#so that experience gets filtered through him

[eccentricgrace]

the one who left behind his name || BatFamily

summary: dick gets hit with fear toxin. this experience reveals a lot of surprising conversations he needs to have with his brothers.

tags: dick grayson’s eldest daughter syndrome, bruce wayne’s c+ parenting, fear toxin, lots of hugs, hurt/comfort, found family feels

wc: 12,100

⚠️tw: canon-typical violence, blood, injury

cross-posted on ao3 under the same name!

The irony was, Dick didn’t see the green mist settle in until it was on his tongue. An acrid, medicinal film, seizing his lungs in a chokehold while he buckled over, hands clutching at his knees for a sense of stability.

In a second, his mind sparked back on like a match lit in a gas chamber. His hand shot up to his mouth, it clamped around his nose, he held his breath; all attempts in vain to undo what he knew would begin soon.

He made an ‘abort’ gesture, stumbling back into the shadows. “Robin,” he rasped out. “Code Fern. I’ve been hit, we’re heading out. I need Agent A to—“

“I’ve got it,” Damian snapped. “I’ve collected a sample for Agent A to analyze as we sit here wasting time. What’s your status?”

Dick grimaced as he tried to think of a way to soften the blow, to ease the fears edging from his baby brother’s voice. It was hard to think when he could feel his heart start to pound, when he knew the beginning of something terrific was stirring, except ‘terrific’ meant—

“Nightwing, status,” Damian repeated, his voice strung tight. “Do we need to call an assist?”

“No,” Dick said quickly, even though his legs shook and there’s a stutter in his heartbeat. He ignored it and pulled himself down the dark street.

In a moment, the world twisted on its axis, and in the second that Dick paused to blink, Damian was at his side. He shoved his small frame under Dick’s arm, trying to support his weight.

“Liar,” Damian hissed. “You can’t even stand straight, Grayson—“

“Names,” he chided lightly.

Damian ignored him and pressed forward with determination. “We need to get you to the cave before Crane’s delusions kick in.”

Dick half-heartedly agreed, and tried not to acknowledge the growing twitchiness of his mind. He felt eyes at the back of his neck, something lurking in the dark, watching them.

“Stay alert, Robin,” Dick directed, turning his head to get a view of his peripherals. “We’re still on the ground, baby bat.”

Damian made a frustrated sound and continued ignoring him.

“Nightwing,” a voice filtered in through his comms. Low, gruff, stern. Shit. “Status.”

Dick exhaled stiffly through his nose and brought a hand up to his earpiece. “I got hit. Low grade gang, I wasn’t expecting them to have toxin. I think they stole it, but still— I should have known Scarecrow’s long silence was a red flag.”

“You should’ve,” Bruce cut in. His tone was clear, made up of all his no-nonsense inflections that always made him feel like he was eight years old again, with all of the false confidence and none of the worthwhile experience. “That’s disappointing, Nightwing. I trained you better than this.”

The words sent a rush of anxiety through him, like he’d been mentally knocked back. His throat went tight as he tried to form an argument. “I—“

Dick paused. His hand hesitated on the comms, and he pulled away. He looked to Damian, who was watching him with a not-so-subtle side eye. “Isn’t B off tonight? I thought he had a gala.”

“Father isn’t online,” Damian confirmed, his eyes narrowing through the domino. “Are you hearing him now?”

Dick sighed in agitation and let his hand drop from the earpiece. He avoided Damian’s exact question, instead saying: “We need to move faster.”

Damian nodded, schooling his expression into determination. His face faded in and out of view as they marched through the dark alleyway, his hand retaining its tight grip on Dick’s elbow.

“I failed you tonight,” Damian said. He was sure. Certain.

He’s never certain of himself, not really, not unless he believed he had made a mistake. It’s one of the many things that Dick had learned the hard way, one that still broke his heart when he caught it.

“I should have noticed the toxin before you got hit. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” Damian ducked his head once.

“It will,” Bruce said, his voice ringing metallic through comms. “He’ll disappoint you again, and again, and you’ll have to watch until you can’t do it any longer. Not even I could stand you for too long. The cycle won’t break.”

(“You’re firing me?” Dick guffawed, his arm still in its sling, fresh blood still on his bandages. “Bruce—“

“This isn’t for discussion. You’re done,” Bruce said. He turned around. He won’t look at him. Why won’t he look at him? “You aren’t being safe, you’re taking too many risks.”

“Necessary risks!” Dick cut in, the forced smile slipping from his face. His eyebrows are pulled tight in a stressed glower. “You can’t just take Robin away from me, Bruce. Robin is mine, I am Robin.”

“Not anymore,” Bruce snapped. He stalked toward the door, still hiding his face, the damned coward. “You were fatally injured, Dick. You were reckless. You failed the mission. You don’t deserve—”)

Dick’s exhaled sharply. He forced himself down to his knees and gripped Damian’s shoulders. His head hurt. He swallowed thickly. “You’ve never failed me.”

Bruce made a low, disapproving sound. “That’s not what I said, Robin. I’m in your head, I know you haven’t forgotten what really happened.”

Dick flinched, his shoulders hiking up to his ears. He shut his eyes tightly. “We’ll talk more about this later, but the serum, it’s getting worse.”

“You can’t listen to it,” Damian reminded him, his face pulled into a determined scowl. “It isn’t real. None of it is real.”

“It was real, though,” Bruce scoffed. “Wasn’t it?”

(Bruce’s mouth snapped shut before he finished the sentence, his teeth audibly clicking together.

“I don’t deserve what?” Dick asked quietly. His face was hot, the air rushing out from his nose like a dragon, like some beastly inhuman thing.

Bruce said nothing. He said nothing, and wouldn’t look at him, and Dick felt more alone now than he had since…)

“Nightwing!” Damian shook him off. “Focus!”

Dick groaned and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, his head spinning. His heart was beating out of his chest, he felt sick. He couldn’t move, not even if he wanted to— he just felt paralyzed.

“It’s not real,” Damian said, grabbing his wrist. “Damn it, Nightwing. Snap out of it!”

(“You made me this, Bruce, I don’t have anything else,” Dick said, and as he said it the words bubble into a manic laugh, like he’s just realizing it for the first time.

For so long he’d seen it as the only good thing in his life, that Bruce had been able to save him from himself. That Bruce had scooped him up from the bloodied floors of the Circus, cold floors of the Gotham City orphanage— but now the floors of the cave are just as bloody, just as cold.

A gilded cage is still a cage.

The only good thing in his life has now just become the only thing. He’s a bird without wings.

Bruce didn’t say goodbye to him before he left.)

“I was busy,” Bruce said lamely. “You were acting like a child.”

“I was a child,” Dick rasped, the words keening from his throat. His vision tunneled, going dark around the edges, and he bit back a swear. “Robin, call backup.”

If Damian replied, he couldn’t hear. There’s another hand pulling at his wrist, to which he knocked away in his panicked instincts. A following clatter on the ground echoed through the darkness, then a muffled sound of pain.

“Shit,” Dick said. “Shit, I’m so sorry. Are you okay? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you—“

Bruce sighed with resignation. “Always reckless. Always endangering the people you claim to love. You won’t ever learn, will you, Robin?”

A blinding light hit his eyes, and he hissed, his arms shielding his face from the spotlight. Wind whipped around him, and there was so much sound that started at him in waves. Cheers and whistles, the steady tin dribbling of a timpani, a symphony of thunderous applause.

Dick weakly dropped his arms, squinting out at the lights, all white beams that strobe past him, that move in and out of view. In the light, little bits of paper fell: cheap, thin squares in colours of faded red, yellow, green—

He’s been here before.

A million times, more, he’s been here. He breathed in, was hit with the scent of hay, of chalk, of sweat, of blood. On his tongue he could taste it, the metallic tang of sheer horror and a scream so deep it could only be felt.

“Richard!”

Dick’s head shot up. Crouched on the edge of a platform an entire tent’s length away, he could catch the blurry figure of Damian. He was injured, blood dripping from his nose.

A spotlight dropped on Damian, and the boy winced, ducking his head to cover his eyes. Dick’s mind stalled. He couldn’t tell what was real or not.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN… BOYS AND GIRLS… HALEY’S CIRCUS IS PROUD TO ANNOUNCE…”

A trapeze dropped from nowhere, the bar dull with chalk. The timpani sped up, drumming impossibly in tandem with his heartbeat.

“…FOR ONE NIGHT ONLY…”

In all his nightmares, Dick could see where the rope was fraught, could see what he missed the time that it counted. This wasn’t an outlier. He could see the singed edges, he could see them.

“…THE FLYING GRAYSONS!”

(He was four when he learned to fly. He was never nervous. He never felt safer than he did holding onto his Tată’s warm hands, and he never felt more free than when he was swinging through the air with a laugh in his chest.

“I want to do this forever,” he insisted after his first day of practice, standing on his toes. “Can I, Mamă? Please?”

“My little Robin,” Mamă laughed sweetly, combing his hair back between her fingers. “You were just born to fly, hm?”)

The band was playing loud, circus music that twisted in all the wrong ways, in all the wrong shapes. Dick hazarded an alarmed look towards Damian.

“Dami,” he called out frantically, stepping up. “Damian, hang on. Don’t move, okay?”

Damian’s eyes look back at him, all wide, unsteady. He looked so young now that he had removed his domino— Dick can’t remember when he’d done that.

“Richard!” He called out. “Do you have a plan?”

(He’s eight years old and it’s the end of this summer’s tour. His Mamă did his hair, gelled the short waves down nice so they wouldn’t fall in his eyes when he hung upside down, because he’d fretted when they started practicing their big act.

He’s got his perfect show-stopping smile on, one of his front teeth missing, but bright and cheery all the same. His outfit had been pressed last night, glittery red and green with stripes of yellow dashed along the chest to look like a bird.

His knees locked around a trapeze bar, and he swung back and forth, grinning at Mamă because she’s always so beautiful when she soars through the air. She winked at him, and to his glee, he caught a quick glimpse of her sparkly eyeshadow.

The crowds cheered. He felt like he was on top of the world.)

The platform Damian stood on wavered, and he gritted his teeth, holding out his arms to keep some semblance of balance. He looked back up, barely-concealed panic in his eyes. “Richard, we’re running out of time. I should— I have to jump.”

“No!” Dick shouted, a sudden bark of a word. He made himself sound as stern as he could, the panic ramping up in his chest. ��Damian, do not jump. Stay there.”

Damian was going to fall. There wasn’t a question about it. Dick looked at the bar dangling in front of them, and he made a choice.

“I’m—“ Dick took a steadying breath, and forced his shoulders to relax. “I’m coming to you. Just stay there.”

Bruce had trained him for moments like these. Times if his cable broke, if some accident occurred to his grapnel while he was still in the air. He knew, theoretically, the least-damaging way to land from a potentially lethal height.

That was with one person. Not two.

He pictured the steps in his mind. Grabbing Damian, tucking him to his chest, turning over before the inevitable impact. Injury would be the best case scenario.

Dick’s ready to take that chance.

(Dick’s swinging back and forth, the blood rushing to his head, and something about the rope—

Mamă was swinging towards him, and something wasn’t right. The rope thinned, and before Dick could even process what the problem was— it happened.

SNAP.

His Tată gasped, his Mamă’s eyes went wide, her hand still stretched out to take his.

Dick’s arm lunged as far as he could without falling, his small fingers strung out as if the centimeters would make a difference.

It didn’t.

He screamed, and he kept screaming, and sometimes it felt like he never truly stopped.)

“Damian.” Dick smiled, attempting to pacify him before the damage. “You’ll be okay.”

Damian furrowed his eyebrows, his eyes wildly darting from the trapeze bar to Dick. “What? Richard, don’t do anything stupid! What are you—“

He took a few steps back, shook out his limbs, and swallowed his fear.

He leaped towards the bar. The rope strained under his weight, he could hear the way it pulled. Damian yelled a swear, seemingly having connected the dots. It didn’t matter now. He needed to build more momentum.

He swung his legs back and kicked them forward, and a loud round of applause shook the stadium. The platform Damian stood on wavered, and he nearly toppled over the side of the uneasy ground.

Dick swore, and he kicked harder, using every bit of his weight to get the trapeze moving.

“Damian!” He shouted. “Jump on three! Okay? I’ll catch you!”

Backwards, forwards. Dick’s hands were sweaty through the gloves of his suit. Damian was mouthing to himself: One.

Backwards, forwards. The rope pulled taut. It creaked. It was almost over. Two.

Backwards, forwards. He launched off, the rope pulling apart with an echoing snap. His eyes locked on Damian, who had jumped towards him just as the platform crumbled. Three.

Dick reached out his hands.

(Mamă reached out her hands.)

He’s falling.

(She’s falling.)

Damian’s fingers brushed against his, just barely, just enough for Dick to pull him closer. The two of them tumbled through the air, birds without wings. The world spun, and Dick turned Damian away from the impact as it grew closer—

It took two seconds for the world to explode in a menagerie of bright, painful colours. Two moves. His spine, the ground. The wind knocked out of him.

Under the sound of the audience, still clapping, still cheering, oblivious to the blood, he could hear them— the circus clowns laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

In his arms, a crumpled bundle shifted and cried out. Dick hissed weakly as the movement jostled his back. A spark of fear gave him the energy to lift his chin, just enough to look down.

“Damian?” He wheezed. “Dami, you okay?”

Damian climbed off of his chest, and held a hand to his head. It came back blood-soaked, crimson running down his wrist. He looked back at Dick with dazed eyes. He made a small, confused sound at the back of his throat.

“Fuck,” Dick sat up, ignoring the white hot pain shooting through his entire body. He stumbled close to Damian to investigate the wound.

Somewhere during the fall, he’d hit his head. There was a lot of blood. Inevitable– head injuries were always the bloodiest because the brain needed a lot of blood; there were a lot of vessels to be broken up there. He definitely had a concussion.

He pressed pressure onto the wound, sinking a terrible warmth into the fabric of his suit.

“Okay,” Dick said quickly, cradling Damian’s head in his hands. “You’re okay.”

(He was always more tired after a mission.

Usually the farther it was, the more free he felt— an effect of his nomadic early years. He learned pretty fast that the rule didn’t apply to extraterrestrial travel. He preferred his feet on the ground he knew best, and the long space missions the Titans had to go out on lately were really good at draining him of all his energy.

That’s why he spent the entire trip home soothing the bone-deep exhaustion by imagining himself walking through the door. He’d collapse on the couch, sprawl all his limbs out and laugh at the way Jason would trail in after him with a scowl.

Jason would stumble over his explanation that the first living room’s TV had the best audio quality, to shove over so he could watch The Princess Bride, and Dick would move over just to kick his feet back over Jason’s legs.

They’d wrestle over the remote and then Jason would glare at him and say “welcome back, by the way,” and then Dick would finally feel like he was home.)

Someone dropped behind him. The fall of heavy boots. A familiar sound. Dick turned around and faced a red helmet and full weaponry.

“You called for an assist,” Hood said bluntly.

“Damian,” Dick rattled off quickly, keeping his hand clamped on the bleeding wound. “I mean Robin, he’s injured. TBI, external bleeding head injury, I haven’t had time to properly triage.”

(He’s walking up the hill, the winding road up to the foyer, and he’s thinking about Alfred’s hot cocoa. He’s thinking of Bruce, and mimicking his facial expressions everytime he turned away until Jason cracked and let out one of his kiddie high-pitched laughs.

He got to the door, and something felt wrong, like the rope, like the—)

Hood stalked forward. He clicked his helmet off and tossed it to the side, the metal clanging on concrete. He leaned down beside Damian and looked over the wound.

“Definitely a concussion,” Hood sighed heavily. He said something mumbled to himself, then tried snapping his fingers in front of Damian’s face.

Damian was wildly out of it, drifting in and out of consciousness. His fingers twitched from where they were held in one of Dick’s hands, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth curling in an annoyed sneer— he was scared, disoriented, and he was trying to fight it off. Oh, Dami.

(Maybe he was paranoid. Recent events had definitely made him noticeably more twitchy, but he couldn’t imagine why it would make him feel like this.

Not even paranoia could cause this, he wanted to think— this feeling of something so deeply off center, a molecular-level change that he couldn’t place.

He took a breath, shook off his shoulders, and put on a smile— perfect, show stopping, just like Mamă taught him — before he knocked on the door.

The door opened promptly. Alfred had been waiting for him.

Alfred’s hand shook lightly on the door handle. His handkerchief was tucked messily into his suit pocket, wrinkled and well-used. His hair was thinner, his eyes were sunken in, red-rimmed, his lips were pulled together primly. Grief emanated from every tired line of his body.

Dick’s smile was whisked away and paranoia was replaced with dread, shuddering over him faster than he could breathe, from his hair’s split-ends to the soles of his feet.

He swallowed, his gaze going steely. “Who was it?”)

Dick shuddered, everything was hurting so badly— the world was blurring, he’s messing everything up, and Damian was injured in his lap and he needed help.

“We have to get him to the cave, or Leslie’s,” Dick pleaded, looking up to Jason. “Whichever’s faster.”

“The cave. Leslie’s on the other side of town, and Agent A is already prepared for a shit show,” Jason said. After a moment, he sighed. “I got here on my motorcycle, though. Not enough room for three, even if Demon Brat is a shrimp.”

“Take him,” Dick said immediately. He lifted Damian up, his entire spine screaming with pain. He winced, and pressed on. “Take him to the cave, I’ll find my way back.”

“Whatever.” Jason reached down and took him in his arms. “What happened, anyway?”

(“Bruce. Tell me you’re lying,” Dick said, barely getting the words out with the way he shook. “Tell me you didn’t bury my…”

Bruce didn’t speak. He was looking at him, finally, after all the time, but his gaze was empty. His eyes were grey, devoid of feeling, of focus.

“Bruce!” Dick shouted, slamming his fist on the desk. He needed Bruce to flinch, to blink, to breathe. Anything would be better than this.

Bruce just stared.

“God damn it, answer me!” Dick punched the table again, his eyes scanning furiously over Bruce’s void of energy.)

“Dickface,” Jason snapped, sounding mildly alarmed. He shifted uncomfortably, the unconscious kid groaning in his arms. “Hey, what the fuck. It wasn’t that serious, why’re you crying?”

Dick blinked rapidly, his hands coming up to his face. Tears made his cheeks wet and cold. “I don’t know,” he said, wiping them away. “I don’t know, I— he fell. That’s what happened. We—“

“Did you fucking drop him?” Jason spat out, looking at Dick with disgust.

“I didn’t drop him,” Dick bit down, his teeth clicking together painfully. His stomach turned with waves of nausea. “We fell together, I tried to—“

“You did,” Jason scoffed. “You did drop him. Nice fucking going, Dickie. Do you know what a fall from that height does to someone as small as him? You may be able to take it, but chances are he fucking won’t.”

(Bruce swallowed. “I’m sorry, Dick,” he mumbled drunkenly. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Dick’s vision was beginning to blur, a familiar rage burning its way back into his veins, back to the circus, back to screams and police sirens, back to Zucco.

An empty whisky glass from Bruce’s desk found its way into Dick’s hand, and was thrown across the room with a brilliant amount of force. Dick didn't look while it shattered and fell to the carpet in a million shining pieces.

“Sorry is something you say when you break a fucking glass,” Dick gritted out. “Not when you kill somebody’s fucking little brother.”

He couldn’t breathe. He’s taking in air faster than his lungs could register it. “What did you do, Bruce? What the hell did you do?!”)

“You’d think the first one would be enough for the lesson to stick,” Jason spat bitterly. “But no, somehow, you just keep collecting dead birds, huh?”

“No,” Dick scraped out. He bowed his head, pressing into the gravely pavement. A gasp forced out from his lungs as the tears made him heave. “No, no, no.”

The boots trailed around him in a lazy circle. “Another baby brother lost. Stop fucking crying, Dickie, I know you don’t actually care. You gonna miss his funeral, too?”

“I’m so sorry.” Dick made fists, he grasped uselessly at the concrete, catching and ripping at the fabric of his gloves. “He didn’t tell me. Jason, please. Please, I’m so sorry.”

“Sure. Sure, he didn’t tell you, so it wasn’t your fault.” Jason gripped his hair and yanked his head up. “Which is it, then? It isn’t your fault, or you’re sorry? Which is it?”

He’s pissed. His eyes a manic green, the way animals carried vibrant patterns so predators knew to steer clear. It’d been so long since his last bout of pit madness, he’d already fought this battle before, it was supposed to be over.

“Everything you are, was what I wanted to be,” Jason said slowly, his eyes dark and gleaming, tilted and dangerous. “Now I can’t even look at you without feeling sick.”

“I know,” Dick croaked.

“When we finally kick the bucket, I pray we go to different hells.”

Jason released his grip, and Dick’s skull slammed against the floor in a blinding white flash.

(“Nightwing. We’ve gotten a code red from Titan Tower.”

Dick paused, his movements lilting in confusion. “Tim’s the only one there this weekend.”

A sharp inhale through the nose, B’s telltale giveaway of panic. “The Red Hood has been seen at the location.”

Something heavy fell in Dick’s stomach. His eyes darkened. “…Leaving now.”)

Rather than waking up in one of Gotham’s infamous back alleys, Dick lifted his head in an indoor grey hallway, industrial, stretching a long way before an inevitable turn.

His heart was still pounding, his breath still stuttered with every inhale and exhale. Two brothers gone, two fathers lost, one mother dead. He wanted to curl up and stay there shaking until it was all over, let the misery wash over him until the bubbles stopped.

“I didn’t train you to give up,” Bruce said, his voice cracking through his skull. “If you’re going to die, you’re going to make it useful.”

Someone was calling his name. Somewhere else, as it echoed and rebounded through the ominous hallway. He lifted his head again to look.

At the far end of the hallway, just before the turn, a dash of red smeared on the wall. Dick knew like the back of his hand what was meant to follow, every horrible moment that awaited him.

“Don’t just lay there,” Bruce commanded. “Run, Robin.”

(Dick’s voice was hoarse from how loudly he’s bellowing as he sprinted through the tower’s floors. He barely heard Tim at all, a cry, weak and frail as a baby bird’s, and then he was running again towards the sound.)

He was running through the hallways. He couldn’t remember getting up, all he could remember was—

(—blood on the wall. Blood on the floor. It was everywhere.

Good god, it was everywhere, and in the center of it all there was—)

“Tim!” Dick fell to his knees, gathering up the teen and pressing his hand to his bleeding neck.

Tim keened, tears and spilling crimson on his cheeks, his chin, his nose. He grasped helplessly at Dick’s arms, his feet pushing against the floor in a squirming mess as he tried to deal with the pain.

“It’s okay,” Dick repeated feverishly. He’s moving like a ghost, like a possessed man, like a puppet. “I’ve got you. Come on, we’re going to the med bay. Come on.”

He scooped Tim up and half-dragged him to the medical bay, and he’s digging through the drawers with one hand and—

(— he’s holding Tim’s bleeding throat with the other, and Tim kept trying to speak. He was gasping and floundering like his life depending on choking the words out, rather than actually living.

Dick kept shushing him. He’s razor-focused, he’s scatter-brained, his hands are doing a million things at once, he’s not moving fast enough. He packed the hemostatic gauze and—)

— he wrapped the injury with more cloth, and—

(—it’s hiding the red, it’s working, his little brother will be okay, Dick will make it okay and—)

—there’s so much blood, it was soaking through, and nothing was working. It wasn’t supposed to be this. This wasn’t supposed to happen. These weren’t the way the words were written. This wasn’t how the story was supposed to go.

“You’re—“ Tim gasped, the sound wretched and wet. “A murderer. A fraud. You…”

Dick made a panicked noise as he pressed more gauze, more cloth, more pressure, and the shock was starting to settle into Tim’s body. His eyes were going glassy. His face was so pale underneath the bruises and drying blood.

Tim gurgled, his hands going limp and falling to the side.

“Not another,” Dick shook. “Not— Not again.”

He reached out—

(—to take his mother’s hand—)

(—to call Bruce—)

(—to ruffle his brother’s hair—)

(—to keep pressure on the wound—)

—and his hand is caught by someone else’s.

It was akin to the exact moment a storm cleared, or taking a proper breath after a marathon. Atlas with a sudden bout of freedom, shoulders free of the world for one clear, distinct moment.

He exhaled, squeezing the hand in his in a strange desperation. He needed this to be real.

The hand squeezed back. Someone’s speaking to him in low, soothing tones.

The scene in front of him faded away into nothing, a cloak of darkness falling over his view. He felt tired enough to sink into the dark, enough to breathe now like it wouldn’t be his last breath.

Distantly he thought maybe his heart had finally given up, that this was the peace before his consciousness gave into oblivion. A pang sat in his throat, a heaviness at the thought that he would be leaving his family in need of him, but — but this couldn’t be stopped. Not anymore.

“Shh…” a callused hand gently graced his face. It’s warm and it’s safe, and he was so tired. His eyes shut, his body went lax at the abrupt crash of adrenaline. “It’s all better now. Just rest.”

In the end, it hardly felt like a choice at all.

He went to sleep.

Waking up properly was a slow, miserable process.

He kept getting flashes of awareness, fragments of scents, of sights, of sounds. Sometimes he panicked, and then there was that voice again, gruff and steady, telling him everything was going to be fine.

All the while, he dreamt.

In dreams, everything was just as fuzzy, so much so that it was hard to distinguish from reality until he would jerk back awake.

He was nine, carrying his things in a big black grocery bag he got from a social worker up the front steps of the manor. He’s thirteen and he’s broken his ankle on patrol. B won’t stop fretting and Dick won’t stop rolling his eyes.

He’s fifteen and he hated the world and he loved his dad. He’s seventeen and he wanted to come home now, really, he did.

He’s eighteen and he loved to sit next to his little brother and listen while he read books with words so big he couldn’t pronounce them out loud. He’s twenty-two and his little brother was dead and every morning he made two bowls of cereal for himself and a ghost.

He’s twenty-four and there’s a scrawny boy with messy dark hair and determined blue eyes on his doorstep and his brother’s voice was in ear telling him about “the importance of remembering history, Dickface.”

He’s twenty-five and Robin kept looking up to him with such hesitancy, and Dick hated himself because he couldn’t remember how to be who he needed to be. His smiles became more bright, the unfortunate but necessary byproduct of an artificial sun.

He’s twenty-six and everything was upside down. Damian was so angry, Tim was too confident, Jason wasn’t himself. For a moment Dick knew how Bruce felt. Maybe they were never cut out for loving people. He didn’t think it was supposed to hurt this much.

Now, Dick lazily blinked the sleep away from his eyes and swallowed the stagnant saliva in his mouth. He felt warm from what he assumed to be an IV drip, and dizzy from whatever drugs he had to be on.

“Dick.”

Dick glanced over to the chair beside him, where Bruce was still sitting. He had a neutral expression on his face, but his shoulders were tight, and he knew exhaustion when he saw it. He knew Bruce.

“Are you with me?” Bruce asked.

Dick exhaled carefully through his nose. Chances are that this wasn’t another hallucination— especially because he felt like an actual human being and not anxiety personified. “Depends. I thought you had a gala tonight.”

“I had a gala two nights ago.”

Dick sighed. He used his strength to push himself up into a sitting position. Bruce’s eyes never leave, tracking along each movement with quiet calculation. “I was out that long?”

Bruce grunted an affirmative.

This was the part of the mission where Dick would give his report, try and point out all his mistakes, inevitably fail, and listen to Bruce’s lecture about the most important thing he missed.

No reason to mess with tradition, he figured, so he let his head fall back on the pillow and went back to where it all went wrong.

“Damian and I were on patrol. I got dosed with toxin,” Dick recounted, closing his eyes. “I gave the order to get out of there. I told Damian to call backup after the hallucinations started feeling more real.”

A flying trapeze. The Red Hood. Tim. Dick sighed again, his cheeks going hot. “The hallucinations were unrealistic, I should have been more logical with my approach. It was the flashbacks that screwed me over, I think. It made everything… feel real.”

Bruce wasn’t saying anything, only watched him carefully. All this time and Dick still hated when he did that. He looked back at him and waited for the reproach, the promised lecture.

Bruce finally cleared his throat. “Fear toxin alters the mind,” he said. “Often the first thing to go is rationality and logic. I don’t blame you, Dick— you were strong, you and Damian made it out alive. Today, that’s what counts.”

Dick hesitated, watched the way Bruce’s eyes flickered, the way his jaw tensed minutely between certain words.

“Something happened when I was out,” he surmised. Bruce looked away, effectively confirming that he was right on the money. “What was it?”

“It proved… challenging,” Bruce struggled, “to get you en route to the cave. The footage is available, but I would avoid it this time. It was a close call.”

“Was I the only one hurt?” Dick asked, swallowing the lump in his throat. His mind flashed him pictures of Damian in his arms, of Tim on the ground. He hated fear toxin.

Bruce nodded once. “Nobody else sustained injuries.”

Dick sighed with instant relief. He let himself relax back into the cot. “Where is everyone, then? I figured at least Damian would be here.”

“I sent him to bed,” Bruce crossed his arms, a very tired amusement passing his face. “I stopped letting him argue back at hour forty-four. He hadn’t even changed out of his suit.”

Dick smiled. “How long ago?”

Bruce flicked his wrist out and glanced at his watch. “Six hours ago. It’s two in the morning.”

Not enough sleep for Dick to justify waking him up. He’ll wait for a few more hours, or until Damian wakes up to find him. Whichever came first.

“You should go to sleep,” Dick told him, because he could see the dark circles and knew Bruce probably had been too busy working on an antidote with Tim to rest. At Bruce’s visible hesitation, he rolled his eyes. “I’ll be alright here. I know you have me hooked up to monitors anyway. Seriously, get out of here.”

Bruce took a moment, and then relented with a heavy sigh. “If something comes up, you know what to do. Goodnight, Dick.”

Dick found the footage on the lenses of Robin’s mask.

He didn’t like watching himself on fear toxin, not that anybody did. The vulnerability is unsettling, sure, but watching himself behave like a wild animal never sat with him the right way. He couldn’t be like Bruce, who would watch his patrol footage and pick it apart mercilessly just to improve his technique.

Furthermore, it was weird to see himself from Damian’s eyes. Himself, crouched down so they’re eye-to-eye. In the footage, Dick was trembling. He flinched at nothing.

“The serum,” he had said, but his voice sounded distant, like his head wasn’t fully there. “It’s getting worse.”

Then, Damian. Sure-fire and defiant. “You can’t listen to it. It isn’t real. None of it is real.”

With Damian’s eyes, he watched himself look around the alleyway like a hunted dog. His chest stalling every few seconds and then his breath increasing in speed.

“Nightwing!” Damian reached for his arm and shook violently. “Focus!”

He made a wounded noise and didn’t move, hiding his face in his hands— he remembered this. He remembered this happening. This was when the first flashbacks kept catching him off guard.

“It’s not real,” Damian had tried. “Nightwing, snap out of it!”

This was where memory started to trail off from reality.

In reality, Damian was on his comms, his eyes locked on target to whatever Dick was doing, ready to catch him if he flew off. He was calling a code— Oracle sent everyone to pick up collateral. Hood, Red Robin, Spoiler, and Orphan. They went in teams.

Damian doesn’t leave his side. The footage clipped to a later timestamp.

He watched himself flounder in terror, looking around with choked gasps and half-mumbled words like he was caught in a nightmare.

“Damian. Dami.” Dick caught Damian’s arm, his eyes distant, his pupils shrunk small. He was whispering. “Damian. You’ll be okay.”

Damian froze. He quickly turned away as a motorcycle was heard behind.

Dick watched as Jason came into view, much like he did in the hallucinations, although here he moved forward more like he was approaching a feral animal.

“You called for an assist?” He tried to joke, his usual deadpan failing with the undercurrent of worry that pulsed through. (Neither of them did well with fear toxin. They hated it both equally.)

Dick watched himself react to the words like he’d just taken a bullet. The way he lurched away, the immediate hurt that followed on Jason’s face.

“It’s not you,” Damian said immediately, echoing the thoughts Dick had. “You know that, Todd.”

“I know,” Jason shrugged. He inched forward tentatively anyways.

“No,” Dick scraped out, gasping. He started to scrape at the ground with his hands, leaving them bloody. “No, no, no.”

“Fuck,” Jason said quickly, as both him and Damian rushed to stop him from shredding any more skin. Jason flinched as Dick let out another keening cry.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his head lulling uselessly forward. His body shuddered violently. “He didn’t… tell me… Jason, please. Please, I’m so sorry...”

Jason made a frustrated sound, strangled at the back of his throat. “Fuck. I’m making it worse. Why didn’t you call Tim? He likes Tim.”

“You’re not making it worse,” Damian snapped. “Stay focused.”

“I’m focused,” Jason snapped back. “Let’s get him to the cave. You think you can keep up with me with your grapple?”

Damian marched forward, taking the hook from his belt. He exhaled stiffly through his nose. “Don’t ask stupid questions, Hood. We’re wasting time. I’ll see you there.”

The footage jumped again, rerouting to the security feed in the cave. It showed the medical bay at the forefront, the cot he was lying in, and the computer in the back. It was chaos.

Jason and Bruce argued loudly as they held down Dick’s arms and kept him pinned to the cot, as he seized and gasped. Alfred stood to the side holding an oxygen mask to Dick’s face, trying to get the two to stop shouting. Damian stood still at the foot of the bed, scowling while he overlooked vitals. His hands shook.

“His BPM is too high,” Damian growled over the noise. He spun around to where Tim had been pacing in the back. “Drake, his heart is going to inevitably fail if you don’t work faster.”

Tim, muttering to himself, moving around computers and flasks like a mad scientist, didn’t meet him with even a look. “I’m working as fast as I can,” he spat back. “Yelling at me won’t make a cure magically exist.”

“I’m just saying,” Jason insisted, “he got worse a hell of a lot faster after I showed up, and now with you here, he’s about to fucking die!”

“I didn’t ask you to just say,” Bruce cut sharply. “You know just as well as anybody else that the effects of Crane’s toxins are unpredictable, and–”

Dick managed to land a stray hit in all his panic, shoving Bruce away and sitting up from the cot. His eyes wild, his chest heaving; he pushed out of Jason and Alfred’s hands and tried to stumble off the cot.

“Fuck,” Jason swore. “Now look what you fucking did–”

Damian clenched his teeth. “You idiots– can’t you do one job correctly?!”

Tim swung around. He marched over, pushing Damian to the side, shoving past Jason and Bruce, and ignoring them all as they turned their attention. He leaned down beside Dick, who had fallen to his knees. He held a syringe in his hand.

“Tim,” Dick stammered, reaching forward. “You’re bleeding, you’re…”

Tim grabbed his arm and stuck the syringe into a vein, his jaw set in a firm line. Dick made a panicked noise and seemed to flounder back, but he had already finished injecting the antidote. It was done.

“It’ll set in an hour,” Tim said, looking around the stunned room of people. “He’ll probably sleep a lot, so someone should sit with him. And all of you should apologize to Alfred for the headache.”

After a beat of silence, it was Damian who spoke first.

“I’ll take the first shift.” He paused. “...Hopefully you did a considerable job, Drake.”

The footage ended.

Dick turned the device off with a shaking hand and closed his eyes for a long, long time. He breathed in. He breathed out. He did it again, and again, and again, until it didn’t feel like he was living it anymore.

He had barely been drifting when the door to the medical bay creaked open. When there was no following noise, Dick knew it was Damian. His footsteps were always too quiet to hear unless he wanted someone to hear them.

He opened his eyes, and Damian was scowling at him.

Dick smiled easily. “Hi, there.”

Damian scowled harder.

Dick’s smile faded, and he swallowed, letting himself go solemn. “I’m sorry, Dami. I know, I shouldn’t have let myself get hit. I endangered you, I could have hurt you, or worse—“

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Damian scoffed. He marched into the room, sitting down in the nearest chair with a huff.

His hair stuck up in all directions, he was still wearing his pyjamas. Dick noted with unrestrained glee that it was the joke Nightwing pair he bought last Christmas. He just looked like any normal kid who had been woken up too early, and Dick loved him more than words could express.

“Do you want to talk about anything?” Dick asked instead, tilting his head. “I know whenever B got hit with a fear toxin, I would get pretty freaked out.”

Damian watched him quietly for a long moment, his eyebrows furrowed as if he were considering this. He knew sometimes it took a moment for Damian to decide whether or not he was safe to engage in a particular conversation, and he respected that— so he went quiet and patiently waited.

“You spoke a lot,” Damian said finally, his expression easing. “Much of it was incoherent, but there were times where you would say something clear. I believe you were convinced I was in danger.”

Dick nodded. He kept his hands folded on his lap to prevent himself from fidgeting too much.

Damian then looked down. “I believe you lied to me. You told me it would be okay. Or, tried to.”

“I did,” Dick said slowly.

Damian’s jaw clenched, his eyes very focused on the floor. “You nearly died several times before Drake synthesized a working antidote. The fear was making your heart dangerously fast— anybody else not used to the stress would have died.”

Dick frowned, but remained quiet.

Damian looked back up, the scowl returning, albeit weak. It couldn’t hide his watery eyes. “It would not have been okay, Grayson.”

The youngest of all of them. Underneath all the violence and sharp words, it was hard to forget that Damian was still just a kid — a kid who had lost everything just like the rest of them.

“I’m sorry,” Dick said quietly. He hesitated. “You’re right, Damian. I’m sorry.”

“I do not wish to grieve you,” Damian warned, an imperceptible waver in his voice. “It would be inconvenient. Your life is–”

The words broke, and he quickly looked away, glaring harder at the floor.

He sniffled and his hand quickly swiped over his cheeks. He kept his shoulders tight, his body language full of fire and brimstone, spiked and thorned just like he’d been when he first arrived.

“If you die,” he said coldly, baring his teeth, “I’ll hate you forever.”

There are few things on this earth that meant as much to Dick as his family. After everything he’d lost, the things he gained only meant that much more. His little brothers; they all came from grief, born and bred.

Jason had crept through after Dick thought he had nothing left to fight for, when he instead fought everything as if it would repair the loss.

Robin replaced Robin. Dick learned to grow around the loss and gave it new life instead.

Tim was the one nobody thought to worry about, the anomaly, the one who bypassed the firewalls in the midst of the crisis. Broke down faulty systems, repaired them, forced his way through the cracks that Dick couldn’t find it in himself to caulk.

Robin replaced Robin. Dick learned to grieve the present and appreciate it at the same time.

But nobody had expected Damian. When he crash-landed in like a jet on fire, it was like the ground underneath them went uneven, and he continued to break their expectations with every step he took.

Robin replaced Robin. This time, Dick learned a lot of things. He learned what it was like to have a Robin.

He learned the weight of holding a sleeping kid on his chest, how he would do anything to keep him looking that peaceful. He learned to keep an ear out at night, to keep his door unlocked in case there was a nightmare, in case he was needed.

He learned how it felt to have a piece of his heart living outside of his body— and, like anybody, Dick didn’t like it when his heart was broken.

“Everybody dies, Damian,” Dick said carefully. “I really hope you won't hate me, when I do go.”

He exhaled, watching as Damian wiped away more of his angry tears.

“But,” he continued. “I’m not dying today, or hopefully anytime soon. I’m here, just like I said I’d be, and… I’d rather not spend the rest of my long life with someone that I love so much being angry at me.”

Damian shifted in his chair, like he was ready to bolt at any moment. Despite his best efforts, his bottom lip quivered and his scowl was starting to falter.

“I hope you can forgive me,” Dick said quietly, the words cracking at the end. He cleared his throat, ignoring the burning at his eyes. “I’m sorry that I scared you. Next time, I’ll—“

Damian stood up promptly and marched forward, his face properly scrunched up to avoid tears. He crossed the room in three steps, and by the third step his resolve had fully broken.

Watching Damian cry was like watching the world tear itself apart. He’s twelve years old and had the same rocky edges of the mountains he’d been forced to climb, had the same ferocity as the currents he’d been forced to swim against, had the same chill as the tundras he’d survived.

He held onto so much, so much; all before he’d barely started to carve out a spot in life big enough for him to stand in. It was hard work. It only ever got harder.

Dick would reshape the earth in his own hands if it meant the land would soothe the old aches and reset the broken bones. He’d take every hurt and every pain and he would do it smiling if it meant his little brothers never saw an inch of it.

But he couldn’t do that. Instead he had to be content with letting his arms open, and trusting that Damian would crawl up into them. That would be their peace.

Damian wept, broken little sounds choking their way through his tears. He buried his head into Dick’s abdomen and kept his arms curled up to his sides.

“Oh, Damian. Băiatul meu dulce,” Dick soothed, hushing his voice to a murmur. His heart was bleeding, a messy thing in the cage of his chest, and he quieted it down, too. “You’ve got me, Dami. I’m okay now. I’m okay.”

He pressed a kiss to his baby brother’s head and tried not to let himself lose the last semblance of emotional control he had as Damian’s cries racked through his small frame.

“This is your fault,” Damian stuttered through tears. “I’m still mad at you. Just... don’t leave.”

“I know.” He kept his hands busy by drawing circles over Damian’s back. He took deliberately slow breaths and rocked gently back and forth. “I’m right here, honey. You can be as mad as you want, I’m not going anywhere.”

And then words dwindled into nothing, because sometimes the silence was better. He pressed his nose into Damian’s hair, kept himself close. His hands worked their soft rhythm on his back, continuing even as Damian’s breathing slowed to a calmer pace.

His chest and upper stomach was soaked in salt and he didn’t give a damn about it.

After a few minutes of quiet sniffling and the sound of a hand smoothing down the wrinkles of a fleece shirt, Damian huffed. He kept his face hidden as he spoke.

“Emotions,” he said tentatively, drained of energy, “are exhausting, and embarrassing.”

Dick smiled shortly. A rush of relief passed over him, because talking was good. Talking meant he hadn’t truly ruined everything.

He passed his fingers past Damian’s forehead, carefully folding loose strands of hair away from his eyes. “Get some sleep then. It’s early, nobody will be up for a while.”

Damian was quiet for a few moments, considering. He exhaled. “You’ll wake me if—“

“You know I will,” Dick assured him softly. “Just your eyes, baby bat.”

Damian made an aggrieved noise, but made himself small while he settled into the cot.

His baby brother fell asleep in two short minutes— and a piece of Dick’s soul clicked back where it belonged.

Getting out of the medical bay was always a victory. His consistent visitors had been Damian and Alfred— while Batman and Red Robin had picked up slack on patrol, which was reasonable. Dick watched from cameras and would give occasional commentary through the comms with O.

(Jason, he hadn’t seen anywhere.)

Since the toxin, Dick had been trying to get himself back to normal. He wanted to let the memories wash away to the back of his mind where they usually were, instead of lingering on the forefront like a bad breakup.

For him, getting back to normal meant doing normal things— or, as normal as it could get. He sat on communications and bothered Bruce with his puns. He helped Alfred collect laundry. He watched animal documentaries with Damian. He practiced defense in the training room. He bothered Bruce some more.

He finally caught Tim in the kitchen, falling asleep into a bowl of cereal— bits of soggy cheerios stuck to his cheek and his hair saturated in almond milk.

Dick smiled to himself and then knocked his knuckles on the counter.

Tim lifted his head and looked up with an amount of unconcern that was almost impressive for someone who had almost drowned in their (12pm) breakfast.

“Dick,” he said, blinking a few times. “You’re out of the medbay?”

“Second day out,” Dick informed, giving a sympathetic smile. He yanked off a paper towel from the roll and wiped the milk and cereal off of Tim’s face.

“Oh.” Tim’s eyebrows furrowed, frowning imperceptibly. “…Nobody told me.”

Dick made a noise of disapproval and grabbed his own bowl from the cabinets. He sat down beside Tim and poured the cereal in. “I would have been in there a lot longer if you hadn’t figured out the antidote. So, thank you.”

“You would’ve been dead, actually,” Tim corrected, stirring soggy cereal around with his spoon. “And it’s fine. It’s what I’m here for.”

Dick frowned into his own bowl and poured in the milk. “Right. I actually wanted to talk to you about that, when you had a second. That must have been pretty stressful for you, I wanted to see if you were doing okay.”

“I see you’re at the getting-to-normal stage,” Tim observed, glancing over. “I know you probably already talked to B. Definitely talked to Demon Brat, because he’s less Demon than a few days ago. Jason’s next, right?”

Dick looked up to reply, and then paused.

Tim’s face was of its usual paleness, the normal dark purple shadows painted under his eyes. He knew about Tim’s bad working habits, his insomnia, but seriously— when was the last time this boy got any sleep?

“Why can’t you be next?” Dick asked instead.

Tim scoffed, his lip lifting up in a half-smile like something was amusing to him. He shook his head. “I think you could probably find Jason in—“

“I’m serious,” Dick interrupted. He set his spoon down in the bowl, letting it clink. “You’re my brother too, Tim.”

“Sure,” Tim said with a nod. “It’s just, you know. You have to add a ‘too’, don’t you? Implying there’s an original to be added to. Which is fine, seriously. I don’t know. I’m not offended or anything— you don’t have to lie to make me feel better about something that doesn’t affect me anymore.”

Dick stared, his jaw loosely hung open as he tried to fumble together the pieces of what Tim just splayed out.

“Tim, I—“ He shook his head, feeling slightly hysterical. “Explain that again?”

Tim huffed a laugh. He pushed his bowl away from him. “We don’t have to do this, Dick. Seriously. Whatever it is, I forgive you, we don’t have to make it this big thing.”

“Tim,” Dick said sharply. Tim straightened, his tired smile gone in an instant, his eyes alert, and Dick felt a wave of regret hit him. He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I shouldn’t have. I just— I need you to explain. Please.”

Tim frowned and pushed his hair out of his face. “I don’t know how to explain this without you getting pissed at me. Or you.”

“Start from the beginning,” Dick said tightly, his eyes still shut. Images of blood on tile and a little boy at his doorstep kept fading in and out of view.

“My beginning, or yours?” Tim asked, a lilt of a joke on his tongue.

“When we met,” Dick answered, not understanding the question. When was the beginning not just the beginning?

“We met at—“ Tim paused. He looked over Dick with something calculative in his eyes, and his lips twitched before his entire body went still, eerily calm. “We met at your apartment. You remember. I knocked on your door until you let me in. My hands hurt.”

“And?” Dick asked painfully.

“And what? And you hated me,” Tim said, laughing grimly. “You hated that I asked you to come back to Gotham, and then you hated when I became a Robin.”

Both true, but the reasoning of it was all wrong. Dick’s face must have contorted in a truly horrifying way, because Tim quickly put his hands up.

“Hold on, I’m not saying you hate me now,” Tim explained. “I know that’s not true. Don’t worry. But I also know that we don’t have any kind of bond, right? You and Jason were special. You were the blueprint, Jason was the one to make the pattern… And I mean, he’s right, isn’t he? I was the replacement. You were even the one to decide when I wasn’t needed anymore, because then you gave the role to Damian, and he was your Robin.”

Tim finished, and slumped back in his chair with a shrug. “So, it’s fine. I know I’m important to you. I’m just not at the top of the list. I made my peace with that a long time ago, it’s not a big deal.”

He felt sick.

Dick got up from the counter and walked to the other side of the kitchen, bending over the sink, and just standing there. His hands gripped onto the porcelain edges. He kept his eyes trained on the water that dripped from the faucet.

“Dick?” Tim called out from behind him. “Shit. I’m sorry, I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. None of this is your fault, really—“

There were a lot of questions running through his head, and he felt dizzy from the guilt racking over him in waves. He turned the faucet on to its coldest setting and splashed the water on his face.

He turned around and Tim was behind him, his eyes intense with concern, his eyebrows furrowed, his shoulders up to his ears like he was ready for a war.

“Should I get Bruce? Alfred?” Tim asked carefully. “If you don’t answer, I’m getting them both, so choose wisely.”

Dick shook his head. He kept shaking his head. There was so much he needed to fix, he wasn’t sure where to even start.

“Can I hug you?”

Tim blinked. He looked him over quickly, like he was scanning for injuries. Seemingly satisfied, he gave him a very confused: “Yes?”

Dick pulled him in by the shoulders and hugged him as if it were the first time.

The more he thought about it, he actually couldn’t remember the last time that he hugged Tim. Tim always seemed to shy away from physical affection, seemed to stiffen up, so Dick had always tried to respect that.

But in the few seconds that Dick didn’t pull away, something different happened. The stiffness of Tim’s shoulders slowly eased away. He exhaled softly, and seemed to melt into touch. Hesitantly, his arms lifted to hug him back.

Dick tightened his hold and grieved every time he hadn’t been more patient, every time he hadn’t given Tim just a few seconds.

“You’re my little brother,” Dick said firmly. “No ‘too.’ I’ll make it up to you. All of it.”

“Why?” Tim mumbled.

“Because,” Dick laughed brokenly. “You thinking that you don’t mean everything to me, just like Jason and Damian do, kills me. I don’t know how I let it go on this long— but it’s done. It’s getting fixed.”

Tim was quiet for a long moment. “But I don’t know how to fix it,” he said anxiously. He pulled away, staring at Dick with those blue eyes.

The same blue eyes as before, the ones peering at him from across a dingy living room, the ones staring blearily from a blood-smeared hallway, both saying: I’m trying to pick up the pieces. There’s too many for me to hold.

His little brother: and it’s about time Dick acted like it.

“Tim.” Dick looked back at him seriously, his hands on Tim’s shoulders. “This one isn’t for you to fix, baby bird. This is my screw-up. And it looks like we’ve got a lot to talk about.”

Tim stared at him, nodded surely, and ducked back in for another hug. He’d never done that before.

Another piece of his soul moved. It wasn’t fixed, but it was healing from something he hadn’t known was broken— and he thought it would be okay.

A week, and he still couldn’t find Jason.

As it turned out, nobody had really looked. He’d been entirely radio silent since Dick’s encounter with fear toxin had been resolved with a synthesized antidote, and nobody had thought to bother him since.

Dick had been texting Babs consistently with questions of whether Jason was alright, and she’d always just sent him a simple message describing that he was safe and checking in with her on his patrol routes. Which meant he’d only been avoiding the family comms. Which meant something was wrong.

In the end, it was Alfred who had finally given him a tip. Polishing dishes with a fresh cloth, his lips pursed, he seemed to be contemplating a variety of decisions and their determined effects.

“I know he needs his space,” Dick explained, taking each plate as Alfred dried them to stack them away in the proper cabinet. “But I just have this terrible gut feeling that he’s overthinking something and that it’s my fault. Arguing is the last thing I want to do, I’m just…”

“Worried,” Alfred finished for him after a few helpless seconds. He sighed softly, setting the cloth down on the counter. “Yes. I figured as much. My hesitancy is not with your capacity to handle these things with care, Master Dick. I know you care for your brother a great deal.”

Dick frowned, leaning backwards. “What’s your hesitancy?”

Alfred met him with solemn eyes, effectively pinning him where he stood “My hesitancy is your unwavering willingness to fix things before you’re ready to fix them. You’ve been through a great deal this week, and I’m very familiar with how these particular experiences take a toll on you. Do you think you’re ready to speak with him?”

Whatever Dick had expected, this had been the last on the list. He floundered, taking in the words, and then looked down thoughtfully at his hands.

“I think,” he said after a moment, “letting this linger is hurting me more than talking about it will. I need to talk to him, Alfred. I need him to know how much this matters.”

It was apparently the right answer.

When Jason didn’t want to be found, there wasn’t much to be done about it. Crime Alley was only a small part of Gotham, but also the most dense in shadow– and if there was anything a bat could do, it would be to disappear where the light wasn’t.

With Alfred’s tip though, he found Jason in thirty minutes. The roof of a mom and pop ice-cream parlor, tucked into a city street corner between a laundromat and a piercing place. He’s a looming shadow against an air conditioning unit, and there’s a flickering glow of light coming from the cigarette between his fingertips.

Dick landed behind him, his feet soft on the asphalt. “Didn’t you quit?”

The shadow didn’t respond at first, exhaling a slow plume of smoke. “Only on good days.”

Dick walked up, standing beside his brother so they were shoulder to shoulder. Jason offered the box, and Dick silently shook his head. He put the box back in his pocket without so much as a shrug.

“The hell are you doing here, Dickface?” Jason asked. He sounded tired. “Figured the big man wouldn’t have let you leave the house in costume for another week.”

“Well, what B doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Jason grunted noncommittally.

Dick glanced at him through his peripheral, his mouth twisting in thoughtful complication. He thought up different ways to start a conversation. He discarded each one.

It didn’t use to be like this. Dick remembered. He remembered nudging his little brother to get him to talk, taking him out of the house– seeing his little brother’s stomping grounds, taking him to old restaurants and parks that Jason never wanted to ask Bruce about– as often as he could. Not often enough.

It used to be so easy, like it was part of him– and maybe it had been part of him. It just happened to be the part that had died with Jason.

Dick laughed bitterly, running a hand through his hair. “Shit, Jay. I used to be better at this, didn’t I?”

“If that’s what you want to believe,” Jason said bluntly.

Dick shoved their shoulders together. “Come on, I’m being serious. This wasn’t always so bad, was it?”

Maybe his voice was strained. Maybe his pleading was too obvious. Maybe he shouldn’t even be asking Jason this at all— it wasn’t his fault that Dick was so miserable at being the big brother. Jason shouldn’t have to comfort him about his failures.

It was just—

He just—

“No,” Jason said after a moment. “It wasn’t.”

The relief was painful. It was hard knowing, truly knowing, that there was something so important to improve upon. That somewhere along the way, he had fallen so far from his standard.

Dick rubbed a hand over his chest, right over his heart. He pressed deep into the muscle, hard enough to feel the bone underneath. His throat felt heavy. He opened his mouth to let out an apology, but—

“Sorry,” Jason said first, his voice gruff. He kept his eyes trained on the street. His fingers fiddled around the cigarette as it burned and cinders flicked to his boots.

Dick quickly looked up at him. “Sorry?”

“Yes,” Jason gritted out. “I know that’s not what you expected to hear because you don’t give a shit about yourself, but I’m sorry. I’ll stay in my own lane from now on, you don’t need to fake it anymore.”

Dick leaned back, furrowing his eyebrows as sudden bouts of defensiveness coursed through his head. Jason leaving was the last thing he wanted, for the rest of time.

“Jason, what the hell are you talking about?” Dick strangled himself for words. He started pacing across the rooftop, tugging at his hair again. “Fuck, do all of my baby brothers think I just want them gone?”

“That’s the thing, Dick,” Jason said back, his words sharper than his knives. “I don’t even think you realize it. I think you’re just so good at ignoring your own bullshit that you don’t see how much you’re still fucking terrified of me.”

Dick stalled. He slowly turned around, his hands falling from his hair.

“Is that what this is?” Dick asked, pressing forward. “You think I’m scared of you?”

“No need to get theatrical. I’m not blaming you,” Jason rolled his eyes, finally flicking the cigarette to the floor. “I’m violent, I don’t play nice. I nearly fucking killed Tim, that alone is enough to cement a piss-poor relationship. I’m not the little kid you used to take out for fuckin’ milkshakes anymore.”

Dick bit down on his tongue, watching the way Jason stumbled over his next few words. He crushed the cigarette under his boot and pulled out a new one from his pack, holding it unlit in his hands.

“I thought we’d resolved it,” Jason admitted finally. He looked up at Dick with his lips pulled into a tight smile. “Or that, at least, you didn’t totally fucking abhor me anymore? I don’t know. Whatever, it doesn’t matter. I fucked up. I’m still fucking up. I’m still atoning. I know that now. So, I say again, genuinely. I’m sorry.”

Dick stared at him for a long moment, feeling fire in his blood. An uncomfortable heat in his head that made him sick from pressure, a volcano that didn’t know where to burst from. He took a steadying breath and shut his eyes.

“Sit down,” he said.

Jason scoffed. “What?”

“Sit down,” Dick said again, and slumped next to him on the floor. He extended his legs out and leaned back on his palms. “Please.”

Jason slowly crouched down to join him. He leaned his back against the air conditioning unit again. There was a tenseness to him, his jaw set in a firm line. He wouldn't hesitate to start fighting again, if the conversation called for it.

They sat quietly while Dick put his thoughts in order, Jason fidgeting in an obvious discomfort.

“When I got hit with the toxin, I saw the circus,” Dick said. “Damian and I were on the trapeze.”

Dick had told him once, about the circus. Had showed him the pictures of his parents, had told him why Bruce really adopted him. Told him about Zucco. About Robin. About all of it. Jason knew what it all meant to him. He knew.

Jason’s gaze dropped to the floor, and he sighed heavily. “Shit. You don’t have to—“

“Damian fell. I caught him, but it wasn’t enough,” Dick continued, growing louder over Jason’s interruptions. “He was bleeding, he had a concussion, it was bad. That was when you showed up to help. And you took him, you asked what happened. You figured out I hadn’t saved him, and you said that—“

His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, determined to continue. “You didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. That’s why it hurt so much.”

“You weren’t hurt. You were terrified, Dickie,” Jason said lowly, looking at him with haunted eyes. “What the hell could I have said to make you so fucking scared?”

Dick hesitated, letting a shiver run over him as he thought back to the hallucination. He made a complicated sound. “That's not the point, though, is it? You don’t really want to know that.”

“No,” Jason decided quietly. “No, I guess I don’t.”

“The point is,” Dick leaned forward, looking right at him. Making himself as clear as he could be. “I was never afraid of you.”

“You should be,” Jason croaked weakly. “I’m no good. I always have been.”

“No, Jay,” Dick shook his head vehemently and lightly nudged his side. “You’ve always been good. Always. More than good, even. Magic.”

Jason barked out a wet laugh, covering his eyes with his hand. “I said it one time. You’re such an asshole.”

“But it’s true,” Dick smiled, his eyes bleary. “From way back when you were all bony elbows and small enough for me to haul over my shoulder, you’ve been magic. You made me who I am, Jason. We have quite the big crew now, but you’ll always be the one who made me a big brother. Once upon a time it was just the two of us. That means something.”

“I ruined you,” Jason argued roughly, his voice cracking up faster than he can repair it. He swallowed. “You said it yourself, all this shit used to be easier before. I fucked it all up.”

Dick put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “You didn’t fuck it up. I can prove it too: we’re both still here, and against all odds, you’re by my side. That tells me more than anything that we can still salvage this.”

“Do you really want that?” Jason asked dryly.

“Jason, the years I didn’t have you next to me were the worst ones of my life,” Dick said, the humor leaving him completely. “I didn’t know what to do with myself. It felt like I was always a day away from giving up. Now that I have you back again…”

He trailed off, and they both fell into a silence. Words intoned. Words left unsaid. Jason nudged him with the toe of his boot, a nonverbal sign of acknowledgement. A physical sign that he was still there. Dick nodded once, and Jason looked away.

“You know,” Dick said after a moment. “I actually think I have something that can fix this.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” Jason sniffed, cocking his head to the side. His eyes red-rimmed, but focused. “D’you got emotional superglue in that fucking utility belt?”

“Close,” Dick said, and wiped his face of all tears. He pulled out his wallet, and held up a twenty dollar bill. “I have it on good authority that milkshakes fix everything.”

Jason let out a heavy sigh, staring at the money in hand. “Well, shit. When you put it like that…”

Dick wiggled his eyebrows, and Jason cracked an indulgent smile.

Just like that, it became easy again. A familiar song played on rusty strings. Their eyes still red, their voices still raw— they hauled themselves up by eachother’s arms and started again.

As they bump shoulders on their way through the front door, the last piece of his soul jostled into its rightful place.

"Little Wing, you know I love you, right?" Dick asked, stirring his milkshake aimlessly with a frosted metal straw.

Jason looked up the crummy diner table and stared for a long moment, before relenting.

"Yeah," he said easily. He had chocolate on the corners of his mouth, just like a little kid, like nothing had ever changed at all. "I know, Dickie."

Dick smiled and nodded to himself.

Yes, every piece of his soul where it should be. Even if cracked and dented in odd places, they were all there. Finally, he felt like the world was righted.

[fluffywhump]

"Some of my early readers said they were physically ill. It's very hot, at least to me"

Okay looks like I have another horror book to add to my tbr

[thenineofus]

Oh I remember now what the final nail in the coffin for me was with somerton. He has a video on his channel called asexual erasure or something like this in which he has a discussion with his co writer Nick, because Nick is asexual and gay. And I swear to god the bulk of the entire discussion was Nick ranting about men on grindr ghosting him after he mentions some of the things he is not willing to do sexually. Which really bothered me because.... that is so secondary to a discussion of asexual erasure, it just has more to do with the oversexualization of gay spaces, which can absolutely be part of the conversation, but for me as an asexual aromantic and sex negative person, all this discussion is meaningless, what do I care what people on grindr are like? Most of his videos used to be about media analysis and I expected this video to be about the lack of representation of aces in media and/or audiences' disregard for anything that can be interpreted as asexuality in media.

At the point that this video had come out I had long stopped watching his videos because I got annoyed at the video where he plagiarized the Celluloid Closet, because I had already watched the documentary and was uninterested in youtubers who just retell information from a documentary I can see myself. But the algorithm recommended the asexuality video to me for obvious reasons, and I gave it a chance only to get very annoyed halfway through and click "don't recommend channel".

[rewindremi]

HAB WHY ARE YOU OUT RN WE ARE AT *WORK* PLEEEEEEASE

[strikersin]

Dreams. Dreams. DREAMS!

The one where I'm watching a movie at Luther's house and she is dressed in almost Russian attire - Fancy, cold, and so beautiful. And we're in bed and I'm explaining my excitement over the Pathologic movie and later we have to deal with zombies but whatever.

And I'm playing with children's toys there. Everyone is so young.

Real life when we were read The Last Unicorn or something, something, at the cafeteria table. The book where the protagonist is taught how to keep her thoughts locked up tight like a box.

Ugh.

[malewifesband]

EDIT: if this post has made you think about whether or not you are autistic, im really glad! i hope you get some better understanding of yourself and are able to find community and support

however before you go and tell a therapist and seek an official diagnosis please read this thread and consider the points made therein:

autism is highly stigmatized. be fully informed about what you gain and what you lose from having an official diagnosis before seeking one.

EDIT OVER ENJOY THE POST

people do correctly identify that laios is autistic fairly often but a lot of the reasoning begins and ends with his special interest and social difficulties, but honestly it goes far deeper into the build of his character than just those two things

his pain tolerance is wildly inconsistent, unable to tolerate a drop of hot oil (or any heat) but able to shrug off both his leg being bitten off and it being reattached

hes sensory seeking in the extreme. he rubs the bat bones against his face, pets and fluffs the shapeshifter tail.

his desire to eat monsters comes from three very autistic places. 1) the rules for why monsters are not okay to eat but animals are are arbitrary to him so he cannot follow them easily: he cannot understand the 'feelings' argument others make. 2) this too is a sensory seeking behavior. he wants to experience these new things, new flavors and new textures. 3) it completes his knowledge of the monster in question to also have data on its edibility. because he cannot draw that arbitrary line around all monsters, he wants to evaluate them case-by-case and see if real patterns emerge. butchering and eating the monsters improves his knowledge of them greatly and highlights their importance in their ecosystem, as well as making him a part of that same ecosystem

he cannot emote the way others expect him to. he compartmentalizes his feelings (to an unhealthy degree) because he needs a pragmatic solution. so as long as there is a problem to solve, that matters far more than evaluating his emotions and allowing himself to experience them. while this is also a coping mechanism for ptsd, it is a trait found in many autistic people regardless of trauma, as we have trouble sorting the feelings we have and often need time to think about what we feel, so it becomes easier to simply not do it and pretend we dont need to. laios emotions certainly affect him, with or without his processing them, but others do not see what they expect to see and thus dismiss that he is feeling what they would feel

he is incredibly gifted with pattern recognition, observation, and analysis within realms he understands. to understand subjects that dont come easily to him, he must filter them through his established schema (his special interest--this is why they are so special! they help us sort the world). when he isnt sure about the social cues and details hes observed in the shapeshifter arc, he filters it through the lens he understands best: monsters. he was making correct observations about his friends all along, but he could not be confident in that the way he was about their behavior when it came to his interest (chilchucks caution, senshis passions, and marcilles carelessness)

[1800-fight-me]

An Experiment in Desire

Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader

Rating: E (EXPLICIT - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT)

Warnings: Explicit sex, takes place in a brothel

Word count: About 2k

Synopsis: You find yourself in a brothel and have an unexpected encounter with the one eyed prince.

Author’s note: So uh... that brothel scene in the last episode really did a number on me,,, this is the filthiest thing I've ever written and I make no apologies thanks @arcielee for the inspo! and also i borrowed this beautiful gif from @aegonx i hope that's okay!!

I do not have a taglist! Instead if you would like to be notified when I post new fics follow my side blog @jo-writes-fanfic and turn your post notifications on! Here's the link to my Aemond Masterlist if you want to check out my other stories! Also my requests are open, please send me some more!!

You weren’t quite sure how you found yourself in this particular predicament. Despite your loud and frequent complaints throughout the night, you had none to voice now. 

It was a night out with your friends to celebrate the impending marriage of the loudest of your friend group to the baker’s boy. It was a good match, you were happy for her, she liked him well enough and he would be able to provide for her, which was as much as anyone could ask as smallfolk in King’s Landing. 

What you did object to however, was when the group decided that leaving the tavern, after entirely too many rounds of surprisingly strong beer, and heading to a brothel was a good idea. 

She had expressed nerves about her wedding night, and some of the others in your party overruled your protests and decided that bringing her to a brothel so she could ‘at least see what it’s all about’ was the perfect idea. 

You needed no such education, having laid with a man once before, well the word man was a stretch, it was a couple of years ago and he was a boy not much older than you who worked in the stables of the Red Keep. It wasn’t anything to write home about, but it had been sufficient, and your interest in sex had decreased since then. 

Now, you wondered if you had been wrong to not explore other options. The dark rooms were filled with incense, curtains, and moans of ecstacy. Many fornicators weren’t even hidden by curtains, but were completely out in the open for any and all to see. 

Your friends gasped and giggled, watching and whispering as a woman on her knees choked on a man’s cock. You were surprised that she seemed to be enjoying it, and it made you wonder if it was something you would enjoy too. 

A hand slipped into yours and you let your friends tug you along, this time you bit your lip to withhold your gasp as a man licked and feasted on a woman’s cunt. This was something you knew immediately you would enjoy, as a rush of heat filled you and you felt the desire to not just observe anymore, but to participate. 

There was a bit of commotion as a group of loud men filtered into the room and in an effort to get out of their way as the silver haired leader of the group stumbled through yanking back curtains in search for someone- your hand slipped from your friend’s and you were separated from your group. 

One of the men in the group slapped your ass, which startled you so much you stumbled back and pressed yourself against a wall in order to get away from the rowdy intruders. 

Some of the crowd paused their copulation, to look at the disruption and there were whispers. 

“What did you say?” you asked the unclothed woman walking past you. 

“That’s the king,” she replied. Then she looked you up and down, an innuendo in her eyes, and held out a beckoning hand to you. It took all your self control not to slip your hand in hers and follow her anywhere. 

Instead you politely declined with a small shake of your head, and she shrugged and continued on. You stuck to your post guarding the wall, and wondered where your friends had drifted off to. 

You decided you should wander into one of the adjoining rooms to find them, when a man stomped out of the enclosed curtained area the king and his man had gone into. 

The man was completely nude, that was the first thing you noticed. It was difficult not to notice. He was difficult not to notice. He looked like a carved statue, long hard planes of muscle everywhere on his tall form. Long flowing silver hair and an eye of sapphire also caught your eye.

You heard him mutter something to the king, “One whore is as good as another.” The king laughed, but Prince Aemond seemed to shake with anger. 

His presence was intoxicating and you couldn’t look away, especially not when he noticed your attention, and looked directly at you. 

You suddenly forgot how to breathe, how to stand, how to blink as he pinned you within his intense gaze. He stopped his stride as he approached you, standing closer than would ever be considered appropriate for a stranger, and looked you up and down. 

You resisted the urge to squirm as the nude prince dragged his gaze up your body and made you feel laid bare. 

He held a hand out to you, “Come with me.” 

Your pulse jumped and your hand itched to slip into his. 

“My prince, I am not a whore. I am here with friends…” 

He pursed his lips, “Even better. And you appear to be alone. Will you come with me or not?” 

His voice was rough with an unnamed emotion and you wanted to please him, to be the reason for relief from his torment, and you threw all caution to the wind. 

You placed your hand in his, his callouses scraping against your own, and you shivered as he brought your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, as if you were a proper lady and not the bastard daughter of a blacksmith. As if this were a courtship, not a fuck between strangers in a brothel. 

He then slipped his hand across your back and down to your waist and led you out of the large room filled with others. You were quiet, but the same could not be said of the pounding of your heart as a prince of the realm led you to a room with a door. 

“What is your name?” he asked as he shut the door behind him, sealing the two of you alone in a small room with only a desk and chair within it. 

You answered and when he murmured your name back to you, your breath caught in your throat. 

“My Prince,” you breathed out as he took a step towards you. 

“Aemond,” he corrected. 

“Aemond, this is out of character for me, I-“

He raised his brow at you, and you acted rashly, fearing you were losing him, this opportunity, and decided not to talk anymore, and practically threw yourself at him. 

He groaned as his lips met yours, and as he stepped forward to meet you, your bodies collided and he guided you back a few steps until your back hit the wall. 

His tongue was inside your mouth and it was better than any kiss you’d ever had. He moved it with expertise that made your clit throb and you wondered if he would indeed want to use that tongue in other places. 

You realized there was nothing preventing you from touching him, not a single scrap of clothing, and so you let your hands explore. Down from his muscled chest, to his toned abs, lower… 

Aemond gasped in your mouth as your hand grazed his now hardening length. Your hand

continued its journey, cupping his balls and he ripped his lips from yours, a wild look in his eye. Before you could blink, he was ripping the clothes off you, baring you completely. 

You had half a second of feeling insecure as he took a step back and surveyed your naked form, before the prince murmured, “Perfect.” 

His lips and body crashed into you again, your back slamming into the wall, but you didn’t care, didn’t care, didn’t care as his bare skin brushed against yours, as all your curves pressed into his firm muscle, as his cock pressed against you, begging for attention. 

And as you reached a hand between your bodies to once again touch him, his lips pulled from

yours and he looked you in the eyes as his hand followed the same journey as your own. 

He ran a hand from the side of your throat, down your breast, taking a moment to gently squeeze and fondle which had you gasping. His thumb circled your nipple as your hand gripped his hard

cock. 

You both moaned in tandem at the action, and then his hand drifted lower, lower, and lower still, until his large hand cupped your mound and found you soaked beyond belief. 

He groaned as those nimble fingers spread your lips and explored your soaked cunt, quickly finding your clit, just as you rubbed your thumb across the sensitive underside of cock. 

“Fuck,” you panted as you both pleasured one another with your hands. You gripped and pumped his cock as you stared into his lust blown gaze. 

This, you’d never felt so wanted, so attractive, so powerful as when you held a prince

of the realm’s pleasure in your hand. 

His fingers drifted, and with a smirk, he plunged two inside you. You gasped, pleasure unlike

any other as your cunt squeezed him. 

And you could see that release was barreling towards you both, you knew he could tell the same as he batted your hand from him, yanked his hand out of you, and pressed you back against the wall. 

His lips were on you again, consuming you, as he lifted you up, using the leverage of the wall and you followed his lead as you wrapped your legs around his trim waist. 

His tongue tangled with your own as he plunged his cock inside you. 

His impressive length hit you deeper than you’d ever experienced before and you let out a whine. He chuckled, a cocky sound, and gripped the flesh of your hips tightly as he began thrusting in and out. 

You let your head fall back against the wall as you submitted to the waves of pleasure he brought you. 

His lips pressed against your throat, his

tongue and teeth, taking turns to make you whine as he continued to thrust inside you, his tempo hard and punishing and rough and everything you needed. You tried to grind down on him, to meet his thrusts, but he growled and gripped you tighter, pressed you harder against the wall, and you submitted control to him completely and let him use you. 

One hand tangled in his hair, the other gripped any muscle you could find, as his lips traveled down your throat to your breasts. 

As he licked and sucked your nipple, his cock hit the deepest part of you, and his groin ground against your clit, you shattered completely. 

You practically screamed his name as you came harder than you’d ever experienced before. 

This only encouraged him, and his grip on you tightened, you knew you would have bruises tomorrow, and you clenched down his cock as his thrusts increased in pace and intensity. The unholy squelching sound as he pounded inside you was music to your ears, you had no room to be bashful, not as you felt full, deliciously so. 

The frames on the wall shook as he pounded into you, and just as he was about to reach ecstasy, he pulled out of you and put you back on your own two feet. 

You watched as the prince touched himself, that large hand gripping his even larger cock, and your cunt throbbed at the sight. He moaned as his come splattered all across your stomach and breasts. 

You both watched each other, panting, coming down from unbelievable heights. You looked at his beautiful form and thought he was carved by the gods. 

He lifted your head with a finger under your chin, and as you met his gaze once more, and he pressed a swift kiss to your lips. 

“Perhaps we’ll meet again,” he murmured. Then he dropped his hand from your face, turned and left the room. 

You stood there, alone, completely naked, and covered in a royal come and wondered how you found yourself in this situation, but also hoped it could someday be repeated.

[violet-eng]

F!reader spoils Lil Dragon!Zhongli... at first | Fluff🧸 (with dragon)+ 🔞 (with human Zhongli)

🎨by: @nagarnia_art and @JeanGreyCG

Summary: You're doing some research in the woods, looking for certain minerals, when you feel some tiny tiny eyes staring at you. After Zhongli morpps from a dragon to a human, things get a bit... hot...

Tw: with human Zhongli smut 🔞, PIV. Insinuations of breeding season, with dragon Zhongli just some cute Dragon behavior bc I ended up traumatized after writing some angst.

•┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈••✦ ● ✦••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•

Your research is going well. Your reports to the Fontaine Science Institute were successful during your last expedition, earning you praise from your superiors. You have been living in Liyue for over six months. After learning about minerals that can emanate energy, you sought out information to educate yourself on the subject. 

The rocks in Liyue seem to have a memory, possibly due to the work of their Archon or as a natural result of high evolution and energetic vestiges from ancient wars. 

Zhongli, the Parlor consultant, had told you about a spot at the foot of a valley that might interest you, and you were amazed. You had no reason to doubt the man's wisdom. You had formed a deep bond of friendship with him because you admire his extensive knowledge about everything. You set off almost immediately. He had offered to accompany you, but you had refused because you prefer to do your research alone, surrounded by nature and away from the attractive distraction that Zhongli could become.

Your friend is attractive, in a way that you tried to express in your letters to your friends at Fontaine, but never succeeded. Your banal words and names do not do justice to the physique of this man of unshakable character, steely sense, and tenacious gaze. You could not bear to make a mistake in his presence during the expedition, not because you were clumsy, but because his figure moved your senses, your ground, and betrayed your own perceptions.

So, as you walk through a pleasant area of foliage, covered by the fierce, scorching rays of the sun, you decide to let your guard down, to take off your jacket and your gloves. You use a ribbon to tie up your hair as you walk on, arriving at the place Zhongli had shown you beforehand. The passage is strangely comfortable, very suitable for a quiet investigation, full of strange figures of small rocks of irregular and curious shapes.

Under the canopy of large trees, you spread out your arsenal of tools on the grass, put on your protective visors, and get to work. Sequencing the rock profile takes little time, your agile skills allowing you to avoid unnecessary pauses or clumsy backtracking typical of an amateur. Then you take the samples, tiny particles that do not alter the correct and productive nature that King Geo has protected for years, and while you wait for the filtering to finish, a strange sensation runs down your spine.

You had let your guard down during your experiment, letting the peaceful appearance of the place convince you, something very unprofessional on your part. So you turn to the side and feel a presence. Among the bushes, you spot a pair of curious little spheres, and you jump as the leaves rustle in the presence of an unknown being. 

A deep relief washes over you as the creature in question appears on the scene. A small dragon, microscopic in physiognomy compared to adult forms, with curious eyes and a golden tail twisted into a spiral. Its little paws make furrows in the ground, its face dejected, as if it had been caught doing something illegal.

"Little one, have you been watching me all this time?" You ask the cute little creature, who hides his head between his front paws, realizing he can't do it with his tail, which isn't long enough.

"Come here, don't be afraid of me," you whisper, approaching it cautiously, holding out your hands.

The dragon gathers itself in its own anatomy, growling low, sounding almost like a common cat, you can't help but laugh at it. You bring your fingers up to the growling pellet and stroke its head, right between its underdeveloped horns. You notice a puff of breath coming from the little guy's nose.

"How cute, you liked that, didn't you?" you laugh as you stroke his head and then his back, causing the miniature dragon's tail to wag.

"Come, sit with me, we'll have to wait a long time until the filtering is finished," you take him in your hands, on your palms.

"Wow... I've never seen one of your species so small... and those scales," you comment, bringing your face close to the reptile's, "I'd swear you have very, very soft skin, you're very rare, uh," you add, while you turn to your tools, which emit a strange smell.

You leave the dragon on the ground and approach your machinery, no, nothing out of place... well, now you can turn your attention to the little guy who... what is he doing?

You notice the tiny creature rubbing against your foot, making strange squeaks. It's... it's mating with your shoe? You burst out laughing and shake your foot, pushing it away and picking it up again.

"You horny little bugger," you say, poking him in the nose, "I forgot that your species is in mating season. I regret to inform you that you will get nowhere with me, I am not of the same species... ours is impossible."

A sad sigh escapes from the little animal's chest, and you notice how its whole face becomes depressed, its horns and ears seem to droop in deep disappointment.

"Don't cry," you say, putting it on the ground in the grass and lying down in front of it, "we can play if you want, to distract you a little”.

That got his attention, because he looked at you again. He walks up to you with his little paws and puts one on your nose, he starts to sniff you with that little button in the middle of his little face.

"Ohhh... do you want a little kiss?" you ask, flooded with tenderness, "I would do anything to make you happy" you say, placing a tender kiss on the dragon's forehead. Is like a puppy...

The dragon retraces his steps, accelerating and rolling his head in madness. You see him writhing in place, as if he had suddenly fallen ill, and then... poof... a golden flash and a trail of smoke,  ike the one he had just exhaled through his nose. A faint wave of heat and a faint smell of sulfur as a figure began to form behind the column of smoke.

You straightened up in your seat as the column disintegrated, revealing the very embarrassed image of Zhongli, covering his mouth as he coughs, with traces of smoke and golden flames escaping from his throat.

He is wearing little clothing, a tunic of the same color as the skin of the dragon you spoke to earlier... is that perhaps...? 

"You," you point an accusing finger at Zhongli, and he looks at you with flushed cheeks, "what was that? Aren't you going to say anything about it?" you say to the man, appearing to be annoyed, although in reality, seeing him in that outfit has aroused something pleasurable in you.

"Well?" you insist.

"Are you going to give me that kiss or?" he interjects, his voice still weak and embarrassed.

His embarrassment fades for the next hour, during which he relentlessly thrusts himself into you, waiting for your boring explorer machine to end.

The filtering of the rocks continues, the particles falling into the vessel like sand in a crystal clock. The small machines emit tiny clicks and a faint plume of smoke and gas. The rumble of the cycle's drumbeat advances in rhythm with your moans as you feel Zhongli sink deep into you.

You lie on the grass, your pants and panties around your ankles, your hands on your head clinging to the foliage, your waist encircled by Zhongli's large hands holding you steady so he can work his way into your pussy. You feel his pelvic bone against your center, his balls against your skin, and then he pulls away to enter again. Gently, lovingly, afraid to break you and hurt you. He's painfully slow, but how good it feels.

You hear him make low, rasping noises as faint plumes of smoke rise from his nose, as when he looked like a dragon. His cock twists inside you, slapping against your cervix, massaging your wet, warm depths that mold to the shape of his member. You feel the warmth rush down your legs, an electric current coursing through every fiber of your limbs, your chest heaving in desperation.

The orgasm hits you both at the same time, decorating Zhongli's cock with a white ring as his cum spills into you like thick ropes from his ecstasy. He pulls back your panties and pants, leaving a chaste kiss on your cheek.

"May I mark you?" he asks with a look of honor, his face sublime and devoted.

"Don't even think about it," you say, joining in, noticing the sadness in his eyes, "we weren't even supposed to do it. It was just supposed to be a kiss and that's it," you seem to scold him, though it's you who's scolding yourself for being so unseemly and impetuous, though damn... you've enjoyed it so much... ....

Sensing your hostile tone, Zhongli wraps himself up and immediately transforms into his small reptilian form.

"Please stop being so dramatic," you express, leaning against one of the tree trunks and letting out a laugh. "Come back... I don't want to wait alone," you say, crossing your legs and putting your jacket down.

Zhongli, the dragon, approaches you with short steps, due to the length of his small legs, and climbs onto your lap, where he rubs the fabric of your coat, nestling into the fabric to take refuge, and lets out a yawn before closing his eyes and settling down for a nap. You stroke his back and coo to the little creature, feeling him purr like a cat.

"How cute you are when you sleep," you laugh, stroking his nose, causing him to bite your finger, "did you just mark me without my permission?" You ask, but he just squeals and jumps off your lap, looking for a way to escape. You catch him with your coat and throw it at him like a fleeing rat, but he manages to escape and hide in the bushes... you don't see him again for the rest of the afternoon, but you know that when you return to Liyue Harbour you will demand an apology, an explanation... and maybe a round two.

[luveline]

spencer one shot where he’s angry at somebody else [bc he so does look so kissable when he’s angry >:(] maybe someone at one of the precincts they’re working at said something rude about r and he defends u and maybe he gets a lil kiss <3

im thinking “this is calm and it’s doctor” vibes bc that scene does things to me 😭

ty for requesting ♡ fem, 1.1k

cw for sexual harassment

"Jesus," Spencer says, rushing to stand behind you as you bend over. 

"Mm?" you hum. You're fishing for your dropped change unsuccessfully by the precinct vending machines. "They have your chips, did you see?" 

"Your pants are ripped," Spencer says, hand ghosting your thigh. 

"What?" you ask, shooting up. You turn on the spot to hide, hand leaping back. You feel at the seam. "Where?" 

"Top of your thigh." 

"Shit, really? Can you see my–" 

"Yeah," he says, meeting your wide eyes while you locate the rip. "How did you do that?" He laughs. 

"Don't laugh!" you demand, though you're giggling as you do, hand covering your thigh and the bottom of your butt inefficiently. 

"Do you want my jacket?" 

"Don't cover it up, toots." 

You and Spencer both blink. There's a crowd of grinning beat cops by the door of the cafeteria who've obviously witnessed your misdemeanour. "Toots?" Spencer asks. 

"Sorry, boys, that's the end of the show," you say with a grin. Not because you particularly enjoy having been oggled, but it's always been like this. Men will always make weird comments to you, and you've learned to play nice until they're out of your jurisdiction. 

"Turn back around," one says bravely, though you aren't sure which one. 

Spencer stands in front of you subtly. "Do you know that thirty eight percent of women experience sexual harassment in the workplace?" he asks, quick but measured. "Thirty eight percent, but I'm sure a much smaller number of those women are federal agents, and a smaller number again have the capacity to break your arm. I've seen her give serial killers radial fractures. I've seen her do worse." 

"We were just messing around," one says. 

"No need to get defensive," says another. "Don't get mad, boy." 

"I am defensive, but I'm not mad."

His tone attracts the attention of a precinct sergeant who barks at them to stop messing around and get back to work. "Were they bothering you?" he asks after they've filtered out with their heads down. 

"No," you say swiftly. "Everything's fine." 

Spencer frowns, worse when the sergeant leaves, turning to you to take your hand. A few weeks ago at a company picnic, when the sun was high and your spirits comparatively lower, you'd apologised to him for flirting. You love to flirt and especially with him, puppy eyed Spencer with his head of brown hair and his big brain, but some of the team suggested you were taking it too far. You apologised, but Spencer didn't really get what you were saying sorry for and took your hand to lead you out of the sun. He protects you. 

"You okay?" he asks. 

"I'm fine." 

"You sure?" His voice fries. 

"I'm sure," you say. His hand is an interesting thing on yours. He has long, long fingers that seem to possess their own willpower, moving even as they're sewn through yours. "I don't know what to do about my pants." 

Spencer's eyebrows pinch together. "Well, I'll take care of that. I'll find you something. I can't believe those as–" 

"Oh," you interrupt, taking your hand back in want of a better thing to hold, his cheek a mix of soft and scratchy against your palm. "You're still mad." 

"I'm not mad," he insists, though eventually he relents, "Alright, I'm angry that they'd think it was okay to objectify you." 

"What else?" you ask, letting your voice drop in pitch, the sound smooth as angora silk. 

"I'm thinking about if I hadn't been here." 

"I can protect myself," you murmur, endeared by the heat in his gaze. "You said it yourself, handsome. Radial fractures." 

"You shouldn't have to." 

"We both already know that," you say, the side of your hand slipping down his cheek reverently. He squints gently, his lashes dark triangles, his irises a browned sugar. His jaw clenches under your touch. "You're handsome." 

"Right now?" he asks dryly. 

"Are you handsome right now?" 

"Are you really flirting with me right now?" 

"Why wouldn't I be?" You draw a line under his ear whisper soft to curl a longer strand of his hair around the tip. "You look hot when you're winning." 

"What did I win?" he asks, like he doesn't want to know. 

You grin at him, stickying. "Would you like an itemised list?" you ask, rising on tiptoes to speak into the shell of his ear. "What do you think you deserve, handsome? For such a fearless defence?" 

He's not immune to your whims, but he is used to them, planting his hands on your shoulders to ease you back on sure footing. "I don't want anything. I'll always defend you." 

"Can I give you a small token of my gratitude, at least?" 

His pinking cheeks practically emanate heat. "We don't have time for this," he says regretfully, "I still have to find you a coverup." 

"Just a small token," you say. 

He hums and haws. "Alright. Okay, whatever you want." 

"You sure?" 

He nods once, his jaw working with something unsaid. You touch his neck, fingertips trailing along the underside of his jaw until you're sure it's what he wants before you brace your hands behind his head and press a chaste kiss to his cheek, close enough that the corner of his lips align with yours but don't overlap. His neck is hot in your hands, his hair soft, his breath hooking as you lift your lips just a touch and your nose digs into his cheek. "Thank you, Spencer," you whisper. 

He pulls you closer. 

You shudder as his hand presses into the small of your back, wondering what it is he wants to do. His fingers spread. Your thoughts turn to white noise. Like he can sense it, he breathes out and steps away, but any sense of urgency is gone. 

"As much as I might tease, I really do need some pants," you say. "I'm not very interested in anyone else seeing my panties today." 

He rushes off to find you something and you press the backs of your fingers to your cheeks, feeling the heat there with a resigned embarrassment. He has no idea how much power he has over you, in his stony anger and his eager reception. The phantom of his hand warms your back until he returns, his sweater in hand. "Sorry, this is it." 

"If you want me to wear your clothes, just say so." 

"Hotch is pretty pissed at us." 

"Ah," you sigh, tying his sweater around your waist, "another day in paradise, baby." 

[after-witch]

Bookworm [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Title: Bookworm [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Synopsis: Mahito doesn't like that you have an interest in a book character.

Word count: 1787

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, mentions of other people being tortured/killed, supreme self indulgence of the highest order

“Who is the smiling man?” 

The silence that had existed between the two of you was broken by a question that made you flinch. Well, why not? Mahito has been quiet all morning--and afternoon, actually, which perhaps should have startled you more than his sudden words. 

But you were too happy to enjoy some quiet (you would never say “peace and quiet,” not down here, not with him); all too happy to curl up in your haphazard nest on the floor with some books that took  you away from this place. Away from Mahito.

Who was, of course, still here. Lounging in his hammock with a pile of books sagging down the netting. 

You couldn’t tell exactly what he was reading from down here--you probably needed new glasses, a subject you were certainly not going to bring up with Mahito, who might reiterate his offer to “fix” your eyes. It looked like a bundle of pages stapled together. Maybe he went to the library and printed off obscure articles to read again. 

“Hey,” he calls down, and the first hint of worry begins to prickle on your arms at his uncharacteristically serious tone, “Answer me.”

Your mind stutters, tries to put one word in front of the other, and make sense of it all. 

The smiling man? The smiling man, the… ah. From Small Spaces. The otherworldly supernatural entity who lives in a world behind mist and has a penchant for making deals with people for their greatest wishes. 

It’s not your fault that you haven’t thought about him in ages. It’s not like you had copies of your books with you, and the fun you had with imagining him in an endless number of scenarios had fallen by the wayside considering your circumstances. 

It’s hard to daydream about worlds behind mist and cornfield servants when you’re watching people be turned into grotesque experiments that had them, sometimes quite literally and loudly, begging for death.

Mahito is looking down at you now, staring expectantly. 

“He’s a character,” you say, fidgeting on the floor. “From a book series.” You look down, flip a page in your book, although you haven’t finished reading the last one, and ask, casually as you can muster: “Why?”

Mahito, up above, flips a page. You can hear the wobble in the paper--not a bound book, that’s for certain. And there’s some low, primal sense that shivers through you which says, plainly, that he’s actually reading whatever’s in front of him. 

“You write about him a lot.”

Oh.

Low, slimy dread filters into your stomach. Thick and gelatinous, resting at the bottom of your belly like an unwanted slug. 

“I… don’t know what you mean,” you say, voice only half-there, because while you are apparently stupid enough to lie to Mahito’s face, you’re not stupid enough to think he’ll believe you. 

You are just stupid enough to think that he won’t know exactly how deep your interest in this particular character goes; before Mahito took you, you thought about him all the time. You’d take walks and daydream about him, write story after story; you’d even commissioned fanart of him, because it wasn’t like there was a plethora of fanart for a character from a middle grade horror book. 

Mahito huffs out a sigh. Quick and short, it sends a shock right down your stomach. 

“Get you a man,” he starts, and confusion buzzes through your brain until he continues. “Who is an otherworldly entity that is so petty when an 11 year old beats him that he traps her in another world, leaving her to a fate worse than death, and laughs until he cries about it.”

You wrote that. There’s a vague memory of when you posted it--after you’d taken a walk, you think, and reread your favorite parts in the books for a few hours. But the way Mahito says it makes it sound--you don’t know how to explain it. Like saying the words out loud almost pains him; they come out clipped and bitter. 

Bitter? But why?

He doesn’t stop there. He reads something else, voice getting higher, almost mocking the way you talk. And that bitterness is still there, a thread continuing through every syllable.

“What if we kissed in the corn maze before you turned me into a scarecrow servant whose soul slowly gets dried out and useless and in the end you feed it, crunchy and tasteless, to your hellhound.” 

He takes a breath. Then--

“One particular aspect of the Smiling Man’s cruelty that I truly adore is that he can make people feel understood. He can make them feel like he cares, like he’s lending a listening ear, like he’s wanting to help them out and make them feel nice.”

Another breath--and he continues, again and again, reading your posts. Quoting your stories. Listing off the titles, the imagine posts, everything you’ve said about him.

All the while, bitter and mocking, his voice raising now and then in an imitation of your own. 

Then he gets to the last page of his clearly self-created tome and stares down at you, waiting, expectant. 

And you… you actually glare up at him. 

Because you're scared, sure. You’re always scared in some way, when you’re with Mahito. But there’s something else too, something that digs its way out of the rot in your gut and sticks up a petulant middle finger.

How dare he do this. How dare he take something that was yours and make it his; put it in his mouth and sneer over it. 

“Have you been--” Your mouth sticks together, refusing to let you accuse him of what you know he’s been doing. Stalking your online profiles. “That’s… that’s private,” is what you finally mutter, cheeks feeling hot and that half-buried petulance pushing you forward. “It’s not any of your business.” 

“Private?” He mutters the word softly, cradling the sound.

And then--

Mahito doesn’t often move fast around you. He prefers to be slow, languid. Calculating. You think it’s because that terrifies you more.

But now, in a moment, he goes from being slouched in his hammock to leaping down and crouching right in your face--there’s sudden pain in your head, and you realize he’s grabbed your hair and yanked it back.

That metaphorical middle finger sinks back down into the slimy gut sludge.

“Not from me,” he says, low, a warning. “Not for you.”

This is all it takes for tears to prick inside your eyes.

Mahito’s lips quirk up. Just a little. Just enough for you to notice.

“You’re going to cry already? I didn’t even do anything.”

Your eyes dart up and back, towards where he’s currently gripping your hair hard enough for it to sting.

He sighs through his nose. “This isn’t anything. You know that. Don’t be childish now.”

But--he lets go of your hair, and doesn’t grab for you when you scoot backwards on your blanket nest. Instead, he plops himself down, crossing his legs and resting his chin on his elbow.

You don’t speak. You don’t want to, and you don’t know what to say. Sometimes it’s better to be quiet around Mahito, so he doesn’t get ideas. Although he comes up with them on his own just fine, even if you try to stay silent.

It’s Mahito who breaks the silence.

“Why do you like him so much?”

How silly, to feel embarrassed right now. With the creature in front of you, and what he can do. But that’s what makes your cheeks burn: embarrassment. 

“I don’t know,” you mumble, because while you are stupid in so many ways, you’re still smart enough to know he wants an answer. “I guess I just like antagonist characters sometimes.” Well, most of the time. But it’s better to keep that from Mahito, if you can.

Mahito’s lips quirk here and there while he thinks. Then he looks at you with something like genuine confusion.

“You say that you like how awful he is. The awful things he does. So…” He tilts his head a little. “You should like me. Right?”

Your fingers pick at the loose threads of your clothes. Your eyes don’t meet his entirely--they flick up and down, from your legs to his face. 

“It’s not the same thing,” is what you come up with. But how to explain that to a curse?

Mahito frowns. 

“I don’t understand.” No bitterness, no pouting. A simple statement of fact.

“He’s not real.” You swallow against the minefield that all of this is making you step through, hoping you’ll avoid them. “But you are. That makes it different.” 

Mahito leans forward, grabbing your wrists, pulling you closer to him with a yanking, childish gesture.

“So you should like me more,” he says, a slight pout in his tone. “Because I can really do those things.” His eyebrows raise, and you swear you can hear a buzzing light bulb go off. “I could turn someone into a scarecrow for you.” He smiles, sudden, excited. “Do you want me to find some school children to torment?”

“No!” Your voice cracks. There are brief images in your mind--the people he’s tortured and killed, experimented with, before you were here and while you’re here and probably after you’re dead and gone--and you shake them away. 

Mahito’s eyebrows furrow. He groans and rolls his eyes backwards until they are entirely white, not in mockery or an attempt to scare you, but in irritation. Fingers squeeze your wrists briefly and let go, and you stay quiet, trying to fight your urge to cry, until Mahito slowly rolls his eyes back to stare at you.

His gaze flicks over you, until he catches your eyes with his. 

“You won’t write about him anymore.”

You don’t take a moment to answer this time.

“I won’t.”

“You won’t read those books anymore.”

“I won’t,” you stay. “I haven’t. I--don’t even have copies anymore.”

Mahito smiles, a little. Maybe it’s a good thing you never asked him to find you a copy, a thought which had been a brief temptation a while back.

And then he leans in closer again, until his nose touches yours.

“You won’t think about him anymore,” he says, quiet, solemn. Not an order but a matter of fact. 

You don’t answer. You swallow against a bitter taste in  your throat; you swear, sometimes, that the sludge in your gut is real and tries to make its way out sometimes.

Mahito presses his nose against yours until it starts to hurt.

“You won’t,” he says again, this time more to himself. “I’ll make sure of it.”

[glossysoap]

Gaz dosent know what he likes to see more in your pussy. His cock, his fingers, his tongue or your favorite vibrator 🫠

bloody shame ; kyle garrick

warnings/tags: 18+, fem american reader, smut smut smut, best friends to lovers, obsessive best friend gaz, squirting, overstimulation. italics = fantasies.

word count: 3.2k

Kyle’s palms stung as his calloused skin rubbed against the metal pull-up bar. He huffed as he pulled himself up, holding himself up for a few moments before slowly lowering himself down.

Pull up, hold, lower down. Up and down. Up and down. Again and again, working his way through his long set of pull-ups. Once he hit his last pull-up, he let himself land on his feet with a gentle thud.

He was walking over to the bench press station when he heard the doors to the gym push open. He looked at the reflection on the mirrored walls in front of him to see you and Soap walk in, both dressed in standard training gear.

His chocolate brown eyes automatically trailed up and down your figure, drinking in every detail and feature. He loved how that compression shirt perfectly hugged your curves and accentuated your breasts, all while showing off your muscles. He loved how your leggings hugged your waist and how the fabric smoothed over your legs like butter.

All Gaz could think of when he saw you wearing those leggings that hugged you perfectly, is how he wanted to grab you by your hips and bend you over. He wanted to hear your little shocked yelp as he pulls you against him, gripping you by your plump curves. He could imagine your eyes widen just a fraction as you look back at him, your eyes peering up at him through your lashes. He wanted to yank your leggings down your waist, revealing your white thong and your soft skin that he ached to grab and squeeze. He wanted to palm your soft flesh with his calloused hands, before bringing his hand down in a spank, letting the skin become sore under his touch.

He wanted to grind himself up against your clothed cunt, feeling you all warm up against his dick. He wanted to pull your panties to the side, ridding you of that flimsy fabric and revealing your already soaked pussy. He wanted to let the head of his cock graze your lips, teasing you with the smallest bit of contact. He could just imagine you whine and wiggle back against his cock, begging for more.

“So desperate, doll. Love seein’ you like this, all wet for me.”

“Please, Gaz,” He could imagine you whining, looking back at him. “Please touch me.”

He was brought out of his fantasies by Soap’s incredulous voice hitting his ears.

“So yer’ tellin’ me, it’s common in the states for ladies to fake it?” He overheard Soap ask, his Scottish voice filtering through Gaz’s headphones that had paused after a song.

Gaz’s brows furrowed as he picked up a dumbbell in each hand, ears perked up as he unintentionally eavesdropped on your conversation with Soap.

What in the hell.

He watched as you failed to stifle a laugh, hinting at your own surprise at the subject. Or at least, your surprise at Soap’s nonchalance on the matter.

“Past the TMI stage, are we?” You joke.

Kyle started lifting the dumbbells, alternating between arms and grunting with each lift up. He couldn’t help but look at the two of you through the mirrors reflection in front of him, curious as to where the conversation was going.

How the hell did the two of you get to that topic?

He watched as Soap brought his thermos up to his mouth, taking a swig of water and you standing next to him, sanitizing the machine you were about to use.

Kyle saw you laugh a bit, almost humorlessly, as you looked up at Soap through your lashes.

“You have no idea.” You shoot back with a roll of your eyes, moving to sit on the machine.

At the tone of your voice, Kyle made a noise of indignation deep in his throat. You sounded way too familiar with the subject of faking an orgasm.

“Speaking from experience, aye?” He heard Soap quip, only half serious as he didn’t expect you to take the bait.

No, you couldn’t have possibly faked your—

“Again, you have no idea.”

Gaz’s eyes widened.

No way. Kyle’s arms falter from pure surprise as he lifts the weights.

He saw Soap cough on his water, just as taken aback as Gaz was by your insinuation.

“What, don’t tell me you’ve had to fake it?” Johnny asks.

Gaz’s brown eyes dart right back to you.

“Okay, I won’t tell you that.” You have a sarcastic quip, uncapping your thermos.

No fucking way.

(….)

That’s how you ended up here.

In Gaz’s quarters, in his bed.

With your knees pushed up against your chest and his cock buried inside your cunt. Your head thrown back against his pillows and his face buried in your neck, mouth already marking you up.

“Fuck,” He grunts against your skin, leaving wet open mouthed kisses as he spoke. The sound of his hips slapping against your skin mixed with the sound of your moans.

He couldn’t help himself as he drank in your squirming form trapped beneath him, all sweaty and on display for him. He commits every detail to memory. Every mark and scar and curve that decorated your body, every inch that he had been so desperate to see for so long. Now, he was finally seeing it. And he couldn’t get enough.

He couldn’t get enough of how your brows knit together and your eyes scrunched shut because you were so overtaken by the raw pleasure. When your mouth wasn’t hanging open and letting whines fall out, you were biting your bottom lip in an effort to muffle your noises of desperation.

When he notices you trying to silence yourself, he angles his hips to hit that spot just right and brings one hand down to rub at your swollen clit. That’s a fool proof way to get you choking on a sharp cry of pleasure.

He couldn’t get enough of your breasts bouncing with every thrust, your nipples just aching to be sucked on and tweaked.

He couldn’t get enough of how your legs spasm and twitch as he thrusts into you, your muscles unable to control themselves as they contract. No matter how much you squirm though, he just holds your legs steady — with a firm grip right in the crook of your knees. His soft yet calloused hands squeezing the supple flesh of your leg, his thumbs tracing small circles on your skin.

He couldn’t get enough of how fucking wet you were, how wet noises filled the room while he rutted into you. He couldn’t get enough of how you were squeezing him so fucking tight, so fucking warm.

He just couldn’t get enough of you.

“Oh my god,” You moan, feeling that knot in your stomach wind tighter and tighter with every thrust of his hips. You couldn’t fucking believe it. Not even a full round into it with your best friend, your Gaz, and you were already closer to the edge than you ever were with any of your exes.

Even using a toy didn’t feel this good.

“Can’t believe you didn’t come to me for help.” Gaz mutters into your ear, angling his hips at a new, cruel angle. One that had you choking on air, your hands working to clutch him impossibly closer as his breath fanned hot against your skin.

“Gaz, fuck—,” Your cries of pleasure would be cut off by a moan as his mouth latched onto your nipple. His tongue lapping across the sensitive bud and moaning around it, the vibrations only adding to the pleasure.

“Bet that feels good, huh? Better than any of those other blokes you fooled around with? Yeah, that’s right.”

Moans and whines echoed throughout his room as his hips thrust inside your warmth, your face contorted in pleasure and your hands clutching at his broad back to ground you in reality. Your nails dug into his skin, dragging and leaving stripes across his back.

“You know where I am, doll. Coulda fixed this problem a long time ago.” He all but growled into your ear, feeling you squeeze around him so fucking warm and tight and perfect.

“Hm? Why didn’t you just come to me? Why didn’t you get your best friend to help you?” He asks, as if he wasn’t forcing an orgasm out of you right now. As if you could respond in any capacity.

He glances over at your blissed out face and his lips break out into a smirk.

“Please, please,” you whine, not even knowing what you were begging for.

“Oh, yeah? Feels that good, huh?” He croons in your ear, his pace never slowing as he thrusts inside your soaking pussy. Brown eyes burning into your face as moans poured from your lips and tears streaked down your cheeks. “Poor baby. Can’t even fuckin’ talk.”

Every second he was buried in your cunt and filling you so deep inside, you felt yourself grow closer to the edge. Your toes curled and your legs twitched as they were pushed up against your chest.

“But I asked you a question, love. And I expect an answer. Why didn’t you come to me?” Gaz grounds out, punctuating each word of his question with a hard thrust. Soaking up every whimper and whine and moan you let out.

When you still didn’t give him a sufficient answer, besides your mindless babbling, Kyle grips your jaw and forces you to look at him. Your eyes shoot open, all wide and glossy as you have no choice but to hold his gaze while he fucks you. “Hmm?” His eyes boring into yours, savoring your teary eyed fucked out expression as you willed yourself to form a coherent response.

“I didn’t— fuck,” You cut yourself off with a moan, “I didn’t think that was an option. I didn’t think you liked me—”

Your explanation was cut off by him closing the short distance between you and crashing his lips down to yours. Your eyes widened but you quickly melted into him as the head of his cock kept hitting that spot that made your toes curl. He swallowed any moans and whines as he forced his tongue inside your mouth, tasting you so wholly and completely. The kiss was messy and passionate, full of unspoken feelings and building tension that had finally come to a breaking point.

With each whine and moan that Gaz pulled from you, he smirked against your lips. Those noises only pushed him to make you cum even faster.

“You have no. Fuckin’. Idea.” He all but growls against your mouth, nipping your lip as his hips thrust cruelly with every emphasized word. “No fuckin’ clue how much I like you. How much I love you.” Your brows knit together at his muttered words, so taken aback by his confession that you were half convinced you had imagined it. That you had conjured it up amongst the fog that filled your head.

“But I’ll make sure you know.” Was all he murmured against your lips, eyes flitting open to drink you in. He sneaks the hand that was holding your jaw, all the way down your stomach and between your legs. His fingers quickly find their place on the swollen bundle of nerves that was your clit, rubbing the sensitive bud furiously as he kept thrusting. He could feel the itch of his curls brush up against his hand and your juices drenching the hair and creating a seal around the base of his cock.

He found himself rushing toward his own orgasm right as yours crashed over you, letting out a guttural curse as he came inside you, his cock spurting ropes of cum into your warm cunt. He watched your face contort in even deeper pleasure as you felt his warmth flood your pussy, mixing with your own juices.

It didn’t take long at all for you to cry out into Kyle’s mouth, feeling him grin against your lips. He pushes past his own sensitivity and grinds hard into your cunt, his fingers still rubbing your clit as you squirt all over his cock, squeezing him for all he was worth.

“There you go. Just like that.”

(….)

He was far from finished at showing you how much pleasure you’ve been missing out on.

Only a mere few minutes had passed since you came around his cock before he had moved down your body and found his home between your legs once more.

Your heart was pounding as you came down from your high, your chest heaving and your eyelids weighing heavy. Your mind was fuzzy and clouded, and your cunt was throbbing and pulsing.

Your legs were shaking, feeling so sensitive and boneless — so when you felt his gentle hands prying your thighs apart, your legs jolted. Your breath hitched and your eyes shot open to see Gaz’s head buried between your slick covered thighs.

You could already feel his breath fanning your sensitive pussy. “Such a pretty fuckin’ pussy.”

As soon as you felt his hands grab your hips and pull you down his bed, you scrambled to get away from his mouth. Your cunt was still throbbing and your legs were still weak, making it almost pointless to squirm away from his touch. Your legs that felt like jelly were no match for his strong grip, his arms full with corded muscle built from years of training.

“Kyle,” You whine, eyes glossy as you look down at him, “ ‘M so sensitive.”

His eyes crinkle at the edges as he grins, looking up at you from between your legs. His arms snake around your thighs, keeping you anchored for him and leaving your cunt on display.

Just how he likes it.

He looks up at you through his lashes while he bites at your thigh, savoring the gasp that falls from your lips. Then he sucks that bit of soft, warm skin into his mouth, forming a suction in favor of a future hickey.

“Oh, I know, baby.” He croons, voice sickly sweet, brown eyes peering up at you as he hikes your legs over his shoulders. You yelp as he pulls you impossibly close to his waiting mouth. Your hands find purchase in the sheets below you, fisting the fabric in an effort to ground you in reality.

“But you’ve never had anyone eat this pussy like you deserve, huh? I just know you haven’t.” He lowers his face down to your dripping cunt, the juices of your cum mixing with his. “Such a shame, doll. Bloody shame… for this pretty pussy to go neglected. To not be absolutely worshipped.” He traces your slippery folds with two gentle fingers, spreading your juices up and down your slit, before using those fingers to part your folds and revealing your cunt all spread out and ready for him. You gasp with every touch and trace of his delicate fingers.

“So that’s what I’m gonna do. That’s exactly what I’m gonna do.” Is all he said before diving into your soaked pussy.

He was messy and unabashed, with no care for how loud he was as he tasted every inch of you. He took his sweet fucking time devouring you, kissing along your folds and licking wet stripes along your slit.

“Gaz, oh my god-,” You cry out, throwing your head back against his pillow. Your hips jerking and bucking up against his mouth involuntarily.

He smiles against your cunt as he hears you moan and cry over and over, writhing in his hold from how sensitive you were. He licks a wide stripe up and down your pussy, savoring your juices and cum as if it were his last meal.

“Fuck, you taste so fuckin’ perfect.” He groaned into your cunt, his voice sending vibrations into your core and making you moan even louder.

He didn’t leave his fingers out, though.

The entire time his tongue was licking up your juices, his fingers were playing with your pussy. Starting out slow, dipping those same two fingers inside and letting the pads of his fingers gather your juices. Pushing them in and feeling around your velvet walls, feeling you squeeze around his fingers so damn tight — as if his cock wasn’t buried in your cunt only a few minutes prior.

“So fucking tight. Almost pushing’ me out, love.” He groans into your pussy, before finally dipping his tongue into your entrance.

“Kyle, fuck-,” You cry out, feeling him tongue fuck you while he pumped his fingers in your slippery cunt. Your hips bucked and twitched, making him grip your hips even tighter, grounding you against his face.

His fingers quickened as he heard your moans grow high pitched, knowing you were growing closer and closer with every passing moment.

“Mmm-hmm, that’s it.” He moans into your cunt, delving his tongue even deeper. He curled his tongue and hummed into your heat, almost even growling.

He curled his fingers inside you, enjoying the way you squirmed and jolted from all the sensations. Your legs wriggled on his shoulders, moving on their own accord as his mouth kept working in tandem with his fingers.

“Please, please, please!” You babbled mindlessly, tears stinging at your eyes and your lips sore from being bitten between your teeth too many times.

He smirked against your cunt, one last tactic popping in his head to push you over the edge.

All while pumping and curling his fingers, he used his free hand to reach into his nightstand drawer. He felt silicone beneath his fingertips before swiftly pulling it out, revealing a sleek vibrator. It was small, only about three inches long and matte black.

He clicked the toy on and felt it vibrate it in his hand, excitement flooding his veins as he imagined you jumping from the sudden vibration against your cunt.

With one more glance up at your fucked out face, he pressed the vibrating toy against your throbbing clit.

“Kyle, oh fuck!” You all but screamed, utterly overwhelmed by the mix of sensations. You were drowning in pleasure and ecstasy as his tongue lapped at your wetness and dipped into your cunt, while his fingers pumped into you at a furious pace. To top it all off, an intense wave of vibrations suddenly washed over you.

You didn’t know where the hell it came from, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Not when you couldn’t even feel your face. Not when you couldn’t even tell which way was up and which way was down.

Not when your best friend was busy making you cum over and over. Not when your best friend was making you feel better than any other man ever could.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You wail, feeling that knot burst deep in your stomach as you squeeze tight, pulsing over and over. You squirt all over his fingers and tongue, absolutely drenching his chin and his palm in your juices. Your slick coated the vibrator as he held it against your cunt.

“There you go.” He purred, fingers working you through your orgasm.

“Bet you wish you would have come to me sooner, doll.”

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[honeydjarin]

BRING ME THE SUN

OPLA SANJI X READER

You often find yourself in the galley, seeking the company of your favorite chef. Even when your half asleep, Sanji can’t bring himself to turn you away.

genre: fluff

warnings: none

word count: 1,500

a/n: how often can I write about sleeping? It’s what I long for most of all. I wasn’t expecting to fall in love with opla!sanji, but now I can't stop thinking about him!

PART II: (I’LL GIVE YOU THE MOON)

Your feet carry you over salt-soaked wood, up creaking stairs bordered by sun-warmed railings, before settling in front of the closed door to the galley. You hesitate for only a moment. The evening sun glares off the porthole window and prevents you from peeking into the room beyond, but you know the man you seek is in there. Sanji is almost always in the kitchen now that he has the freedom to experiment with new recipes as he pleases. 

When you first enter the galley, it’s with the intention of keeping the Going Merry’s chef company. Sanji’s easy going nature is addicting. Friendly and flirtatious conversations with him always leave you glowing golden—brighter than the sun. His comfort as he works in the kitchen, his joy for what he does, is contagious. Oftentimes, you find yourself at the door to the galley, having had no plan to walk there. You seek out his company whenever you’re given the chance, consciously or not. 

You hadn’t meant to develop such a large crush on the chef. He wasn’t supposed to be anything more than a crewmate. A friend. You had been wary of the flirt when he joined the Straw Hats. His first impression left you with his self confidence and charm but no glimpse of his care for friends and strangers alike. You never could have expected how easily the newest member would wiggle his way into your heart. 

You take a breath, then step into the room hidden behind the door. 

Sanji is exactly where you expect him to be, flitting around the kitchen as he begins preparations for dinner. When he hears the door open, he turns your way, a smile pulling at his lips as soon as he sees it’s you.

“Hello, darling. To what do I owe the pleasure?” He doesn’t stop what he’s doing, but he slows, keeping his gaze on you. “Are you hungry?”  

“Not yet. I just wanted to keep you company,” you say, making your way farther into the kitchen. A part of you can’t help but think Sanji must get lonely in the galley after having spent so much time surrounded by others at the Baratie, but he never complains. 

The other part of you worries that Sanji actually prefers the time alone, and that your presence in the kitchen is unwelcomed. The Going Merry isn’t a particularly large ship, and finding a moment to be alone can be difficult. 

“Then today I am a lucky man,” he replies. His smile never falters, eyes gleaming as though he truly does feel lucky to spend time with you. It’s enough to dispel any lingering worries, at least for the time being. 

You warm beneath the weight of his gaze, heartbeat fluttering from the sudden attention. For a moment you forget yourself, too lost in the twin seas trapped in Sanji’s eyes. Your own lips pull into a matching smile and you feel like you’re glowing, just like you always do when he gives you his attention. Sanji’s gaze seems to soften, as if, somehow, he can see the light burning in your chest. 

If you don’t move now, you’ll sink too deeply into this feeling, you’ll get too wrapped up in your not so little crush. 

You take a step forward, then another. Your feet carry you to one of the seats at the counter, keeping the island between you. Sanji’s gaze still washes over you, but at least this way, no matter how tempting it may be, you won’t find yourself reaching out to him. You won’t tangle your fingers between his own, won’t run your spare hand through his hair or cradle the soft curve of his cheek, won’t lean in to kiss his still grinning lips. 

The evening sun filters through the galley windows, gleaming off cookware and pooling on the countertops. Your seat is strategically situated in the center of one of those pools, the hazy light casting a warm beam across your skin. You sink into its embrace, growing more relaxed with each slow breath you take. The warmth is like a hug, and you can’t help but to settle into it. 

You fold your arms on the countertop and rest your chin on them, easing into a comfortable position. You could fall asleep like this. 

Oftentimes, you offer to help Sanji cook, not wanting to be in the galley without at least being useful, but today you seem to be slipping—too relaxed, too tired, content just to watch the chef in his element. You’re only half aware of what he is doing as he works. 

“Here,” Sanji says, setting a glass down in front of you. “Try this.”

Small bubbles rise from the liquid inside, popping as they reach the surface. When you take a sip, it’s cool and saccharine, flavors mixing to create the perfect balance.  

“Oh! It’s good,” you praise before taking another sip. You have to set the glass down, wanting to savor the drink Sanji made just for you. “Everything you make is good.” 

“You’re too sweet to me, darling.” 

His words make you smile, but you keep your attention on the glass in front of you, too afraid that if you look at him he will see in your eyes just how deep your affections lie.

Beads of condensation have already formed on the outside of the glass, making the fizzy liquid inside look almost cloudy. You trail your finger through the moisture on the smooth surface, the cool liquid dripping down your fingertip leaving a clear path behind your touch, a curve into a point. Reflect and repeat. When you pull your hand away, a little heart remains. 

The blonde chef leaves you feeling like a lovesick fool—as sticky sweet as the drink he made you. 

This moment is too easy, too safe. You hardly notice the way your eyelids weigh heavy, each blink lasting longer than the one before it. The sounds of chopping vegetables and boiling water begin to fade, barely noticeable as sleep creeps ever closer.  

“As flattered as I am that you want to keep me company even when you’re so tired, I must insist that you find a more comfortable place to nap. I’ve heard that pain is beauty, but beauty sleep should never cause someone as sweet as you to wake up in pain.” 

If you weren’t already so close to sleep, Sanji’s words might have sent your heart racing. He thinks you’re sweet too. 

“I’ll be fine, Sanji. It’s just a little cat nap,” you offer, only half aware of what you’re saying.  

You don’t hear if he responds. 

—♡—

It’s a chill seeping into your skin that starts to wake you up. The ocean air isn’t really that cold, but the absence of the sun on your skin creates a change in temperature stark enough to make you sigh in disappointment. What once felt like a soft embrace now feels like a missing piece. 

There’s the sound of something being whisked, or stirred, the only evidence you have that you aren’t alone in the galley.  

You stretch your arms out to your sides, groaning slightly at the stiffness in your shoulders. Sanji was right, your body does hurt. You keep your eyes closed as you stretch, desperately clinging to those last moments of sleep as you work out the aches in your muscles.  

“Hmm. It’s cold now,” you mumble. The stirring sound stops. 

The creeping sense of cold doesn’t have long to settle over you. Before you can continue to complain about the movement of the sun, something heavy and warm is draped over your shoulders. The heat of your skin sinks into the fabric before it is reflected back at you, just like the sun. It feels like a blanket. At the very least, it offers the comfort of one. 

You pull the fabric closer around you, feel the curl of a collar around your neck and the holes for sleeves catch on your shoulders—definitely not a blanket. The fabric of Sanji’s jacket is smooth and well made, the quality much better than most of the crew’s clothing.  

What is this made of? You want to ask. Boyfriend material? 

But where flirtation spills naturally from Sanji’s lips, it only ever sounds awkward and stilted from yours. You leave the words unsaid, choosing instead to offer a simple “thank you.” 

“You seemed quite content. It would be a shame for you to grow cold simply because the sun doesn’t understand how much you appreciate it.” 

Finally, you open your eyes. 

Sanji leans on the counter beside you, offering you a soft smile. It’s subdued, as if he himself isn’t even aware he’s doing it. He looks good like this—he always looks good. He looks at ease right now, like he wouldn't want to be anywhere else. Or with anyone else.   

Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but for just a little while, you can almost let yourself believe that he feels the same way about you. Why else would he look at you like that, with such fondness?  

“So you decided to keep me warm instead?” you prod. 

“Of course,” he responds without hesitation. “I can’t bring you the sun, but I can offer you this.”  

Of course. He says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world. As if he couldn’t ever bring himself to consider an alternative. 

You feel warm again, glowing. 

a/n: I’m planning on writing a second part to this. Hopefully it won’t take too long ^_^

[000-pawz]

drunk in love (bnd legal line) ˚ · .

bnd when they're drunk/when you're drunk , bnd x fem!reader , legal line reactions/headcanons , fluff , some suggestive sprinkles here and there , established relationship

more under the cut!

a/n: thank you for the request anonie! <3 this was so fun to write

sungho ˚ ⋆｡˚

when you are drunk

𐙚₊˚ if you call sungho while you're drunk at a friend's house, he'll be there in record time! he's not letting you go home alone or with someone else. he's going to make sure that you get home safe himself

𐙚₊˚ sungho is the best drunk sitter ever </3 he's making sure you are consistently drinking water throughout the night, getting food into your stomach the whole time (and rewarding you with kisses along the way!), and making sure you don't fall off of a roof or something

𐙚₊˚ at parties, he watches your cup the entire time, placing his hand over the top when you lean in to hug a friend, holding it for you while you go to the bathroom and everything!!! like he does not play about your safety at all

𐙚₊˚ if you start to get a little too out of hand, he knows it's time to take you home </3 and if you complain and pout about it, he'll just sigh and try to give you an incentive to cooperate like getting to steal all of his hoodies for a month (and of course, you give in!)

𐙚₊˚ throws you over his shoulder and carries you away when it's time to go and you're too drunk to walk >< pats your butt when you tell him to put you down lol

𐙚₊˚ helps you change into one of his big t-shirts and spoons you to sleep, pressing soft kisses to the crown of your head, whispering 'i love yous' into your ear until you fall asleep <3

when he is drunk

𐙚₊˚ i see sungho as someone with a pretty high tolerance, so it may take him a few drinks to start visibly showing that he's drunk

𐙚₊˚ the first sign would be how he laughs at everything. full on belly laughs, slapping his knee, falling over and it'll simply be because someone pronounced a word wrong or something >< like that is ijbol king

𐙚₊˚ sungho is an extrovert, yes, but he becomes the extrovert's final boss when he's drunk. he pretty much carries the conversation, but he probably is a little volume deaf too, like he gets really loud and hyper (at least he's cute though)

𐙚₊˚ he doesn't really get emotional, but his emotions are more raw for sure!! he might end up in an argument with someone at some point in the night if he's left alone for too long, so please keep an eye on him!!!

𐙚₊˚ he'll probably want to kiss you a lot. like even more than usual, and that's saying something. you'll be talking with a friend and he'll come up from behind you and slip an arm around your waist before pressing a kiss to your cheek and then he disappears again >< or if you two are just drinking alone, he'll peck your lips literally while you are in the middle of a sentence :C his impulse control is nonexistent when he's drunk like partner pretty so he kiss! it's that simple!

𐙚₊˚ getting home with sungho would be a personal podcast in your ear... he's going to be talking the entire time with exaggerated gestures, recapping his entire lift story because his filter completely disappears when he's drunk!!! and getting him to sleep is even harder </3 he'll be silent for a few minutes before asking you yet another question, so you have to kiss his lips and shush him to sedate him <3

˚ ⋆｡˚ riwoo

when you are drunk

𐙚₊˚ loves when you're all over him <3 sitting in his lap as you laugh with friends, kissing him all over his face, running your fingers through his hair... it makes him so happy

𐙚₊˚ will gladly take pictures of you if you ask! pretends to be your paparazzi like "miss y/n!!! over here!!!" before snapping a picture all dramatically while you pose like you're on the front cover of vogue <3 just silly and fun

𐙚₊˚ if you're under the influence, he'll want to make sure you have the most carefree, stress-free, most enjoyable experience possible! he'll compliment you the whole night so you never forget how pretty you are, makes sure you don't go past your limit, and piggybacks you while holding your heels <3

𐙚₊˚ smiles at you so fondly when you drunkenly ramble to him <3 he gives you the most cartoonish reactions to everything you're saying, and when you realize he's not actually listening and just admiring how cute you are, he just laughs softly and kisses you, urging you to continue

𐙚₊˚ feeds you throughout the night so you don't feel too sick in the morning!! as soon as you take a break from talking, he's putting a cracker in your mouth and telling you to chew lol

𐙚₊˚ very gentle when he lets you know it's time to go home, waiting patiently for you to finish saying goodbye to all your friends (even if it's the entire room of people) <3 after you surprise him with another kiss attack as soon as you step foot inside the home, he manages to get you into bed, removing your makeup for you once you're asleep, treating you like you're a piece of glass </3 he loves you sm

when he is drunk

𐙚₊˚ riwoo brings sweetheart energy to the function like <3 he's not that talkative when he's tipsy, choosing to just observe the scene with a smile on his face. you'll probably have to pull him up out of his seat to get him to mingle lol

𐙚₊˚ as soon as he hits the dance floor though, it's sooooo over!!! his hands will be on your hips as you guys dance, laughing into your ear, hyping you up as you break it down like!!! he'll be really touchy too, holding you from behind as he whispers into your ear, grinding into you from behind just to tease ><

𐙚₊˚ he'll probably eat a lot before drinking so he doesn't get too drunk, but it honestly never works </3 thankfully, he's able to stay pretty level-headed when he's drunk, so you never have to worry too much

𐙚₊˚ when he's drunk drunk, riwoo probably slurs his words a lot, and gets really giggly, and really corny. he'll crack the worst joke you've ever heard and then laugh at it because he thought it was the funniest thing ever (and please indulge him </3 he's too cute to not fake laugh at his jokes)

𐙚₊˚ i see him as the type to turn into jell-o when he gets really drunk. like he'll be leaning on you the entire time because if you let go, he's going straight to the floor. getting him to bed would be an entire workout because he just goes limp randomly and trips on air every three seconds pls

𐙚₊˚ riwoo definitely likes to be babied when he's drunk ^___^ he'll be giggling the entire time as you help him get his shoes off and change into more comfortable clothes like "riwoo, lift your arms up!" and he's doing it with the widest smile on his face (and if you tell him about it when he's sober, he'll be soooo embarrassed </3)

jaehyun ˚ ⋆｡˚

when you are drunk

𐙚₊˚ jaehyun is probably half-concerned/half-entertained the entire time </3 he's laughing whenever you stumble over your own feet, but his hands are quick to steady you to make sure you don't hurt yourself!!!

𐙚₊˚ records you with a big smile on his face when you're dancing on tables, cheering you on the entire time. but if your skirt starts riding up, he's quick to grab you down with his hands around your waist before helping you pull your skirt down <3

𐙚₊˚ taps his cheek whenever he wants a kiss because he knows that you love to kiss him when you're drunk </3 it becomes a game between the two of you during the night, where he taps his cheek randomly and you stop whatever you're doing to kiss him lol

𐙚₊˚ indulges you in all of your drunken activities! if you want to race him down the road barefoot, he's right there with you, his shoes tossed off to the side at the ready mark. or if you want to see who can do the most cartwheels, he wraps his jacket around your waist before the competition starts and then shows off that he can do more than you!

𐙚₊˚ if you're reaching your limit, he gently takes your cup from your hands with a little "alright, that's enough for you" and if you whine, he kisses your nose and goes "how about some water instead, hm?" and you reluctantly agree because he's just so sweet

𐙚₊˚ he's so subtle with the way he cares for you, you barely even notice what's going on. you're too busy having the time of your life to realize that jaehyun has already gotten you home, washed up and changed as you talk his ear off in your drunken haze >< he responds to everything while multi-tasking, making sure you get tucked in on your side just in case before you drift off <3

when he is drunk

𐙚₊˚ jaehyun clingy drunk agenda! he'll always want to have his hands on you in some way, whether it be hugging you from behind, holding your hand, or resting his head on your shoulder!

𐙚₊˚ probably needs to be bodyguarded when he first starts drinking. please do not dare him to do anything because he will do it. and he will prove that he can do it better than anyone has ever seen.

𐙚₊˚ although his energy is usually always at 100%, i think he mellows out a bit when he's really drunk. at first, when he's simply tipsy, he's the life of the party! cracking jokes with everyone, sparking up a conversation with anyone in his vicinity, even he's dancing on tables lol but once he gets really drunk, he gets a little quieter and sticks to your side!! (that's when you know it's time to take him home)

𐙚₊˚ jaehyun can get pretty emotional when he's drunk too. he could probably cry just from thinking about how much he loves you!! you won't even notice that he started to cry until he's sniffling, dabbing at his eyes :< and if you ask him what's wrong, he'll just be like "you're the best thing that's ever happened to me." and you're just like ???<3???<3??? because it'll come out of nowhere lol

𐙚₊˚ if you aren't with him at a party or something, he'll probably text you the entire time. just like paragraphs of how much he misses you, and how he loves you so so so so much, and he'll even send you cute drunk selfies so you know he is safe and having a good time!

𐙚₊˚ jaehyun can get very very needy when he's drunk! you could be chilling at home when he comes back from a friend's house and he'll be all over you, nuzzling his nose into your neck, kissing your shoulder, subtly trying to rub against your leg because he forgets to use his words :<

˚ ⋆｡˚ taesan

when you are drunk

𐙚₊˚ #1 instigator. he thinks that you are so funny when you're drunk >< how you'll do and say literally anything without a second thought and he encourages it even. it's cute to him

𐙚₊˚ like if you get into a rap battle with a random busker on the street, he's throwing imaginary money and tossing in random adlibs like he's a soundcloud rapper girlfriend lol

𐙚₊˚ always has an arm over your shoulder, holding you close to his side because you look so good and he doesn't want anyone to think you are single and try to hit on you! keeps you close to him at all times

𐙚₊˚ nothing really fazes him and he's good at keeping calm. like if you start to throw up, he'll simply hold your hair out of your face and rub your back softly before cleaning you up with a tiny smile. or if you suddenly burst out into tears, he's cooing at you, wiping your cheeks with his thumb, placing kissing on your nose <3

𐙚₊˚ but if you're blackout drunk, way past your limit, he gets really serious >< he'll sit you on the kitchen counter and make sure you drink a bunch of water, his eyes on you like a hawk. he'll rub your knee comfortingly to keep you present, praising you every few seconds for doing so well for him

𐙚₊˚ he'll tease you so much once you're sober, recounting all of the crazy things you did while you were drunk >< and when you start to get embarrassed, he wraps you up in his arms and reassures you that you are still cute to him no matter what <3

when he is drunk

𐙚₊˚ yapper. like. he's going to be talking soooo much!!! just about anything and everything, stumbling and slurring over his words as he recounts how he saw a squirrel earlier that day or something. shares wayyyy too many tmis too

𐙚₊˚ he definitely loosens up more when he's drunk. his composure and attention span goes straight out the window. he's usually pretty composed when he's sober for the most part, but as soon as he gets a few drinks in his system, something in him flips like a switch

𐙚₊˚ please do not let him pick up the karaoke mic oh my... he's going to attempt to have a rap battle with you or try to belt out the highest notes possible. he'll put on an entire show for your whole friend group!!! he might even join in on drinking games and stuff

𐙚₊˚ wanders off easily, so please can an eye on him!! he'll get distracted by every single thing, his feet carrying him away without a second thought >< you might even lose him for an hour, and then find him sitting in the kitchen eating a bag of chips with someone's hat on and a mustache drawn on his face

𐙚₊˚ taesan can get pretty pouty when he's drunk too. especiallyyyy if you're not giving him as much attention as he wants! you could be laughing with some friends and taesan will be sitting next to you with his arms crossed and the biggest kitty pout on his face ever because? why aren't you laughing with him!!!! (pls give him lots of kisses to make up for it!!!)

𐙚₊˚ he definitely has a habit of denying that he's drunk. he'll try to dismiss your help to get him home, or refuse to drink water, and claim that he can do everything by himself. he'll literally be tripping over his own feet as you try to help him into his bed and he'll be like "nooo i'm not drunk! i swear!" and then as soon as he hits the pillow, he's out like a light

leehan ˚ ⋆｡˚

when you are drunk

𐙚₊˚ follows you around like a guard dog the entire night! he knows that you like to run off and do reckless stuff when you get drunk, so he's keeping his eye on you

𐙚₊˚ makes all of your drinks himself and never lets you drink out of the punch bowl <3 you like to joke that he's your personal bartender and he takes the title with pride

𐙚₊˚ if you get really drunk and start getting emotional, he's quick to comfort you, even if you won't remember anything he said in the morning. he's cupping your cheeks, kissing your lips and telling you how much he loves you!!! he thinks it's so adorable when you start crying because of how much you love him, and he reminds you that he isn't going anywhere, ever <3

𐙚₊˚ super gentle with you when helping you wind down for the night!!! he'll remove your make up and help you brush your teeth with a quiet "say ahhh", smiling softly because you are just so cute and he's so in love

𐙚₊˚ lets you space out and stare at his fish tank while he makes you food to eat before you go to sleep so you can get something in your stomach! goes to the other side of the tank and makes a funny face through the glass just to see you giggle

𐙚₊˚ already has hangover medicine ready on your side table with water and snacks if you wake up and need something!!! please thank him a bunch in the morning for how well he took care of you <33

when he is drunk

𐙚₊˚ second highest tolerance i think! he definitely gets drunk quicker than sungho, but it still takes him a bit!!! mostly because no one can tell if he's actually drunk or not with the way he's able to keep his composure

𐙚₊˚ i don't see him as the type to chug a bunch of drinks immediately, probably only nursing one drink for a long time. he knows his limits, and tries to stick to them because he hates being hungover the next day!!! he has to feel good so he can take care of you instead <3

𐙚₊˚ he gets sooo flirty, it's unreal. he'll literally try to talk you up even though you guys are already together!! he'll comment on how good you look, his hand rubbing your thigh, leaning in to whisper into your ear and kiss your neck ><

𐙚₊˚ he gets really soft toward the end of the night, his head resting on your shoulder as he spaces out </3 he'll probably play with your fingers while you converse with your friends, laughing quietly every now and then, but his mind is on an entirely different planet. it's okay though because he knows you'll look after him!!!

𐙚₊˚ gets pretty defiant when he's had one too many drinks lol >< like if you tell him it's time to go home, he'll plant his feet into the ground so you physically cannot drag him away with a teasing look on his face. he might even just take a seat on the floor and look up at you with big puppy dogs eyes because he doesn't want to go yet!

𐙚₊˚ he sobers up pretty quickly and is usually fine by the time you guys get home!!! he'd probably want to shower together before cuddling up to you like a big teddy bear, usually asleep within a minutes, surrounded by your warmth <3

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masterlist

[xhoess]

One night?

Hugh jackman x fem bod reader

Masterlist words: 6.4k

After a one-night stand with 55-year-old Hugh Jackman, you feel awkward and try to avoid him. Meanwhile, Hugh confidently brags about it to your mutual friend, Ryan , who playfully meddles to bring you two together.

Warning: reader is lowkey hard to get, one night stand, unprotected sex (no mention of use of protection)

The evening air was alive with the buzz of social chatter, glasses clinking, and laughter resonating off the walls of a stylish loft downtown. You had been dragged out of your comfortable corner of solitude by your friend, Ryan Reynolds, who insisted that you needed some fun in your life. “Trust me, you won’t regret it,” he had said with that mischievous sparkle in his eyes that always hinted at trouble.

You weren’t so sure, but as you stepped into the lively atmosphere, you felt an electrifying shift. The dim lights, artfully placed, cast a warm glow over smiling faces, and an eclectic mix of music pulsed through the air, drawing people in. It didn’t take long before your reservations melted away, and you found yourself in a conversation with a group of familiar and unfamiliar faces.

And then you saw him—Hugh Jackman. The man was a phenomenon, both in presence and stature. He stood across the room, laughing heartily at something Ryan had said, his infectious energy making it hard for anyone not to smile simply at the sight of him. You’d seen him on-screen, the charismatic hero, the rugged romantic—all those roles where he effortlessly commanded attention. But seeing him in person was an entirely different experience, as if he radiated a warmth that drew people close.

After a few glasses of wine, you felt more daring. You joined in the laughter, and soon you found yourself at the center of attention, with Hugh leaning closer, his voice rich and dulcet. The two of you exchanged banter, playful teasing leading to more poignant moments. There was an undeniable chemistry, but you kept trying to rationalize it. He was a superstar, after all. This vivacity was just part of the package.

As the night deepened, Ryan made another appearance, raising his glass in a toast, playfully calling Hugh a “debonair devil” and throwing you into the spotlight. “Everyone, meet the incredible [Your Name]—the one who’s managed to actually keep up with our Hugh!” His words hung in the air, and you flushed at the attention. But instead of retreating, something inside you ignited.

The next few hours passed in a delightful haze. You lost track of time, your laughter blending with the music. More drinks led to more boldness, and before you knew it, you and Hugh were wandering off, away from the prying eyes of party-goers. He casually wrapped an arm around your shoulder, leaning in close as he whispered playful jokes, leaving trails of electricity in the air between you.

Eventually, you found yourselves in a secluded corner of the rooftop, the skyline of the city stretching beneath the starlit sky. The world felt far away, and in that moment, the spark turned into a wildfire. You kissed. One kiss quickly morphed into several, each more fervent than the last, a build-up of desire igniting the space between you. It was exhilarating and terrifying, and in his embrace, the age gap, fame, and reason all slipped away.

When the night finally turned into early morning, you bundled up in Hugh’s oversized jacket as you stumbled back inside, laughter still spilling from your lips. There was a softness to the quiet hours, a comforting intimacy that felt not just appropriate, but destined. Hugh is a true gentleman, even during the sex and you are happy you got to find that out.

Yet, as dawn crested over the city, reality came rushing in, and an urgent wave of self-awareness swept over you. Morning light filtered through the large windows, illuminating every detail of the loft—the coffee table strewn with discarded cups, your shoes haphazardly piled by the door. Hugh stirred beside you, his features softened in sleep, and you could hardly process the weight of what had happened.

You slipped out of bed, heart racing, panic clawing its way up as regret mingled with shock and embarrassment. What had you done? You never intended to become a fleeting escapade for someone like him, yet there you were. Barely muttering a goodbye, you rushed to dress, avoiding his sleepy gaze as you pushed through the door into the sunlight.

Outside, you took a deep breath, inhaling the crisp morning air. Your heart still raced, but not just from the remnants of exhilaration—doubt began to seep in. Did Hugh think this was all some grand joke? You knew you would have to confront him again, perhaps inevitably, and the very thought filled you with dread.

Bounding into the day, the encounter lingered heavy in your mind, and the weight of uncertainty settled in your chest. And in the back of your head, a nagging fear surfaced as you realized this wasn't just a one-off night. It was a fleeting moment that could hold consequences, not just for your heart but for how you'd navigate the world that now felt altered, charged.

As you moved through your day, rushing toward the familiar comforts of routine, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being caught in a whirlwind that had started with a laugh and a chemistry that simmered just below the surface. Would you plunge back into that world, face Hugh again, and risk the brittle facade of this night you now lived tangled in emotions? You weren’t sure, but one thing was certain—everything was different now.

The days turned into weeks, and time seemed to slip through your fingers like sand. The memory of that spontaneous night with Hugh Jackman haunted you, but not with the sweetness of nostalgia; instead, it lingered like an awkward itch you couldn’t scratch. You told yourself it was just a moment of misplaced passion, a blip on the radar of your usually controlled existence. Yet each encounter you avoided only intensified your feelings of embarrassment.

At work, you braced yourself for the inevitable moment of bumping into him. The open-plan office felt smaller, each cubicle a potential minefield. Your heart raced every time you heard footsteps echoing down the hall, and you were always caught off-guard when the laughter of your colleagues reached your ears, signifying a potential run-in with Hugh. You stuck to the kitchen and the far corners of your office like they were safe havens. Every time you spotted him, the warmth of his smile haunted your thoughts, and you’d scurry away like a mouse caught in the spotlight.

Your friends began to notice your odd behavior, and they found it amusing. As if they were part of a clandestine club, they would share whispers whenever you entered a room where Hugh was present. The urgency to escape their knowing glances made you feel small. You were convinced that they could hear your heart pounding in your chest, your cheeks flaming red.

One evening, a mutual friend of yours and Hugh’s, Ryan Reynolds, decided to host a gathering at his place. The list of invitees was promising—a mix of familiar faces and the usual suspects from the entertainment industry. You had hoped the guest list would deter Hugh and allow you to slip into the evening undetected, but as you entered the lively apartment filled with laughter and chatter, there he was, standing in the corner, casually sipping on a glass of whiskey, looking effortlessly charming.

You grabbed a drink from the bar and sought refuge in a group at the opposite end of the room, this time determined to blend in and keep your distance. Your heart raced every time you caught a glimpse of his broad shoulders and that infectious grin. When Ryan approached, smirking, and nudged you lightly, you decided to change the subject.

“Did you see the latest episode of that show we like?” you blurted out, desperate for an escape.

Ryan grinned widely, his deep-set dimples growing more pronounced. “Oh, come on. You’re not even trying to play it cool. Just look at him!” He gestured dramatically toward Hugh, who was now animatedly recounting some event to a group of adoring listeners. “You’ve got to admit there’s a certain kind of charm to him. Plus, he's quite the catch.”

Your stomach twisted at his words. “He’s Hugh Jackman. He’s a movie star for a reason. What would he want from me, anyway?”

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “You seem to underestimate yourself. It’s not just about fame or looks; he clearly found something intriguing about you, too. Have you talked to him since… you know?” He leaned closer, lowering his voice theatrically. “The one-night stand?”

You shot him a glare, your face feeling hot again. “No, and I don’t plan to. I’m not interested in being someone’s fling, not now and not with him.”

Ryan chuckled, his laughter contagious. “Suit yourself, but you know avoidance doesn’t work forever. It’ll just make things more awkward when you finally do talk. Trust me, buddy. You either have to confront him or accept your fate as the queen of dodging Hugh Jackman at every social event in town.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head in futility. Ryan had a point, but the thought of facing Hugh made you sick. You mentally berated yourself for allowing your life to spiral into this convoluted game of hide-and-seek with a man who seemed entirely unbothered by your embarrassment.

A slow current of tension poured through the room as you tried to engage in conversation with other guests, but every laugh, every joke, felt somehow muted when you knew Hugh was just a few feet away. It didn’t help that your thoughts kept betraying you, forever looping back to the memory of his touch, the warmth of his embrace, and the intoxicating thrill of the night you had shared.

As the night wore on, you found yourself perched on the edge of an armchair, a drink clutched in your hands, your pulse racing. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him across the room, his attention shifting from one friend to another. Ryan sauntered over, his aim on your emotional crutch as he settled beside you.

“You’re really living up to ‘avoidance game’ title,” he quipped lightly as he sipped his drink, leaving you to quietly groan in embarrassment. “What are you going to do when it’s just the two of you alone? Hide in the bathroom?”

“Shut up, Ryan.” You shot him a half-hearted jest, but the truth tugged at you from within. The urge to vanish from the room altogether was becoming harder to ignore.

To your horror, Ryan had zero intentions of letting the subject rest. With a devilish grin, he called out over the din. “Hey, Hugh! Come over here!”

You felt your throat go dry as panic swallowed you whole. Before you could protest, you discovered there was no easy escape; Hugh broke through the crowd toward you, his smile brightened with surprising enthusiasm.

“Hey, there!” he greeted, his voice smooth like aged whiskey. “We’ve got to stop running into each other this way. Are you casually dating or just playing hard to get?” His playful tone masked a serious undertone, leaving you speechless.

The laughter of others dissolved into the background as you met his gaze. There was a mischievous twinkle in his eye that made you feel hilariously exposed. Suddenly, Ryan’s amused commentary faded, and the chatter around you became nothing but white noise.

Feigning nonchalance, you tried to muster a witty response, but your mind raced with conflicted thoughts. Just as you opened your mouth, however, Ryan interjected, refusing to let you hide. “Come on! Aren’t you going to admit how much fun you both had that night?”

Your heart plummeted as you caught sight of Hugh’s quirked brow. That single comment could either seal your fate or force you into uncharted territory.

You took a deep breath. “It was fun, sure, but it was just one night,” you managed to say. The words tasted bitter on your tongue, unintentionally cloaking your vulnerability.

Hugh leaned closer, a glimmer of intrigue sparking in his eyes. “Just one night can be quite a catalyst, you know. But I get it,” he said smoothly. “I was just saying it could be… more. If you’re open to that.”

His words rippled through you, deflating the air of retreat you’d clung to. You exchanged glances with Ryan, who bore a look of triumph, and felt a flicker of courage bloom in your chest. Maybe it was time to start facing your fears instead of running away.

The night went on, and while the laughter and conversations flowed, one fact remained clear: you could only avoid Hugh so long. It was time to take a step, however small, toward the possibilities ahead.

The days melted into a haze of awkward encounters and isolated avoidance. You hyper-extended your social calendar to dodge the chance of running into Hugh. Your daily routine became a game of evasive maneuvers, transforming grocery trips and coffee runs into tactical missions. You would glance around the corner of the café, peeking through the narrow opening, praying he wasn’t inside. Your friend circle, once a source of laughter, now felt like a confining labyrinth.

But Ryan Reynolds had other plans—a devilish mind full of schemes and mischief. You didn’t realize how invested he was in the unfolding amorous soap opera until an impending charity gala invitation arrived in your inbox. It read:

“Hey, you can’t miss this one! Hugh will definitely be there, and I’ll save you a dance! XOXO, Ryan.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of dread anchor itself in your stomach.

That evening, dressed in a sleek emerald gown, you stood before the mirror in your hallway, giving yourself one last pep talk. “It’s just one night. Get through it. Nothing to fear.” The familiar jingle of Ryan’s laughter echoed in your mind, but this time it struck a different chord. You mentally cursed him for playing matchmaker, knowing full well he would be waiting for the inevitable spectacle of your internal collapse.

When you arrived at the gala, the glimmer of extravagant decorations momentarily distracted you from your emotional turmoil. The venue was alive with chatter, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. You searched the ballroom, and amidst the chaos, you spotted Ryan’s gleaming smile against the crowd, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Then, you saw him: Hugh. He looked somehow both regal and entirely rebellious, in a tailored suit that clung to his form with effortless charm.

Your heart raced. It felt as if the universe had conspired to throw you into the lion’s den.

“Hey! You made it!” Ryan greeted you with exaggerated enthusiasm, effectively drawing your attention to Hugh, who was, tragically, making his way toward your small gathering. You exchanged panicked glances with Ryan, but there was no escape route—just your relentless heart drumming against your chest.

“Look who it is!” Hugh exclaimed with that signature grin that managed to light up the whole room. You couldn’t help but respond with a forced smile, suddenly very aware of the heat radiating from your cheeks.

“Hi, Hugh,” you managed, your voice coming out steadier than you felt.

“Got you all dolled up, huh?” His comment was playful, laced with teasing familiarity. You felt the anxiety begin to swirl again. Though the audience was largely indifferent, Ryan leaned closer with his trademark smirk, as if reveling in the banter between you two.

“Oh, it’s been a while since I dressed up. Didn’t think I’d find you here,” you said, trying your best to sound relaxed while grappling with the tension in your own words.

“Ryan insisted I swing by,” he said casually, motioning towards Ryan, who clearly found amusement in your awkward exchange. “He’s been raving about all the beautiful faces here tonight.”

At this point, it was clear He was getting a kick out of your flustered demeanor, while Ryan, the instigator, was eagerly observing the spice of your misadventure with barely contained laughter.

“By the way, I’ve heard some nasty rumors about you avoiding me. Let’s debunk them now, shall we?” Hugh asked, his tone teasing yet somehow probing deeper than anything Ryan could dream up.

You felt your insides twist. “Avoid? Me?” The denial rolled off your tongue before you could even process those ridiculous feelings of shame.

Hugh leaned closer; his eyes glinted with something mischievous, perhaps even a challenge. “Sure. But don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

Just then, Ryan interjected, “What’s going on here? I thought this was a gala, not an interrogation!” His laughter rang merrily through the tension, lightening the mood a fraction yet also amplifying your sense of confinement.

“Don’t mind me. I was just appreciating the chemistry,” Hugh replied, his tone laced with flirtation.

You felt your lips press together firmly to suppress whatever might escape. “Well, I’m happy you found it amusing,” you retaliated, your nerve momentarily bolstered by indignation. Ryan’s laughter resonated around you like salt on your wounds.

“Let me ask you this,” Hugh continued, looking at you, his famous brow furrowed with determination. “What are you so afraid of? You’ve got me intrigued.”

Your heart kicked in at his words. Intrigued? Was it that simple? You caught a glimpse of sincerity in his eyes somewhere beneath the lighthearted banter, as if he was feigning levity to mask genuine interest.

Before you could respond, Ryan jumped in with a grand orchestration. “Alright, let’s get the dancing started!” He whisked you away, and despite the crowd surging past you, you felt a subtle pull to where Hugh was standing, eyes lingering over both you and Ryan.

As you danced, your thoughts revolved around the mess of your emotions, the fun and confidence in face of uncertainty somehow intertwined with an undeniable charm. Ryan continued attempting to match orchestrations that would leave you both in funny situations.

But ultimately, it was the persistent voice of Hugh’s laughter and charisma echoing throughout the room that cast an undeniable shroud over your every thought. Ryan’s meddling had only intensified the reality—you were drawn to this man, this older man, despite all your attempts to convince yourself otherwise.

Unbeknownst to Ryan, who was orchestrating his playful havoc, you could feel the walls starting to crumble. Hugh’s undeniable charm kept you hanging on each word, and deep down, you sensed that perhaps this could still lead someplace unexpected—even if it meant letting go of your fears in the process.

Tonight might be the night you had to confront your own feelings—for better or worse.

The weeks following that fateful night had been a whirlwind of awkward social engagements and an assortment of encounters with Hugh Jackman that left you bombarded with mixed emotions. Each time you saw him, your heart raced, and you felt the heat of embarrassment crawl up your neck. All your efforts to hide away—from cozy cafes to spontaneous happy hours—proved futile when your closest friend, Ryan Reynolds, couldn’t resist pulling you both into the same orbit.

Life turned into a game of avoidance, but the irony was that the more you avoided Hugh, the more his playful demeanor shone through, like a beacon drawing you in. No matter how you tried to be indifferent, each encounter left you flustered and conflicted as Hugh’s cocky grin made your resolve waver. You were becoming increasingly aware, however, that he wasn’t merely playing. There was a persistent undercurrent of genuine interest in his gaze.

But that day—today—you could take it no longer. You were tired of squabbling with your emotions, tired of feeling like you were hiding from the world. No more dancing around it. You had to confront him. In your mind, a million phrases swirled as you prepared for this moment. “Is this a joke for you?” “Do you even care?” “What do you want?”

Arming yourself with an unflinching resolve, you decided to confront Hugh at a coffee shop where the three of you had agreed to meet for brunch. When you arrived, you noticed him already seated, a radiant smile gracing his handsome features as he spoke animatedly with Ryan. Their laughter floated high, light and easy.

Taking a deep breath—and ignoring the flutter in your stomach—you strode up to them, trying to project an air of calm confidence. Ryan’s eyes caught yours first, and his playful smirk grew wider, silently cheering you on. “Ah, look who decided to join us!” he said, leaning back in his chair.

Hugh’s gaze flickered up, and though his smile remained, there was a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes. “Hey, you! You still look like you’re avoiding a hangman’s noose!”

“Can we talk?” you said, giving him no room to wiggle out of your demands. “Just you and me.” You gestured for Ryan to leave, and he caught on quickly, winking as he made his way to order more coffee. The air felt charged with tension as you found yourself sitting across from Hugh, whose casual demeanor slowly shifted when he sensed the seriousness of your tone.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, leaning back, arms crossed, an edge of amusement behind his gaze.

You let out a shaky breath, trying to find the right words to articulate the mess of feelings swirling inside. “I… I’ve been thinking about that night we spent together,” you began, feeling all the warmth drain out of your cheeks. “And how you seem to treat it like—like it’s just a funny story to tell. Meanwhile, I’ve been the one feeling all sorts of things, trying to figure out what it meant.”

His brows knitted together, surprise darting across his face. “You think I treat it like a joke?” His voice lowered, and you could feel a shift in the atmosphere. “I’ve been talking to Ryan about it because, quite frankly, that night with you was more than what I expected.”

You blinked, the words catching you off guard. “What do you mean?”

He leaned forward, his casual demeanor washing away, replaced by a raw sincerity that you hadn’t seen before. “Listen, it was fun and spontaneous. Sure, I may have bragged a bit to Ryan, but it’s because I actually liked it—liked you. I wasn’t expecting to feel a connection like that, even if it was one night. I’ve been thinking about you far more than I anticipated.”

Your heart raced, anger and disappointment gradually subsiding to intrigue as you tried to digest his words. “But how can you say that? You’re Hugh Jackman! You have women throwing themselves at your feet, and I just…” You paused, feeling vulnerable. “I thought you saw me as just a fleeting adventure.”

His expression softened, and he shook his head. “You’re not just a fleeting adventure. You caught my attention in more ways than one, and I’m here hoping we can explore that.”

For a moment, the restaurant faded away, and you could only focus on the honesty etched in his gaze. The air hummed with possibility, and their laughter felt distant, like an echo. “So, what does that mean?” you asked, quietly bracing yourself for his answer.

“It means I’d like to see you again, properly this time. No braggadocio. Just us,” he said, his voice steady and inviting, allowing gentle hope to ripple through the space between you. “But that’s only if you’re willing, of course.”

You took a moment to process it all. There was a genuine sincerity in Hugh’s words that sent both excitement and trepidation coursing through you. He was serious; he truly wanted something more.

After a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity, you found your voice. “I think I’d like that,” you said, heart thumping loudly in your chest. “But I want us to take our time. No rushing, just… getting to know each other.”

A smile spread across Hugh’s face, and in that moment, all the insecurities that had piled up began to dissipate under the warm glow of what could be. “I can do that,” he said, and in that exchange, you felt a sense of relief and liberation wash over you.

As Ryan returned with steaming cups of coffee, his eyes darted between the two of you, practically vibrating with curiosity. You shot him a smile, and his relief echoed yours—this conversation had been long overdue. The future felt bright as the conversation flowed freely, and the tension of the past began to blend into laughter and genuine connection.

The unexpected night had transformed into a new beginning, one filled with promise and the exhilarating anticipation of what was to come.

The flickering candlelight cast gentle shadows on the walls of your favorite little bistro. It was the perfect backdrop for an evening that promised to be both anxiety-inducing and thrilling. You sat at the table, nervously twisting your napkin, a small wave of disbelief rolling over you. Here you were, on a date with Hugh Jackman. Just days ago, the thought of being near him made your stomach churn with a mixture of embarrassment and confusion, but tonight was different. Tonight, there was a chance for something more, something real.

Hugh arrived ten minutes late, as expected. There was a certain charm to his lackadaisical attitude, and any potential annoyance you might have felt quickly melted away when you saw him stride through the door. He wore a fitted blazer over a casual shirt, his hair tousled just enough to give off an effortlessly handsome vibe. The moment his dark eyes met yours, a smile spread across his face, and suddenly, it was as if the world beyond those doors faded away.

“Hey there, stranger,” he said with an easy confidence, pulling out your chair before sinking into his own opposite you. “Apologies for being late. I got sidetracked discovering the lowest rated movie in my collection.”

“Please tell me you didn’t actually watch it,” you replied, trying to maintain a lighthearted tone despite the fluttering nerves in your stomach.

He chuckled, leaning forward slightly, the candlelight illuminating the laughter lines around his eyes. “I couldn’t resist. A curiosity like that tangles with a gift,” he teased, his voice low and cool. “But enough about me—this night is all about you. Tell me what I should know about the real you that I missed in our initial… let’s call it a rendezvous.”

You felt the heat creeping up your cheeks and hesitated. “I’m not sure there’s much to tell. Just your average 35-year-old coping with a midlife existential crisis, wondering when it’s going to stop being so hard to find a decent dating app.”

He laughed again, a deep, warm sound that made your heart race a little faster. “Ah, behold the average woman. If only they knew what a gem they were missing out on.”

The conversation flowed easily from there, drifting through topics of childhood memories, cinematic favorites, and that dreaded question of where you see yourself in five years. With each shared laugh and stolen glance, your embarrassment about your initial encounter began to fade. Under the surface of playful banter was a palpable connection, strong and undeniable.

After dessert—the perfect mix of rich chocolate mousse and a shared slice of cherry pie—you suggested heading back to your place to let Hugh meet your cat, Oliver. He leaned back, a playful spark in his eyes as he raised an eyebrow.

“Your cat? What’s the protocol? Should I come in with a peace offering of tuna or simply wow him with my charm?”

You rolled your eyes, grinning. “A little bit of both wouldn’t hurt.”

As you arrived at your apartment, you were hit by a wave of uncertainty. Would Oliver take kindly to your illustrious guest? The last thing you wanted was for Hugh to feel uncomfortable petting a cat that determined the rules of engagement.

Inside, Oliver, your fluffy ball of mischief and warmth, immediately strutted over to Hugh and inspected him with an air of royal disdain. Hugh knelt down, extending a hand. “Greetings, noble feline. I come in truce and admiration for your majestic reign over this castle.”

Somewhere deep within you, laughter bubbled up, and for a moment, the awkwardness lay forgotten. Hugh scratched beneath Oliver’s chin, and you watched, captivated, as the cat melted under his touch. “He seems to approve,” you said, feeling lightheaded with relief.

As the evening wore on, and the bottle of wine you’d shared began to take effect, you felt a warm flush of confidence wash over you. Hugh, on the other hand, had relaxed into a more vulnerable state. He shared stories from his past—triumphs and failures, moments of joy that shaped him, and doubts that sometimes seeped through his confident facade. It struck you how rare this side of him was, and your attraction grew deeper, fed by a blend of admiration and genuine rapport.

“Can I admit something?” he said after a long pause. His gaze rested on you, earnest and unshielded. “After that night, I wasn’t sure what to think. I found myself intrigued by you in ways I hadn’t anticipated.”

Your heart raced. His honesty disarmed you. “I felt the same way,” you admitted softly. “But I was embarrassed. I thought you saw it as just a fling.”

He shook his head slowly, a half-smile playing on his lips. “When I braggadociously told Ryan about you, I was trying to mask my own surprise at how drawn I am to you. What we shared was undoubtedly intense, but the depth we’ve explored tonight feels even more thrilling.”

There was a weight to his words, and in that charged moment, everything shifted. The distance that had lingered before this night closed in, replaced with an electric tension. You leaned closer, surrendering to the undeniable chemistry cultivated through laughter and shared moments.

And then, without thinking, you reached out, your fingertips brushing against his. It was a mere whisper of a touch, but the air around you crackled with anticipation. He responded by leaning in, his breath soft on your skin, eyes dark and searching for confirmation.

You found yourself in Hugh's embrace once again, the chemistry between you palpable. His lips met yours, a tender exploration that soon turned passionate. As you kissed, you could feel your bodies yearning for each other, the connection between you undeniable.

"May I?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper as his hands found their way to your waist.

You nodded, feeling every heartbeat echo in your ears as he closed the space between you. Your bodies pressed against each other, the heat between you intense.

As you pulled away, breathless, a soft smile graced his lips, revealing the thrill of vulnerability shared. "Why don't we make this a regular thing?" he suggested, his voice now thick with emotion.

You grinned, heart swelling with possibility. "I'd like that. More than you know."

You led him to your bedroom, shedding clothes as you went. Your bodies entwined, hands exploring, mouths tasting. The anticipation built as you kissed and touched each other, the pleasure mounting.

"Fuck, you feel amazing," he groaned as he entered you, your bodies becoming one. You moved together, every thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

you moaned, your bodies slick with sweat. "Don't stop."

As the night unfolded, every moment felt richer than the last. The sex was intense and passionate, fueled by desire and a deep connection. Every touch, every kiss, every thrust was filled with emotion and meaning.

"Yes, fuck, yes," you cried out as you reached your peak, your body trembling with pleasure. He followed soon after, his body shuddering as he cum inside you.

As you lay in each other's arms, spent and satisfied, you knew that this was the beginning of something special. The unexpected had led to the most beautiful new beginning.

[anantaru]

i‘m just thinking about friends with benefits with kaeya and having a no kissing rule 😫

・✶ ｡ synopsis — the cavalry captain and you had a secret agreement going on, with one of the rules being called the "no kissing rule" <3

warnings — fwb, lots of tension, experienced kaeya, sub reader, fem! reader

to keep things short, you and kaeya had a special agreement, with no strings attached nor any unnecessary feelings involved.

sounds easy, correct? well, if it wasn't for one notable thing.

to keep it short, there was one rule: no kissing under any circumstances, it was a line the both of you drew to keep things from becoming way too complicated in your "relationship", most importantly to ensure that feelings stayed out of the equation.

it's supposed to be focused on just the physical part and kaeya had no troubles agreeing to it right away, although he did it with his usual, playful smirk and a glint in his eye that promised mischief.

and well, tonight was no different, really, the two of you met up and the thick tension and anticipation flowed into the usual way to end the night— with the wind singing and the moonlight filtering through the window, casting a soft glow on your naked bodies.

the ambience was charged, the anticipation for feeling pleasure hanging in the air as you reached for each other in hunger— and ugh, kaeya's touch was just so electrifying, you get warm all over as his fingers trace patterns on your flesh that made you shiver right away and shake beneath his chest.

after all, the cavalry captain was known for his fearlessness and playfully persona, hence why behind closed doors, he moved with a confidence that spoke of experience and craving, every gesture calculated to draw out the maximum amount of pleasure from your body.

it feels good, almost too good— you can barely hold your moans back as they drizzled through your parted lips, followed by precious utters of his name in combination with your hips grinding up to meet his thrusts halfway, your inner thighs messily slicked up with your arousal as it dripped all over his balls.

yet, there was a tenderness in the way he held you, a subtle hint of something more beneath the surface— it's weird and confusing, switching between fucking you mercilessly but holding your head ever so tenderly so you wouldn't hurt yourself.

kaeya slants forward now, his breath warm against your ear, "remember the rule?" he whispers, his voice husky as your walls squeeze and loosen with every thrust and push of his erection.

"no kissing, yeah?"

you nod obediently, your heart pounding.

kaeya continues, "repeat it," as his voice buzzes off your skin. the cavalry captain finds the look on your face cute, slightly dazed and a little confused, but adorable despite that.

"no— no kissing," you repeat as he clicks his tongue in agreeance, "good girl,"

and kaeya can feel it, right there, how your wetness was beginning to gather all over his pelvis as he pressed you deeper into the mattress— he knows what it does to you, what he could spark inside of you as it was easy to lose yourself in the sensation of him, forcing yourself to focus on the physical and ignore the emotional.

his touch was everywhere, his scent serving as an aphrodisiac as a dizzying blend of pleasure left you gasping for breath. continuously, kaeya pushed you to your limits, abruptly pulling your legs up against his shoulders before his forehead knocks against yours, his touch being both gentle and demanding, ruthless and, well, loving?

whatever that meant, his real intentions could never leave his lips in comparision to his delirious grunts escaping his throat like a bold of lightning as kaeya dreams of a moment to one night— just taste your lips for one time, just once.

he promises that after he feels them on his own he could go back to how things were before, truly, maybe, not for one moment.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[forget-you-morelike-fuck-you]

That's What Friends Are For Pt. 2- E.M.

I'm so thankful for all of the love on part one! I love each and every one of you, and I hope that you enjoy!

The morning after Eddie helps you with your first orgasm, you get to experience more new things.

Part 1

Masterlist

TW- 18+ Minors DNI, smut, cursing, pnv, first time, pet names (angel, sweetheart, baby), a lil crying (the good kind), slight fingering, handjob (lmk if I missed any!)

Pairings- Virgin!Bestfriend!Reader x Eddie

Word Count- 4,402

(Gifs not mine, Credit to owners!)

With a deep breath, your mind comes close to consciousness, rolling over into the warm being lying next to you. You’re about to delve back into the depths of sleep when you feel his arm snake over your waist, pulling you closer and pressing a kiss into your hair. You hum in satisfaction, cracking your eyes open with a smile forming on your lips, eyes searching for Eddie.  

You look up at him through the bleary film of sleep and find him looking down at you, the morning light filtering through the curtains and highlighting the sweet freckles littered across his nose and cheeks. The bun he slept in is almost completely unraveled, wild curls formed in a sort of halo around him. “Good morning, gorgeous,” He says quietly. He still has the rasp of sleep in his voice, so you know he hasn’t been awake long. You take another deep breath and stretch your toes down, arms up in a catlike motion that loosens your muscles.  

“Morning, handsome,” Your sleepy smile makes him chuckle, and he presses another kiss to your hair, the hand over your waist rubbing sweet circles on the exposed skin where your shirt had hiked in your sleep. 

“How are you feeling?” There’s a quirk of his eyebrow, almost imperceptible. There’s a subtext there: Do you remember and/or regret what we did last night? 

You stretch up a hand to his face, letting your thumb brush over his cheekbone before gently pulling him down to meet your lips. It’s a sweet kiss, slow and thoughtful. Last night was fucking awesome, it says. “I feel perfect,” If Eddie were a cartoon, he swears he’d have hearts and stars floating around his head at the way you look, the way you feel, the way you speak to him, and he curses himself for not snatching you up sooner. “What time is it?” It’s a Saturday. You don’t have to work today, but checking the clock when you wake up is always part of your routine.  

Eddie reaches for the windowsill next to his bed to pick up his watch, to glance at the face. His lean arms and broad hands bring back memories from last night so abruptly it almost makes your head spin. You feel a twitch between your thighs. “A little after ten,” He says, putting the watch back. “Why, do you have plans today?”  

“No, not really. But we could go to that farmer’s market later today if we wanted to. I like that stand that sells all those different kinds of honey,” Your hand finds his chest, fingers lightly tracing the tattoos you’ve memorized every detail of.  

“And what would we do if we didn’t want to?” He asks, eyebrow raised playfully. You feel your heart leap in your chest, what would you do? 

“I dunno. We could go get something from Benny’s. Or go see a movie,” You suggest. Eddie plays like he’s lost in thought, fingers drumming on his chin as he considers the options. “Or... We could lay in bed all day.” 

His eyes flick to you, “That sounds like a good option,” The lopsided, dimpled smile you love so much pulls at his lips before he dips his head down to capture you in a kiss again, and you giggle into the kiss as you wrap your arms around his neck. He wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you into his chest, calloused fingers digging lightly into your side. When you part, you rub your noses against each other, both of you still smiling. 

“Can I ask you something?” You mutter, the cogs turning in your head. 

“Anything,” Eddie presses a kiss to your nose, then your forehead. Your cheeks are beginning to ache from smiling so much. 

“I know we didn’t really say it last night, but I was wondering if we were like... boyfriend-girlfriend now? Or... I don’t know. Are we putting a label on us?” There’s a bit of hesitation in your voice, but not enough to really alarm Eddie. 

“Do you want to be boyfriend-girlfriend?” He asks, eyes widened a bit. You bite your lip and nod sheepishly, your fingers curling around the hair at the back of his neck. You didn’t think it was possible for his smile to be any more radiant than usual, but it is then as he leans in to kiss you again, the hand on your waist going to your face, cradling your cheek and jaw in his large hand. It makes you dizzy, and you run your hands down his back, the kiss deepening as you open your mouths to each other. As you rake your hands back up Eddie’s back, there’s a noise from the back of his throat, one that sets your nerves on fire. It’s so beautiful that you do it again, with the same glorious result. 

There’s a pounding in your chest as Eddie moves his lips down to your neck, and yours miss his skin so much you press them anywhere you can reach— the edge of his jaw, his shoulder, the base of his neck—and when Eddie sucks at that sweet spot below your ear, you let out a little whine, hands tightening around his lean frame again. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” He mutters against your skin. “I’m such an idiot for not doing this sooner,” 

You want to protest, to tell him that you’re the idiot for not bucking up sooner, but his hand roams up your side, over your ribs and you can’t help but sigh. “Eddie...” It’s all you can get out. It’s like you’re on drugs all over again, but the only drug here is the intoxicating feeling of Eddie—his hands, his mouth, his body—all over you. 

Eddie moves so that he’s hovering over you between your legs, and you whimper, loudly and unexpectedly, as he grinds against you. You can feel him throbbing through your shorts and his pants, and it’s the most erotic thing you’ve ever felt. Of course, that position doesn’t have much competition at this point, but nevertheless, it’s like your head is stuffed with cotton candy. You instinctively push your hips up to meet his, and Eddie moans again, a needier sound this time that has you feeling almost feral.  

Your hands fumble around, searching for the waistband of his pants, desperate to feel him, but Eddie pulls back, both of you panting lightly. “Are you sure you want to do this? I know I said if you still wanted to in the morning, we could, but I...” He looks away, not being able to find the words. 

You bite your lip, eyes wide and wanting. “Eddie, look at me,” You plead. There’s a worry on his face as he does, his chocolate eyes soft and gorgeous. “I want you so bad I feel like I could burst into flames. I have wanted you for as long as I’ve known you. I have thought of this, dreamed of this, for years. You are my best friend and I trust you with my life. So please...” 

“All I’m saying is that we don’t have to do this now. We can wait if you—” 

“Edward Munson, if you don’t get down here and do me right now I swear to god!” You threaten, and Eddie lets out a bubble of laughter from his throat at your seriousness.  

“Okay, okay, quit yanking my leg! I just wanted to make sure.” You smile at his smile and then you’re kissing again, all tongues and teeth as you paw at his pants again, nearly drooling at the thought of touching him. Eddie’s hand smooths down your body to your thigh, holding it up against his hip, fingertips digging deliciously into the meat of it.  

“Please,” You gasp between kisses, “c-can I touch you?” Eddie groans, his eyes practically rolling to the back of his head. 

“God, yes,” You finally manage to get your fingers below his waistband, searching for his long, throbbing length that’s already painfully straining against his pants. When you touch it, it’s like you’ve been shocked by an electrical socket, right between your thighs. It’s so much warmer than you expected it to be, and softer, the skin smooth save for the thick vein running up the side. Though you can’t see it yet you know it’s going to be absolutely perfect. You gently grasp it as best you can in your position and give a experimental stroke. “Oh, my god. Fuck, angel,” Eddie gasps, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. You bite your lip and stroke again, studying the way it feels in your hand. You’ve heard about what this is like from the few girlfriends you have. You can’t do it too hard, or it hurts like a bitch, You remember your friend saying. When you slide your hand up, you feel moisture dripping from the tip, and you gasp at the sensation. It’s hot and thick, and you get the sudden urge to taste it, but you hold back.  

Eddie’s having a rough time focusing on anything other than the feeling of his cock in your hand. The sounds he’s making have you getting hotter by the second, but you’re enjoying how much Eddie’s enjoying this, so you don’t mind. You try squeezing a little harder, not much, just enough to make a difference, and Eddie bites into your collarbone lightly, making you shiver. His hand on your thigh grips you harder. “If you- If you want me to last, sweetheart,” He pants, “You’re gonna need to stop that soon,” He involuntarily ruts into your hand then with another beautiful whimper. 

Suddenly, you don’t know if you want him to last. As much as you want him inside you, you also really enjoy the thought of making him unravel just like this. You gently pull your hand away, collecting the drips of precum at the tip before pulling out of his pants, and you marvel at the clear, sticky liquid pooled on your fingers before tentatively brushing it across your tongue. Eddie stares wide, mouth hung open like he’s seeing a fucking unicorn. “You’re fucking perfect,” He muses.  

You giggle, a blush growing on your cheeks. “I wanna see it,” You confess, eyes wide and doe-like. Eddie nods, his lips kiss swollen and pink as he sits up on his knees between your thighs. His fingers find the waistband of his pants and he shimmies them down, his cock bouncing up to lightly slap against his abdomen as he kicks the pants off his feet. “Oh my god,” You whisper.  

If you had to guess, you would say he’s about 7 inches. There’s a slight curve to it, and the tip is almost a hot pink and messy with precum. Your mouth starts watering again at the sight of it. Screw using your hand, you want him inside you. Now. “You want me to get your shorts off?” He asks, his voice husky from lust. You nod wildly, already lifting your butt off the mattress to help him. He hooks his fingers under the waistband and lowers his head to the tops of your thighs to kiss the skin there as he pulls them down. You let out a sharp whine at the new sensation and Eddie hums happily against you as you writhe beneath him. He sits up to pull the shorts from your legs to toss them to the floor with his pants, and just like last night, he looks at you beneath him like he’s just been served a gourmet meal. “So fucking beautiful,” You sit up then, reaching out to touch along his sides, breathing heavily as you press your lips to the space between his thighs and stomach. Eddie gasps above you, his head rolled back as you trace your tongue in little patterns, mirroring the path he took with his mouth on you. 

You reach for the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head, wanting to be naked with him, wanting for every inch of skin to touch him when he marks you from the inside. You reach up to his neck and pull him down with you, mouths finding each other as you rest your head back on Eddie’s pillow. Eddie takes his time to peruse your newly naked skin with his mouth, kissing over the mounds of your breasts before gently pulling a nipple into his mouth. You moan deeply, tangling your fingers through his hair as he sucks gently, running his tongue over the hardened bud before seeking the other one. “God, Eddie, fuck. Please, I need you... Please,” you beg, sending your hips up in search of him. Eddie shushes you, bringing his lips back to yours.  

“I know, baby, I know,” He murmurs against your lips. “I’ve got you,” He leans over to his bedside table, pulling the drawer open. He fumbles through the junk for a moment before fishing out a little foil packet, which he rips open with his teeth. He tries putting the condom on with one hand while he supports himself with the other, but he fumbles, so you reach your hand down to help him, rolling it down to the base of his cock, earning another moan from him at the mere feeling of you. 

He looks back to your face, the hand not supporting him goes to your face, thumb brushing over your cheek. “This might hurt. I’m gonna go as slow as I can, but you’ll tell me if I need to stop, right?” He searches your eyes for any doubt. 

“I will,” You promise with a little nod. He mirrors your nod as he leans to kiss you again, and his hand goes down to the space between the two of you to position himself correctly to slide into you. He rubs the tip of his cock up and down your slit for a moment to spread the wetness before slowly, so slowly, he starts pushing himself past your tight entrance.  

You both gasp at the same time, clutching each other as you adjust. There’s a burn as you stretch open around him, and you’re not sure if going slow helps or hurts, but you can’t even think straight to decide. Behind the burn of being split open is a mind-crushing pleasure that has you curling your toes and arching your back. “Oh my god, oh my god,” You hear yourself cry. 

“I know, baby, fuck...” Eddie’s eyes are screwed shut, you assume to focus on not completely slamming into you. “So fucking tight, angel...” He mutters. It’s hard to keep your breath with the way you’re panting, but you try to focus on it as he inches into you. He whispers encouragement to you as he sinks in deeper and deeper until you feel him so deep you know he won’t be able to go any further.  

“Fuck, I feel so... full.” Your eyes screw shut as you feel the pressure of his head against your cervix. Eddie gives a strained chuckle and sighs. 

“I’m not even all the way in, sweetheart. I’m gonna have to do a better job warming you up next time. I just needed to fucking feel this,” He hangs his head against your chest, and your hands go to his hair, smoothing it out away from his face. You’re hips suddenly move on their own, and you both hiss a breath of pleasure at the delicious friction. “Oh fuck! Jesus, angel, you’re so fucking needy for it,” He moans, pressing hot, wet kisses to your shoulder before starting back up toward your face. 

“I-I’m sorry!” Your head is buzzing like a beehive, the only word you’re able to consciously focus on is EddieEddieEddieEddie. Eddie captures your lips again, your tongues smoothing across each other. 

“Don’t worry. I just didn’t expect it is all,” He heaves a breath, scrunching his eyes closed. “I- I think I need to start moving now, though. It’s a crime to sit still while I’m inside you,” The erotic praise sends another shockwave through you, and you nod.   

“Yeah, yeah, please do that,” You hang your head back on the pillow to let him do pretty much whatever he wants. You don’t know what you’re doing so you have to trust him to show you everything. He pulls out slowly, too, though not as slowly as he went in. You give a little whine as you feel the pleasure-pain again, and Eddie looks at you with alarmed eyes, but you nod at him for him to continue. He’s not all the way out when he starts pushing back in again, and you begin to feel more pleasure than pain. Your limbs are heavy and warm with pleasure as he starts setting a slow rhythm. 

Eddie’s hand hoists your thigh up around his hip again, and the new angle offers deeper pleasure than before, making you moan as he pushes in again. “Oh my god,” You whine, your fingertips grasping at the skin of his back. Your lips search for Eddie’s face, and you kiss across his cheek to his lips, feeling the vibration of his moan on your mouth.  

“You feel—so fucking—so fucking good, baby.” His words are strained, he’s so focused on going slow enough to not cause you pain, but he’s also suffering for it. He wants nothing more than to be able to fuck you deep into the mattress, hard and fast. But maybe next time. He’ll be good for you. He’ll be so good for you. 

“A little faster, please,” You plead, your breath coming in uneven and heavy. Eddie is all to eager to provide, gradually working the pace up a bit, his hips hitting yours a bit harder in a way that makes your breasts bounce on your chest with every snap of his hips. “Oh, fuck—” He’s hit something different now, something deep inside you that makes your vision go fuzzy for a minute, then he hits it again. You let out a tense whine at the contact, and your nails dig into his back. 

“You like that, angel? Fuck, does that feel good?” In a different tone, it would sound taunting, but the way Eddie’s voice drips with need, you know that he’s begging to hear the answer. 

“God, yes—feels so fucking good, Ed,” You feel your eyes start to itch with tears, and you hold back a choked sob as he continues fucking into you. He presses hot kisses to your neck, and you move one of your hands to grasp at the hand supporting him on the bed. He moves to accommodate, careful to keep himself up while you thread your fingers together above your head.  

“So fucking good for me. You’re so pretty, sweetheart. I’ve got you, don’t you worry.” He squeezes your hand, his other does the same to the meat of your thigh, making you buck your hips beneath him without meaning to.  

You continue like this for a few minutes, suspended somewhere otherworldly as you push each other closer and closer toward that undiluted bliss you felt for the first time last night. Between the kissing and the sighs, Eddie releases the hand he’s holding. “I need you to do something, sweetheart,” He rasps. You nod eagerly, trying to keep your focus on what he’s saying to you. “I’m- fuck, I’m getting pretty close. And I want you to cum with me. So I want you to take these pretty fingers,” He leans down to kiss them one by one, nibbling on the very tips of them, “and I want you to go down and rub your clit for me, okay? You remember how I did it last night?” You nod again, beginning to run your hand down between your bodies in search of that magic button Eddie brought you to tears with. 

You shiver when you brush over it, letting out a mewl. “That’s a good girl,” Eddie encourages. “Take your fingers and rub it in circles. Not too hard, you don’t want to bruise it,” 

“’Kay,” You start trying to find a rhythm, starting slow, moving the pads of your fingers over the swollen bud. You start to feel it drive your pleasure forward, so you keep your focus on it, trying not to lose your rhythm.  

“That’s it, angel. You’re doing so good for me. Fuck, I can feel you squeezing me. Don’t stop pretty girl, I wanna feel you cum on my cock,” You drink in the words like water, ignoring the pain beginning in your inexperienced wrist as you continue, pressing a bit harder, circling a little faster on instinct.  

“Oh my God, Eddie,” You whine, “feels so fucking good,” You’re getting that crying feeling again now, like your body is working in overdrive to accommodate for the blanket of sensation around you. 

“I know, I know, baby,” He moans, capturing you in a sloppy kiss. Your tears spill over your eyes then, falling in hot drips down your face, cooling as they reach your neck. You shiver, from that and from hitting a certain spot around your clit. You gasp, and the tension in your stomach starts building. 

“Oh my God,” You whine again. “I’m-- I think I’m getting close.” You let your eyes screw shut, lewd noises spilling from your lips like a waterfall as you get closer and closer to release. 

“Fuck, I know, pretty girl. I am too. So fucking close,” He’s panting above you, “Don’t you stop. Make yourself cum on my cock. I know you can do it, angel. Cum for me, please, baby. I wanna feel it,” His voice is so sweet and needy in your ear that you can feel your body begin to unravel, the tension in your stomach teetering on a tightrope. 

Then, the tightrope snaps, and you have to bite back a scream, tears flooding down your face as you descend into a dizzying orgasm. Your vision blackens around the edges as your walls clamp around Eddie’s cock, and he starts spewing profanities, his thrusts get sloppier. With a low moan into your neck, you feel him twitch inside you, hips stuttering as he reaches his own peak. You keep rubbing at your clit, like Eddie did after you came last night, and it does seem to keep the waves rolling through you for a little longer. Finally, when your wrist is too tired to move anymore, you let your fingers come to a stop, and you let your hand flop to the side, both of you sucking breaths to try to regain your composure. You let your eyes flutter closed again as you let your soul return to your body, and Eddie leans down to kiss anywhere his lips can reach.  

You revel in the feeling, knowing that if you died spontaneously, you’d do it with a smile, and soon Eddie is easing himself out of you, adjusting his lower body so that he can lay his head on your chest without completely crushing you. “Sweetheart?” He asks. “Are you okay?” There’s a slight laugh in his voice, but he can see the tears on your face.  

In response, you raise a hand to run through his hair, not remembering how to speak yet, and give a slow nod. You can feel a smile rising on your lips, lazy and dreamy, like this had all been some beautiful fantasy of the subconscious. Finally, you start to open your eyes, and you find Eddie looking intently at your face, trying to gauge your feelings. “There you are,” He murmurs, his hand coming to brush a stray tear from your cheek.  

“Here I am,” You breathe, a little bubble of laughter bursting from your throat. That makes Eddie feel better, much better. He laughs a little, too. 

“How you feelin’ angel?” You sigh deeply, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to his forehead. 

“I feel fantastic.” You kiss Eddie’s forehead again and press your cheek into his hair. The laugh he gives now sounds a little less hesitant with the verbal confirmation of your wellbeing. 

“Good. I’m gonna get up in a minute to get you a towel, okay?” His hand slides down the length of your body, stopping to rest on your hip. You let your fingers card through his dark curls as he lightly kisses your collarbone.  

“You take such good care of me,” You compliment, that dreamy tone still lilting your voice. You feel him squeeze your hip just slightly, like he’s trying to hug you while laying on you. 

“Anything for my favorite girl,” You giggle. He said that last night, too. You both rest for a quiet moment then, just feeling the warmth of your bodies pressed together. Finally, after a few minutes of this, Eddie raises his head to look at you again. “You still want to go to the farmer’s market later?” You don’t know why you find this so funny, but you laugh a lot harder than you probably should.  

“I don’t think so,” You say. “I don’t think we’re going to want to go very far from this bed, today,” 

“Oh?” Eddie raises an eyebrow, amusement written all over his face. “And why is that?”  

“Because I think you’ve just created a monster,” You tell him matter-of-factly. “I don’t know how I lived so long without this.” Eddie laughs at your brazenness.  

“We’ll see about that, baby. Wait until you try to stand up. We’ll see how much you want it after trying to walk,”  

“Well, how about I just lay here then? Then I won’t have to worry about it!” Eddie reaches his face to meet yours, his warm lips moving over yours with increasing ease as you settle into each other like this. 

“What am I going to do with you?” He asks, breath fanning over your face. Your heart breaks out in a sprint at his tender touch. You breathe another, exaggerated sigh. 

“I don’t know. What are you going to do with me?” You grin playfully as he ponders this. 

“Everything, I hope,” He settles on, giving you your favorite smile.  

“Ooh, I can get on board with that!” With that, you pull his face toward yours, both of you laughing as you kiss each other breathless once again. 

@eddiernunson @names-were-taken @unverifiedmeatsuit