye on your sleeve. “It needs a lot of work.” You tilt your head at him, “Have you eaten dinner? I got bread from Flour Up earlier that would probably go really well with this. We can share.” You hold up the container with a grin.  

He rubs a hand over the back of his neck, not sure if he should accept your offer, if he really deserved to. He’s already taken up so much of your time. “Flour Up?” 

You jut your chin to the left, at the bakery next to your shop. “Flour Up. Opened only a couple weeks ago but it's pretty good. That’s where the coffee and pastries were from. The owner is nice.” Marc hesitates, that biting loneliness, the voice inside him that whispered he wasn’t good enough, rearing up again. “C’mon,” you cajole. “You’ve gotta eat some.” 

“Okay,” he acquiesces, maybe too quickly. 

“Great,” you beam and hold the door open for him. “I bought too much bread anyways.” You chatter as you lead him once again through the shop and up the narrow stairs at the back. The sun is fading now, sinking below the horizon in the distance and your shop and the apartment above are bathed in a faint orange and gold glow. 

An unlikely peace settles between his bones again, the golden sunshine on your skin mesmerizing.  

He doesn’t look at the piano, even though he can feel it looking at him. 

“Y’know,” you say, popping the top off the tupperware as he settles at the counter, “I haven’t had matzo ball soup in forever.”

Marc watches you turn on the stove, the snap of the lighter before the flame appears comforting in its domesticity. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s so good in the winter or when you’re sick,” you chirp. “It’s such a perfect soup.”

Marc finds himself fighting a smile as you carefully pour the soup into a pot and put it over the heat to warm. “Yeah, I haven’t had it in a long time either.” The piano tugs on his gaze and Marc turns to look at it. 

You’re humming under your breath, pulling out a cutting board and a serrated knife. 

The bakery bag crinkles in your grasp as you pull out the peasant loaf and slice into it. 

The salty scent of the broth circulates the room and Marc stands to move closer to the piano, circling it until he can see the keys, the worn places his mother’s hands and his and his brother’s used to rest. 

Wendy would sometimes stand behind him and guide his hands, her larger palms engulfing his. He sits down at the bench and slides a finger over one key, careful not to depress it. The smell of the soup reminds him of being small, of his hands being covered and gently guided, of being sick and fed by hand when he couldn’t do it himself, of cold winter mornings and snow days. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to play it?” You ask. 

Marc’s head snaps up but you aren’t looking at him as you carefully ladle soup into two bowls. “I’m sure,” he answers, letting his hand slide off the keys. “You should play it though.” 

“I can play for you,” you agree with a nod. 

He didn’t mean it that way, but he doesn’t correct you. He wants to hear it played, even if he can’t do it himself. “It’s happy you’re here.” 

This time when Marc looks up, his eyes connect with yours. “She missed you.” 

He doesn’t answer, nodding quietly. 

You leave the soup on the counter, plumes of steam rising from the bowls, and cross the room to sit next to him on the bench. “Did you work things out with your dad?” 

Marc doesn’t deign to answer. The truth is painful, that he could talk things over with his father a million different ways, and he still wouldn’t work things out with him. Not that he’s really tried, not that they ever get to any of the hard questions, the important things that weighed them both down. 

The answer sits there between you, the words unsaid and implied. “When he donated it,” you say softly. “He told me you were the most beautiful player of the family. Said he missed that sound.” 

Marc chokes on the indignation that rises up. “He never fucking told me that.” He turns to you and you meet his eyes. “I’ve been-,” he falters, seals himself off. 

“You can tell me,” you turn back to the keys, fingers brushing against them. “If you want.” 

Marc closes his eyes for a moment, trying to breathe past the glass in his lungs. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

“Maybe he doesn’t either.” 

But you don’t know what happened. You don’t really understand, and Marc has a hard enough time explaining it to himself that he doesn’t know where to begin with another person. 

He breathes out hard. “Maybe. Shouldn’t, ah,” he glances at you from the corner of his eye, licks his lip nervously, “shouldn’t be unloading this shit on you.” 

You nudge your shoulder into his, and press one key down, the long keen of sound it makes beautiful, “You really aren’t. You’re fairly closed up about it actually.” Your fingers twist down the keys, playing a quick tune that sounds vaguely familiar to him. 

“What else did he say to you?” Marc asks, watching the movement of your hands over the piano.

You don’t miss a single note, the action is all memory. You don’t glance down, not once. “Not much. Not really.” 

Marc nods, pressing down on the questions that bubble up, the urge to beg you to tell him exactly what his father had told you, every detail, so he might start to understand what he’s doing in Chicago. 

“He said you moved away a long time ago and that you don’t visit,” you pause in playing, the silence of your hands like an incorrect note in an otherwise perfect sonata. “He doesn’t blame you for not coming home though,” you strike another chord, and then a second. 

The isolated, desolate feeling comes back. He’s adrift and alone, shouting into a void that would eat his voice until he went mute. “Yeah? And how the fuck did that come up?” 

You don’t flinch at the brash cut of his voice. “Well, I asked who’s piano it really was. She clearly wasn’t his. And she clearly didn’t want to leave. He said it was his son’s. That’s how it came up.” 

Marc’s breath is caught somewhere between his lungs and his mouth. He can’t make himself swallow, the pressure choking him. “He…didn’t say it was my mother’s?” 

You shrug, your hands still slipping along the keys. The music, this song, is comforting, he realizes, because it's something his mother used to play alone, the movements too complicated for his little learning hands. “He didn’t mention your mother. Only that she’d passed recently. He talked about you.” 

The song you’ve been playing ends suddenly and you tuck your hands in your lap. He sits shoulder to shoulder with you for a long time after that, the quiet peaceful, his thoughts jumbled, a tangled knot. “He doesn’t say that shit to me,” he says eventually, swallowing around the lump in his throat. 

“I don’t know what happened between you,” you answer. “So ignore this if I’m off base. But sometimes it's easier to say things to a stranger than to the person you need to talk to. Because it doesn’t matter with them. It’s hard with your dad, because it matters. It’s hard for your dad because it matters to him.” 

Marc finds that hard to believe, after everything. After everything he was allowed to suffer. 

Still, it makes sense. It makes sense why he finds it easy to talk to you, even when he chokes and trips over his words. 

You lean your shoulder into his, the pressure light as you begin another song. 

He watches your hands greedily, the lithe way they move along the keys, and leans back into you, just a little. 

The soup is cold when you finally move away from the piano and Marc’s guilt surges unpleasantly. 

But you just laugh. 

“No big deal.” 

And you put it back on the stove for a second time. 

Thank you for reading! Comments and feedback are so appreciated. New parts will be posted Saturdays at 3PM EST! You can add yourself to the tag list on the series masterlist.

[icouldntfindthedoor]

Being in a relationship with Ghost headcanons

Because I love this big sad man. Someone make him some tea. 

This man is real gruff and hard around the edges. If his SO is military like him, he’s harder on them, pushing them to do better, to be better than him. He can come across as incredibly rude and nasty, but the reality is he sees a lot of potential in his SO and wants them to succeed. He just doesn’t believe in coddling them. 

Even if they’re already in a relationship, his attitude doesn’t change. If his SO fucks up a job, he’s going to tell them that right to their face. They don’t get special treatment from him. 

He doesn’t care for PDA. He’ll clap his SO on the shoulder as he walks by and that’s it. Kissing, hugging and lingering touches are for moments of privacy only. He’s uncomfortable with other people seeing him and his SO together. Not because he’s embarrassed of his SO, but because he grew up in a household where his parents barely tolerated each other and never once showed any affection in front of their children. To him, that’s normal. Expect him to push his SO off if they try and kiss him in front of their friends. 

The closest he’ll get to PDA is gently holding his SO’s sleeve under the table or in the back of a car. 

With that said, in the privacy of their home or their room, Ghost is very affectionate in his own way. He rests his hand on his SO’s thigh, thumb idly tracing invisible patterns in their skin, or he’ll stand nearby while they’re cooking in the kitchen. They’d already told him they didn’t need help, but he wants to be close to them, so he gives himself random jobs, like filling the dishwasher or sweeping the floor, just so he can stay with them. 

Also likes using pet names for his SO. He calls them gorgeous, sausage, love, darling, handsome and sweetheart. One time Soap walked in while Ghost was talking to his SO and heard Ghost say, “You alright, sausage?”  Soap just chuckled and said, “I’m doin’ alright, cupcake, how are you?” 

He couldn’t look Soap in the eye for days afterward. 

If his SO’s native language isn’t English, he makes an effort to learn it so he can understand their culture a little better, and make his SO feel more at home with him. He absolutely butchers the pronunciation of some words, but it’s very endearing. 

If his SO is shorter than him, he likes to walk up behind them while they’re doing something at home and wrap his arms around their middle, propping his chin on their head. It’s lovely and warm and he even cracks the joke, “I’ve got my whole world in my arms.” 

If his SO is taller than him, he loves it when they do the above to him. He likes nuzzling into the crook of their neck and feeling their arms holding him close. He realizes later on that he’s never had anyone hold him like that before, he’s never felt so secure and safe with another person before. It’s terrifying but it’s also nice. 

If his SO is tinkering away at something, a weapon or anything like that, he tends to stand over their shoulder, hands on hips, watching them work because it’s fascinating. 

Only his SO and Soap have heard him laugh. It’s a deep, hearty chuckle, his whole body shakes it with, and it’s always right after he’s told a horrible joke or pun. 

If someone hurts his SO, he expects his SO to stand their ground and fight back. If they can’t, he intervenes. He needs to know his SO is capable of defending themselves if he’s gone, and so even if they’re not in the military he teaches them basic self defense moves. 

He loves when his SO makes his tea, and he also learns to make their favourite beverage as well. 

He remembers nearly all of his SO’s favourite things, and never forgets their birthday. Even if he’s deployed elsewhere and they’re not together, he makes sure to say happy birthday to his SO, even if it’s just to himself.

He’s not a very good kisser. He’s kissed maybe one or two people before, but he tries to learn what his SO likes. He much prefers cuddling to kisses.  

His SO calls him Simon when they’re alone. He doesn’t really like it when they call him Ghost, he doesn’t want to be Ghost around them. 

With a cis male SO, Ghost isn’t worried about people finding out he’s with another man. On the contrary, he couldn’t give a fuck. He loves men with muscles, tattoos and stubble. 

With a trans SO who hasn’t gone through surgeries or hormone treatments yet, he helps them with their gender dysphoria by helping his SO with their binding (for a trans male SO), wanting to make sure they’re comfortable while not hurting their ribs. He also helps his SO with padding and tucking (trans female SO) for the same reason, he wants them to feel beautiful in their bodies while also keeping safe. If they have gone through hormone and surgery, he’s there to support them in their recovery period, helping them wash and making sure their stitches don’t come undone and stay clean. Seeing their SO’s face in the mirror when they see themselves for the first time, looking how they’d always wanted to look, almost brings a tear to Ghost’s eyes. He’s very proud of them and he tells them that. 

[josibunn]

a few days ago I had gotten an anonymous request to do a noncon version of my first evert fic here (“all mine, right?”) but I deleted it because I hated how I rewrote it. I was rushing it bc my own writing made me uncomfortable, so I scrapped it in a whole, sorry anon😭. but i’m thankful for the request bc GOD i HATE that fic!!! even though it was my first I just hate how I wrote it in general. here it is! thank u sm for being patient.

smut! unprotected p in v, noncon, restraining, choking, øystein is really mean here. manipulation, some name calling, a very mean (but on character) threat is made by him to varg, mentions of shooting him. you and euronymous get in an argument, and varg tries to “pick your head up” and it doesn’t end well. please heed the warnings!

you and your boyfriend had been arguing since you stepped out the house. over a fucking dress. you thought you looked good, you knew you looked good, which was why he was on bad timing, you looked too fucking good. so stupid, right?

you weren’t even able to step into your heels before øystein had something to say, which was odd, because he was never one to tell you to change. “what the fuck are you wearing? when did you get this??” he starts, and you stare at him dumbfounded. “what?” “the dress, [y/n].” he says, and off the bat you can tell he’s in a mood, he never uses your name, always stuck with pet names, baby, princess, love, song bird.

(you liked that one, once he let you record vocals over a song just for shits and giggles but ended up loving it and keeping it on the track, “look at you, following in my footsteps.” he praised, cupping your cheeks and kissing you. “just like a little song bird. hm?” he giggled, it was cute.)

“the dress?? what’s wrong with it?” you look over yourself, smoothing it down. it was a velvety white strapless mini dress with a cute bow at the breast of it, you paired it with some heels and a choker and a few bracelets euronymous had gotten you. “it’s cute, right?” you ask, and he circles you, “take it off.” he spits, and you recoil. “what?” “take it the fuck off, you’re not wearing it to the show. that’s dead.” he walks out the room, and you follow him.

you couldn’t believe it, was he actually serious right now? was he acting like this over a dress? a dress he went with you to get, AND paid for?? the fuck??

you guys fought around the house for almost fifteen minutes, of course you weren’t giving it up. his only problem was how see through it was. every curve and crevice could be seen, your dark nipples and tiny pin underwear could be seen through it, had you’d worn it for him and him only he would’ve devoured you open.

“you’re being fucking unreasonable! if you didn’t like it you shouldn’t have bought it!” you shout, and usually his steaming glare would burn holes through you and you’d crumble, but it wasn’t working this time. “[y/n], sweetheart,” he grits. “think about what they’ll say about you! cover the fuck up, you’re not going out like that with your tits out and your ass on display.” he points, and you groan.

to spite him, you grab a shrug cardigan, luckily it paired well with your dress but it only covered your back and arms, acting as just a long sleeve. “better? fucking better?” you put your hands on your hips once you reach the bottom of the stairs. he sighs hard, pinching the bridge of his nose, to be fair, it was what he wanted. he wanted you to cover up, right?

“get in the fucking car.” he points, and you push past him, slamming the door and car door once you step in. and again, you’re arguing all the way to his shop. you loved the scene and the band as much as him, so you knew what he was doing when you two arrive and he tells you, “get in there, sit in the fucking den, and don’t move. ok? don’t let me find you up there.” hes all in your face, and you scoff. “you’re so fucking unbelievable!” you push him away and storm into the shop, and exactly what øystein was afraid of takes down.

eyes are on you the second you step in. you feel them, trailing up your body as your heels click clack click clack through the shop, boobs bouncing as you move angrily past the party goers and down to the den. you hear a few whistles and comments before øysteins shutting it down, some not so empty threats and curses leaving him before he resumes the party.

you groan as you plop down onto the couch, arms crossed and a stuck face, tension basically radiating off you like cartoon stench. the den isn’t so empty, a few people down here on their own, making out, trying to subtly touch each other like they were sneaky.

varg glanced at euronymous before walking downstairs, joining you. “what’s with the atitude?” he asks, and you almost want to scream at him. actually, you don’t hate varg. you don’t not not like him. but you don’t like him because øystein tells you not to. øystein hated varg, and he hated when he was even breathing near you, you never knew why. he was never mean to you, he was as decent as a human can be.

“fucking..øystein made me sit down here because of my dress. so stupid.” you grumble. he looks over you, trailing up your glistening legs, past the way the dress hugged your curves and to your still stuck face, “what’s wrong with it? you look good,” he says, and your anger makes you look past the tone he was insinuating.

“I know! and he was there when we got, hell, he paid for it, so I dunno what the problem is. but he told me to sit down here, so.” you shrug. “well it’s not that bad down here,” he shrugs, and you give him a look before nodding over to the couple perched against the wall who we’re definitely grinding off against each other. “ok it’s-it’s a little bad,” he says, and it makes you giggle.

“lemme get you a drink, maybe turn that frown upside down, yeah?” he nudges your arm, and you roll your eyes with a small smile, nodding. he gets up and re-emerges upstairs, excitement coursing through him. he had been waiting for a moment like this. øystein knew what type of guy varg was, no matter how much of a pussy he actually was. he knew his intentions with you, it’s what anyone would’ve wanted, you’re gorgeous.

and on top of that, you’re his girl. you’re the euronymous’ girlfriend. taking you down would give varg a boost he’d never acquire in his life, no many how many groupie hoes he fucked. he knew what he was doing, he knew why you were down there, he heard what øystein said to you before you two came in, he had a plan the second he saw your angry face shove past people and downstairs.

so you two sat downstairs, your cardigan long discarded as you sip beer with him, laughing together at the display of losers around you. from upstairs, euronymous goes in with the party, drink in his hand and conversing with friends about his joyous accomplishments. all of a sudden, his stomach turns completely, the feeling of throwing up overtaking him, his mouth salivating. for some odd reason he got a gut feeling to check up on you. he hasn’t seen you at all, and though he knew you wouldn’t cross him or make a scene even with your rebellious spirit, he also hadn’t seen varg either, and that was saying something, considering he doesn’t drink and he’s usually at øysteins side at these things, leeching off the spotlight.

so he excused himself rather abruptly and heads downstairs, and anger lights him up from his toes to the folicules on his head, he saw you and realized your cardigan was off. no, he saw varg trailing his hand up your thigh as you look up at him tell some story. though you were uncomfortable with the advance towards you, you didn’t think anything of it really. but øystein couldn’t read your mind, and with the alcohol in his system he didn’t really care.

your eyes widen when you see him storming over, and before you can adjust he’s pulling you out of your seat roughly, your drink falling to the floor as he holds your arm with a bruising grip, holding you up to your shoulder. you let out a small ow, øystein! but his voice overpowers yours as he spits, “the fuck are you doing? the fuck are you doing?!” his free hand points to varg who has a small smirk on his face as he stays at his seat.

“she looked sad, so I was just keepin’ her company. calm down.” he says nonchalantly, but it only makes euronymous angrier. “you stay away from her, you hear? I fuckin told you about that, and if I see you round’ her again i’m gonna blow your fuckin head open,” he points, and it’s the last thing he says before he’s dragging you past people and upstairs. “what’s your problem??” you huff, but he doesn’t give you an answer before he’s pushing you into his office, slamming his door and locking it behind himself.

“are you serious? are you actually serious right now [y/n]?!” he shouts, and luckily the music is loud enough so no one would hear him. “what are you talking about??” you cross your arms as he turns on a lamp. “varg?? the fuck are you doing down there with him??” he throws down his jacket, and you see his flexing biceps and his balled fists.

“I was fucking alone! he was being nice and keeping me company, whatd you want me to do??” you stomp. “keeping you company with his hand up your dress? d’you think i’m stupid??” he scoffs, throwing his arms in front of him. “oh my god, you’re overreacting! I was bored and he was being nice! nicer than you’ve been all fucking night.” you say, backing up to the desk behind you. you cross your arms around your chest, you feel yourself shrinking under him. you knew he’d never hit you, but the way his voice boomed when he got angry like this always scared you.

“nice, [y/n]? nice.” he deadpans, nodding as he steps closer to you, and you look to the floor to the side. “you think a guy like varg would be nice to you? no listen, look at me,” he grabs your chin to make you look at him. “ask yourself, do you really think varg was being nice? like he didn’t have a fucking motive?” hes burning holes into you, and you almost want to cry. you remember how he told you you looked good, and how his eyes flickered from you to your boobs as his hand moves up your leg.

“it wasn’t like that.” you pout, and he grits his teeth together as he sighs through his nose. “you’re a smart girl, [y/n].” his words are harsh yet soft as you look into his eyes. “what do you think he wants? what any guy here would want from you, you’re a fucking gem, you know that. you know that. you want nice? do you wanna know what nice looks like from a guy like him?” he tilts his head, and before you can respond he pulls your dress and your underwear down, lodging his fingers into your hot cunt.

you gasp and choke, a hand on his chest for distance as your legs step apart at the intrusion, eyes big on his as your mouth hangs open in shock, but his face is deadpanned, staring you down as you squirm under his grip. “øystein!” you shriek, your fingers feeling like jelly as you try and push at his wrist, but he’s digging into you fast, fucking his fingers into you. “this is what you want? huh?” he furrows his brows, and you’re whimpering at the stretch of his fingers.

“this is what nice guys like him do to pretty things like you. I know him baby, I fucking know him. he doesn’t wanna be your friend, he wants this pussy.” he spits, and you choke when he grabs your throat. “ack-øystein-” “after gigs, he takes whatever bitch he wants and he treats them like this, does this feel good? you wanna be onea those girls??” he watches your eyes tear up as they roll back, you’re stuttering as you try and plead once more, but he’s massaging your sweet spot, making you all gooey and stupid.

even in his angry state he’s praising you, his cock hard as he listens to your strained moans. “fucking gorgeous, he’d defile you. he’d talk you up, take you home and treat you like some 99¢ hooker. do you want that? is that what you want?” he lets you go, havin you gasp for air as you push at his forearm. “øystein, m’sorry, baby m’sorry just-just slow down,” you whimper, laying your head against his chest to try use your body weight to slow him down, but all it did was make him go harder, a pained moan coming from you as you grab at his biceps.

“nono I don’t think you get it, I don’t think you know what you’re getting into so lemme teach you, lemme teach you baby.” he tells you, and you feel his knuckles against your stomach as he unbuckles his belt. “he wouldn’t even think about being as nice as i’m being princess, you know that? you think this is too much?” he pulls out of you, and you manage to get your shaky hands on the desk.

you watch him stroke his cock through his boxers, eyeing his v-line that peaked under his cropped top before you caught his eyes that still stared down at you angrily, jaw clenched and everything. “øystein i’m sorry,” you sniffle, rubbing your legs together. “m’sorry, I-I won’t talk to him again, I don’t wanna be those girls, promise. I promise,” you squeak as he steps closer, he doesn’t even have to try as he turns you around, his lips grazing your cheek as whispers, “I know baby, I know you won’t, because you’re a good girl, my good girl. but I gotta teach you, ok? gotta show you what guys like him really look like on the inside,” he says, and you gasp when you feel his tip sliding in you, and just as you scream out at the stretch of his thick, long cock bullying itself into you he slaps a hand over your mouth, pushing your head back slightly as you grab onto the desk.

you drool against his hand as he leans you over onto the desk, whimpering and gasping as you already feel him fucking into you, his length stretching you open. his hand runs up your back as he lets go of your mouth, cradling your head and laying you down on the desk smoothly. “ronymous’,” you gasp, “ronymous wait, fuck it’s-fuck,” you moan, drooling against a stack of papers as you ball your fist against the desk.

“I know baby,” he speeds up, and you let out a guttural moan, keeping your back arched as you squirm in your tiny heels, toes bunching together at the rush of the sensation and urgency his cock was giving you. “he wouldn’t take it east on you, know that? he’d be harder, and meaner, because that’s what ‘nice guys’ want in the end,” he pants, cheeks reddening as he closes his eyes, pleasure overtaking him as he takes in your tight pussy.

“wouldn’t even let you relax, would just fuck you,” he punctuates his thrust harshly, making you jump and choke out a loud high moan, tears filling your eyes once again, “like this,” he pants and does it again, continuing his rythem of fucking you like a toy with no remorse to, because that’s what he thought-he knew varg would do to you.

“øystein fuck!” you cry out, it’s too much to handle, you’re not used to him fucking you either such vigor. “I know sugar,” he sounds pained, hurt by your cries, but in all honesty it’s turning it on. if he was being honest, he was almost to the edge. “just take it, ok? gotta teach you,” he holds down your wrist and stops you from moving your top half completely, his other hand heavy on your back as you move the desk with every deep thrust, groaning above you as you continue to clench down on his cock for dear life.

your head was foggy, a new sort of heat erupting from your pussy as he pinned into you like some..fleshlight. sure, it would’ve been terrible with anyone else, but your boyfriend..god.. he grabs onto the back of your neck, other hand tightening around your wrist as he slams into you, and it has you crumbling, a short and whiney “ohh my goddd,” coming from you as your brows raise and your eyes squeeze together, mouth falling open with loud and airy moans, and by god anyone who came a foot within the door could’ve heard the mess he was making of you.

“fuck baby, can’t let anyone have this pussy,” øystein says aloud as he watched himself bully his dick into you, the recoils of your ass against his pelvis driving him wild, not to mention the stickiness of your cunt could be seen connecting with his cock with each time he drew his dick out, you’re so wet. “dyou understand? huh? answer me,” he pulls you up by the back of your neck and leans over to meet your eyes as you look to the side at him, drool hanging off your lip as your low, foggy eyes meet his.

“you understand now baby? why I do what I do, why I say what I say? lot of bad men out there, and they can’t fuckin have you. they can’t fuckin have you, because you’re mine, right? you’re all mine, right?” he nods, and you nod back, a loud, sobbing moan escaping from you, tears littering your face and the desk, and fuck he’s bout to blow at the sight of you. “yes, fuck yes øystein,” you sob before letting out another shaky gasp, brows raising again as you try and open your eyes.

“fuck i’m gonna cum, gonna cum baby i’m sorry,” you cry out, gripping your own fist. “s’ok, you earned it. did so fucking good,” he pants before he leans up, and this is why you love øystein. why you’re obsessed with him. no matter how angry, how into it he is you always cum first, hell edge himself just to make you cum, even if it was your 3 time. he always rewards you, he can’t resist you. why wouldn’t he give his girl, his sweet thing a treat.

he pulls out and hold you to his chest, shoving all the paper off his desk before he lays you on your back and slides back in, and your legs are shaking on the side as you wrap your arm around him and hold him close, his head buried in the side of your head as he grips the ledge of the desk, going back to pounding into you. “got myself a good girl? yeah baby?” he says in your ear, your back arching to his chest as your mouth hangs open with silent moans, “uh huh,” is all he receives, and he takes it because he knows you’re on the wave of your orgasm.

“yeah I do, got a good fuckin girl yes I do,” he whispers desperately, and you squeak his name as you wrap your legs around his waist, grounding yourself as your orgasm washes over you hard, your ears ringing with the music as you coat his cock, and he smiles, hearing your small coming down moans tying in with the wetness of his his soaked thighs hitting yours. he doesn’t give you a warning when he cums in you shortly after no, you just hear his groan and weight press against you as warmth fills you and trickled down your pussy, making you shiver.

you stay like that for a second, arms wrapped around each as you pant, sweaty bodies sticking together until he lifts up, taking in your beautiful face and disheveled body. “you feelin ok sugar?” his voice is low as he brushes hair off your face, watching you nod. he gives you a gentle kiss, and your shaky hand comes up to cradle his face. “I love you,” he says in your mouth. “love you so much, love you so much.” he says, and you smiles in the kiss.

“love you too, won’t..won’t talk to him ever again. ever, don’t wanna be onea those girl, never ever,” you pant, and he chuckles breathily. “I know you don’t, because you’re my girl, just my girl,” he nods and gets up, rubbing your thigh as he pulls out of your wet, warm cunt, the loss feeling making him whine as his cock hits against his thigh before it softens up.

he lifts you into his arm and carries you to the futon, grabbing a random napkin and cleaning you up as you already feel yourself getting sleepy, holding yourself. he pulls your panties up and your dress down, and gets you a blanket, covering you nicely. you expect a kiss, but confusion takes over you as he gets up and closes the door behind him. you wanna cry, did he really leave me like that? was he still mad? you think to yourself with a pouty frown, raising up on your elbow as you look at the door.

but your sadness subsided when he comes back with a snack and a water bottle, kicking the door shut. “whaswrong’?” he asks, seeing you pouty lip. “thought you left me,” he hands you the water bottle and peels your snack out the wrapper. “of course not, well, I am gonna go back to the party, but i’m not leaving. lay down n sleep, ok? i’ll be right out there, and i’ll come get you when it’s time to leave.” he gives you a little kiss and a rub on the back, making you smile ditzily.

“love you.” you watch him get up, “I love you too, go to sleep mama, ok?” is all he says before leaving out, and it’s all you hear before you do crash out.

ok that's soo much better!! also sorry I had to end it on a sweet note, I can't do angst, he's just too simpy for me :3. I hope you enjoyed and thank u sm again anon for being so patient! i'm trying to get better at answering requests faster.

also i've been seeing like emoji anons and if anyone would like that i'd be happy to do so! just ask with whatever emoji you'd like! okbyee :3

join my taglist! @angelsanarchy @sugarinte @monkeyfart @444rockstargf @bambi-horror @auggiethecreator @wonkinoo @auryyz @brithedemonspawn @electra-nevermind

[devildom-moss]

since your requests are open i will drop mine too~

can you do some headcanon/reaction from the side-dateables(aka diavolo,barbatos,solomon,simeon-luke) with mc who have burn marks over their arms/legs and avoids wearing revealing clothes and is self conscious about it? love your writings,have a nice day✨

Thank you for the request. I hope this will be what you were hoping for.

The Dateables (including Luke) reacting to an MC who hides their burn marks headcanon

Diavolo

The first time he sees the burn marks is after he buys you a slightly revealing outfit that an associate of his designed. He asked for it in your size because he thought you would look stunning. It didn’t occur to him that you might be avoiding revealing clothes for a reason.

Diavolo invited you to the castle to gift it to you and insisted that you try it on. It was impossible to say no to that sweet grin on his face. You tried to refuse, but he pleaded with you, offering to leave the room or turn around while you change. You agree. After all, it was just Diavolo there with you. Maybe showing one person wouldn’t be too scary?

At first, he’s delighted to see you in the new outfit. And then he sees them. He can’t hide the concern on his face. When you try to cover yourself up and look uncomfortable, the concern grows in Diavolo’s chest.

All of these questions rush into his mind. Where did you get those? And how? Do they still hurt? Why are you so insecure about them? It’s just a part of your body. Although, the more noticeable and severe the scars, the more he understands why you might be self-conscious. He asks about them immediately.

Sometimes, when you’re alone, he’ll ask you to expose the scars to him (rolling up your sleeves, changing into shorts, taking off a jacket or sweatshirt – innocent things like that). He just wants you to start to feel comfortable in your own body around him. As much as he would love for you to be able to not feel insecure about your burn marks around everyone, a selfish part of him would be content if you only showed him.

He will ask to kiss your marks once you seem more comfortable around him.

Barbatos

He asks you over to get your measurements for a custom outfit for Diavolo’s next party. Unfortunately, he failed to mention why he wanted you to visit the castle – asking only if you would mind coming over. So, you arrived in baggy clothes. There was no way he could get accurate measurements. Barbatos asks you to undress.

“What?”

“I apologize. I should have told you prior. It will only be for a few moments; do you mind? I’d like to get these measurements today, if possible.”

You warn him about the marks before you undress to stifle the shock. There are no extreme changes in his face. If you look closely, you might see his eyes widen briefly, but he crushes that shock with a slight smile. “Thank you, MC.”

He doesn’t want to make you feel self-conscious. He even ensures you that he will craft an outfit that only shows as much skin as you are comfortable with. Barbatos will meet you where you are with your comfort levels – never pushing you or prying information.

In fact, as much as Barbatos wants to ask about them, he won’t. He’ll take whatever information you provide him willingly, but he can’t bring himself to intrude on your past. He understands better than most wanting to keep you past to yourself.

If you tell him that someone caused any of your burns on purpose, you may have trouble finding that person ever again.

If you ever wear more revealing clothes around him and he sees the marks, he’ll simply smile at you.

Luke

Luke spots the burns on your arms after asking you to bake bread with him. You can’t exactly knead dough with long sleeves, and with all the dough you made, you can’t leave all the work to Luke.

He gasps loudly the second he notices. He immediately gets scared that someone hurt you. Even if they’re old scars, Luke is quick to believe a demon burned you.

Like Diavolo, Luke bombards you with questions. He just wants to figure out if you’re safe and understand what happened to his best friend. Unfortunately, his worry and love for you will make him distressed and frantic. He even gets close to tears.

If you can reassure him that it’s okay, he’ll start to calm down – especially if you both continue to knead the dough while you talk.

Once you take a break, he asks if he could try to heal you. Luke isn’t able to remove any scarring, but he can temporarily take away any pain the burn marks may cause.

He intuitively understands that you’re self-conscious about it. Although he’s slightly disappointed that he can’t take away the physical marks for you, he tells you that it’s okay because it’s just a part of your body now. He also tells you that you look kind of cool.

Luke clings to you for the rest of the week after he sees them – he even holds your hand whenever you walk together or sit near each other like a lost child.

Simeon

He spots your scars entirely on accident when you were trying to (stubbornly) reach for a book on the top shelf of his library. You quickly covered yourself when the scars started to show, but it was too late. He doesn’t say anything after seeing them the first time, but he does start planning how he’s going to bring it up.

Simeon worries about the possibility of someone hurting you in the past – including yourself, but he doesn’t feel comfortable asking how you got burned. Even more so, he’s worried about what he might do if he found out someone hurt you without the time to brace himself.

Simeon waits until you two are alone – preferably in his room where no one can overhear the conversation – to finally tell you that he saw the burn marks.

It immediately clicked for him that the reason you were always covered up was because you were self-conscious. He wants to be somewhere private where you can feel comfortable, even if you don’t want him to see them ever again.

He’s surprisingly awkward about it. “So, the other day. . .I saw the burn marks. We don’t have to talk about it, but we can if you want to.”

He offers to rub lotion and creams onto your burn marks for you whenever you want. He just wants to take care of you, and he’s more than happy to get his hands all over you.

Solomon

Solomon first spots burn marks on your arms when you stretch after one of his very long magic lessons and your sleeves fell just enough to expose them.

He’s nonchalant about it. He’s seen a lot in the past few centuries, including scars and marks of all kinds. However, he’s quietly sad to see those marks on you, imagining that it must have been painful.

Before you can even cover up, he asks, “oh? Should I try to heal that for you?”

He figures if you want to tell him about it, you will. No questions are asked, but the way he stares into your eyes says enough: that he cares.

After all of Solomon’s experience, he correctly assumes that the reason you avoid showing your skin is because you’re self-conscious about it.

Solomon makes it his goal to convince you that the marks aren’t anything to be embarrassed about - but he still offers to teach you how to create a salve that might help fade the marks or ease any pain. He could make it himself, but he believes it might be therapeutic to give you the ability to help yourself. Plus he’s glad to pass on knowledge to his favorite apprentice.

He feels guilty about it, but he likes when you are comfortable enough to wear revealing clothes around him. It’s as if he’s witness to something intended for his eyes only.

(the demon brothers version)

[kisses-for-you]

Just 'Tired' - Dick Grayson

Dick Grayson X Fem!Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend hits you and Dick is there to help and comfort you.

Word Count: 1,049

⚠️ Warnings: Mentions of abuse.

Recently, you have been more tired than usual. Mentally, as well as physically. It's starting to show in your performance and your teammates are starting to realise, mainly Dick, however.

For the past couple of weeks, your boyfriend has started getting more physical. Hitting you, punching you, anything he can do to hurt you. You aren't sure why, you haven't done anything. And you're too scared to fight back, knowing the things he could do.

Despite your efforts to conceal the new bruises and cuts, the task becomes more difficult each day. Especially during things like training, with your sleeves constantly rolling up, revealing the visible marks on your arms and the rest of your body.

Dick has recently also started to notice that you were losing weight at an alarming rate. It looked as if you were having little to no food. It was obvious you needed help, even if you denied it.

After an exhausting training session, you see Dick walking over to you. "I need to talk to you," Dick says, a serious look spread across his face.

"Like right now?" You ask, not particularly in the mood for a heavy conversation. You just got done training and you barely have any energy left.

"Yes, right now, Y/N."

"Fine. What is it?" You respond, just wanting to get it over and done with.

Dick's expression turns more concerned, his eyes scanning your worn-out demeanour. "Something's off with you, Y/N. I can see that you're struggling. Are you okay?"

You hesitate, unsure whether to tell him the truth. "I'm just tired, Dick. It's been a tough few weeks."

He narrows his gaze, not fully buying your explanation. "It's more than just that, and you know it. I've seen the bruises, the weight loss. Please just tell me the truth."

"Look, Dick, I told you I'm fine. Just drop it," you snap, attempting to brush off his concern.

Dick's concern deepens, and he lowers his voice. "I'm not going to drop it until you tell me the truth."

You so badly want to tell him the truth but you're scared of the consequences you might face. "Whatever, just leave me alone, Dick!" you yell before storming out of the training room to your bedroom, slamming the door behind you. You feel a pang of guilt hit you as you shout at him but you're terrified and overwhelmed at the moment.

Dick hesitates for a moment, torn between respecting your space and his growing concern for your well-being. After a few minutes, he decides to give you some time, understanding that pushing too hard might not be the thing you need right now.

As you sit alone in your room, the weight of the situation starts to crush you. The fear and uncertainty gnaw at your conscience. Unsure of what to do next, you find yourself contemplating whether it's time to tell someone about the abuse you've been going through.

For the next week, Dick leaves you alone, not wanting to push you further and make you uncomfortable or anything. But he knows he'll have to get the truth out of you eventually. And you realise that too when about a week and a half after that conversation, you come back to the tower with a black eye and a nosebleed, new marks all over your body.

You had come home to find your boyfriend in bed with another woman and when you tried to confront him, well, you can guess how that went. Now, you had no other place to go except the tower. The Titans were the only people who could help you now. They were your family, maybe not by blood but by bond.

As you exit the elevator leading to the living room, your eyes meet with Dick's. Dick's eyes widen at the sight of your injuries, and the concern in his expression deepens. Without a word, he rushes over to you, carefully assessing the extent of your injuries. "Y/N, what the fuck happened?"

You open your mouth, trying to speak, but instead, you break down in tears. Dick wraps his arms around you, holding you close. "It's okay, Y/N. You're safe now," he assures you, stroking your back gently in an attempt to calm your tears. He continues to do so until you finally stop crying.

After a couple of minutes, you start to calm down and the tears stop flowing, except for the occasional one. Dick pulls away slightly as he looks into your eyes. "Now, can you tell me what happened?"

Through shaky breaths, you muster the courage to share the truth with him. "He- um.. he cheated on me. And then when I tried to confront him about it, he hit me," you pause before continuing, "It's been happening for a while now but it was never this bad."

Dick's eyes burn with a mix of anger and concern as he listens to your every word. His jaw clenches, and he takes a deep breath before speaking, "Y/N, you didn't deserve that and I'm so sorry that it happened. But why didn't you tell me sooner? I could've helped you."

You look down, avoiding Dick's gaze. "I was scared, Dick. I didn't know what he'd do if I told someone. But I can't take it anymore. It's too much."

Dick gently lifts your chin, making sure your eyes meet his. "Y/N, you don't have to go through this alone. We're a team and we look out for each other. I'm here for you, and so are the rest of the Titans. We'll help you through this, okay?"

Slowly nodding, you manage a faint but sincere smile as you wrap your arms around his neck, hugging him again. "Thank you," you say, your voice muffled due to the fact your head is buried in his chest.

He smiles, looking down at you, although you can't see it. Hesitantly, you pull away and you notice Dick looking down at your lips. He starts to lean in and your lips meet his.

Dick gently pulls away after a couple of moments, his gaze soft yet intense. "Now, you stay here. I have some... business to attend to." And with that, he heads out of the tower.

[to-the-stars8]

Learning to Love Slowly

Parings; Jason Todd x Female Reader (1) Pride and Prejudice and Hair (2) Seven-Eleven Karens and Pinky Promises at 3 AM (3) Google and Hand Holding (4)Cookies and The Butler and The Girlfriend A/N; Expect more updates soon my pretties! Also, the tiniest bit of spicy. Like, if you squint.

5- Push-Ups and Hoodies

“Forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven…” You counted as you watched Jason do push-ups. 

The two of you had been sitting in his apartment when you had shown him a TikTok of a guy going for a hundred push-ups, asking if he could do it. He scoffed at your question. “You know I’m Red Hood, right?”

You smirked. “Okay, Red Hood--” For some reason, Jason didn’t really like it when you called him that, despite it being who he was. Or a part of who he was as you had said before. “--Can you do a hundred push-ups?”

“Count for me,” Jason said and removed his hoodie. 

He threw it at you before dropping down into a push-up position. Instantly, he started dropping, going from five to thirty in the span of a minute. You counted and watched, entranced by how hot he was. Under the hoodie, he had been wearing a loose black tank top which let you see more of his muscles on his back and arms. It wasn’t often he wore short-sleeved shirts due to his arms and shoulders that had endured cuts and bullet wounds. They were scarred, and, for a second, you wondered how they would feel if you kissed them. Then, you thought of how he would react if he let you. How many noises could you pull from him?

The idea and the smell of his aftershave from the hoodie made you blush, but that didn’t stop your eyes to keep looking. On the other hand, your mouth and mind could not work together as you admired him. 

Jason said your name when he realized you stopped counting. “What number am I on?”

“Uh, oh,” You could feel your face get hot as you tried to think of how many push-ups had passed. “I-I stopped counting.”

Huffing out a laugh, Jason sat back on his heels, and for a second, he was nervous. Were you grossed out by the scars, or did he make you uncomfortable? “Why’d you stop?” He needed to know to calm his anxiety. 

You hadn’t expected him to actually ask you that, but you wouldn’t lie to him. After all, you wouldn’t have wanted him to lie to you. “You…Well, you’re hella hot. Muscles and all. That’s why.”

Jason sputtered out something about how he didn’t know about that and you tried to explain that you weren’t staring--but you were. Eventually, at the realization of how silly you sounded trying to reason with your feelings, both of you laughed. You reached out a hand to help him off the floor, and he took it. 

He sat on the couch closer to you now, with just enough space so that you weren’t pressed together but feel each other’s breath blow. Jason reached for the hoodie he threw at you, but you pulled it away from his reach. 

“No, I like the smell,” You said and pressed it against your nose. “Can I keep it for now?”

Jason felt something tighten in his chest, something that caused more fear than Scarecrow. He thought about telling you no, just so he could get away from the idea that you didn’t like how his arms were scarred. But, as you rubbed your thumb on the back of his hand, right on top of a scar, he relented. 

“Sure, one condition, I want to borrow yours sometimes.”

“Okay, but only the ones that were originally yours.”

Jason agreed, then thought further about what you said. “Wait, how many of my hoodies do you have?”

[lullabytaeyong]

Scary Movies R!🦊

✦✧✦✧ Ageretober Day 6 ✦✧✦✧

This part is going to be a part of my regular little txt series, Hugs & Kisses. So if you see it in the links of my masterlist, that’s why!

Summary: Yeonjun gets frightened by a scary movie and tries to hide the fact that he’s so uncomfortable. But, with a caring family, his tears don’t go unnoticed.

Word Count: 1,151

Sometimes watching a scary movie and getting a racing heart was exciting or fun. Halloween was the most popular season for horror movie nights. Kai loved making a big deal about it. He’d select seven to watch each night during the week leading up to Halloween. Yeonjun didn’t understand how he could enjoy them that much when they gave himself a nervous tummy or trouble sleeping. When he felt mentally strong enough to, he’d join in with the others and tag along to movie theaters or just to the couch. But, he still didn’t really like them.

He especially didn’t like the one he had been dragged into watching that evening. It was a proclaimed classic, but Yeonjun was incredibly off put by the real life aspect of it and how genuine the young actress behaved. Her acting was impressive, but terrifying. It was one of those movies with extra gross scenes thrown in to provoke reactions out of viewers. Yeonjun was not enjoying it one bit.

The lights were off, so no one could really see his body language, but he was curled up and tense all over on the love seat by himself. He gnawed on his fingertips to rid some of the anxiety but it wasn’t working. They had just finished up a busy week, so he didn’t have time to decompress and everything was starting to build up on top of each other.

“Oh, this parts so gross.” Soobin cringed from where he was laying stretched out on the floor with a couple pillows. The others ewed and laughed at the screen, but not Yeonjun. He gave up trying to power through his discomfort and rolled over.

Facing the cushions, he tugged his blanket closer to his body and prayed that none of them would look his way. For the next half hour he listened to the grotesque voice of the possessed girl, eerie sounds, and music. He hated it. His stomach was in knots, the noise was deafening and he felt like he had no escape. Yeonjun felt his lip tremble and realized why he was so emotional. It all quickly bubbled over the surface and he started to cry.

It went unnoticed for a few minutes until his nose became to blocked up to breathe silently through and he sobbed quietly. Everyone looked in his direction. He was so embarrassed to be the eldest that turned into a little boy and cried over a dumb movie. Kai frantically searched for the remote and paused the tv. Beomgyu was already sitting by Yeonjun’s feet in the free space on the small sofa by the time the movie was stopped.

“Hyung, are you okay?” He asked gently. Yeonjun cringed at the honorific and covered his ears with his hands.

“What’s wrong?” Taehyun wondered, left unsatisfied with a shrug from Beomgyu. Yeonjun could still hear his question and cried some more because he couldn’t get an explanation out fast enough. As he got more worked up, Soobin stepped up to help.

“Hey, talk to us, unless you want space, which is fine. Just tell us so we can make the right move.” He said somewhat caringly. It wasn’t an irritated or blunt tone, but it wasn’t soft enough for Yeonjun. He whimpered and pushed himself up.

Yeonjun wiped his face with his sleeve and scooted closer to Beomgyu, climbing halfway into his lap and clinging to his body. He was met with welcoming arms and a warm embrace. He was slightly frustrated that they weren’t able to immediately tell he was little. To give them the hint, Yeonjun put his thumb in his mouth. It was instantly soothing and helped him calm down.

“Oh, honey.” Beomgyu murmured as he realized.

“Shit.” Kai whispered to himself. He fiddled with the remote until the movie was off and replaced with the old animation section of disney.

“How long have you been little, baby?” Soobin asked sadly.

“Dunno…” Yeonjun mewled, sniffling.

“That movie is way too scary for little ones to watch. We’re so sorry.” Beomgyu cooed into his hair. He secretly basked in the cuddles from little Yeonjun, who rarely ever showed himself.

“It’s okay, baby. It was all pretend. Just makeup and costumes.” Soobin added. Yeonjun understood that, but he was still scared. The girls scary face kept popping up in his head, so he whimpered and started looking around the room, twisting left and right to see if she was there.

“What’re you looking for, sweetie?” Soobin asked, following Yeonjun’s gaze.

“Do you want Roo?” Huening Kai tried. The eldest always had his kangaroo lovey when he was little.

“Mm…the girl. Don’t want her here.” Yeonjun pouted as he shook his head. They all held back endeared laughter.

“There’s nothing to worry about. She’s not real and can’t get in our home.” Soobin smiled. Yeonjun gave him a suspicious look, but redirected his attention to something else.

“Roo?” He murmured.

“I’ll go grab him, how about you and Hyuka pick out a new movie to watch!” Beomgyu suggested enthusiastically, lifting Yeonjun up and depositing him next to the maknae with a crashing sound effect that made them giggle.

“Kai be little, too!” Yeonjun begged cutely, hanging off his arm and doing the best puppy dog eyes he could.

Kai hesitated. He was pretty worn out from the work week, like the rest of them were, and it would be nice to be small, but he knew he became extra needy and sensitive when he was. It was almost guaranteed that he would slip below three years old if he tried, and that would be too much to put on everyone’s shoulders. Baby Kai was fussy and sleepy. No fun for watching a movie.

“Um, we’ll see. I’m hyung for now, okay?” Kai replied. Referring to himself as hyung made his ears turn red.

“Okayy…we’ll see.” Yeonjun repeated cutely. He did a little stretch and settled down by laying his head on Kai’s lap; aka the perfect spot to get his hair played with.

Together they scrolled through the movies while the other puttered around, getting drinks and snacks. Beomgyu returned quickly with Roo and surprised Kai with one of his molang’s. He made both plushies kiss their respective owners cheek and handed them over. Yeonjun giggled contently and nuzzled Roo into his face. When Soobin and Taehyun came back they brought a tray of goodies with them. Yeonjun went straight for the sippy cup of chocolate milk while everyone else had some cookies.

“What’d you guys pick?” Taehyun asked with a mouth full of half chewed up cookie.

“I think…Snow white but the Hello Kitty one.” Kai mumbled, looking down at Yeonjun for conformation.

“Yup! The bread looks yummy.” Yeonjun confirmed.

“The cartoon bread…?” Soobin trailed off unsurely.

“Mhm!”

“O-Okay. I’ve never thought about eating cartoon bread before.” Soobin chuckled softly. Yeonjun was a silly little boy sometimes.

———

Please consider reblogging if you're an active user, it helps my work reach more people who may enjoy this content. I also encourage everyone to start their own little kpop blogs!

You don’t need to post full one shots since it can be overwhelming, but I would adore seeing more of you guys sharing your headcanons, short stories and ideas. It would be so fun to interact with more people!

Anyways, Thank you for reading <3

[jaidens]

And Don't Try To Hide My Tears The Secrets, Or My Deepest Fears Through It All Nobody Gets Me Like You Do

pairing [s] : daniel larusso x reader

warning [s] : mentions of : bullying, fighting, blood, bruises, scraps | mean girls fr. | mentions of: kissing, making out | NEED ME A DANIEL.

a/n [s] : this was requested by actually the sweetest ever!! @flyingcigarettes 🫶 ily sm too!! ty for the request, I hope this lives up to what you wanted!!

It was never supposed to happen. You, getting wrapped up in Ali and her groups tactics. You had attempted to try out for the cheerleading team for West Valley, you soon learned that the thick skin you thought you had was thinner than anything. Then, during practice, you were shoved instead of helped up or accidentally punched whenever they would jump in the air or tumble. You were made to stay after school by the coach after you had yelled and tried to pull one girl who tripped you into a girl's foot.

After practice and detention you had to walk home with scratches against your arm, a bloody nose, and sore bruises against your legs. The scratch on your forehead was fixed by the school nurse, with butterfly stitches and you held the freezing eye against it. It was late, it was 6:30 and the October wind made you extremely regret the fact you didn't bring a jacket.

Daniel had just made it to Mr. Miyagi’s house whenever he heard it: the sound of a girl crying a little bit further down the road. He told Mr. Miyagi that he was going to see what was happening, giving him a nod before running down the stairs to go to the noise. He jogged a little quicker before he saw you start to shake. Daniel had seen you around school sometimes, changing classes and during lunch. “Hey!” He shouts and he can help but wince when you turn around.

You look at him: the guy you've had a plain and childish crush on since he moved here. God, you bet you look horrible right now. The bruises on your eyes and the mascara that runs down your face. “Are you alright? What happened to you?” Daniel questions you and it can't help but hit a nerve and lets you start to cry harder than you had. He pulls you in his arms when he sees your knees shake and you get limp in his arms.

The hug is everything you've dreamed of. You can smell his cologne that smells like vanilla and musk. Daniel helps you sit down on the sidewalk, and your head is buried in his neck. You aren't sure of how his arms, and the soft muscles on his arms perfectly fit you, but they did. “I’m not okay. At all.” You had admitted to him, through tears and sobs of desperation. He hugs you tighter and it's almost taking away the deprecating thoughts the girls beat into you.

“You’re freezing. Let's get you inside.” Daniel says as he shrugs off of his jacket and wraps it around your shoulders. It helps but the coldness still nips at your exposed legs and face. You follow Daniel into a small house that immediately warms you up. An older man is watching a movie in the corner and Daniel wraps a thick blanket around you. “Thank you.” You say quietly and Daniel smiles and he pours a cup of tea and hands it to you.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Daniel sits down next to you with his hand gently resting on your arm. The touch is comforting as the warmth of everything starts to reach you as you're officially warmer than you already were. Your cheeks are hot as you finally get a better look at Daniel. His soft brown eyes are gleaming, and you smile softly. “Yeah— yeah I can. So, I tried out for cheer today and the girls were just being so mean. Calling me names, shoving and pushing me everywhere. That's how I got this.” You tell him and shrug off the sleeve and show him the bloody scratches on your arm.

His fingertips touch it and he pulls them away quickly and brings it to his chest. “That’s horrible. I'm so sorry. Those girls are assholes. Ali tried to get with me when I first moved here. Super uncomfortable.” You and him laugh together and it feels like you've known each other for forever. You've never laughed as hard as you did with Daniel as you shared food and drinks together. Your ribs start to hurt and tears in your eyes when Daniel is leaning against you, eating a sandwich.

“What if— what if we egged their house!? They live just down the street from me.” Daniel suggests it when you're at the climax of the laughing moment. Suddenly, you're jumping into an old car and going to the grocery store with 20$ and a thrill of the moment. You buy a couple dozen eggs and a pack of soda. You're sure the cashier was up to your antics as you take your stuff and bring it to Daniel’s convertible.

“You get the eggs?” He asks and you nod, setting them down and telling him the directions to make it into your neighborhood. This time he nods and starts driving while singing along to music on the radio. You're watching him and he looks much better like this, hair messy and crazy in a thick jacket under the moonlit stary night. Eventually, he turns into the neighborhood of huge houses and white-pillars everywhere. You were used to this, but clearly Daniel wasn't as he's looking around everywhere with huge saucers on his face.

Daniel opens the container and grabs an egg in his hand and chucks it at Amanda Jordan's house and it lands perfectly on the door. You both do it at the same time, hitting on the good spots of the house while laughing. Eventually, you hit Ali’s house and Daniel takes multiple and lands them on her house, her car, and the garden in the front. It feels good: the thrill of revenge.

Daniel starts driving to your house, pulling to the side and parking the car. You grab your back and open the car door. Daniel gets out as well to walk you back to your house, and his hand touches your back and you both walk up your long, expensive driveway. Daniel could tell this by the fact of the fountain in the middle of your yard, and the lights that stick up from the ground. He makes it to your porch and he stands at the bottom, such as the gentleman, with his hands crossed over the other.

“Thank you.” You say before turning around, and he thinks you look beautiful. “Thank you for doing this, Daniel.” It's a moment of desperation, as you grab his collar and give him a quick kiss. You both pull away quickly to not look at the other. “Sorry! Sorry, that was.. weird of me.” You chuckle out, while palming your sweaty hands against your shirt. You're both embarrassed, Daniel's ears are bright and red as he blankly stares at you. Quickly, Daniel runs up the steps and kisses you harshly and your hand travels to the back of his neck.

“Come inside, stay over tonight.” You say after you pull away, staring into his warm eyes. He nods and follows you inside. “I’ll have to call my mom. She said to let her know where I am.” You laugh point him to the telephone and he goes to it. You sit on the couch as your Golden Retriever, Ryder jumps on you and kisses your face. You baby talk and laugh as you play along with him until Daniel sits down next to you.

“Aw, he's really cute!” He says while Ryder moves his energy to Daniel and pushes him against the couch. You're smiling and laughing as Ryder is jumping at Daniel, and licking against his face. Daniel has his face crunched up and it's bright red. You weren't sure how quickly you were beginning to fall in love with him, but you're sure that squeezing feeling in your heart is prominent.

“Yeah– he's real cute isn't he?” You aren't sure who you're talking too, as you unconsciously scoot closer to Daniel and Ryder, reminiscing in that warmth you feel. You swear Daniel is a natural as he plays with Ryder, tossing a ball with him or scratching behind his ears. His eyes are crinkled up with excitement, a huge smile on his face, as he also baby-talks your puppy. “Hey, Daniel. Why don't we go upstairs?

“Are you sure you want me to stay over?” Daniel questions as he messes with the bottom of his bigger t-shirt. You whip your head around and look at him. “Yes, that is obviously why I invited you over. C'mon now. Let's go.” He follows you up the long, spiral staircase to your bedroom. Daniel hasn't been in such a nice house, almost getting blinded by the huge chandelier that hangs in the middle of your house.

You've always been accustomed to this life: silver spoon and large mansions that surround your neighborhood. Daniel, on the other hand, especially wasn't. In a small apartment with his mother and a road cat, he was on his own for when his mother worked double-shifts to pay for his soccer and schooling. You and him have different tastes in life, but it almost works indefinitely.

When he walks into your room, he thinks he's been punched in the face with huge walls and high ceilings. Daniel hasn't seen a king-sized bed in a long time, but yours has big sheets freshly made and pressed. “How do you even live in this? This is the size of my house!” Daniel exclaims loudly, shaking his head around as you set your stuff down in the corner of your room. You laugh and rub your hands together, and kiss your teeth. “It’s honestly almost too much for me. Too much room.” You mumble under your breath as you watch Daniel.

He's standing in front of your bed, awkwardly. You get a good look at him, underneath the dim light of your chandelier as well. It's almost beautiful as Daniel gives you that dumb, big smile of his letting his lips expose his teeth. You sit down on your bed, turn on the television with a click of your remote and lean back against your throw pillows. You pat your bed, the spot right next to you. “Hey, sit down. Don't be scared.” You tease and Daniel sits down and scoots over to you, hand snaking around your back.

“Y’know, I actually got jumped a couple times by Ali’s ex-boyfriend.” He admits and you look at him. You can't help but feel the heart strings get pulled. “What? Really?” You ask and Daniel nods while looking at his fingers as he messes with them. “That’s where I got this scar.” He lifts his thick, dark mop of hair up and you see it. It's a slash across his forehead, a thick scar and you gasp. “Oh my, Daniel! That's horrible.” You cover your mouth and he shrugs his head to the side.

He tells you about other situations that had happened, and it suddenly feels so soft. You're cuddled up in his arms, as you lay against his chest. Your leg is pulled up and across his waist. You share other events that had happened with the girls, as he was a listener ear for you while he rubbed your back. “Okay, enough for one night. Let's play some games.” You entice him when you pull out Twister and place it on your floor.

Suddenly: you're both twisting around each other and shaking as you attempt to stay up. Eventually you fall apart with Daniel crashing on top of you and laughing and you laugh as well, louder than him. Then, Daniel leans in and connects his lips against yours, crashing your teeth and lips against them. Daniel's hand goes behind your neck and holds you up while kissing you. It's warm and captivating, the feeling on his hands against your body was absolutely thrilling.

Daniel pulls away from your lips and he takes deep breaths in and out as he catches it. “Would you, wanna be my girlfriend?” He asks awkwardly and quietly, you nod quickly as you fall back into your kiss with him. “Yes, yes. Everything’s so new, but I love it!” You say and you lean against him, while gently peppering kisses across his face and nose. Giving a soft one to the scar on his forehead.

No matter how different it was, you loved it. Whatever you and Daniel were it was going to last in your head. The romantic feelings that bundled up with him, changed and suddenly it was let out into you.