#his file in the end credits (i think

[charlietheepicwriter7]

Despite Danny's best efforts, no matter how much time past, Amity Park refused to see Phantom as a hero.

Sure, there were pockets of support, particularly among teens, but most of the town blames Phantom for the property damage, saying if he didn't fight the ghosts then it wouldn't be so bad, to that time he got mind controlled by Freakshow and "attacked" the mayor. It wears him down. It wears Tucker and Sam down. Jazz can only try to support them all.

Then one day, a member of the Justice League visits. Someone minor, and kinda a jerk... maybe a Wonder Twin? Zan? Whatever. They don't investigate; they don't look deeper. They listen to the town folks and declare the ghost hunters, Red Huntress and the Fentons, to be the official heroes of the town.

Worse? Danny Phantom is officially considered a villain to the Justice League. Tuck hacks into the Watchtower and confirms that they have a file (a heavily inaccurate file) about how to defeat Phantom.

Danny doesn't think he can do this anymore.

A few weeks later, a young villain escapes into Amity and demands (begs) that Danny help them escape from the hero after them. No idea who, I can't find a lot of info on teen villains in DC, so let's fudge some ages and make it Kyd Wyckyd from the Teen Titans cartoon. Danny agrees, because to hell with the Justice Losers, and they defeat the hero, becoming friends in the process. Kyd confesses that they became a villain after being ostracized bc of how they look, and they've been trying to avoid villain organizations because HIVE was abusive, but it's really hard to be a villain alone bc of all the heroes.

Sam gets an idea. Tucker agrees with the idea. Jazz is just happy they'll end up making friends.

The next day, the Teen Villain Alliance is formed, ready to assist with any teenage illegal shenanigans their allies might get into.

Some notes:

It's created to be a healthier option for teen "villains" to connect with others and support each other.

It's more important that this is for Teens rather than Villains. They're tired of adult villains taking advantage of them. The TVA would rather ally with a teen vigilante than with an adult villain.

Again, no idea who the teen villains are, but Klarion is definitely here. He leaves the Light for the chaos of the TVA. Maybe Ember is there too?

Timeline wise, this is around when Tim is still Robin, but Damien has arrived at Wayne Manor.

This is because, when it comes time to try to infiltrate the TVA, they'll have a convenient child-assassin who has none of the monitors of a teen hero that Phantom immediately picks up on.

Damien, who at this point has been abandoned by his mother, dismissed and scolded by his father, and has had no success at carving his own place in the family, jumps at the chance. He is then surrounded by peers who don't insult him or try to change his behavior (too much; jazz is trying to help him find healthier methods of expressing himself). He... might not want to continue being a spy.

Danny, Sam, Tuck, and Jazz are the founding members.

Danny reinvents himself as the High Prince of the Infinite, Prince Phantom Dark. He got kingship from fighting Pariah Dark, but since he's still alive, he's only a prince. He steals the last name Dark as an intimidation tatic against those in the know; only Danny would have the balls to claim family with Pariah.

Sam works as a powerless villain, but she might no be powerless? Either way, Danny gives her a bunch of repurposed Fenton tech, and she buys the rest with her parents credit card. She does NOT care if that's traced back to the Mansons. She would choose something goth, maybe something spider related or even bat?

I love Pharaoh Tucker, so I think he should get magic powers? Since pharaohs of old were considered the balance between the real and the divine. He's still a tech guy, now he's a tech and magic guy.

Jazz isn't really a villain, more of a team mom who's planning on using everyone's psyche's as her thesis paper. You know what, that's her callsign, she's Psyche. Sometimes she flirts with Nightwing.

#dc x dp #villain!everlasting trio #dcxdp #villain danny phantom #teen villain alliance #c: danny fenton #c: sam manson #c: tucker foley #c: jazz fenton #c: kyd wyckyd #c: klarion the witch boy #c: batfamily #c: damien wayne #they don't have an agenda like most villain team ups #they're there to support each other commit crimes and play pranks on the justice losers #dp x dc #dp crossover #dc crossover

[daisynik7]

I want to be with you everywhere

“You really didn’t have to walk me back,” you say, staring down at your feet, slow steps across the wet pavement, not at all minding the puddles.

Nanami’s beside you, umbrella tucked between his ribcage and bicep, hands inside his pockets. “It might rain again,” he replies, gaze also focused on the ground below you, a stray strand of his blond bangs falling across his forehead. The aftermath of happy hour is evident amongst the two of you, from the slight blush tinted on his cheeks to the buzz tingling along your hot skin. Though you’re not entirely sure if it’s from the alcohol or from being in such close proximity with the man you’ve fallen for. Maybe it’s both.

Your coworker has always been a gentleman around the office, but recently, you can’t help but wonder if he’s any different towards you versus someone like Mari in Accounting or Hana in HR. It seems that any chance he gets, he chooses to be with you in some shape or form. Working on a project together, volunteering to help you search for archived files in the warehouse, inviting you to lunch with him and only him. It could be wishful thinking on your end, or it could mean something. Whatever it is, you’re not complaining, enjoying his company way more than a normal coworker should.

There’s a comfortable silence as you continue your stroll, his elbow brushing yours with every stride. You like this about him, how he doesn’t force a conversation just to fill the void. Sometimes the silence is more telling than words themselves. It gives you the chance to secretly study his mannerisms, the ones you’ve memorized and buried inside your mind like hidden treasure. How his lips twitch just barely to tease that smile of his. The cadence of his steps, not too fast, not too slow. You’ve learned to recognize his gait just by the sound of it from hearing it so often in the office. At this point, it’s almost soothing, like the steady rhythm of a heartbeat.

But not yours in this moment, because it’s currently racing. Your confession lingers on the tip of your tongue. You chalk it up to the liquor you consumed more than two hours ago, plenty of time for you to sober up. Still, you blame it on that, because if it goes wrong, then at least you have that to fall back on. A momentary lapse of judgement and not at all a humiliating misunderstanding, right?

Before you can speak, the rain interrupts you, almost as if someone watching from above is determined to save you from impending doom. Nanami looks up, then at you, grinning. “See?” He opens the umbrella, holding it tight in his hand, hovering over your side more than his. “Good thing I’m with you.”

His unprotected shoulder starts getting dotted with wet spots from the drizzle. You close the distance between you, huddling nearer to him. Without thinking, you grab the handle, grip right below his, steadying the umbrella to cover the two of you completely. “You’re right,” you smile softly, still avoiding his eyes. “I’m happy to be with you.”

The confession can wait a little while longer. For now, this is more than enough.

Author's Note: Was listening to this song all day today and it just makes me feel like falling in love, idk 🩶 Divider credit to @/cafekitsune. Part 2 here.

#nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento fluff #nanami fluff #nanami x you #nanami x reader #kento nanami fluff #jjk fluff

[estrellami-1]

Falling

(ao3 link)

Dedicated to @madigoround, my one constant Steddie cheerleader. I hope you like it! ❤️

It’s said if you truly want to get to know someone, tell them no. Watch how they act when they’re angry, when they’re sick, when they’re wrecked by grief.

The truth is, Eddie thinks, the way to truly get to know someone is to watch them when they think they’re not being watched.

So, Eddie watches people. He watches Tommy Hagan ascend the ranks of social hierarchy, climbing closer and closer to the top of the totem pole until he reaches the zenith and finds himself stuck with fake friends and a fake life. He’s mean, in the way that Eddie knows someone is mean to him and he doesn’t know how to handle it.

Eddie leaves him alone, ignores him best he can, and hopes Tommy will have the dignity to do the same.

He watches Carol Perkins, faux-model that she is, use her body like a weapon, like a credit card. He knows that she knows that way only heartbreak lies. No one moves to stop her. Eddie knows she’s hurtling towards self-destruction. He knows she’s ignored at home.

He watches Steve Harrington. His ascent to popularity, then in the blink of an eye, his fall. How easily he shrugs off the mantle of King Steve, starts carting around middle schoolers.

How he flinches at loud sounds, abrupt movements, flickering lights.

Steve Harrington intrigues Eddie, is the thing. And Eddie’s never been the type to deny his intrigues. So he studies the fallen king more.

Some things make sense, after spring break. Some things don’t.

Steve has three smiles: the real one, the one everybody thinks is real, and the fake customer service one. He hardly ever uses the first. He’ll use the second a lot. The kids are dipshits, brash in the way only a teenager can be, unaware and uncaring of the effect their words have. Specifically, the effect their words have on Steve.

When they make jokes about his intelligence, Steve will force on a little half-smile, an unaffected air, even as his shoulders slump inward and his chin tips down.

Eddie sees it. He also sees what Steve looks like, eyes wide and wild, grinning and gesturing freely, as he discusses basketball with Lucas or football with Uncle Wayne. Eddie understands the stats he somehow manages to keep track of (even Eddie has notebooks for all his character sheets and all the math everything requires. He’s forgotten, more than once, how he’d done something for a past campaign, and digs through his notebooks until he finds it. But Steve pulls the numbers out of thin air, hardly even pausing as he finds them in his mental filing cabinet, and Eddie is impressed, to say the least). He knows Steve’s smart, even if it’s in a different way than the kids are used to.

He makes a point to mention it. Steve’s over watching the game with Wayne, and Eddie whistles as he listens in to their conversation from the kitchen where he’s making lunch. “That’s some memory,” he says, shaking his head. “I know I couldn’t keep all that straight.”

Steve blinks at him. “What, like all your D&D people?”

“Characters. You don’t want to see the amount of notebooks I have, trying to keep everything straight, and it still ends up all going to hell when I can’t find something.” He raises a challenging brow, daring Steve to argue.

Steve just laughs and leans back into the couch. “Whatever, man, I still think it’s impressive. I’ve been watching for years, it just kinda makes sense that I’d remember a few facts.”

“A few?” Eddie’s eyes light up. “Wayne, quiz him.”

Wayne snorts. “What’m I, your errand boy?”

“Yes,” Eddie says, just to be contrary. He grins at the snicker it pulls from Steve. “Please, Wayne?”

Wayne narrows his eyes at Eddie, then softens his gaze when he moves it over to Steve. “You up for it?”

Steve chuckles. “Sure, I guess. It’d be nice to see how much I actually know.”

For the next few minutes, Wayne gives a name and within a few seconds, Steve’s answered with stats about that person.

Eddie, ever the competitive soul, ends up invested, grinning and high-fiving Steve when Wayne runs out of names. “Knew it,” he said, happily noting the blush making its home on Steve’s cheeks.

“Ha,” Eddie jokes later, ribbing Dustin because he can. “Kiddo, that was worse than-” he thinks for a few seconds, then sighs and raises his voice. “Steve? Who was the guy who did the thing you and Wayne were mad about?”

Dustin judges him with his eyebrows. “Even if Steve had any idea what you’re saying, what makes you think he’d know-”

“Phil Simms,” Steve called back from the kitchen. “Great player, actually, just wrong team.”

Eddie hummed, enjoying the shocked look on Dustin’s face. “Nah, not quite doing it. Who’s the losingest team?”

Losingest team, Dustin mouths, mocking. Eddie notes that he doesn’t actually say anything this time, though.

“Depends. Jets started at ten to one, then lost their final five games. But the Giants beat the Redskins 17 to zero. They also beat the 49ers 49—heh—to three, but that was earlier in the season, and no one expected San Francisco to win anyways.” He walks out of the kitchen, wiping his hands with a towel, a thoughtful look on his face. “Does any of that help?”

“Absolutely,” Eddie says, even though he has zero idea what Steve actually said. He’s staring, smug grin firmly affixed to his face, at Dustin.

Lucas, over on the couch, sits up straight and stares at Steve. “Did you see Montana’s comeback?”

Steve grins. “Fuckin’ wild, man, but I kinda hate Walsh for letting him. Like, I’ve been there, right? And that was…” he shakes his head. “Not good. Yeah, it’s been weeks, whatever, but an injury like that?” Steve crosses his arms, shakes his head.

Eddie stares, enraptured. Obsessed. Maybe, possibly, falling.

When the kids make jokes about Steve’s appearance, he’ll put a hand to the back of his neck and rub, force down the blush, avoid eye contact.

Eddie knows Steve’s not shy. So he doesn’t understand why Steve reacts like that until one day he compliments Steve. It’s a simple little line, you have gold in your hair, but Steve beams. Eddie’s left wondering about the difference, realizes there’s a certain type of compliment Steve’s received all his life, that probably ended up less than welcome at some point.

So Eddie makes it his life’s mission to make Steve beam the way he had the first time.

One time they’re out lounging by the pool while the kids splash around, beers in hand, talking about everything and nothing. Steve tips his head back to take a drink and Eddie realizes something. He leans forward to get a better look. “Your eyes are hazel,” he says delightedly, grinning at the flush rapidly showing on Steve’s cheeks.

Steve looks like he’d very much like to take a page out of Eddie’s book and hide behind his hair in that moment. He hides behind his beer instead, takes another sip as he waits for his face to get back under control. “Are they?” He asks, like he doesn’t know. He’s such a little shit. Eddie’s obsessed.

Another time, Eddie breaks in (is it breaking in if everyone and their mother knows where Steve puts the spare key?) and starts making breakfast while Steve’s out on a run. He almost swallows his tongue when Steve walks back in, sweaty and flushed, wearing shorts that God Himself must have sculpted just for Steve.

Instead of saying that, Eddie adopts an unaffected face and raises a brow. “Pretty sure there’s a fine for public indecency, sweetheart, and those shorts break about eight of those rules. ‘Course, no one’s gonna say anything when they’re on you.”

Steve laughs, light and happy as he accepts the water Eddie hands him. “And why’s that?”

“Because I think you single-handedly caused every gay crisis on the police force.”

Steve laughs hard enough he snorts, and Eddie’s immediately hellbent on hearing that sound again. “That so?” He asks, then pauses. “Wait, what the fuck are you doing in my kitchen?”

Eddie shrugs, like it should be obvious. “Making breakfast. I wanted pancakes.”

“And you couldn’t make them at your place?”

Eddie just shrugs, a smile playing on his lips. Steve badly hides his grin as he shakes his head and turns around, citing a need for a shower as he heads upstairs. “Don’t burn the house down!”

“Betrayal!” Eddie yells back, grinning when Steve cackles again.

Eddie stares as Steve walks upstairs, enraptured. Obsessed. Maybe, probably, falling.

Eddie studies Steve. Studies him and watches him more and more. His mannerisms, his interactions with others. And he realizes something very interesting: Steve’s always the one to reach out.

He tugs Dustin into a teasing headlock, rubs his knuckles over the top of his head. Flings his arm over Lucas’s shoulders, pokes at Mike until he responds, bumps Will’s elbow with his own. Brushes his fingers over Max’s arm, pulls El into a hug. Robin is the only person who consistently pulls Steve into a hug, and even so, most of the time it’s teasing; a quick, sharp thing, jerky movements and practically pushing him away when she’s done.

So Eddie starts. Brushes his hand across Steve’s shoulders as he’s walking by. Poking at Steve’s cheeks to get a reaction. Quick, tight hugs, at first.

Or… that was the plan. The first time he pulls Steve into a hug, they’re alone, because Eddie does not want to have to deal with Dustin and his dramatics in that moment. So Eddie pulls Steve in, arms flung around him and squeezing in a half-joking manner, and Steve practically melts.

“Jesus fuck,” Eddie mutters, stumbling a little. “You good, Stevie?”

Steve pulls back, a blush making its way across his cheeks. “Yeah. Sorry. It- it won’t happen again.”

Eddie frowns. “How the fuck is that what you got from it?”

Steve shrugs. “I know I can be… well, Nancy called it clingy, and I’ve had a few girlfriends in the past who called it clingy, and if it looks like a rose and smells like a rose, then…”

“Shit, Steve, no, that’s not- what the fuck were your girlfriends on? Why would they call that clingy? That’s not- Christ, Steve, if that’s clingy, sign me up. Seriously. Just warn me next time, we don’t all have the body of a Greek god, we can’t all carry our somewhat-acquaintances out of hell.” He grins at Steve, a half-thing that grows when Steve tentatively grins back.

“Body of a Greek god?”

“Oh, don’t go fishing for compliments, I know you, you’re not that shallow.” He rolls his eyes, smiles. Tentatively places his hands on Steve’s arms, just above his wrists. “You hear of something called touch-starved?”

Steve cautiously looks him in the eye. “I can guess,” he finally says, and Eddie pulls him into another hug.

This one lasts for something close to a minute, and Eddie ignores it when Steve takes a step back and molds his face back into shape. “Anytime,” he says quietly, like a promise. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Steve agrees.

It happens again a week later.

Everyone’s over for Hellfire. Steve was in the kitchen, had been there practically since everyone had trickled in.

There’s a quiet clatter, an even quieter shit, then a pause before Steve heaves a sigh. “Eddie?”

Eddie furrows his brows in concern, motions for everyone to stay where they are, then makes his way into the kitchen, seeing Steve gripping the edge of the sink. “Steve?”

“I’ve been having a shit day,” he starts. “If… if you meant what you said. Last time?”

“Anytime,” Eddie swears. “Hey, Stevie, c’mon, the sink’s not going anywhere, let’s let go, yeah? Wanna stay down here or go upstairs?”

Steve makes an irritated noise in the back of his throat. “Your game-”

“Will be there later,” Eddie finishes. “Here or upstairs?” Steve shakes his head, a sharp movement, and Eddie recognizes it. “Want me to pick?”

“Please.”

“Upstairs. Can you do it yourself?”

Steve makes another guttural noise, pulls away from the sink, and marches upstairs.

Eddie follows. All the way upstairs, into Steve’s room, pausing to close and lock the door. “We’re safe,” he says quietly, and opens his arms. “Stevie?”

Steve trembles as he allows himself to be hugged, hands fisting in the back of Eddie’s shirt, head guided to the junction of Eddie’s neck and shoulder.

Eddie pets a solid hand down Steve’s back, squeezing at his waist for a moment before bringing it up again, just below his neck. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “We’re all okay, we’re all safe. What’re you seeing, Stevie?”

Steve takes a breath. It only stutters a little. “Had a dream ‘bout you last night,” he admits. “Kinda fucked me over.”

Eddie’s heart clenches. “I’m here,” he promises, and guides them onto the bed. “D’you want to be on top or bottom?”

He feels Steve’s brows scrunch against his shoulder. “What?”

“Some people need the pressure of someone on them. It’s grounding. For some, it’s too much.”

“Oh,” Steve mutters. “You on top.”

Eddie bites his tongue on the joke that wants to come out. “M’kay, c’mon, then, still not the one with the body of a Greek god.”

He feels Steve’s tentative smile as they roll over, a breath huffed into his chest. “Always liked Apollo.”

“God of the sun,” Eddie agrees. “Suits you.” He gets his arms out from under Steve, puts them on his shoulders. “This work?”

Steve hums. His eyes are shut. “Didn’t wanna take you from your game. Sorry.”

“And I told you it’ll be there later. If you need something, I want to help you get it. Simple as that.”

Steve sighs, tips his head to the side. His chin brushes the back of Eddie’s hand, and he does it again. “This works.”

“Steve,” Eddie says, watching Steve brush his chin over the back of his hand. “If there’s something you want, I need you to ask for it. I can’t read your mind.” Steve’s brows furrow as his eyes open, and Eddie clicks his tongue. “Close your eyes.” They drop shut again, and he nudges the back of his hand a little harder against Steve’s chin. “What do you want?”

Steve sighs again, gathering courage. “Want you to play with my hair.”

Eddie’s heart skips a beat. He brushes his hand up, traces the line of Steve’s silhouette, up his chin, his nose, around his eye. Drags the backs of his fingers across his forehead, surreptitiously checking for a fever. Nothing. Steve relaxes back into the pillows.

Eddie gets a hand in Steve’s hair and tugs gently, releasing to scrape his fingertips over Steve’s scalp. Revels in the hum Steve lets out. “Sunshine boy,” he murmurs. “Who takes care of you?”

“Sunshine boy?”

Eddie smiles softly, even though Steve’s eyes are still closed. “Gold hair, gold eyes. My own personal Apollo.”

Steve smiles. “You’re Dionysus.”

“Mm. God of drunken joy and madness.”

“And theater.”

“Oh, yes, how could I ever forget one of the billion things one of the billion gods was known for.”

Steve snorts. “Thank you,” he murmurs, hands brushing Eddie’s waist. “I shouldn’t need this. Any of it.”

Eddie cards his hand through Steve’s hair again. “But you do.”

“But I do,” Steve agrees with a sigh. “And you just… you’re selfless.”

“Only when it comes to you.”

Steve snorts. “You’re full of shit.”

“Yup. Selfless and full of shit. Sounds about right.”

“Oh my god,” Steve laughs, cracking open an eye to look at him. They both still, caught in each other’s gaze, realizing just how close they are to each other.

Slowly, so slowly, Steve looks away. “Go back to your game,” he whispers. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Okay,” Eddie responds at the same volume, and slowly gets up. He lifts his hand off the doorknob when Steve calls his name. “Yeah?”

“Stay? After?”

“Sunshine boy,” he says again, just to get that smile. “Yeah, Stevie. I’ll stay after.”

After comes sooner than either of them expect, but Dustin got sloppy, and what’s the point of one-shots if not to throw them to the wind when it all goes to shit, so there’s a lot of good-natured ribbing and thoughtless decisions and uncaring dice rolls before it ends and everyone’s packing up.

Dustin’s mom comes to pick up everyone who didn’t drive there, because she’s an angel of a woman, and Eddie makes excuses for why he’s staying until finally he doesn’t have to, it’s just him and Steve, and Steve’s looking at him with the softest smile and something that looks like adoration shining in his eyes.

Eddie opens his mouth to start, then shuts it with a shake of his head. “C’mon,” he says finally. “Let’s go sit on the couch.”

Eddie sits first, and Steve stands, hands wringing one another, until Eddie leans forward, grabs them, and gently guides him to sit next to Eddie. “There.” He holds one of Steve’s hands in his. “Do you want to start, or should I?”

Steve worries his lip. “Do we need to talk about it? If we both know what we’re saying?”

Eddie grins. “So if I were to start talking about buying little party hats for raccoons…”

Steve snorts. “Okay, you ass, point taken.” His smile falls. “You’ve been… really nice to me, these past few months. And that’s not why, not at all, but it doesn’t exactly hurt either. I just…” he shakes his head. “Why me?”

“Why you what? Why am I nice to you? Why have I been taking care of you? Why-” the question sticks in his throat for half a second. “Why do I like you?”

Steve smiles, bashful, and looks down at their intertwined hands. “All of the above, basically.”

Eddie taps the back of Steve’s hand thoughtfully. They both watch the movement. “Because you’re worth it,” he says simply. “Because no one else does it. No one else sees what you do for them. No one else cares. I do. I don’t think I was given a choice, honestly, you looked at me and I was fuckin’ gone. And I’m gonna keep doing this until you believe me. Until you believe that you deserve to take up space, to exist, to have wants and opinions and preferences.”

“It might take a while.”

“I’ll be right here.”

“I might never fully believe it.”

“I’ll be here forever.” He pulls their intertwined hands up to press a kiss to the back of Steve’s.

“It sounds like a lot of boring work.” His voice is high, thready. There are tears in his eyes that fall when he blinks.

“Not to me. Not if it’s you.”

Watery eyes narrow at him. “Did you just quote a fucking Greek tragedy at me?”

“Uh. Maybe?”

Steve snorts, shakes his head, and leans in to lay his head on Eddie’s shoulder. “You’re such a dork.”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s old news, sweetheart.” He presses a kiss to the top of Steve’s head, feels his heart skip a beat when Steve responds by nuzzling his throat. “Is that it, then? We’re done talking?”

Steve sighs and tilts his head up so they can look at each other. “I like you too,” he says quietly. “Just… for the record. And I want this. And…” he bites his lip, then just as quickly releases it. “I wanna kiss you. Um. If that’s alright.”

“Sunshine boy,” Eddie murmurs. “Of course that’s alright. Get up here.” He pulls as Steve pushes up, meaning Steve overbalances and sprawls across Eddie’s lap. They stare, wide-eyed, at each other for a beat before bursting into laughter.

“Okay?” Eddie checks, even as Steve rights himself and scrambles the rest of the way onto Eddie’s lap, grinning as he plays with the hair at the nape of Eddie’s neck.

“Perfect.” His grin grows and a tiny little giggle slips out, like he’s so happy his body just can’t contain it all anymore. “I’m gonna kiss you.”

It’s less a warning, more an explanation for why he’s so happy, and it has Eddie’s heart full to bursting in his chest as he slips his hands just under the hem of Steve’s shirt to rest them directly on his waist. “You are,” he agrees. He almost jokes—not if I kiss you first—but knows Steve needs this. “Take your time,” he says instead, even though he feels like his heart is about to beat out of his chest, like he’s about to vibrate out of his own skin. His hands are steady, though, as are his eyes when he looks into Steve’s.

“Is it weird that I’m nervous?” He’s whispering now, so Eddie drops his voice to match.

“It’s a big thing. You’re allowed to be nervous. Is there any way I could help?”

Steve scrunches his nose up, then moves to rest their foreheads together. “Um. Close your eyes? Maybe?”

Eddie’s eyes immediately shut. “Take your time,” he promises. “Or we can wait. There’s no shame. I won’t be upset.”

“Yeah, but I will,” Steve jokes, and Eddie chuckles.

“There’s a movie,” he starts. “An old silent film that Wayne likes. I watched it with him because he said something about vamp, so of course my mind went to vampire. It wasn’t, to my dismay, but there’s a line. A seductress bewitches men by getting them to kiss her. One man’s about to kill her, like gun-to-the-head about to kill her, and she says kiss me, my fool.”

He can practically feel Steve’s grin. He can definitely hear it. “Which one am I?”

“Oh, definitely the seductress, have you seen yourself, sunshine? I’m the fool in this scenario. Or any scenario, really.”

Steve hums. “Dionysus.”

“Shut up.” He’s laughing, though, grinning at Steve’s giggle, then freezes when Steve’s lips land on the corner of his. “Oh,” he whispers when Steve pulls away.

Steve laughs softly, puts a thumb at the corner of one of Eddie’s eyes. “You can open your eyes.” He’s whispering again, and Eddie looks to see Steve staring at him, a small, wondering smile on his lips.

“Heya, sunshine,” he whispers, almost choking on the amount of emotions he feels.

“Hi.” He pauses, fidgets. “Can I kiss you for real?”

“Yeah. You want me to close my eyes?”

Steve shakes his head. “Just… kiss back.”

Eddie grins, wide and in love. “I was planning on it.”

Steve grins back, just as wide and just as happy. “Shut up.”

“And if I said make me…”

Steve giggles. “I might just have to,” he says before finally leaning in, slotting their lips together in a slow, sweet kiss.

He tastes like the pizza they’d been eating and the beer they’d been drinking, and underneath that is something so Steve, and Eddie wants to spend the rest of forever discovering that taste. When they pull apart, his eyes open—when had he closed them?—and land on Steve, who’s also in the process of opening his eyes. “Wow,” he murmurs, and Steve giggles as he rests their foreheads together again.

“Just about.”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Please,” Steve whispers, so Eddie wastes no time in sealing their lips together again. It’s still soft and slow and sweet, and Eddie focuses on making Steve relax against him. He cards a hand through Steve’s hair, squeezes a little at the nape of his neck, runs it down his back, down his side, to knead at his hips. In response, Steve hums into the kiss, shifting a little to let more of his weight rest on Eddie’s lap. Eddie does it again and again, thrilled at the feeling of Steve finally relaxing fully onto him. They both pull away, lips wine-dark and tender, and Steve smiles, eyes still closed, as Eddie runs his hand through his hair one more time. “Keep that up and I’m gonna fall asleep,” he murmurs, and Eddie’s heart skips a beat at the trust in his voice.

“Maybe that’s my plan,” he answers. “I seduced you just to get you to take better care of yourself.”

Steve’s smile widens. “That’s the only reason?”

“Obviously,” Eddie teases. “Well, that and the fact that I’m ridiculously into you, but that seems like a separate thing.”

“Right,” Steve agrees, giggling. He opens his eyes and presses a quick peck to Eddie’s nose. “I’m kinda ridiculously into you, too.”

“Well,” Eddie says, because out of everything, of course this would be what takes his words away. “Good.”

“Good,” Steve agrees, laying his head on Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie leans back into the couch, adjusting his hold on Steve so he’s as comfortable as possible. “G’night,” he murmurs, brushing a kiss over Steve’s temple.

He can feel Steve’s lips lift into a smile. “Night, Eds.” He presses a kiss to Eddie’s neck, and Eddie smiles as he tilts his head back into the couch.

He stares up at the ceiling, enraptured. Obsessed. Maybe, definitely, falling.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #touch starved steve harrington #I don’t think I’ll ever write him another way honestly #stranger things #steddie fic #st fic #Eddie has the patience of a saint #(mostly he’s just in love) #Steve is struggling #honestly idk how else to tag this #starambles

[capseycartwright]

let’s get lost between the lines

ao3 link

“You handled that well,” Tommy said, as they left the restaurant and stepped out into this cool evening air. His words were soft, and gentle – genuine, even. As though he really meant it. Buck was baffled, frankly.

“I handled that with as much grace as an elephant doing ballet,” Buck glared at his - his date? - incredulously. “Tommy, did you hit your head? Are you concussed? Do I need to take you to the emergency room?”

or, after the eddie shaped hiccup of their first date, buck and tommy walk and talk - about coming out and why buck deserves a nice boyfriend.

Buck feels as though he’s swinging wildly between a panic attack and some sort of mental breakdown, heart thundering against his ribcage as he and Tommy finally leave the restaurant. It wasn’t how he’d want their first date - his first date with a man - to go, but then Eddie had appeared with Marisol on his arm and sat down with them, apparently completely oblivious to the fact that he was interrupting a date, and not a just a bro-hang (his words - not Bucks. Because Eddie was nothing if not an embarrassing old man stuck in a thirty-two-year-olds body.)

Tommy hadn’t corrected Eddie about the true nature of their outing, as Eddie had rambled on, hovering over the table, completely oblivious to what he was interrupting. Buck had never been more grateful for the fact that Tommy had already slid his credit card into the folder with the bill, their meal finished before Eddie and Marisol had even gotten seated at their own table. The waitress coming over to return Tommy’s card, and hand him a receipt, had been the perfect excuse for them to leave after fifteen of the worst minutes of Bucks life, making an excuse that he and Tommy had bought tickets to the movies. (“It’s sci-fi,” Buck had shrugged, impressed at the way he was internalising his own panic attack as he managed to splutter a sentence out. Eddie had looked almost hurt, when Buck had blurted that he and Tommy were going to the cinema without him. “You wouldn’t like it.”)

“You handled that well,” Tommy said, as they left the restaurant and stepped out into this cool evening air. His words were soft, and gentle – genuine, even. As though he really meant it.

Buck was baffled, frankly.

“I handled that with as much grace as an elephant doing ballet,” Buck glared at his - his date? - incredulously. “Tommy, did you hit your head? Are you concussed? Do I need to take you to the emergency room?”

Tommy laughed, the sound an utter delight to Buck’s ears. He was quickly learning that he loved the sound of Tommy’s laugh. “No, I’m not concussed,” he rolled his eyes, feigning offence. “It was a genuine compliment. I think you handled that really well, Evan.”

Buck filed the gooey feeling he got in the pit of his stomach he got when Tommy called him ‘Evan’ away to obsess over at another time. “R-really?” he hated the way he sounded so unsure, so uncertain – but he knew he needed to start embracing his own discomfort in the midst of all of this. Being – being newly bisexual was going to be uncomfortable, for a while, but Buck was realising it wasn’t a bad sort of uncomfortable. Weirdly, it was a good uncomfortable – like Buck was growing into his own skin, learning how to feel himself for the first time in his life. It would just take a little while, and it would take a few uncomfortable moments for him to figure out what this new version of Evan Buckley actually looked like.

No - not new. The true version.

“Yes, really,” Tommy nodded. He paused, glancing back at the restaurant. “How about we take a walk?” he suggested, gesturing vaguely at the miles of boardwalk and beach ahead of them. “I’m not in a rush – unless you are.”

“A walk sounds nice,” Buck agreed easily, because he didn’t want to go home just yet – and he didn’t want their date, however awkward and disastrous it had been, to end just yet. He liked spending time with Tommy.

They walked along in silence for a few minutes, Buck blushing like a schoolkid as he and Tommy’s shoulders bumped together.

“Look – coming out isn’t easy. It’s something you have to do over, and over again, for the whole of your life,” Tommy began. “I used to think that you did it once, and that was it, but you come out every time you meet someone new, every time you start a new job. It gets easier, with time, right? At some point – you come out so many times, it feels as familiar as breathing. But those first few times – those are hard.”

“I didn’t even come out,” Buck pointed out.

“You don’t have to,” Tommy shrugged. “And you’re deliberately not listening to my point.”

Buck couldn’t help but grin. “I like to be obtuse sometimes. Explain it to me again?”

“You think you’re cute,” Tommy poked Buck in the side, clearly enjoying the way it made Buck squirm. “My point is, the first time you say those words to someone – your friends, your family – it’s hard. It’s okay to give yourself some time to prepare, to not want to do it right away.”

“Shouldn’t – shouldn’t I want to come out?”

“It’s not an obligation,” Tommy shrugged, gently redirecting Buck to a bench. It was a peaceful spot, the sound of the waves lapping against the shore a peaceful sound as they sat. “Society is like – it’s structured in a way that makes it so if you’re queer, there’s this expectation that you have to divulge these deeply personal things about yourself to everyone you meet. It’s not exactly fair, is it?”

Buck had never thought about it that way before. “No,” his brow furrowed. “It’s not very fair at all.”

“If you don’t want to come out, you don’t have to,” Tommy said. “But it does feel good to come out. If I can give you some like – advice, I guess. It’s a freeing feeling.”

“I’d like to come out,” Buck managed after a minute or two of silence. “I’ve been thinking about it since – since you kissed me,” he paused, feeling heat rise in his cheeks as he looked at Tommy. Tommy, to his credit, tried to swallow his pleased smile. “I feel more like myself than I ever have before. Like – like there was a part of me that was missing, and I didn’t even know it wasn’t there, and now I know it what it is, and what was missing, I feel more like myself than I ever have before in my life.”

Tommy’s smile was bright. “I’m glad to hear that, Buck.”

“I’d like to come out,” Buck repeated, twisting so he could face Tommy. “I just wasn’t prepared to do it on our first date, if I’m honest.”

“And that’s why I’m telling you that you handled it well,” Tommy nudged. “You knew you weren’t ready to have that conversation, there and then, so you came up with an excuse, and got us out of there.”

“You got us out of there,” Buck pointed out. Tommy had been the one to play along and say they’d be late for the movie, if they didn’t leave, there and then. “I didn’t even say thank you for buying dinner. I’m such a bad first date.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “I think you’re a great first date.”

Buck huffed out a disbelieving breath. “I was basically mid-panic attack the entire time, Tommy, you don’t have to lie to me to save my feelings.”

“I’m not lying,” Tommy shrugged. “If there’s one thing you should know about me, Evan, it’s that I don’t lie. You’ll probably be sick of my honesty, in a few weeks.”

“In a few weeks? You – you want to keep doing this?”

“Why do you sound so unsure? Have I done something to make you think I don’t want to keep doing this?”

“N-no,” Buck paused for a second. “It’s kind of the opposite, actually.”

Tommy was quiet, giving Buck the space – and the silence – he needed to collect his thoughts. Buck was grateful for it.

“I don’t have the best dating history,” Buck admitted. “One day, further down the line, when I’m sure you’re not going to run away, I’ll tell you all the reasons why – but it sort of all boils down to childhood trauma and my deep-rooted abandonment issues,” he tried his best to give Tommy a smile, turn the admission into a joke. “So, I just – I end up picking the wrong people to date. I chase the wrong people. And now – now you’re here, and you’re being so kind, and understanding, I don’t really know what to do with it.”

“You could enjoy it,” Tommy offered, and it sounded so simple, when Tommy put it that way. Buck could just enjoy it. He could enjoy dating a man – a kind, sweet, very handsome man. He could enjoy the way he felt entirely out of his depth when Tommy offered him nothing but kindness, expecting nothing in return.

He could enjoy it.

He wanted to enjoy it.

“How the hell are you real?” Buck couldn’t help but breathe out, shaking his head. Tommy was just – a dream come true, in so many ways, and Buck didn’t know how he got so lucky to have him be interested in Buck. It felt so new, and exciting – none of the existential dread Buck normally felt as he tried to make relationships fit into his life when clearly, they never would.

He could see how Tommy could fit into his life. They worked the same job, so Tommy understood the crazy hours and long shifts. Tommy already knew so many of Buck’s most important people – and liked them – and he liked Buck. He actually liked Buck.

It seemed silly, to keep coming back to that, but Buck hadn’t always felt as though the people he dated him, really liked him. Abby liked the idea of him. Taylor liked the story they made. Natalia liked the fact he had died. Buck didn’t exactly have the best track record of people liking him for who he was, flaws and all – and okay, after one date, Tommy didn’t know his flaws so intimately, but he’d just witnessed Buck having a meltdown in a restaurant and he wasn’t running away.

He was sitting on a bench, listening to Buck.

Buck could definitely enjoy that.

“My mom hasn’t spoken to me since I came out,” Tommy said, after a few more minutes of silence. Buck’s expression must have turned to one of absolute horror, because Tommy gave him a reassuring look. “You told me something about yourself – so I’m telling you something about me.”

“Tommy, that’s horrible – I’m sorry.”

Tommy shrugged. “I’d be lying if I said it was okay,” he hummed thoughtfully. “But one of my very favourite things about being queer is that you find a family for yourself in this community. You know? Well – of course you know. You’ve done that with the 118.”

Buck shuffled a little closer. “I’d like to do that with the queer community too. As long as you don’t mind being my like – gay Yoda.”

Tommy snorted, the sound an utter delight amongst all the background noise of the boardwalk, people going about their Saturday evenings, unaware that Buck was having the most life-changing night of his life. “You’re secretly such a nerd,” he shook his head. “I’m happy to be your gay Yoda, Buck.”

“Yeah, but – what do you get out of it?”

Tommy fixed him with a look. “Buck,” he reached out, hand brushing against Buck’s palm. “I get to have you.”

And –

Oh.

Was that enough?

“It’s enough,” and oh – Buck must have said that part out loud, Tommy’s expression endearingly soft as he nudged Buck. “I promise. You’re more than enough.”

Buck would probably cry, if he spoke there and then, so he settled for doing something he’d been wanting to do since Tommy had knocked on his door at exactly eight pm that evening, and he leaned in and kissed him. It was a chaste kiss, soft, and sweet, a brief press of lips that still sent tingles down Buck’s spine as they broke apart.

He’d just kissed a man – in public.

That felt a lot like progress.

“I – I hope I’m not being too forward, when I ask this,” Tommy’s face was flushed in a way that Buck could only be delighted with. He’d made the other man blush. “But do you maybe want to come back to mine? Not – not for anything like that. I just don’t want this date to be over, and we could watch a movie.”

Buck had absolutely zero fucking intentions of watching a movie if he got to go inside of Tommy’s apartment. “Yeah,” he smiled, hooking a pinky finger around Tommy’s, not quite ready to hold his hand just yet. “A movie sounds great.”

#911 on abc #911 #evan buckley #tommy kinard #bucktommy #in which i ramble #in which lorna writes fic #anyway. the brain rot continues

[flamingpudding]

Fictober23 Prompt: 4 - "Do you even know what this means?"

Fandom: DPxDC

Rating: G

Warnings: -

Tim stared at his family with pure exhaustion before letting out a sigh while covering his face with his hands because of the worried looks they were sending him after his long rant.

It had all started with a stupid school project. It was just supposed to be a stupidly simple school project. Did he think of the whole thing as the greatest nonsense project his school has ever come up with? Yes. Did he still do it? Yes. He needed the extra credits, because of some stupid meetings he had missed other projects which was the entire reason he took part in this one.

Maybe he should have tried buying his grade out of it like all the other snobbish rich kids but then he would feel guilty and the moment Alfred found out, he would have to life with the disappointed™ look. Something he really didn't want to deal with. So instead he took part in this stupid ancestry project his school had organized.

But when he had allowed the school to send in his DNA he certainly did not expect the result he got back. Because when he opened the email, he noted that it was addressed to someone named Danny Fenton not Tim Drake, he didn't even read the rest really. That should have been his first warning.

His second warning was when he had hacked into the that DNA testing facility to actually get his results back and then found a note on his data file about a near 100% DNA match to one Danny Fenton which caused them to assumed that Tim was Danny and just had sent in his DNA a second time after, he peaked through his finger onto the screen, 5 years. That should have been his second warning.

But no, Tim had actively ignored all the warnings and decided to dig into who this Danny Fenton was. Because there were so many possibilities of how they could match but only so little to explain the time difference between them sending in the DNA samples. For dear good Tim hoped to all things that there wasn't someone else to have attempted to clone him before Ra, no worse even, he hoped HE wasn't the clone in this situation.

Really he didn't want to add existential crisis to all the problems and cases he already had to deal with.

So what does one do best when they learn there was someone with nearly the same DNA you have? He looked that someone up. So that was what Tim did next. He had spent nights looking up anything he could find, summarizing all the information he found, branching off when he found other concerning stuff and then stewed in some frustration of the incompetence of some people when discovering other facts.

In the end Tim compiled all the data he had found into a 30 slides long power point. That he had presented to his family and was awaiting their reaction. Bruce had grunted earlier and the demon brat had huffed out something in between slight 25 and 26 earlier. Jason had muttered something right at the beginning and Dick had stayed quiet the entire time, so did Cass. Steph hadn't said a thing either and Duke looked just puzzled.

"Do you even know what that means?" Demon brat finally broke the silence, causing Tim's eye to twitch before aggressively pointing to his last slide still on the presenter.

"Yes, I do know what this means. I have listed all possibilities right here if you haven't noticed. And i explained possibility three, four and six on slide-"

"Replacement. I don't think that's what the brat means." Jason cut in and Tim glared at him.

"Timmy, when was the last time you slept?" Dick carefully asked and Tim directed his glare at him.

"I believe Master Timothy hasn't slept for about 72 hours now." Alfred added in with that disapproving stare of him and time looked away stubbornly. How was the amount of sleep he got relevant right now? There was a possibility of him being a clone or someone having cloned maybe even years before he started to follow B around as a kid with a camera.

Bruce let out a sigh and Steph appeared to try to hide a chuckle leaning on Cass shoulder. "He must be lacking sleep if he doesn't see the most obvious possibility considering the time line he presented on slide 18."

"Oh so, I am not the only one thinking he is missing another obvious possibility?" Duke asked and once more Tims eye twitched. Getting fed up with his family, Tim huffed and crossed his arms, glaring at them all.

"And what is it that I am obviously missing?"

"The screenshot of the mail you put in slide 3 stated that it's not a 100% match but 89%. In addition it stated in the last line a suspected possibility of a familiar relation. I am disappointed, Drake. That you would miss something this obvious."

"What?" Tim whirled around going to the slide to reread the mail.

"Considering that I am pretty sure, we don't have any sort of cloning case here Tim." Dick started his voice now slightly laced with Humor and Tim narrowed his eyes at his older brother over his shoulder. "You just discovered that you had a twin, that we probably still go to rescue."

Tim's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. He did not know what to say and before he could even catch up with what his brothers had said Alfred was already behind him pushing him towards the elevator.

"It is time for you to get some sleep Master Timothy. I am sure Master Bruce and the others will be perfectly able to handle the rest of the situation with the information you compiled. You can join them after you have rested."

#fictober23 #danny fenton #danny phantom #dp x dc #dpxdc #crossover #tim drake #damian wayne #jason todd #dick grayson #bruce wayne #Tim is sleep deprived #He did not see the most obvious possibility #Tim and Danny are twins #Tim was convinced that either him or Danny was a clone #he thought there had been someone else besides Ra who did that #Boy would he have fun with that theory if he learned about Vlad cloning Danny #Danny has no idea of what was happening at all #he just did that DNA thing in middle school #before the while ghost DNA situation #Now he probably got the entire Batfam ready to come help him #does he need rescueing? #Tim certainly things so #dcxdp #unedited #no beta we die like danny

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Bad Faith Part One

Masterlist | Part Two

Pairing: Harvey Specter x Reader

Rating: Mature (Part 2 will likely be explicit)

Notes: Not beta-read because when is it ever. Welcome to part one of two!

There will ONLY be two parts! If you ask me at the end of part two where part three is, I'm going to point you back to this notes section!

If you asked me where part three is and you've been linked here, hi!

Length: 8k

Warnings: Angst. Angst angst angst angst; reader is going through a divorce; Reader's married surname is Hayward; unhealthy coping mechanisms; lovers to enemies to allies to lovers....did I mention angst by any chance? Cause—

Summary: There were so many resources about Steven Hayward from the last decade—interviews, profiles, filings. In all of them, Steven came off as a self-assured, cocky, pompous asshat, but a decent strategist. Those same profiles had described Mrs. Hayward as the trophy wife, the little woman behind the man, tending to the arrangements for their multi-million, 3,000 square foot penthouse overlooking Central Park. For as much as Harvey had forced himself to forget about her, he couldn’t forget her spirit, her determination, her desire to build a life, not to be handed one. None of the credit was given to her. None of the glory, none of the acknowledgement of what Harvey was certain were her blood, sweat and tears in that man’s holdings. 

The tears that she had seemed set to shed in his office were all the indication that Harvey needed.

It was a long, harrowing moment of silence as Jessica processed all that you’d told her. You fought not to sniffle into the quiet, but your eyes had steadily been leaking tears for the last twenty minutes. Jessica finally stood from her armchair, patting you on the knee and murmuring, “You need a drink.” 

You spluttered a weak laugh, watching her stride over to her luxe kitchen. 

“Gin and tonic?”  

“I would drink the gin straight at that point," You failed to tease.

“Things aren’t all that desperate yet.” 

Yet. How reassuring.

You looked down at the damp, crumpled tissues in your hand before you raised one, dabbing at the few remaining tears. It was another few moments before you heard the click of Jessica’s heels crossing back to you. 

“...Thanks for holding back.” 

She frowned as you looked up at her, taking hold of the glass that she proffered. 

“Holding back?” 

“The I told you so.” 

Jessica’s lips pursed, her head tipping with what you could only assume was a blend of indignance and pity. 

“I did, for the record.” 

“I know.” 

“I told you nothing good could come from tangling your entire life up with that man.” 

“You know, I think those were the exact words that you closed your toast out with at the wedding.” You took a swig, wincing at the overwhelming tang of gin. “Christ, that’s strong.” 

“Too much?” 

“No. It’s perfect, actually.” 

Jessica smiled, lowering herself to sit beside you. 

“Do you have lawyers in mind?” 

“For the divorce? No.” 

“I’ll give you recommendations.” 

“I appreciate that, but that’s not why I’m here.” You glanced doggedly toward Jessica. “I need your help…Untangling a few holdings. Things that I can live off of, or break apart and sell for scraps. I can’t even afford a divorce lawyer right now—let alone whoever you’d suggest.” 

“What?” 

“Steven locked all of my credit cards and froze our joint bank account. I tried reaching out to him, but he won't answer me, and the bank won’t unfreeze it. He seems to think that I’m going to drain the entire thing.” 

“Why does he think that?” 

“Probably because that’s what he would do.” You sniffled, looking down into your glass. “I have some money in savings, but not a lot. Not enough for me to live off of beyond a few months.” 

“Holy hell,” Jessica sighed. You grunted, head hanging as you felt the weight of her judgement. “Do you have any idea which entities you want to go after?” 

“Yeah.” You set your drink down, reaching out to where you’d set your bag down and drawing out a bland beige file. You’d spent the morning working up your courage to come over and tell Jessica the awful truth, and had also spent that time putting together the data to do it. You flipped the file open and passed it over. 

“This is every single property and holding company that I have my name on. I circled the apartment buildings that I want to sell, and the companies that I think would be best suited to my purposes.” 

“Is Steven on all of these?” 

“Only the ones that I put an asterisk beside, but I wouldn't be surprised if he came after the others.”

Jessica hummed, nodding. “You knew exactly what I’d ask for.” 

“Well, I know you.” 

She smiled, closing your file and setting it on her lap. 

“Then I’m sure you know what I’m going to say next.” 

The implication made your stomach churn with discomfort. You took the glass up again, taking a deep pull from it. 

“I do,” You admitted, nose wrinkling again from the sharp juniper taste, “And I know that you’re going to say that it’s the best course of action—” 

“The only course of action.” 

“That’s patently untrue. You have more than one lawyer at your firm.” 

“Not one that could handle a case of this magnitude.” 

“Not even Louis?” 

“Louis is like a french bulldog. Harvey is a pitbull.” 

“You know, that’s actually a really harmful stereotype.”

Jessica’s brows lowered in chastisement, and you looked back down into your drink for safety.

“Wouldn’t it be a conflict of interest?” You added. 

“How could it be? You’ve barely spoken to or looked at the man in eleven years.” 

Eleven years. Had it really been that long? 

“I know that you and Harvey parted on bad terms,” Jessica offered softly, and continued over your disbelieving scoff, “But you need to come out of this with the funds and the strength for a good divorce lawyer. Harvey can give you that.” 

“What if he doesn’t take the case?” 

“He will.” 

“But if he doesn’t?” 

“He will.” 

“Jessica.” 

“He won't have a choice.” 

“Oh, he’ll love that. There’s nothing Harvey likes more than being backed in a corner."

“That’s when he comes out swinging the hardest.” She plucked the emptied glass out of your hand, heading toward the kitchen again. “Would you like another one?” 

You sighed, slouching heavily against the couch and scrubbing your tired eyes. 

“I’d really just like that bottle of gin—and a straw.”

-- 

“Would you stop fussing? You look fine.” 

“I don’t care how I look,” You grumbled, though that didn’t stop you from reaching down and adjusting the skirt of your dress. You didn’t want to admit that Jessica was right, though you both knew that she was. She always had you nailed dead to rights, and that morning was no different. 

You had a slight headache from the drinks you’d had at her apartment the night before, but it was hardly the worst hangover that you’d ever had. You were already two coffees in and you were itching for a third, but you already felt like shit. A third one would just make your heart pound harder, your hands more sweaty, and probably send your anxiety through the roof. You were certain the conversation you were about to have would do all of that for you, so no additional coffee was needed. 

You drew in a deep breath, standing and tugging your dress down again as you walked over to look through out over the city. You could hear the ringing of phones behind you, the clicking of heels, the chatter of conversation. You were just waiting for his voice, waiting for his bravado to enter before he did, to suck the air out of the room. 

“...What’d he say when you told him?” You asked. 

“I haven't yet. I thought it would be more effective if we told him together.” 

“So not only is he being forced to take my case, but it’s an ambush.” You cast Jessica an unimpressed sidelong glance, brows quirked in disbelief. She simply gave a small shrug. 

“I know my associates.” 

“Mm, I bet.” 

“I understand I was summoned? Have I been so terribly missed? Whaddaya say we play hooky, go to the batting cages?” 

There he was—each question was just punch after punch after punch. Your mouth and throat went dry as your body seemed to divert all available liquid assets to the sweat beginning to wet your palms. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know we had company,” He added. 

“It’s alright. Harvey, you know Mrs. Steven Hayward.” 

Hayward. You had always hated the name. Hell, you couldn’t even believe you’d taken it, but you’d been so damn afraid of putting a foot wrong, wary of having someone change their mind again about marrying you. 

You turned to face Harvey, leaning back against the window and folding your arms across your chest, pressing your slick palms to your sides. It shouldn't have been so vindicating to see Harvey looking so gobsmacked, to watch the color drain from his face as his eyes caught up with his mind—as he came to realize, yes, that Mrs. Steven Hayward. 

“Mr. Specter,” You greeted flatly. 

“I—What’s going on?” 

It’s nice to see you, too. You bit the inside of your cheek to silence your snide remark. 

“Mrs. Hayward needs to dissolve and sell a few of her holdings, and I told her that I had just the lawyer for the job,” Jessica announced. 

“...Is that lawyer in the room with us?” Harvey shook his head a little. 

“You are that lawyer. You’ll be taking the case pro-bono.” 

“Pro—Jessica, those cases are reserved for people that actually need help, not for multi-millionaires.” 

That stung in a way that it shouldn’t have—but he was right. There were surely cases that were more worthy of his attention. Still, you couldn't deny the fact that you needed his help, and that your pockets weren't nearly as deep as they used to be.

“My husband is the multi-millionaire, not me,” You argued. 

“Bullshit.” 

“You wanna see my bank statements? I have a little over three hundred in checking, a few thousand in savings.” 

“Mrs. Hayward needs this resolved as quickly as possible, and without any of your usual pomp and circumstance,” Jessica cut in. 

“Why don’t you do this through a divorce attorney?” Harvey pressed. 

“Because right now, I can’t afford one.” 

Harvey pursed his lips, looking between you and Jessica. You watched his jaw tick, saw the thick bob of his adam’s apple shift his collar a little. 

“You have a list of holdings?” He asked, glancing toward you.

“Twenty,” You nodded. 

“To be chopped up and sold for scraps?” 

“Yes.” 

“Seems a little ruthless for you.” 

“It’s what needs to be done.” 

“And you expect me to do it?” 

“I expect you to do your job. If you can’t get over the fact that it’s for me, then you’re in the wrong business.” 

Harvey’s gaze narrowed, his eyes darkening irritation. Oh, you knew that look—like it or not, you had a flash of it like it was yesterday. 

“...Where’s the file.” 

Jackpot. 

“On the desk.” 

You weren’t about to hand it to him. Hell—you weren’t about to hand anything to Harvey Specter on a silver fucking platter. He walked slowly to Jessica’s desk, eyes dropping to the file that had been thickened with information on each of the holdings. He opened it, gaze scanning your original sheet before flipping a couple of pages. 

“I’ll need time to look this over,” He argued. 

“Obviously.” 

“I’ll call you.” 

“Great.” 

“Number still the same?” 

Bastard. 

“My new number is on the inside of the folder.” 

“Great. Is there anything else that I should know?” 

“Just that Steven and his cadre of sharks will likely stick their noses in the second they smell blood in the water.” 

“We’ll be ready.” 

“Good.” 

Harvey gave you one last look, one long, sweeping, analyzing look before he turned away, striding out of Jessica’s office. You slowly released a long breath, shoulders untensing as he got further and further away. You lowered your hands, shaking them out and blowing cool air across your shaking, sweating palms. 

“Are you sweating?” Jessica asked. 

“Are you not? It’s boiling in here." You yanked your collar away from your neck, fanning over your heating skin.

“You can relax. He took the case.” 

“Because he had to, not because he wanted to.” 

“He’ll get over it, and he’ll do his job.” 

“He’s such a grumpy asshole,” You sighed, walking over to the chair that you’d left your jacket and bag on. “But if you say you’re gonna keep him on the straight and narrow—”

“I will—” 

“—Then I believe you. I’ve gotta go.” 

“Where to?” 

“I have to go look at an apartment.” 

“Work never ends.” 

“This is personal. I need to find a new place. I've been in a hotel for the last few nights, and I can't afford to keep that up."

“Don’t you own your place?”

You shook your head, averting your gaze as you pulled on your coat. 

“The penthouse is in Steven’s name.” 

You’d had a few hours to forget the weight of Jessica’s judgement, but you felt it again in full force as she shook her head. 

“...I thought you were smarter than this,” She said after a moment. 

You looked toward Jessica, giving her a small, weak smile. “I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Do you want me to call you a car? On the firm, of course.” 

“No! No, but thanks. I should reacquaint myself with the subway. I’m going to be using it more often.” 

-- 

You managed to hold it together until the real estate agent gave you a moment to ‘get a better sense of the space’. She clearly had no idea who you were, which was a boon, and hardly looked away from her phone as she waved with one hand and typed with the other thumb. You turned to look around, heard the snick of the door closing, and just…Lost it. 

Your tears poured out like someone had reached into your head and turned on a faucet. You buried your face into your hands, uncaring of the fact that your makeup was going to run together. You’d given eleven years of your life to a man that was throwing you to the wolves, as if you’d never meant a thing to him at all—as if you hadn’t put your blood, sweat, and tears into building his empire—into what you had once thought was your empire, too. 

And what the hell did you have to show for it? You stood in a $3,200 392 square foot studio apartment of a six-floor walk-up in the West Village, wearing a $4,900 dress, standing in $600 shoes, a your $1,200 purse shifting on your arm as your shoulders shook with sobs. 

You sniffled roughly, chest hiccuping tightly as you finally began to calm. You reached into your purse, drawing out a compact and flipping it open. You swiped at your run makeup, taking up the pressed powder puff and dabbing beneath your eyes, and over the tear tracks in your foundation. God, just pull it together for the snot-nosed realtor outside. Tell her that you wanted to take it, get the keys, and start figuring out how you could get your things from Steven. You would need to make money in the meantime.

You looked down, shifting rocking back on your heels to get a better look at your shoes. 

You never did love this outfit, and you couldn’t have worn it more than twice. Resale couldn’t be too far below purchase, could it? Come to think of it, you had closets full of hardly worn designer outfits at the penthouse. You looked around the studio. You could spring for a few wheeled clothing racks, find a few reputable resellers. You could get good money for your dresses, your shoes, probably even more for the jewelry that you almost certainly wouldn’t be keeping. Steven always had brought you home a trinket from the trips that he frequently took without you—beautiful gems that you knew now were trinkets for guilt, or something like it. You were almost certain Steven didn’t really feel guilt, but he could play-act at it well enough. 

But you didn’t have to worry about that at that moment. And as soon as Steven did rear his ugly head, he would have Harvey to deal with. Considering your history, that shouldn't have been a very comfortable thought—but you had Harvey and Jessica in your corner.  

You closed your eyes and drew in a deep breath, deeper than you were able to draw before. You held it for one...two...three...And pushed it out slowly as your heated face began to cool.

Deal with the realtor first. Sign the lease, get the keys, and start getting your life back together. 

--  

“This isn’t going to be an easy one," Harvey warned. 

“Of course it isn’t. If it was, you wouldn’t have agreed to take the case.” 

“I didn’t take it, it was given to me.” 

“You poor thing.”

It left you without any sympathy, your gaze stone-heavy as you watched him. He narrowed his eyes, a smile set in place as he rocked back and forth in his chair. He tapped his pen on his lips for a moment before he rocked fully forward. You watched his gaze skate across the file in front of him. 

“The way I see it, there are four easy wins here,” He turned the file toward you, and you scooted forward in your seat to get a better look at them. “The two apartment buildings on the upper East Side, the one in the Village, and the brownstone in Park Slope. We can hack away at the other sixteen down the road, but we should move on these.” 

“Okay.” 

“The easiest win is going to be in the Slope. The assessed value is…” His brows furrowed, and he leaned over the file and squinted, as if he wasn’t quite seeing the number correctly. 

“Seven million?” You filled in. Harvey’s gaze darted to yours, brows raised. 

“Nice chunk of change.” 

“I want it listed for ten.” 

“That may be a little unrealistic.” 

“I’m looking for 8.5 in cash, if possible, so I’m expecting some haggling. I already told the broker as much.” 

“Alright. Which of these buildings are you staying in?” 

“I’m not staying in any of them.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“I’m not staying in any of them.” 

“Why is that?” 

“I’m pairing down, staying somewhere else.” 

“You could stay in any of these rent-free.” 

“The HOA and utilities are more than I can afford right now.” 

“We could bake the HOA into the contract.” 

“If Steven found out I was staying in any of them, he’d find a way to tank the deal from the outside.” 

Harvey’s expression tightened a little before he nodded: “Fine. I’ll need your new address for the paperwork.”

“May I use your pen, please?” 

Harvey pushed the file closer, passing the pen with it. You could feel him watching you as you jotted down your address, name, and number. Harvey draws the file back to himself, sweeping over the information. 

“Keeping your married name?” 

“I’ve put in the paperwork to change it, but that could take at least a couple of months.” 

“I have a friend that clerks for the Supreme Court of New York, I could put in a word.” 

“That’s a kind offer but don’t worry about it. Is there anything else that we need to discuss today?” 

“No, that about covers it. I’ll call you if our real estate department or my associate comes across anything that could be beneficial to your situation.” 

“I may have just uncovered something.” 

You turned at the sound of a new voice, catching sight of a young man standing in the doorway. 

“This is Mike Ross, my associate,” Harvey introduced, standing and holding a hand out toward Mike. “Mike Ross, this is Mrs. Steven Hayward.” 

Your name left him with a vinegary annoyance that you’d been hoping would be absent from this meeting. You stood, holding out your hand and offering Mike your first name. 

“Would you prefer to be, uh..." Mike’s gaze darted between you and Harvey. 

“I’d prefer you not to use my married name, if possible.”

“Got it. So,” Mike stepped between you and Harvey, opening the file that he was holding. “I’ve found an additional six properties where your name is the only one on the lease.” 

You frowned, brow furrowing as you stepped closer to get a look at the file. “That can’t be right.” 

“If Mike found it, it’s right.” There was an irritated thread of steel in Harvey’s tone, and you shot him a scathing glance. 

“The comment was one of surprise, not distrust.”

“Maybe next time you can keep your surprise to yourself and let my associate speak.”

“Just like you’re letting him speak right now?” 

Harvey’s jaw went tight, and you raised your brows as a knowing smirk curled your lips before you turned back to Mike and nodded: 

“You were saying?” 

Mike’s expression was riddled with confusion, but he snapped back into action. 

“Right—There are, uh…Three complexes in downtown Brooklyn,” He shifted through the stack of papers and drew out photos. “They were gutted for renovation, but work was stopped before any further changes could be made. They cited funding concerns.” 

That really couldn’t be right. Steven was rolling in cash like a pig in shit. You took hold of the photos, frown deepening as you got a better look at them. 

“What is it?” Harvey pressed. 

“I don’t recognize any of these.” You flipped to the next one, then the next. The walls in all of them had been stripped; the floors were torn up; the wiring of the ceiling was exposed. 

“What about the other three?” You pressed. 

“Uh—One house in the Hamptons, one in Cape Cod, and one in Gstaad.” 

“You’re kidding,” You said flatly, looking at MIke. 

“I am not. I take it you don’t know about any of those, either?” 

“Not a one.”

“Would you want any of them?” 

“Maybe Cape Cod.” 

“Not Gstaad?” Harvey asked. 

“Mm, not worth it. I don’t know how to ski.” 

“Still?”

You rolled your eyes pointedly before you nodded back to Mike’s file. “Do you have the paperwork for the properties?” “Yeah, it’s, uh…” He set the file down, sifting through for the paper clipped documents and lining them up on Harvey's desk. “These are…All of them…Separated out by property.” 

You went down the line, flipping through each of the pages and growing more and more frantic as you did. 

“None of these are my signature.” 

“He would’ve closed through a title company, I can hunt that down,” Mike commented to Harvey. 

“We can throw these on the list of what needs to be sold, or put them in a living trust,” Harvey offered.

“...I don't know,” You leaned away, shaking your head. You felt so unsettled; after the rapid upheaval of your life over the last week you weren’t sure how much more of this you could take. After this, you had to worry about the divorce, the tabloids, whatever the fuck else you were going to do with your life—You felt your throat going tight with tears, and you cleared your throat harshly, trying to dispel some of the feeling. “If they were good investments, Steven would’ve used his name on them.” 

“All the more reason for you to ditch them.” 

“I want them inspected first. I’m not throwing these on the market until I know what the hell I’m dealing with.” 

“We can take care of that,” Mike promised. You nodded, glancing toward him and offering a tight, grateful smile. 

“Not that you’re paying us to.” 

Harvey’s snide reminder was like having a bucket of cold water poured over you. Your hands curled into fists where they rested on your hips. You were just on the edge of slapping the guy—

“You can deal with me directly,” You offered Mike. “My number’s in the file. Thank you, for—” You waved your hand toward the file. “Uncovering this. I appreciate it.” You took up your purse and threw your coat over your arm, trying to hold back your rapidly rising tears as your face flooded with heat. 

“You’re just going to go?” Harvey asked. 

“It’s always worked for you pretty well,” You snapped. “Figured I’d give it a try.” You stormed out without another word, keeping your gaze staunchly set on the floor that you desperately wanted to sink through. 

--  

“I have…So many questions right now,” Mike shook his head as he watched Mrs. Hayward stride toward the elevators. 

“You know where to start. Get the inspections lined up, and then start prepping the filings for forgery—” 

“Harvey,” Mike raised his hands, chuckling with shock. “What—Was that?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Oh, please. The whole ‘if Mike found it it’s right’?” 

“Well, that’s true.” 

“That thing about her still not being able to ski? How do you know her?” 

“We’ve met, that’s all.” 

“It’s obviously more than that.” Mike searched Harvey’s gaze for a few moments. “C’mon, what’s your deal?” 

Harvey considered for a moment, his jaw working before he nodded to the right. “Close the door.” 

He lowered himself into his seat as Mike did as he asked, then turned back to him. 

“Mrs. Hayward and I…” Harvey’s expression tightened as he struggled with it. “We were…Involved for a while.” 

“While she was married?” 

“Before.” 

“How involved?” 

“We were engaged.” 

Mike’s eyes widened drastically, his brows making a jump toward his hairline. “En—What?” He laughed breathlessly. “The great Harvey Specter was almost nailed by that ice queen?” 

“Watch it,” Harvey warned; he was stunned as he felt a flair of protectiveness bloom in his chest. “She wasn’t always like that.” He glanced toward the property statements at the front of his desk, and he thought of the dismayed twist of her features. When she’d met his gaze, her eyes had been bright with tears. Maybe that was his fault, at least a little. He should’ve watched his tone a little more. He had surely made her cry enough, years ago. 

“What happened?” Mike pressed.

“I wasn’t ready.” 

“You broke it off?”

“...Something like that.” 

Harvey’s gaze flitted nervously toward Mike, and he could practically hear the wheels turning overtime in his head. It only took a moment before Mike’s eyes managed to widen further, his jaw dropping open in shock. 

“Oh my—There is no way.”

“I’m not proud of it,” Harvey raised a hand to stop Mike’s incredulous questioning. 

“Let me just make sure I’m on the same page here,” Mike shook his head. “You left her at the altar, she married this guy, and now you’re…Making jokes about the fact that she can’t ski or afford a lawyer?” 

Harvey’s heart sank into his stomach as he cut an irritated gaze across the desk. 

“I’m not proud of that, either.” 

“Didn’t stop you, though, did it.” 

“Are you finished with your lecture? Because you have a lot of work to do.” 

“On it,” Mike nodded, hopping out of his seat and restacking the paperwork into the file. 

“While you’re at it, keep your ear to the ground on that Park Slope property. The sooner the wheels are turning on that, the better. Use that number,” He tapped the file, “To call her, and send any documents to that address.” 

“Understood.” 

Harvey listened to Mike’s retreating footsteps as he twisted back and forth in his seat, restless in his discomfort. He pushed himself out of his seat in annoyance, unable to stand sitting anymore. Why had he shot his mouth off at her like that? He knew that she was going through it. He just figured when he’d first seen her in Jessica’s office that this situation wouldn’t be quite so hellish.

Steven Hayward was a billionaire, a former Forbes 30 Under 30 recipient. Harvey had done his digging when the engagement had first been announced—just a few months after Harvey had made the decision not to marry her. He’d assumed then that if she’d moved on so quickly, she couldn’t have loved him much in the first place, and the idea had solidified his decision not to go through with their wedding. 

Harvey had done his best to put her out of his mind, and he’d succeeded for the most part. But when Jessica had thrown this case at him, he’d gone back, done some more digging. There were so many resources about Steven Hayward from the last decade—interviews, profiles, filings. In all of them, Steven came off as a self-assured, cocky, pompous asshat, but a decent strategist. Those same profiles had described Mrs. Hayward as the trophy wife, the little woman behind the man, tending to the arrangements for their multi-million, 3,000 square foot penthouse overlooking Central Park. For as much as Harvey had forced himself to forget about her, he couldn’t forget her spirit, her determination, her desire to build a life, not to be handed one. None of the credit was given to her. None of the glory, none of the acknowledgement of what Harvey was certain were her blood, sweat and tears in that man’s holdings. 

The tears that she had seemed set to shed in his office were all the indication that Harvey needed. He scrubbed his hand across his face, trying to compose himself as he pushed the wounded memory of her away. 

Even footing. He needed to get the two of them on some kind of even footing. Every conversation couldn’t be a fight—it would just slow the both of them down. The sooner they sorted this out, the sooner they’d be out of one another’s hair. 

“Donna!” He called out, turning toward the door. Donna popped her head in a moment later, brows raised expectantly. “I need you to look an address up for me.”

“It’s in the West Village.” 

Harvey’s mouth worked wordlessly for a couple of seconds before he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing, “Mike?” 

“You shouldn’t have hired a super genius if you didn’t want him using that big brain.” 

“I was hoping he would use it for good, not evil.” 

“Oh, trust me, he is. Anything else?” 

“Lunch?” 

“It’s on the way.”

Of course it was. 

-- 

“This is everything?” 

“Yes. I checked and double-checked the list that you gave me before I left.” 

You nodded, planting your hands on your hips and looking over six industrial-sized trash bags that contained what you hoped were your tide-over funds. 

“The jewelry’s in there, too?” 

“Hey,” Aaron stepped closer to you, resting his hand on your shoulder. “When I say I got everything, I mean I got everything. I was this close to snagging a couple of light fixtures.” 

You laughed a little, nodding and leaning into the touch a little. You’d worked with Aaron Delaney for over five years at Hayward Realty. You’d hoped that he wouldn’t be in Steven’s camp in the divorce, and when you’d reached out to find out when Steven would definitely be at the office, Aaron had quickly jumped on your bandwagon. It had taken nearly three weeks, but he had come through. Not only had he told you when Steven would be out, but he’d offered to go into the apartment and get things for you. You hadn’t heard a thing from Mike in a couple of weeks, so you could only hope that everything was going smoothly on his end, but these bags would go a long way to bolstering your bitten budget. 

“You want my help cataloging it?” He offered. You shook your head a little. 

“No, god, you've done enough—and helped me lug this up six flights. Besides, Steven will be suspicious if you’re out of the office for too long—you’re too good an employee to be out of pocket for more than a few minutes. But if you’d like to be enlisted in mole duty going forward, I’m gonna need you to have your ear to the ground over there.” 

“You’ve got it.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Text me if you need anything.” 

“Will do, yeah. And thanks again, Aaron. Seriously.” 

“Keep your chin up, hon.” 

“Yeah,” You mumbled, turning back to the trash bags as Aaron headed for the door. God, you didn’t even know what was where. It was probably best to just go bag by bag, and hope all of the suits were together. You could hang the outfits up, take a picture, post it on the app that you were using to resell your luxury clothing. You could—and probably would—keep at least a couple of things for yourself, but you couldn’t go crazy. You’d need suits for your divorce settlement, and possibly for court…And for whatever the hell you wound up doing once this was all over. 

Because it would be over, eventually. There was a life for you on the other side of all of this, and you had to keep reminding yourself of that. Things would get easier, but right now, it all just…Fucking sucked. You had moved the few things that you had into the studio apartment, including your dresser, a bookshelf, a few books, and your favorite Eames lounge chair and reading lamp. You’d had to get a new bed—a full was all that you could use without overwhelming the space; you got a metal frame on Amazon that would get the job done, and you’d bought and built three racks for your clothing. You still hadn’t found an affordable couch, but you had found a nice oak grain bedside table on the sidewalk, with a handwritten looseleaf sign taped to it that read, FREE!!

You hadn’t had the chance to paint or put any personalizing touches on the space besides your furniture—no art, or knick knacks. The space was nearing functional, but you were certain that unpacking all of your clothing was going to make that a hell of a lot more difficult. 

You crouched down in front of the first bag, untying it and opening it. You could see some Scanlan Theodore, some Tuckernuck, some Bergdorf Goodman. This bag was already pretty promising. You sighed, taking the first dress out and wafting the fabric out. It didn’t need to be ironed or steamed, which was a blessing. You were already dreading how long this was going to take, but hell, at least it would give you something to do that wasn’t staring down the barrel of your dead-end future—

Okay. Okay, so not helpful, so not the time. You reached into your pocket, pulling your phone out of your pocket to find a podcast to listen to. There had to be something that you could listen to that would distract you from the monotony of filing and sorting your clothing out. You settled on one of your favorites before you began sorting through the first bag. You were right—a couple of Scanlans, two Tuckernucks, three Bergdorf Goodman’s–

Your sorting was interrupted by a knock on your door. You frowned, pushing yourself up. What else could be left? It had to be good if Aaron had lugged something else up six floors. You pushed yourself off of the floor, brushing the dust off of your sweatpants. 

“Alright, Delaney, what’d you forget?” You asked as you approached the door and tugged it open. 

The sight of Harvey Specter standing on your doorstep made your stomach want to violently unseat your lunch. His gaze swept over you critically, taking sight of you in your comfy clothes. Between the ratty old shirt, the sweats, and your fluffy socks, you were a far, far cry from the way that he’d become accustomed to seeing you in his office. 

“Can I, uh…” He peered over your shoulder, nodding inside. “Can I come in?” 

“I thought I was going to be hearing from Mr. Ross.” 

“Mike is busy, and we need to talk.” 

You couldn’t imagine what the hell you and Harvey needed to talk about. You didn’t want to let him in; you knew that what Harvey was about to see wasn’t what he was surely expecting. Your grip tightened on the handle before you drew in a deep breath nodding, “Sure.”

It was worse than you imagined. Harvey hardly got two steps inside before he stopped fully. Well, to be fair, there wasn’t a ton of space for him to wander around and explore; between the bed, the armchair, and the trash bags, there wasn’t much room for him to move around. You shut the door and pointedly cleared your throat, trying to jog him from his shock. As he faced you again, you could see him trying to mask his surprise, his brows drawing down over his eyes as he turned to a file in his hand. 

“You have an offer on the Park Slope house.”

“Why didn’t I get a call from my broker?” 

“I asked to deliver the news myself.” 

You frowned a little, taking hold of the file and flipping it open. Your eyes widened at the sight of a check paperclipped to the top of the files—for frighteningly beneath asking price. 

“I said I wanted it in cash.” 

“...I know that,” Harvey spoke slowly, as if he was dealing with a particularly difficult and over-caffeinated child. “That is a good faith deposit from the buyer.” 

“They’ve signed?” Your hands tighten around the file as your stomach flipped with excitement. “I didn’t ask my broker for a good faith deposit.” 

“No, I had it baked into the contract.” 

Your gaze flitted to Harvey, annoyance and admiration growing in equal measure. 

“I…Appreciate that,” You finally managed. “But in the future, please run any changes like that by me before you speak to my broker.” 

Harvey nodded, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Understood.” 

“Thanks.” You closed to file, certain that if you didn’t, you’d just spend your time staring at the check—at your first lifeline in this whole mess. “Anything else?” 

“We need to get on a more even footing.” 

“...I don’t know what you mean.” 

Harvey gave you a chastising frown, one that would’ve made you wilt long ago—but now, you simply shook your head and shrugged. 

“I don’t,” You insisted. “Unless you mean that you’ll stop out your thinly veiled barbs about what you think you know about me.” 

“I remember more than you think.” 

“I’m not the woman that you left at the altar, Harvey.” Your admission and reminder left a bitter taste in your mouth. You had to force yourself to hold his gaze, even as his expression flooded with discomfort. You could see him desperately trying to push it away as his retort bubbled up:  

“And I’m not the man that left you there!”

“No?” You laughed openly. “Because this all looks pretty fucking familiar. You’re a shark, Harvey, and you’re a dick. Lucky for the both of us, that’s exactly what I need you to be right now.”

Harvey’s jaw tightened, and you could see his hands curling into fists before he shoved them into his pockets.

“Let’s get one thing perfectly clear,” He seethed, taking a small step closer, “What I do for you over the course of this case is purely because of my reputation in this city. I’m going to do my damndest to get you the best out of all of these properties, but do not think for a moment that the job I do comes from any interest, any compassion, anything worth a damn.”

“What compassion? Anyone with compassion would’ve at least had the grace to do better than a goddamn post-it note in my bridal suite that just said ‘sorry’. It didn't even look like your handwriting!” You loosed a hysterical laugh that had been building in your throat as he spoke. “Or did you not even want that in there? Maybe one of my bridesmaids scrawled it to keep me from just throwing myself off the fucking roof!”

Harvey’s expression flickered again, and you saw some of the color drain from his annoyance-flushed cheeks. You turned away, stomach roiling with embarrassment and irritation.

“Thanks for the file,” You managed, forcing a steadiness into your tone. “Going forward, I really do think it’s for the best that you communicate with me through Mr. Ross.”

“Gladly. Have a nice day, Mrs. Hayward.”

Three long strides, the creak of the door opening, and then slamming shut. You flinched at the sound, fingers tightening around the file, trying to focus on the check.

One hundred thousand dollars was an amazing start. One hundred thousand dollars could go toward your rent, your expenses, buy you some time. Maybe you could get a nice bottle of gin—or a couple of the cheap bottles the size of your head, the stuff that tasted like paint thinner and knocked you flat on your ass until morning.

Maybe you could sell your clothing during the day and quietly slip into oblivion in the evening. You had nothing better to do with your nights. Almost none of your so-called friends had reached out after the news had broken—likely making the choice to side with Steven. He was the one that still had the money, of course, the position in society. His name was on the door, not yours.

Your name was on a 12 month lease, and on a check for one hundred thousand dollars.

sorry

Lowercase, hurriedly scrawled, ink smudged. You could still see the slightly crumpled post-it that had been sitting on your honeymoon suite vanity when you’d returned after waiting at the back of the venue for almost an hour. 

Harvey hadn’t copped to writing it. Maybe he didn’t want to—or maybe he really didn’t write it. Maybe he wasn’t sorry. Maybe he saw the shitshow that your life had become and was glad that he’d gotten out early.

You glanced around the apartment, eyeing the row of trash bags, the rickety furniture. At this moment, you couldn’t blame him.

You tossed the file onto your bedside table before walking back to the trash bags. Bag by bag, then steam what needed to be steam, then sort by brand. Plan of attack. You could get that man out of your head.

That man—which one was worse to think about just now—Steven or Harvey?

You shook your head, forcing yourself to dismiss both of them for the morning. You didn’t have any more time for what could’ve been’s. You had here, you had now.

And you had shit to do.

--

“Okay, two things,” Mike announced as he rounded into Harvey’s office. “One, the purchase agreement for the brownstone is signed and the payment is on the way to her bank account. There’s also an offer for the apartment building in the upper East Side. Two—“

“What do you mean, two?” Harvey frowned. “That’s already two things.”

“Fine, three—“

“Super genius and he can’t even count—“

“I got six emails from Steven Hayward’s representation this morning, disputing ownership of all of the twenty original flagged properties.”

“Damnit,” Harvey hissed. “Even the houses she didn’t know about?”

“No, so far, they’ve been conspicuously left off of the list.”

“Where are we with those inspections?”

“In progress, should hear back by the end of the week.”

“Good.”

Mike nodded, and Harvey returned his attention to his laptop. At least, he did until he realized that Mike hadn’t left the room.

“Something else that you need to say?” Harvey prodded.

“Aren’t you going to ask how she is?”

“Why would I need to know that?”

“Come on, Harvey.”

“She’s a client, Mike.”

“A client that you were going to marry!”

“And I didn’t marry her. What do you think that says about my wealth of feeling for her?”

Mike sighed heavily through his nose, muttering, “Alright.” He began to turn away, heading for the door. “Well, if you had asked, I would’ve told you that she’s putting on a brave face, but she’s getting to the end of her rope.”

“Well I didn’t ask, but thank you for that poetic and poignant diagnosis.”

--

“You have to go.”

“Of all of my priorities right now, the gala is not one of them,” You insisted. “I’ve got about a hundred more urgent matters right now.”

“Make this one,” Jessica insisted, leaning back against her desk, her arms folding across her chest. “You know how badly you’ll be lampooned if you don't turn up.”

“And I’ll be lampooned if I do show up. Besides, I don’t have anything to wear.”

“Wear something you’ve worn before.”

“I don’t have most of those pieces anymore.”

“Then rent something.”

“You do remember that Steven is being honored this year?” 

“All the more reason for you to show your face.” 

“Jessica—“

“What’s your plan.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your plan—when this is all over? Are you going to go back into real estate?”

“…It’s crossed my mind.”

“You know that they will never let you back in if you slink out the back door and try to come in through the front again. They’ve rescinded your keys, honey. May as well stay in the house as long as you can.”

“This metaphor is beginning to exhaust me.”

Jessica grinned. “I better see your name on the RSVP list by the end of the day.”

“Since when do you have access to that information?”

“I have my sources.”

You heard two knocks, followed by the increasingly comforting sound of Mike’s voice: “Sorry to interrupt.”

“Not at all,” Jessica waved him inside. “I’m hoping for a fruitful update.”

“Well,” Mike gave a small, nervous smile as he joined the two of you. “The good news is that purchase for the brownstone is moving through the channels, and there are interested buyers for the upper East Side apartment building. Unfortunately —“ The word made your gut swoop. “—Your ex-husband has come out of the woodwork. He’s trying to stake a claim on the properties, and on a hold co. We’re monitoring the situation,” Mike added before either you or Jessica could speak, “But I wanted to make you aware of what you could be facing sometime soon.”

You nodded, wringing your hands where they were folded in your lap.

“I appreciate the update.”

“Of course.”

“Why isn’t Harvey relaying this to me himself?” Jessica frowned. You raised your brows, glancing toward Mike, and fighting back a wave of amusement at his blatant deer-in-headlines expression.

“He had a—meeting,” He flubbed before jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “I should, uh–” 

Jessica’s brows raise skeptically, but she nods, and you bite back a laugh as Mike leaves the room with a measured hurry. 

“...Why do I have the feeling that the two of you are keeping something from me?” 

“I don’t know what you mean,” You shrugged, pushing yourself out of your seat. “Now if you excuse me, I have some clothes to package—” 

“And a gala outfit to find. I understand.” 

You turned from Jessica’s smug grin, rolling your eyes as she tacked on, 

“And don’t forget to get your nails done!”

You rounded out of the office, pulling up short as you slammed into someone. 

“Oh! Fuck, sorry!” You breathed as their hands landed on your hips to steady you. 

“...Don’t worry about it.” Harvey’s flat tone turned your stomach. You cleared your throat, stepping back and out of his hands. 

“I’ll watch where I’m going.” 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

You gave a firm nod as you skirted around him, face flooding with embarrassed heat as you strode toward the elevators. 

-- 

The gala. You’d completely forgotten about the gala until Jessica had brought it up. Six months ago, planning the evening had been the center of your world. You’d put a deposit down for a custom dress, had it fitted. Steven had asked you to coordinate a cocktail party for the two hours beforehand—an intimate gathering for 150 of your closest friends and associates. You sighed, leaning back against the hard subway seat and gazing at your appearance in the window opposite you. 

You could just see it now—the who’s who of New York’s real estate scene all swanning up to the penthouse, lounging fashionably, eating the hors d'oeuvres that you’d chosen and drinking the champagne that you’d ordered by the case…

…The champagne that you had ordered…

Come to think of it, those contracts all had your name on them, your contact information. Steven hadn’t been involved with a damn thing, save for the use of his credit card to put down deposits. He never did—he expected you to handle all of the coordination on the day as well; he would swan in an hour after the party started and do his scant duties as the host.

A devilish grin curled your lips. You were sure you still had all of the confirmations in your email. You could cancel all of it—the ice sculpture, the caterer, the champagne…Well, maybe you could divert one case to your new apartment, and cancel the rest. 

Oh, you could really see it now—Steven seething as he frantically checked his emails for any hint of vendors, any phone number or email that he could call to find out what the hell happened to the party that was to-be. You were certain that the tailor still had your dress—and you had a check for a hundred thousand dollars that you could dip into for a manicure. 

You stood as the train pulled into your station. You were suddenly looking forward to the gala.

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @recklessworry ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage​​​ ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa​ ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices​ ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @gina239 ; @technicallykawaiisoul ; @coldheart-lonelysoul ; @kathrinemelissa ; @jacxx2 ; @pillowjj ; @chanaaaannel ; @avampirescholar ; @kmc1989

#Harvey Specter x Reader #Harvey Specter x You #Harvey Specter/Reader #Harvey Specter/You #Harvey Specter fic #Harvey Specter imagine #Bad Faith

[matrixbearer2024]

not a request but i just wanna get an idea that i absolutely MUST get out of my brain before it consumes my entire being. So, your “get off my screen series”. You know that trend where ppl put that one vox vid of his face on their tv and put like hus hat and/or body attached to the tv. Imagine vox somehow finds a way to do that and y/n just does this.

THATS IT LMAO ABSOLUTELY LOVE AND ADORE YOUR SERIES. ANYTIME I SEE IT’S UPDATED IT MAKES MY DAY<3

TikTok Trending, Posts and Memes

Vox x CollegeStudent!Reader

A/N: With how many ideas you guys have at this point I might just continue to write short scenarios for this AU with all the ideas you guys are giving me- it's absolutely amazing seeing what y'all come up with and I'm just living for it hahahaha! Thank you guys so much!

The week you had was... interesting to say the least.

Vox had challenged you to at least take up basic programming, claiming you were too impatient to learn.

So you, being the persistent and stubborn you-

Decided to prove him wrong.

Besides, it can't be that bad if he knows how to do it.

You wouldn't tell him because it'd probably make him butthurt-

But you were sure Vox was 1000% more impatient than you.

You took up computer science for extra credit, quickly learning the ins and outs of basic coding.

It was just a world of syntax and numbers but you definitely found it fun.

And useful too-

Especially when you wanted to explicitly screw with others.

Vox may or may not have slightly taught you how to hack.

But you weren't using it for anything bad!

Just to change the final grade of some asshole students so they'd have to repeat the class.

That's what they get for just randomly tripping you in the hall the other day.

Vox was slightly proud but also kind of concerned-

You'd definitely end up where he was at this rate.

Thankfully though, you decided not to do anything too crazy since.

Instead you've been messing around on your devices alongside the tech overlord.

From practicing how to send him encrypted messages-

To straight up just shitposting all over his monitors.

It's not so fun now is it Voxxy?

You would sometimes try to transfer him around to other devices that weren't your own to see if he could actually do anything.

Well, he could- but it only worked if he was directly connected to it.

Meaning he had to be plugged in.

How he was able to connect to all your devices wirelessly without limitation?

Neither of you had a clue.

You both first tested it on your best friend's phone, only for Vox to immediately go back to your computer and blow up your notifications.

"Nope nope nope nope, that's the last time I let you plug me into some random fucking phone-"

"What?? What happened??? And it's not random, it's (Friend Name)'s Phone."

"Dollface, you know Valentino right? The one I told you about?"

"The pornstar? What about?"

You didn't exactly like where this conversation was going.

You had an inkling where it would end and you were already cringing.

"Yeeaaaah, I've known him for quite some time so I would think I've seen nearly everything."

"Get to the point Vox-"

"And yet I am somehow utterly disgusted by your friend's search history."

"Yeah, uh... I'd rather you don't tell me."

"I figured. Though it makes me curious about what yours looks like."

That gave you pause, given how Vox had practically invaded your entire computer-

Hell, he even gave your files a new sorting system-

You were surprised he hadn't gone through your search history.

Of all the things you'd think that was what he'd ransack first.

"You haven't checked my search history yet?"

"Why would I? It's not like I'm trying to find your secret porn stash or something."

"Bruh, why would I even have that."

"Your friend had one, I just guessed."

"Touché."

You were a little touched that Vox cared about you enough not to really dig into your secrets.

Or well, the things you wanted to keep secret.

For a big bad overlord, he was kind of a sweetheart.

"Okay now I definitely wanna see what you've got hidden in there-"

"FUCK OFF YOU STUPID OLD PICTUREBOX-"

"YOU CAN'T STOP ME BITCH-"

You know what, you retracted your previous statement.

He's a fucking jerk.

Vox quickly dug through your search history while the tiny desktop companion in his likeness refused to give you control over the cursor.

You couldn't stop him even if you tried.

His phone blew up from notifications with you cursing at him or just calling him names.

He just laughed at your dismay and continued to dig through.

Okay- wow.

While he didn't initially expect it from you, Vox reckoned he probably should've.

Much like how people had celebrity crushes, he figured you would have your own.

It just so happened that it wasn't a celebrity and it was a fictional character instead.

He kind of felt like someone slapped him in the face actually, even if he didn't know why.

"Soooooo- (Favorite Character Name) huh?"

"Shaddup-"

"This? This is your type???"

"IT'S A FICTIONAL CRUSH GET OVER IT-"

While you were practically steaming from the ears in embarrassment, Vox was just laughing and dealing with his mixed feelings.

On one hand, he found your reactions absolutely entertaining and hilarious.

On the other hand, he didn't even know who or what this character was and he already disliked them.

Just a gut feeling.

He continued to tease you for it though, bringing up more cringe parts of your search history much to your chagrin.

It wasn't really anything bad that you couldn't take, it was just so embarrassing that you'd rather he didn't dig any of it up.

So in the heat of the moment, wanting to get Vox off your computer- you plugged it into the only other active device he wasn't connected.

Your TV.

It was nearly instant, he went from teasing and texting to you to a befuddled face on the larger screen.

But what was more surprising, was he could actually see you this time.

It wasn't filtered over with static like when he'd first met you.

The live feed even had audio, which was just entirely unexpected too.

Who knew, plug a TV demon into his specific medium and he could actually operate properly?

But that's how you guys ended up figuring out how to connect his digital presence to your TV.

By entire surprise and from just fucking around.

"Oh my god that worked-"

"(Y/N)? Holy hell! I can actually see you!"

"I did not think that would work-"

"Wow, are you really that short or is your TV just perched up that high?"

You just flipped him the bird and Vox laughed at you again.

Though, you couldn't help but smile because of it.

Well, at least now he could converse with you "properly" like he'd wanted to for a while.

Even if it did mean he'd need to take up your entire TV.

"Oh- OH WAIT- I've got an idea!"

Vox couldn't even question what you were doing before you ran out of the room and out of his sight.

So while waiting, he took a gander at the room you left him in.

It became abundantly clear that this was your living space too.

From the colors to the patterns, Vox smiled fondly as he recalled your old conversations where you would just tell him things about the things you liked.

Yeah, he could definitely see your touch in how the room was designed.

He raised an eyebrow when you giddily came back into the room with some colored paper, scissors and tape.

What-?

"Okay Doll, just what are you planning?"

"You'll see~!"

Your excitement kept him curious.

What were you drawing over there?

Weird timing for an arts and crafts project if you asked him.

It was only until you approached him and taped something to the screen did he actually grow confused.

He couldn't see what you did despite you doubling over in laughter.

What could've possibly been so funny that had you keeling from it?

By the time you could finally look at Vox without laughing your ass off, you used your phone to take a picture of how he looked.

Approaching the TV to show him just so he could see the photo as well.

Ah.

So that's what you found so funny.

You'd fashioned his outfit-

Poorly made but still recognizable-

Out of paper and taped it to the screen.

His hat on top and his suit dangling off the bottom.

Admittedly, it looked downright silly.

Especially with the proportions being so off thanks to the size of the TV screen.

"Haha, very funny (Y/N). Very funny."

"I'm making this shit my wallpaper, you look so goofy."

Vox just playfully rolled his eyes at you with a smile.

If that was seriously all it took to make you laugh?

He'd do it again no questions asked.

Taking a peek at his internal clock though, he held back his disappointment that he had to leave when you were on such an elated high.

"Sorry to cut this short doll, but I need to disconnect. I've got a meeting in a few minutes."

"Hm? Then go and do what you need to do, I can always just plug you back in later. Good luck!"

The overlord chuckled when you raised a hand to pat the screen, he couldn't feel it but he wished he did.

"I don't need luck, but... thanks. See you."

"See you."

And just like that the screen fizzled out and returned to the smart TV homepage.

You'd sent the picture to Vox through your chats and he replied with a TV emoticon.

You giggled, course he would do that.

At least he didn't take offense to what you did-

Despite your poor art skills-

Maybe he found it as entertaining as you did?

Whatever, you switched the wallpaper on your phone to the new photo you had of Vox and laughed.

His confused expression really sealed the deal with how silly the picture was.

But imagine your surprise come morning when you realized he didn't switch the wallpaper back to his trademark grin.

You sort of expected him to, especially given that he'd done so with all your past attempts to change your wallpaper.

The fact he left it alone made you smile.

And as the day began and Vox left you a morning greeting-

You just shot him one back and got up to prepare for the day.

You figured the day would be just fine.

Yeah, you guys would be just fine.

A/N: Ooough this was a long one but I had a lot of fun writing it! I'll post the masterlist afterwards when I grab all the links to the posts and I'll just be continuing the other interludes before I post the chapter with Reader's death. Either way, I hope you guys enjoyed this one!

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #vox #vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin vox x reader #vox x you #Get Off My Screen Series

[imtryingbuck]

Affair

~ gif not mine credit to owner ~

Affair

Summary: Y/n founds out about her husband’s affair.

Word count: 1207

Warnings: Angst, Bucky is not good in this im sorry. Sad yet strong reader. Infidelity. Sharon and Steve. Little teeny tiny bit of body hate. Swear words.

A/n: there’s a line from my favourite song of Adeles.

Masterlist

Part 2

The day she found out her husband was having an affair it felt like time had stopped. Thousands of questions sworn inside her head, she didn’t blame her husband or the other woman nope she blamed herself. It was her fault her husband was unfaithful, it was her fault she had not been enough for him, it was her fault for not satisfying his needs. It was her fault. 

After the self-blaming and self-hating she moved on to anger. Angry at her husband betraying her, angry at the other woman - a woman she had called a friend for 15 years - angry at herself, just unadulterated anger. 

Then came the self-pity party, where all she did was cry and cry and cry. She would stand in front of the full body mirror just in her underwear, picking at every single detail on her skin hating what she saw in the reflection. Then she would cry even more due to the fact that after finally loving and being kind to her own body, she was back to hating it. However, she didn’t just feel sorry for herself, no, no she felt sorry for her husband, her children, her husband’s mistress and the husband of her husband’s mistress.

Oh and then there was denial - but that went straight out of her head pretty quickly, after all she did catch them going at it with her own two eyes.

And finally came acceptance. She accepted her husband’s extra marital affair, she accepted that she had been betrayed by two people close to her. Completely aware that her marriage was over and dead.

Her heart remained broken though, that would never change.

~~~

The sound of the door opening use to bring a smile on Y/ns face, sending her straight to the door awaiting him like a goddamn lapdog. Now though all it did was make her wonder which excuse she was going to be given. 

Sitting on the sofa with her knees pulled up staring at the tv screen, chuckling quietly to herself as Peter Griffin continues his antics, wondering to herself why Lois puts up with him. Already smelling the mistress’s perfume on him makes her roll her eyes. 

“Hey bab-“

“I filed for divorce.”

He actually has the audacity to act shocked “w-what do you mean? Bab-“

“Stop. Just stop. I know about your affair, I know you’ve been sleeping with Sharon for the past six months, probably longer I don’t know” mumbling the last part quietly “but all that matters is that I know so now we’re getting divorced.”

She sees him in her peripheral nervously shifting foot to foot, colour completely drained from his face, is that tears? Gross. Before he can even get a good enough excuse for his betrayal straight, she continues.

“Don’t say anything it’s not going to change my mind or decision. I spoke with my lawyer who thinks I’m being to kind - his words not mine - anyway I told him in don’t want money or the house from you. Custody will be split between us evenly” standing up wrapping her arms around herself “you know at first I wanted so many answers but now I just want to know one thing, do you think you can be honest for once? Do you actually think Sharon is going to want you know that I’m leaving you? Think you both can run off into the sunset and live happily ever after?” Using a baby like voice at the end she chuckles at his expression, she can’t tell if it’s heartbreak that she’s leaving him or heartbreak that his mistress isn’t going to want him anymore - laughable. 

“The answer is no by the way. I feel bad though, you both deserve each other. Both so wrapped up in your own selflessness that you were happy to ruin two marriages, two families! To betray, lie and deceive your spouses who happen to be friends! All for what? Sex?” Stepping back when he tries to reach out “don’t fucking touch me! Don’t you dare try and touch me AFTER you’ve been with her! What the actual fuck is wrong with you? And don’t you dare stand there and cry! You did this, you both did. Oh and Steve knows” Literally as she said that his phone started ringing “Go ahead and answer it’s probably your best friend or your mistress, go ahead James and answer” at the sound of his first name he flinched, he pulled his phone out and sighed, declining the call he looked back at the woman who he had the privilege of calling his wife. The mother of his children, the woman who he has loved from the moment he was introduced to her. The woman who he cheated on.

“I’m sorry” is all he could say, he really didn’t remember how the affair started or why on earth he continued it, he has this perfect wife at home, his other half his soulmate and he cheated, he couldn’t even give her a good enough excuse. His guilt was hitting like a ton of bricks, he betrayed his wife and his best friend all for a quick fuck that wasn’t even good.

“You’re sorry? I’m sorry too. I’m sorry that when the morning comes, you’re going to have no one. I feel for you James honestly - stop swaying you’re making me feel seasick, sit down.” Watching him sit on the chair she moves to sit where she was originally sat before.

“Listen I just want to get this off my chest before I go to bed okay, I have loved you so deeply that I honestly don’t think I’d ever stop loving you but James I can’t forgive you, maybe one day in the future I will but not right now. I have been stood by your side through every single thing that has happened to you, and yet you betray me. I don’t know what went wrong with us but whatever I did I’m sorry-“ when he tries to intervene she puts her hand up “Just listen! I’m sorry that our story has ended this way but i can’t trust you anymore or even stand the sight of you if I’m being honest. You have given me something that I can't live without, you mustn't underestimate that when you are in doubt. But this is where our story ends.” 

Wiping her tears with the sleeve of her jumper, she stands up stronger and taller than ever before. 

“You can sleep on the sofa or head to Sharon’s I know Steve said he’d be staying with Sam and Nat. Tomorrow I’ll be taking the kids to our new house and then I guess we’ll go from there” Shrugging her shoulders as she doesn’t know what else to say to him. “Goodnight James, I truly hope you all the best”

Once in the comfort of her bedroom she listens to hear his movements but all she can hear are his cries. Smiling sadly, she climbs into the bed, she fears the unknowing of what her future holds whilst also excited for it.

For the first time since she found out about her husband’s affair she sleeps peacefully.

~ banners credit goes to @sweetpeapod ~

#bucky barnes #bucky barns x y/n #marvel #bucky barnes angst #marvel fanfiction #Bucky x reader #bucky x reader angst #Bucky x reader no comfort #marvel fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x y/n #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #Bucky Barnes cheating #steve rogers #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female yn #bucky x reader.

[always-andromeda]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ 𝐩𝐥𝐮𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 ୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⟡ Frankie Morales x F!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ⟡ 3,038

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⟡ After recruiting you to be his plus one for yet another wedding, Frankie can't help but ruminate on and regret the last one he brought you to.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ⟡ Hey, Lolabee!! I'm super excited to finally share that I'm your secret Valentine!! I apologize in advance for posting this so late in the game; exam week has been super hectic. That being said, I decided to give myself a little bit of a challenge and write something for Frankie for the first time ever. I should preface this by saying that when I read your prompt for rom-com vibes, I immediately began filing through all of my favorite rom-coms. And since my current favorite is Plus One, this fic is very much inspired by it!! Happy late Valentine's Day!! (dt: @thelightsandtheroses) (divider credits: @cafekitsune)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ⟡ fluff with little bits of angst (regardless, minors, please do not interact), no physical description given to the reader except for the fact that she wears makeup, mentions of alcohol and references to the reader drinking, the slightest references to Frankie's past, this fic is almost entirely removed from the movie's canon (these characters are basically my paper dolls that I'm making do cute things<3), idiots in love, they tease each other, they go to a wedding, misunderstandings occur, but it all works out <3

“You’re bringing your own tissues this time, right?” Frankie called from where he sat at the edge of the bed. He’d slept in far worse places. But he could already feel new knots forming on top of the old ones in his back. Needless to say, he wasn’t looking forward to spending yet another night attempting to sleep on the dense hotel room mattress.

You replied from the bathroom, “Oh, yeah, don’t worry. I’m prepared.”

“You better be. Because you’re not using my tie to blow your nose again.”

If you were in the room, Frankie could’ve practically felt your glare burning a hole through him. But instead he only heard the clear exasperation in your tone when you answered, “I did not use your tie to blow my nose.”

“Might as well have…” he mumbled. Santi’s wedding had claimed that casualty. By the end of the ceremony you’d soaked his tie in tears and covered it with a fine layer of translucent powder from dabbing your face off. And as much as he teased, he hadn’t minded it. He hadn’t minded it any more than he’d minded the distant friends and relatives who’d assumed that you were his girlfriend. Which…wasn’t an insulting assumption by any means.

The next time – at Benny’s wedding – Frankie brought you tissues. He didn’t like to think about Benny’s wedding. But if there was one thing he was happy about, it was that he’d thought far enough ahead to bring them for you. He was glad to see your smile. To feel your arms wrap around him as you thanked him and told him he was such a sweetheart. He was also grateful for the Hawaiian sun; for the developing sunburn that had prevented you from seeing how much that one nickname made his cheeks flush in that moment.

Your head popped out of the bathroom doorway, your makeup only half done, to aim a smartass smile at him with your lined lips. “Hey, I like to think of it as a gift. You should too.”

“Your ability to cry at the drop of a hat?”

“You're damn right,” you said indignantly.

Frankie sighed, pushing his hair back for about the dozenth time. He then laid back on the bed and stared up at the popcorn ceiling. “If we’re lucky, this is the first and last time you’ll need to worry about packing some to begin with. Will’s the last stop on the wedding train.”

The thought almost made him misty eyed. Within a few hours, he’d be the last single man in his crew. The last one awake at the sleepover. Eyes so wide they were practically ablaze staring through the uncertainty of night. Unable to find sleep. Unable to believe he’d ever find it to begin with.

Your voice cut through his trance. “I wouldn’t be so sure. Maybe next year we’ll get an invite for Tom’s second wedding,” you teased. 

Frankie rolled his eyes. At least he could take some sort of comfort in that. Redfly had tried out the whole settling down thing. And it just didn’t work. Frankie wished his buddies well, but he couldn’t help but feel deep down that they’d never be made for domesticity. They weren’t made for teary-eyed speeches and destination weddings. 

“Don’t count on it,” he drawled.

“Don’t count on it,” you mimicked Frankie’s slow, gruff voice which earned a small laugh from him. “I’ll tell you what, I bet you that Ben’s best man speech isn’t going to be nearly as good as Will’s was.”

He attempted to recall what Will had even said only a few months prior. It had to have been good, the man was a public speaker, for Christ’s sake. He guessed, “That one was long, right?”

“Yeah…don’t you remember it? Frankie, were you even there?”

“I was there alright.” He laughed to mask the wince he wanted to let out. Then he cleared his throat, throwing out another vague guess, “But I seem to remember that by the end of it, he needed some damn tissues too.”

“If you had a shithead little brother who managed to get married before he could experience massive head trauma, you’d probably get a little choked up too.” You added more to yourself than to him, “God, Frankie, how do you forget a speech like that? It was fucking beautiful.”

There was a very high likelihood that he had forgotten. Frankie spent almost every day following that entire night trying to forget it. And he wondered how in the world you remembered it either considering how much you’d drank.

If you could remember what Will had said…you should’ve remembered what you’d said too, right? You, standing in the bathroom and observing yourself in the mirror as you combed through your lashes to separate them, had to have known what you said to him that night. Because he knew it. Whether he liked it or not, he had that particular speech memorized with the way it ran through his head.

Frankie had known you were in a tough spot. Hell, it was part of the reason why he’d brought you along; part of the reason why Benny had insisted Frankie take you. 

She just got broken up with, Frankie had tried to reason.

Benny had merely smirked, Which is the exact reason why you should invite her out. Give her a chance to get fucked up. Spend the night with one of the bachelors. It’s the quintessential wedding experience.

Frankie couldn’t have even pretended to mask his disgust at the idea. But he couldn’t lie…bringing you along again sounded leagues above going alone. 

And now, sometimes he wished he had toughed it out instead.

No matter how much he tried to forget, the details always flashed through his mind. The way your fingers ran through his hair. How your touch managed to stay so soft despite how completely out of it you were. But that’s how you’d always been with him. Even at his absolute worst points when he was a less than ideal man, you found some shred of decency inside him that you never hesitated to cradle and nurture.

Maybe that’s what had made those tangles form in his stomach; the idea that he was taking advantage of that kindness.

Because that wasn’t…you. You wouldn’t have done that in your right mind. If your boyfriend hadn’t just broken up with you. If you hadn’t just found out that the entire time Nick had been cheating on you with that woman from accounting in his office. If you hadn’t drank way too much. None of this would be happening if you weren’t at your absolute lowest. 

So he wiped the slate clean. It’d almost always been easy to do that. To simply forget. But he should’ve known better by now. Those things he somehow managed to lock up always found a way to ooze out of the cracks in his facade.

There were a few times Frankie thought you might crack during the ceremony. Especially when Will read out his vows, because of course the guy went the extra mile, delivering them with that stern reverence that made him the kind of guy you wanted on your team. 

But you didn’t cry. This time…you grabbed his hand. It almost didn’t occur to him that you had until Will kissed his now wife and you squeezed Frankie’s hand in excitement. For a moment, he wondered if you’d managed to get a drink in before the ceremony. You couldn’t have; the bar wasn’t supposed to open until afterwards. He knew it couldn’t have been an alcohol induced action but he was still afraid to acknowledge it. 

So he kept as still as possible. Even when the ceremony ended and you began to pull him around the venue. Though he knew his hand was getting clammier with every minute that passed, he let you drag him around the little circles of friends and family of the bride and groom. He had checked out enough that he didn’t quite realize what he’d gotten himself into until you were bringing him to the dance floor and positioning his hands on your hips.

Only when you let go of his hand and placed your own on his shoulders did it strike him how similar this felt to that night at Benny’s wedding.

You spoke like you were treading thin ice. “That speech was…surprisingly alright.”

“And you didn’t cry,” he remarked equally as carefully.

“I didn’t cry!” you exclaimed.

“It would’ve been fine if you had.”

You shook your head, “That wasn’t the kind of speech you cry at. It was simple. Sweet. I liked it. Who would’ve thought Benny’d have it in him, right?”

“So what do you do for that kind of speech?” Frankie asked, raising an eyebrow.

“A polite clap. Maybe a cheer.”

“A cheer? Maybe you should’ve brought your pom poms instead of tissues.”

The way you scrunched up your nose into a playful grimace tugged at his heartstrings. Then you laughed, “Shut up.” God, he loved when you and him fell into this groove. 

So he continued with the bit, “You should get some for Tom’s wedding. The guy deserves a whole damn squad if he gets all tied up again.”

“Thought you said I shouldn’t count on it?”

“If you’re gonna count on anyone getting married soon, it’s better if it was him.” Frankie clicked his tongue, “Not like I’m going off the market anytime soon.”

“Oh, Frankie, stop it.” Your smile dropped ever so slightly, eyebrows turned inward as you gazed at him with something akin to pity or sympathy; he wasn’t sure which was worse. “You have no idea what the future could bring.”

“Not a wedding, that’s for damn sure.”

Your expression only intensified. He recognized it well after the amount of times you’d talked him off a ledge. “You can’t just discount the possibility entirely,” you argued.

“I can and I will,” he said stubbornly.

You were quiet for a few seconds, “So you’re telling me you’ve never thought about it? I mean…who would your best man be?”

“I’m not answering that.”

Your lip quirks to the side of your face as you feign a contemplative look before concluding, “Probably Santi.”

“Look at you, you did it for me,” Frankie deadpanned.

“I could plan the whole damn thing for you, don’t test me.”

“Why’s that?”

This time you pressed your lips together. And Frankie swears he felt you stumble over your own feet ever so slightly; like he’d caught you off guard with the query. “Oh, you know…weddings usually aren’t those things that people are eager to plan.”

“But why would you specifically be planning it? Unless you’re–”

A beat passes before you break out into an incredulous grin. “You’d want me to marry you and plan our wedding? That’s a tall order. I’m afraid you’ll have to pick one or the other, sorry.”

Frankie chuckles. He let the remark pass. He always enjoyed this back and forth. How you and him had always been able to bounce off of each other. It was hard enough keeping up with some of the guys. But keeping up with women was a whole different story. He always seemed to be a few steps behind most of them. For some reason, your pace was just perfect. Your humor, your timing, it all clicked with his personality.

Just like you were prone to doing, you broke the silence with an awkward laugh and big eyes staring right into his. “So…which one do you pick?”

He almost didn’t catch the question; almost didn’t want to. “Hm?”

“Would you rather marry me or have me plan your wedding?” you clarify.

“Come on, you know I’m not answering that.”

And the tide shifted once more. Just as quick as you were to smile, your expression melted into one of muted mortification. Like you’d just tilted your hand a little too far

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” you mumbled to yourself. Your hands slid off his shoulders and you wiped them off on your dress before wrapping them around yourself. That was when you retreated, leaving him standing there looking like more of a fool than he ever thought he had.

He stared after you for a few seconds, struggling to process what had just happened when it finally registered.

Soon he was following after you. How you knew to navigate the venue so quickly, he couldn’t be bothered to wonder. All he knew by the time he got to the lobby of the wedding hall was that something was wrong.

He spotted you rushing down the sidewalk as he stepped outside. In all his exasperation, all he could get out was, “Hey, what the fuck?”

The cool night air of the fall settled in and billowed around him like a curse. He wasn’t quite sure if the deep chill that ran down his spine was from the weather or the sight of you turning around, eyes already wet with tears that you were desperately trying to blink away.

Your voice came out hoarse as you shouted back, “You’re asking me what the fuck? No, Frankie, what the fuck is up with you? I kissed you…God…how many months ago? And you don’t say a fucking word. I keep talking about Benny’s wedding and you keep acting like none of it fucking happened.”

Frankie threw his hands up. “You were drunk. I don’t even remember how many fucking drinks you had.”

“I had a couple virgin cocktails,” you scoffed. The admittance wasn’t stubborn. But it did come with a tone of disdain, “I wasn’t drunk.”

“You wouldn’t–” he stopped himself. You wouldn’t have done any of that unless you were drunk.

“You acted like you were drunk.”

You shook your head. “I was having fun. I was with you and I was having fun, you dumbass.” Then you sighed, gaze darting towards the street nervously. “And I woke up the morning after and I thought that…I thought you would’ve at least said something. I thought you would’ve asked me how I felt. I thought you would’ve had the decency to at least check in. But you were just…you were completely fine.”

“I wasn’t fine…”

“And now you want to crack jokes about marrying me?”

Frankie wagged a finger in your direction, an almost childish defense. “You brought that shit up first.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Frankie, that doesn’t matter,” you muttered before raising your voice once more. “What matters is that I kissed you. I looked into your eyes and told you I fucking loved you and you said nothing.”

Hearing your voice say it again, even filled with such frustration, such anguish, he could help the way something fluttered in his chest. And even still, he shoved it down deeper than he ever had before.

“Because I wasn’t going to hurt you the way that Nick did.” He watched your gaze soften. “It would’ve killed me to hurt you like that.”

With the sounds of the city passing you both by, Frankie caught one of the worst sights possible. The tear that rolled down your cheek. And then the few more that followed, all shamelessly continuing their desolate stride down your neck. How you unclenched your jaw and unfolded all of the pain you’d kept since that summer into a few words. “You hurt me worse than Nick ever did.”

Your whole being compacted in on itself once more, recoiling from the vulnerable admission with a breathless conclusion. “Fuck you, Frankie. Fuck you.”

There it all was. And all he could think about was that night at Benny’s wedding. The night you told him you were glad Nick was gone. The night you smiled softly at him, thumb running over his bottom lip as you whispered.

I love you.

They were such fragile words. Words he hadn’t wanted to put any weight on, lest they shatter from beneath him and leave him falling face down in his own hopes. Because a small part of him had almost always hoped it was you. He never let himself truly believe the idea for long. But, God, he wanted to…could he still? He squeezed his eyes shut, holding back his own tears.

“I’m sorry.” His voice trembled in time with his hands. And he’d fully come to terms that it wasn’t just the cool air. He wasn’t a stranger to fearing for his life, with the work he’d once done, it was a given. But this wasn’t that. This was different. It was a fear of something a little more abstract. Because following this risk, there wouldn’t be oblivion. On the other side of his eyelids was a world where you either forgave him or you brushed him away. He certainly believed he deserved the latter with the way he’d been. But he’d never know unless he took the plunge.

When he opened his eyes again again he was grateful to find you still standing in front of him. He wouldn’t let this night steal his courage again. He repeated, voice firmer than before and charged with certainty, “I’m sorry.” Then finally replied, “I love you too. I love you.”

You gave him those hope filled eyes once more. He saw how it slowly morphed into joy; the kind that carried peace. You stepped closer, fingertips brushing against the material of his jacket as you reached for him.

Frankie closed the gap without any hesitation, his own hand moving to cradle your face as he moved in to kiss you. None of his recollections of the first time he’d done it could’ve ever lived up to the second one. There was no dread, no looming guilt, no fear. Only excitement and hope.

“If I could only pick one. I’d marry you. Any day…I’d marry you,” he mumbled against your lips.

You pulled back. And with his eyes still closed, he felt you smile as you answered, “Maybe I’ll ask you again next year. For now, let’s have this.”

“I can handle that,” he smiled then melted into you once more. And already it was something he knew he could easily get used to. Next time you asked, he’d be ready.

#˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚ #spacesisterssecretvalentine #frankie morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x y/n #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fic

[proxima-writes]

i can see you (javier peña's version)

pairing: javier peña x dea agent!female reader

rating: explicit (18+ mdni)

word count: 3.4k

summary:

when javier peña takes credit for your lead, you take revenge.

good thing you know javier can't resist a girl in red lipstick.

author's note:

first javier fic, based on taylor swift's "i can see you". if you enjoy, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging! gif by @pedropascalito

content warnings:

explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), dub con - sexual activity under the influence of alcohol, alcohol consumption, no use of y/n, female masturbation, oral sex - male receiving, dirty talk, praise, lots of lipstick kink, pet names, sex while standing, teasing, semi-public sex (file room at work), vaginal fingering, mouth covering. please let me know if i've missed any!

You storm into the office, boots clicking on the linoleum as you make a beeline for Javier’s messy desk. He’s on the phone as you approach, ever present cigarette dangling from his lips as he speaks to whomever is on the other end of the line. You rip the receiver from his hand and slam it into the cradle.

“What the fuck?” Javier snaps, stubbing out his cigarette in an overflowing ashtray. “What if that had been an important call?”

“Fuck you, Peña,” you hiss, planting your hands on his desk with enough force that several papers slip from precarious piles to the floor. “Where the fuck do you get off taking credit for my lead?”

His eyebrows go up, his lips tilting in a condescending smirk that you want to smack right off his face. “That’s what this is about? We’re a team, alacránita. It was our lead.” 

Little scorpion, he calls you, because of your quick temper. He uses it when he wants you riled up, wants you angry at him, because what else is a scorpion to do but fight back when provoked?

“Oh, really? So, you were the one who stayed up ‘til three in the morning reading transcriptions, huh?” You tap your chin. “No, wait. That was me.”

Javier stands, grabbing his gun from the desk and tucking it into the waist of his jeans at his back. The action has his button down shirt stretching right across his chest and your eyes linger on the view. When you meet his gaze again you know you’ve been caught, the insufferable man grinning like a cat that got the canary. 

“Look, do you want to keep arguing or do you want to actually do something with your intel and go catch some narcos?” He asks, breezing by you. You grind your teeth together as you watch him leave.

“If it’s any consolation—“ Steve starts to say, but you cut him off.

“Shut up, Murphy.”

That night after a long day of work and one beer too many you find yourself staring at the ceiling of your bedroom, your thoughts drifting to Javier and his annoying smirk and the stupid way he carries his gun and his dumb aviators and his gorgeous brown eyes and how good he feels between your—

Fuck.

You try not to think about the first time you met Javier Peña. The real first time, not the awkward handshake and forced smile as he introduced himself as Agent Peña. 

The first time, when he sat beside you at a bar and introduced himself as Javi and you thought that it must be a common enough name, there was no way this handsome stranger was your soon-to-be partner. He told you he worked in environmental services and you claimed to be a teacher. He bought you a drink and his eyes never left your mouth as you wrapped your red lips around a beer bottle. 

A couple hours of conversation later, his hand slid to your knee and he looked at you with brown eyes full of fire as his fingers curled into the flesh of your thigh exposed by your skirt. He asked if you wanted to go someplace more quiet and when you said your apartment was across the street, his smile was full of promise.

As your mind replays the memory in vivid detail, you slide your hand beneath the elastic of your panties, hissing as your fingertips graze your sensitive clit. You circle the bundle of nerves slowly as you continue to imagine that night.

You think back to the feel of his hand in yours as you dashed across the street to your apartment building, how he pressed against your back and nipped at your neck as you unlocked your door. He made a comment about the boxes still scattered around your apartment, some joke you can’t remember as desire fizzles through your veins. 

“These pretty red lips,” he said, pulling you close and tracing his thumb along your bottom lip. “Been staring at them all night, wondering how they would look stretched around my cock.”

“I could show you,” you responded, sliding your hands down his chest until your fingers encountered the cold metal of his belt buckle. You unfastened it, pulling the leather loose from his sinfully tight jeans and tossing it to the floor. “If you’d like?”

“Get on your knees,” Javier said as he unbuttoned his fly, working the waist of his jeans down enough to free his hard cock from the denim. You dropped to your knees quickly and his dark laugh echoed through the room. “Stick your tongue out, baby.”

You remember the salty taste of him on your tongue, the way he slowly fed his thick length into your mouth as you gazed up at him from your position at his feet. Your fingers circle your clit faster as you think about how he’d traced your lips where they stretched around his cock with his thumb, gently pushing at the corner of your mouth. 

“Fuck, look at you,” he growled. You whine at the memory as you inch closer to your release with each swipe of your hand. “Mouth built for sin, isn’t that right?”

You plunge two fingers inside of you with mounting desperation as your mind continues to replay the memory like a movie - the way his dark eyes fixated on the slide of his cock in and out of your mouth, the intoxicating sounds that spilled from his lips, and how he had pulled back from you when he was close to finishing to show you the lipstick stains you’d left behind.

“Dirty fucking girl,” he said, dragging you up from the floor and kissing you breathless. 

It’s the memory of his lips pressed to yours that pushes you over the edge, your cunt pulsing around your fingers as you shatter, biting back Javier’s name as it claws its way up your throat. In the aftermath, staring up at your ceiling, a thought pops into your head.

You know just how to get Javier back for taking credit for your lead.

As a field agent for the DEA, it’s not often you wear more than jeans, a blouse, and a practical pair of boots to work. After all, carrying a sidearm in a dress or running in heels isn’t ideal. 

Today, however, you’re willing to make an exception. With a series of meetings on the calendar this afternoon, the risk of jeopardizing your work for the sake of fashion is, thankfully, slim.

You’ve put on your tightest dress, black polyester hugging your curves and balancing the fine line of work appropriate. The heels you dug out of your closet make your ass look fantastic but the cherry on top of the whole ensemble is the bright red lipstick you slicked on with careful precision.

Steve does a double take as you enter the cluttered office space, your heels clicking on the linoleum. Javier is at his desk, his back turned to you as he speaks to someone on the phone.

“Lookin’, uh, lookin’ good,” Steve says with a cough. “Did I miss a memo or somethin’?”

“Nope,” you reply, your lips popping in emphasis. 

You hear the click of the phone being placed back in its cradle with impressive force. You try to keep your eyes focused on the file you’ve got open on your desk but you can feel Javier’s heated gaze burning over your skin. You glance up, briefly, but it’s enough for you to find his dark gaze and see the tense cut of his jaw as he grinds his teeth together.

Once the meetings start rolling, you don’t have much opportunity to think about Javier, but you know he’s thinking about you. You have fun with the attention, leaning forward to make sure the man can get a good view down your dress, biting the cap of your pen, and licking your lips after each sip of coffee. With each new tease, you notice the way his hand curls into a tight fist on the table or how he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. 

When Messina asks him a question, the usually calm and collected man stutters his response, earning him a raised eyebrow from the woman in charge. You have to bite back a satisfied laugh at his expense, watching as his neck turns a blotchy red in his embarrassment. 

Once the meeting is over, you’re discussing the next plan of action with Steve as you leave the boardroom, Javier trailing behind the two of you. Steve asks Javier a question and a glance over your shoulder earns you the satisfaction of knowing he had been staring at your ass, his head snapping up so fast a flinch of pain flashes across his features as he replies to Steve.

Working through the pile of paperwork on your desk comes with the ever present weight of Javier’s gaze on you from across the room. He fields phone calls most of the morning, cigarette held to his lips as he converses in smooth, rapid fire Spanish that has you pressing your thighs together beneath your desk. 

When he turns away, you grab a stray piece of blank paper and scribble a note before lifting it to your face to press a red kiss mark to the smooth surface. You fold it twice and keep it held tight in your hand as you stand and saunter over to Javier’s desk. 

His dark eyes are fixed to the extra sway in your step as you approach, his grip tightening around the receiver. You set the note on his desk, leaning over just slightly to slide it across the wood towards him. You tap it once before straightening and walking back to your desk to resume your work, watching Javier from the corner of your eye as he unfolds the note.

Stop staring.

Javier crumples the note in his fist in frustration, keeping it pressed to his palm as he frees another cigarette from the pack on his desk. The rush of nicotine in his veins mingles with the white hot lust he’s been trying to beat down ever since he caught sight of you in that tight little dress, and you’ve not been making it easy.

You never make it easy. Ever since walking into work six months ago to a face that shouldn’t have been familiar sitting behind his new partner’s desk, he’s been fighting to remain professional. It doesn’t help that you’re one of the best agents he’s ever worked with - smart, resourceful, and capable of standing up to men trying to pull rank on you.

Today is testing his patience. The dress and heels are one thing, but the lipstick? That’s a low blow. All he can think about is the last time he saw you wear it, that night at the bar that turned into that night in your bed, all the pretty red color faded from your lips because you marked his cock with it instead. He spent the entire meeting with Messina trying not to watch the way you wrapped your lips around the tip of your pen, thoughts drifting to what it would be like to have you on your knees again, staring up at him with less venom and more desire.

He sets the note on his desk, pointedly ignoring it while you’re in the room. He knows you’re looking for a reaction and he’s not going to give you the satisfaction of one.

At least, not yet.

“Murphy, you still need that file we talked about? I’ve got another to pull,” you announce, standing from your seat. The blonde man looks up and nods.

“Yeah, see if you can find it while you’re in there,” Steve replies. You give him a little salute of acknowledgment before leaving the shared office space and making your way to the file room.

Once inside the windowless room at the end of the hall, you pull on the cord connected to the singular lightbulb in the ceiling meant to illuminate the dank space. It smells like paper and dust and it constantly looks like a bomb went off - cabinets half closed with how much has been shoved inside of them, stray stacks of folders that someone couldn’t be bothered to return to their proper place, and a wastebasket overflowing with crumpled paper. 

You lose yourself to the task of locating the files you and Steve needed, distracted enough that you don’t hear the click of the door opening and shutting behind you. It’s not until there’s a low murmur of your name in a hauntingly familiar timbre so you realize you’re not alone.

You turn to find Javier standing in front of the file room door, dark eyes fixed on you as he removes his suit jacket and drops it to the floor. Your mouth goes dry as he rolls up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, exposing deliciously tan forearms and muscles that flex hypnotically. 

“My eyes are up here, baby,” he says, a smirk on his lips that sends anger through your veins but lust to your belly. 

“What do you want, Peña?” You ask. Your voice wavers the slightest bit and you hope he doesn’t notice, but the tilt to his head and the way his tongue darts out to lick his lips says otherwise.

“I think the question is, what do you want?” He’s standing toe to toe with you now, your back pressed against a metal cabinet. “Or do you need me to show you?”

“Show me what?”

Javier chuckles. “What playing with fire will get you.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, tilting your chin defiantly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, some of us have work to do that doesn’t involve harassing our coworkers.” 

But he doesn’t back up, doesn’t give you the room to breathe that you so desperately need. Instead his large hand cups your hip, sliding slowly up your body, a trail of heat running from your waist to your breast until his palm settles against your neck. He rubs his thumb across your lips.

“What do you call wearing this, then?” He holds his thumb up for you to see the smear of red across his skin. “We both know what you were thinking when you put it on this morning, cariño.”

He presses his thumb to your lips, slipping it inside your mouth this time. You give the digit a tentative suck as he presses it forward and back across your tongue, a crude approximation of the memory that replayed in your head as you touched yourself. 

Javier smiles triumphantly and you can feel his other hand working at the hem of your dress, hiking it up higher until his fingers skim the bare skin of your thighs. 

“Tell me to touch you,” he demands, pulling his thumb free from your mouth. You press your lips together, fighting the overwhelming need to give into him as his knuckle skims your pussy through the fabric of your panties. “Stubborn alacránita,” he growls, circling your clit harshly and making you cry out.

His palm covers your mouth, your eyes going wide as he continues his tortuous attention. “Tell me to touch you,” he says again, brow pinched as his eyes search yours. It hits you that this man is just as desperate for you as you are for him, and the rush that knowledge gives you has you nodding your head.

He removes his palm, cupping your cheek and pressing his forehead to yours before whispering into the space between your mouths, “Say it.”

“Touch me, Javier,” you murmur, rolling your hips into his hand. “Please.”

He wastes no further time, hand slipping under the elastic of your panties and dragging through your slick folds. He grins at you, boyish and feral in equal measure as he slips a thick finger inside of you while his thumb presses to your clit. 

“Christ, so fucking wet for me already, huh? Sitting at your desk getting worked up thinking about pulling one over on me with this little dress?” He adds a second finger and the stretch of it makes you moan, his palm returning to cover your mouth. “If this is your idea of a punishment for that lead, I’m not feeling too apologetic.”

You try to glare at him but the curl of his fingers inside of you and the press of his thumb to your sensitive bundle of nerves has your eyes rolling back instead, your head hitting the cabinet behind you. Your hips chase his hand with each pump of his fingers and it doesn’t take long for that wave of pleasure to crash over you, your muscles going tight as you pulse around him and your chest heaves with deep breaths you can only take through your nose thanks to his tight grip on your mouth. 

Javier murmurs praise into your ear that you barely register as you come down from your high. He removes his hands from you to unbuckle his belt, freeing his hard cock that you only get a glimpse of before he’s urging you to turn around, pulling your hips back toward him and moving your panties out of the way. He runs the head of his cock through the mess he’s made of you before positioning himself at your entrance and pressing in, in, in.

You brace yourself against the filing cabinet, the sheer size of him making you gasp as he bottoms out. He smoothes a hand down your spine, giving you a moment to adjust before drawing his hips back and slamming forward with a sharp thrust.

Javier reaches up to grip your shoulder, giving himself more leverage as he pounds into you, using your body to chase his pleasure. You bite your lip to stifle your own sounds as the room echoes with the snap of his hips against yours and the grunts he can’t contain. The hand on your shoulder moves to your throat, pulling you up and arching your back until he’s holding you against his chest.

You turn your face over your shoulder and his lips crash against yours, his teeth digging into your bottom lip and making you whimper.

“Cum for me,” Javier commands, the hand on your hip moving to circle your clit again. As you start to pulse around him, he smiles against your lips. “Fuck, that’s it. Just like that, baby.”

Javier presses himself deep as his own release courses through him, filling you to the brim with warmth and stealing your breath. He kisses your shoulder, a sweet gesture that’s so at odds with what you’ve just done.

When he starts to go soft, he pulls out and fixes your underwear into place before smoothing the skirt of your dress back down your hips, the sound of him buckling his belt following suit. You turn to face him, prepared for some sort of self-satisfied remark from the egotistical man, but to your surprise he wraps a hand around the back of your neck and pulls you towards him for a deep kiss.

As he draws back and your eyes flutter open, you notice the smear of red across his lips, the sight making you smile. You lick your thumb, using the moisture to rub away the remnant of your time together. 

“Thank you, alacránita,” he murmurs, gently grabbing your wrist and pressing a kiss to your palm. You catch a glimpse of your watch, noting the time.

“Don’t you have a meeting right now?” You ask Javier. He checks his own watch.

“Fuck!” He hisses, grabbing his suit jacket and rushing from the file room, the door slamming shut behind him as you laugh and laugh and laugh.

Maybe your plan worked better than you expected, after all.

Javier slips inside the boardroom and takes the seat beside Steve as inconspicuous as possible, straightening his jacket and smoothing down his hair as he does. As he’s trying to focus on the words being thrown around the room, he feels a tap at his shoulder.

Steve leans closer to whisper, “What’s that all over your hand?”

He looks at the hand he’s rested on the table, noting the smear of red that extends from his palm to the thin skin between his thumb and forefinger. He clenches his hand into a fist and sets it in his lap instead.

“Nothing,” he replies.

#javier peña #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena smut #javier pena fanfiction #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña smut #javier peña fanfiction #narcos #narcos smut #narcos fanfiction #javier pena narcos #javier pena #javier pena x female reader #javier peña x female reader

[mncxbe]

what do you think about enemies to lovers with akutagawa x ada fem!reader with a really big sexual tension between them?

Yes. Just yes🫡 that's all I have to say. Hope you like it♡

•☆○

Laced♡

𝑨𝒌𝒖𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒘𝒂 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎! 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: smut♡/ one bed trope

Akutagawa didn't know how he ended up like this, sharing a bed with you in a crappy motel room in Shinjuku. He took a deep breath in, feeling the thin particles of dust tickle his nose and sneezed, mentally cursing his overly sensitive body.

From the other side of mattress you mumbled a half-hearted 'Bless you'

"Oh shut up" he hissed, his head snapping in your direction. You were laying on your side close to the edge of the ragged futon, a chiffon robe wrapped loosely around your frame. The neon lights that filtered through the windows illuminated your figure well enough for Akutagawa to make out the little bird drawings that adorned your nightgown.

"Your voice is pissing me off" he added, voice laced with venom as he took in your figure.

"Then stop sneezing and coughing every five minutes. I'm trying to sleep" you replied in a casual tone which only fueled Akutagawa's anger.

God, how he hated you and your composed demeanour; a futile attempt to prove that you were better than him. He vividly recalls your first encounter when his former mentor introduced you to him and the way your eyes scanned his figure with pure amusement. Oh, he resented the way you always looked down on him, thinking that you were superior only because you were working at the Agency.

The fact that you were constantly competing for Dazai's praise only made things worse. Each time the brunette would pair you up for a mission you'd go out of your way to ensure that you did just a tad bit better than him, whether it was stealing the target's phone, a classified file or simply taking extra credit.

And what was worse was that this wasn't even a fair competition: no matter how hard he tried to prove himself to his former mentor, you'd still get all the 'Good job Y/N'. All you had to do was breathe and Dazai would shower you with praise. It was so easy for you and it filled him with burning rage, a fire that grew hotter inside him by the minute; you were utterly insufferable and yet...

Laying beside you in this god forgotten room, Akutagawa couldn't bring himself to hurt you. He knew he could; you were both far away from home and the mission Dazai assigned you was dangerous. If you were to get injured it wouldn't come as a surprise. Plus, your ability was no match to his so he could easily kill you, destroying the source of all his anger and pent up frustration that plagued him day and night.

Still, something was holding him back; a force that he could not explain. He simply scoffed, gritting his teeth.

"I cannot fucking control it. Get your own room if you really can't stand my coughing."

You remained silent and the man cursed under his breath. After a while you rolled on your back and sighed.

"It's too hot in here."

"It's the middle of August, what did you expect?"

"Some air conditioning maybe?" you said in that condescending tone he so resented.

"You're so irritating." he stated, not daring to look at you. He knew that if he did he wouldn't be able to keep up this act and God knows what he'd do.

"Come on Ryuu. I know you don't actually hate me. You're just mad about Dazai liking me better"

Akutagawa's body tensed upon hearing your words. "Don't call me that."

"What, Ryuu? Why not?" you asked innocently.

"Because you know I can't stand it." he lied. He did in fact love the way his name rolled off your lips; it was so soothing but he couldn't bring himself to admit it. "And don't drag Dazai into this."

You let out a low chuckle "But he is part of this. He's actually the reason for all this. For us and-"

"There's no such thing as us" he spat, nails digging deep into the calloused skin of his palms.

He could feel you scoot closer to him, one of your hands gently brushing a strand of charcoal hair from his face.

"Isn't it?"

Your words lingered between the two of you, a heavy, unspoken truth. There was no you but both of you somehow wished there was. Despite all the resentment he bore towards you, Akutagawa knew there was something more to his feelings. He couldn't exactly pin-point what it was tho, but it seemed that you shared the same thought.

"What are we?" you asked eventually, fingertips sliding along his jawline as you moved even closer to him.

Your touch sent goosebumps all over his body, igniting his skin. Yet he didn't push you away. Instead, he turned to his side to face you.

"What do you think we are? We're rivals for fuck's sake" he stated and you would've believed him if it weren't for his arm which wrapped around your waist.

"Are enemies usually so desperate for each other?" you chuckled, cupping his face.

"I'm not desperate" he hummed as he began caressing the side of your body. His fingers traced the outline of your body over your robe, languidly sliding back and forth from your hip up your waist and along your ribs; causing you to shudder.

"You sure are desperate tho" he said, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. His slender fingers hooked under the loosely tied knot of your robe, undoing it.

A light hum escaped your lips when he touched your bare skin.

"Hey Ryuu." you purred, threading your fingers through his hair "Do you think things would've been different if we weren't in different organizations?"

"Not at all. I'd still hate you" he said plainly. Akutagawa was completely entranced by you; his mouth voiced of abhorrence but his hands spoke another language, gently cupping one of your breasts as he kneaded your soft flesh.

He pulled you closer until your lips were mere mere inches apart. "You don't think you could ever like me, do you? It would be so ridiculous."

"Really?" With a mischevious smirk on your lips you took his hand from your breast and guided it between your legs; Akutagawa gasped as his fingers brushed against your wet panties. "I think I like you already."

"You little..." he cursed under his breath as he closed the distance between you, lips finding your own. He kissed you deeply, feverishly and pushed you onto your back, climbing on top of you.

When he eventually broke the kiss he looked down at you, trying to ignore his forming bulge that pressed against your thigh.

You only giggled, tracing your thumb over his lower lip. "How about you put that mouth of yours to good use, hm?" you teased but Akutagawa noted the hint of urgency in your voice.

With a sly smirk on his face he slowly moved lower onto you, tracing feathery kisses along your heated skin until the nestled himself between your thighs. Each touch elicited sweet sounds from you which echoed through his entire being.

Before he hooked his arms over your thighs to keep you close your gazes met for s brief moment and he nodded, grinning from ear to ear.

"As you wish, pretty girl"

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #bsd smut #bungo stray dogs akutagawa #bsd akutagawa #akutagawa x reader #akutagawa smut #akutagawa fluff #akutagawa x you #akutagawa ryuunosuke #bsd atsushi #atsushi nakajima

[rassicas]

hi guys! im back. i went tokyo for a few days. got back at 7 this morning after taking an overnight 7 hour bus ride.... that i did not sleep on bc i cant sleep in moving vehicles. this will be something closer to a proper blog post i guess. splatoon related convention? experience below

i've kept my mouth shut about my plans to go because its not as well known on the english side of the fanbase and i didnt wanna make people too jealous sorry LOL , but i went to splaket 22! it's an unofficial, splatoon-only doujinshi market/artists alley. this was my first convention-sort-of event ive been to since i was... in high school. i also dont really get to meet many other hardcore splatoon fans irl. i was nervous about it because i don't know a whole lot of people on the JP side nor do i have a lot of confidence in my japanese speaking/listening, but in the end it was SUPER fun. i wish i couldve talked a bit more to the artists i did encounter to comment on what i liked about their works but. Skill Issue very few non-japanese people at this event of course but one of the only english speakers i saw i called out to bc they were wearing a shirt with this exact image printed on it no video and no photos outside of designated areas were allowed so i got like. zero pics of my own. but there was a lot of cosplayers i saw! oh and here's the Loot Haul. a few doujin, a clear file, stickers, microfiber cloth and a keychain. im surprised at how little i got, i think i shouldve gone a bit crazier with it

the one with Tao Blu and oonie in the top left (by sachikazerick) I came across by chance and bought because it was cute, featured splatband characters, and also because it all in some familiar inkling language (the last point of which i told the artist as i was buying) when i finally got home and saw the back credits...

SMALL FUCKIN WORLD LOL (i tweeted at the artist afterwards to let him know i came by the table and to thank him for using me and my friend's inkling language fonts!) though truly, i think ardnin deserved the credit more rather than me since he made most of those fonts! ah well, still cool to see more and more fan works using deciphered inkling language. top middle book is a story with some salmonid characters that i havent read yet but im looking forward to it, the art is lovely. top right one was the first thing i bought. the artist is rk_splaworks, whose art i love, and we've been mutuals for a few years and have talked a bit here and there! i was so fucking nervous to meet them in person since my japanese sucks LMAO but they were happy to meet me too and we got a selfie together yippy <3 also havent read their doujin Yet since ill have to rub all my brain cells together and huddle over the dictionary, but i want their oc lore

ok that's all i'll say, next splaket is...june 22. very soon....im already thinking ill. go again. yknow. while im still in japan and all that. i guess ill have to study harder on my jp in the meantime teehee ...i doubt it, but in the off chance anyone following me is going to the next splaket in june lemme know!

#much of this is me cross posting my tweets from the past few days and then some #rassicas speaks #ive forgotten to make a tag for my non-ask original posts so i guess thatll be it #anyway ill get to work on translating that famitsu interview teehee

[slutforsilverfoxes]

Agents DiNozzo

[A/N #1 TLDR version: Got busy with an externship, got hospitalized for a cat bite, I missed u all v v much

A/N #2 for realsies: Would Tony and his wife be allowed to work together on a team? Probs not. Would Gibbs be crazy enough to voluntarily work with both of them? Even more probs not. But it makes my lil heart happy so here you go :)]

Pairing: Tony DiNozzo x wife!agent!reader

__________

There are two things in your career that satisfy you to no end: 1) Getting justice for the victims whose case files come across your desk and 2) Working with your husband every day. The latter presents complications, of course- the occasional conflict of interest, quibbles over theories following you home from the office, an added level of anxiety during contentious takedowns- but it also allows you the distinct privilege of spoiling and, arguably more importantly, embarrassing the hell out of one Anthony DiNozzo, Junior, on a daily basis.

Your head lifts on its own volition, guided by your nose tuning in to the sweet smell of hazelnut creamer and woodsy cologne permeating the air of the NCIS bullpen. Your partner, both in and out of the field, has evidently returned from a midday coffee run looking as delicious as the pastries you’ve spotted by the to-go cups on his desk. Checking to make sure your boss is still nestled securely in the Director’s office, you cross over into Tony’s space just as he lays his suit jacket across the back of his chair. Slipping your hands into the back pockets of his tight-fitting slacks, you can’t help but serenade him with the ten-second clip of brain rot that plagued your social media for a ridiculous number of weeks. “Can I get to the yams?” you whisper-sing through a giggle, pinching his favorite cheeks of yours, maintaining your grip even as you attempt to dodge the hand nearing the back of your head. “Sweet ya-am- ow!” Darting out of his reach, you drop into Tony’s seat with a pout, arms crossed petulantly. “You have hereby been demoted from Very Special Agent to just Special Agent for that.”

“You-” Tony sneaks a glance at McGee and Ziva who are trying- and failing- to hide their smiles before crouching to meet you at eye level and lowering his voice to carry on, “You are the reason we had to sit through that inappropriate conduct seminar for three hours last week.” He maintains an even tone, but you can see his lips twitching with amusement.

“I’m sorry everyone in this office is jealous I can touch your butt and they can’t,” you huff with an eye roll.

“Literally no one is jealous of you for that,” McGee calls from his desk across the aisle.

“Well, you guys are missing out,” you respond with an exaggerated sigh.

Shaking his head, Tony fixes you with as stern a look as he can muster. “Save it for later, Bee,” you intone in an imitation of your husband’s voice, “I know.”

“You would think,” he begins, offering you a hand to help you up and walking you back over to your desk by Ziva’s, “that you’d have moved past the infatuation stage at this point in our relationship.”

“And you would think you’d have stopped calling me ‘Probie’ by now, Anthony.”

“I have! ‘Bee’ is different than ‘Probie’. It’s a nickname and it’s cute.”

“Says who?” you challenge, eyes narrowed.

“Says the-”

“If you say ‘Senior Field Agent,’ I swear to God, Tony, you’re sleeping on the-”

“DiNozzos!” Gibbs’ gruff voice puts an immediate stop to your squabble as he descends the steps two at a time. “Ziva, McGee, all of you, front and center. Whaddya got? Besides too much time on your hands.”

“Coffee and a suspect,” you supply with a smile, turning on the plasma display as Tony presents Gibbs with a cardboard cup. “For once, Agent DiNozzo’s go-to theory seems to hold water.” Raising an eyebrow at your husband, you playfully mock, “It was the wife.”

Tim picks up the next leg of your shared insight. “Credit card history has the Lieutenant Commander’s wife meeting with our hit man at a hotel in Anacostia two weeks before the murder, Boss.”

“We also traced these calls from the burner found on our victim’s body,” Ziva indicates for Tim to highlight the outgoing calls on the phone logs before continuing, “…to his sister in law, Anna.”

The redhead’s photo pops up on the TV, and your husband lets out a low whistle that has your hand instantly connecting with the back of his head. “You are my light, my sunshine, and the very air I breathe, my dear,” he speaks through a grimace, trying to gauge your reaction through his peripheral vision.

“Go pick our hitman up,” Gibbs instructs, cutting off your bickering before it can begin by dangling the sedan’s keys on his index finger in front of you.

You snatch them up, sharing a catlike grin with Ziva. “My pleasure, Boss. I might be needing his services soon, anyway.”

“Uh uh,” your boss calls as the two of you start collecting your things. “Take Tony.”

Your husband flashes you a sheepish smile while you grumble at him over the lip of your coffee cup. “Let’s go, Dick-Nozzo.”

“It’s your last name, too,” he points out astutely, holding out his hand for the keys.

“Shut up. I’m driving.”

As the elevator begins its descent, Tony slips two fingers under your chin and turns your face towards him, concern muting the typical sparkle in his olive green eyes. “Are you really upset with me, babe?”

You count the seconds ticking away in your head, relishing in the way he squirms under your stern gaze, before relenting at second fourteen. “No, you big dummy,” you say with a nudge to his side. “She’s hot.”

Tony lifts your hand to his mouth and presses his lips against your wedding band before asserting, “You’re hotter.”

Curling your free hand around his tie, you tug him closer and land a sound kiss on his lips. The elevator dings to indicate you’ve reached the parking garage, and you reluctantly release your husband from your grip with a satisfied smile and a murmured, “I’ve taught you so well.”

__________

ADJ Tags 🖤 @bakugouswh0r3

#anthony dinozzo x you #anthony dinozzo x y/n #anthony dinozzo imagine #anthony dinozzo x reader #anthony dinozzo fanfiction #anthony dinozzo #tony dinozzo x y/n #tony dinozzo x you #tony dinozzo x reader #tony dinozzo imagine #tony dinozzo fanfiction #tony dinozzo #ncis reader insert #ncis x reader #ncis imagine #ncis fanfiction #ncis

[starryriize]

heyy if you can would you write more leehan 18+ thoughts? i loved the first one

more 18+ thoughts | leehan

╰┈ ⋆｡˚ 🪼 hehehe you know my weaknesses nonnie! leehan… my man my man!! im glad you liked my first one 🫶🏼 i wasn’t sure how to end this one not proofread!

minors dni!

thinking about…best friend fratboy! leehan but he’s just a cutie who joined the frat for the networking opportunities. he only goes to events that he knows you’ll be attending too! one time, there was a talk for extra credit about some boring new marketing strategy and you sat in the back. and he takes the open seat next to you, his hands lightly grazing your thighs! things best friends don’t do- that’s what your actions are filed under. best friends don’t stare intensely at each other from across the room. you definitely don’t wear skimpy outfits knowing that leehan drools over them. the way he holds your waist, places his hand on your thighs when you sit…again, things normal friends don’t do.

so here you were, sitting in the back of the auditorium, watching another talk that happened to be required for your honors program. and of course, next to you was leehan. you would call him your “friend with benefits but included dates” but you couldn’t focus on anything the speaker was saying due to his hand slowly moving up the expanse of your thighs. his fingers making their way under the silky fabric of your skirt. oh he knew, he knew that you wore that skirt for him.

your professors would never guess what their star student was like behind closed doors...except you weren't behind closed doors. despite your mind telling you everything about the current situation was wrong, you felt your mind becoming hazy. his fingers were further up your legs, grazing the edge of your panties. if anyone walked in the auditorium doors in the side entrance, it wouldn’t take long for them to see what was going on.

leehan pulled the your panties to the side, rubbing your folds softly. your eyelids were fluttering and lips parting, struggling to keep your composure in your seat. he knew his effect on you, reveling in how the star student was so pliant just for him. goes so far as to tease you in your ear whispering how much of a little slut you are and how you’re his good girl. at this point, you’re gone. the way he looks forward, pretending to focus on the speaker, while innocently plunging two fingers into your now dripping heat. you knew the seat was probably wet, giving you two options: either leave early or leave early.

“oh. would you look at that? you’re soaking my fingers.” he whispers against your ear as if he’s commenting on the speaker’s topic. you clench on his fingers, knowing that he’s the cause. the way he curled his fingers up, hitting the spot that made you see stars and want to moan out loud. putting a hand over your mouth, you bite your lip, trying desperately to hold your whines in.

“hannie…can we go?” you ask him as quietly as you can without letting out a breathless moan, hoping that he'd want to leave early too. “sure,” his eyes were full of desperation and want, pupils blown wide. his fingers were sticky as he pulled them out, putting them in his mouth to lick them clean. watching him made your knees weak and you wanted more than just his hands.

when you guys leave, you both make a beeline for his dorm. as soon as you are in his room, your hands are all over each other in desperate need. he was tugging at your skirt, opting to simply hike it up as he pressed you against his desk. pulling you in for a heated kiss, he lets out a soft moan as you bite his lip, your free hand tangled in his hair. “mhm.. keep doing that, princess.” if your mind was foggy before, now, you couldn’t think about anything but the warmth of leehan’s lips on yours. you definitely weren’t focused when he bent you over the desk, sliding your soaked panties down your legs. leehan’s mind was dizzy, getting drunk and needy at the sight of you open and wet just for him. your whines were like a beautiful harmony that he could listen to for hours. you were blissfully fucked out by the time he slid his dick into your dripping, clenching hole. he bottomed out, giving you a few minutes to adjust before thrusting at a steady pace, hitting your cervix causing your hands to grip the table. “oh, fuck, that’s it-“ the moans you let out were shameless and that’s when you remembered that you were in his frat house. “ah-han, wh what about the others?” you whine, knowing that they probably knew what was going on in his room. “what about them?” he arrogantly replies, slowing his pace down to make sharp thrusts into the spot that had you screaming and breathless for more. “be as loud as you can dear, i want them all to know how good i’m fucking you.”

well, the night was only just beginning.

#laur’s thoughts 🧚🏼‍♀️ #bnd imagines #bnd smut #boynextdoor x reader #boynextdoor smut #leehan smut #leehan x reader #leehan imagines

[ahgasegotarmy116]

Do it for Him | Do You Even Love Me? | Jeon Jungkook

Summary: Voicing the thoughts that had been on your mind for so long leaves you broken and regretting every decision you've ever made. Pairing: Daughter in law reader x Father in Law Jungkook (Yändere) Word Count: 1.1k~ Warnings: An argument and some explicit language (kinda but not really) a/n: This is a hypothetical situation and is NOT what happens in the story. Oc and Jungkook don't end up together and I'll be writing another bonus chapter about how everything ends but this is simply a longer drabble that I just decided to make into a bonus chapter since I think some of you would be interested in reading it 😁 P.s. Requested by an annon 💜 (also written in one sitting so ignore any mistakes lol) Series Masterlist

"How was your day today?" I ask half heartedly, wondering if he'll actually speak to me like a human being today or skip to having sex again like he's done almost every time he's come to visit lately.

"It was fine but I don't want to talk about work since it looks like someone's been missing me huh?" he taunts, taking my want for interaction with him as a sign of an insatiable hunger he wishes I shared.

"I did miss you but I missed being with you, not just sex" I say, pressing on his chest to keep some space between us to show I'm serious and want to talk about this.

He stops and waits for me to continue but his eyes don't leave my body for a second.

"When I told you I loved you I didn't mean for our life to end up like this" I say, referring to the way we've been living for the past year.

"What's wrong? Did you need something else? You have my credit card and I told you before that you didn't have to ask me for anything. If you want it then get it. It's the least I could do for my beautiful Angel" he says while caressing my face but I take a step back, not letting him put me under his spell again.

"I'm not talking about money Jungkook. I'm talking about how I told you I didn't want to live as 'The other woman'. You told me you were going to get a divorce and let the children and I move in with you. Not just have you pop by at this separate house you have us living in" I say. 

He turns around and heads to the kitchen, gulping down a glass of water and placing the cup down on the counter. "I told you I would take care of it" he growls out while leaning both hands against the sink, clearly not appreciating the topic of conversation when all he had been looking for was a quick fuck.

"You told me that a year ago and from what I've seen you've been lying to me this whole time. Have you even filed the papers? You know that neither of you love each other so what's the point of keeping this whole charade going?" I say, following after him and standing my ground, not letting him drop this.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to center himself so he won't blow up on me like he has in the past. "These things take time Angel, plus going through a divorce would make my company take a big hit and might ruin some of the relationships I've built" he tries to explain but I'm not having it.

"If your company is all you care about then maybe all of this was a mistake" I say, turning around to walk into my bedroom with him following lazily behind me.

"You know I care about you too Angel" he says, leaning in the doorway while I've decided to plot down on the bed, running my fingers through my hair and trying to figure out if any of this was a good idea.

From the looks of it to any outsider this whole relationship was bound to go up in flames sooner or later. My life wasn't supposed to be like this. Was I really that naïve to think that somehow things would change if we were actually together? Did I really think that he was capable of loving me too?

"No I don't know that. I know that you love my body and that you love having sex with me and the idea of being with me and stealing me away from your son but I don't even know if you actually love me. Y/n. Not Angel, not the mother of your children, not the daughter in law that you took advantage of, just me" I spout off everything that's been on my mind and I can see that he starts to more or less assess our relationship and I really hope I'm going to get the answer I'm hoping for.

"You knew who I was when you first met me. You knew who I was when you married my son and you definitely knew what you were getting yourself into when you left him to be with me. I'm not this loving and kind husband that you want me to be and deep down you know that too. Do I care about you? Yes, I do. Do I love you? I don't know. I don't know if I do and I don't know if I ever will and if that's not good enough for you then be my guest, say the word and we can end this right now" he says and every condescending word that falls from his lips is like a knife through my heart.

I choke back a sob as my eyes glass over leaving him rolling his eyes, clearly not having the patience to deal with this today. 

"Seems like you've got some stuff to think about and from the looks of it I've got some business to attend to" he says, hinting at the headache it's going to be for him to go through with this divorce. 

He strides over to the bed where I'm sat with my head down, trying and failing to hold back my tears and picks up my chin. "Just remember who you're dealing with Angel okay? It will make all of ours lives so much easier if you stop thinking that you can change me" he says, caressing my face again, driving the knife deeper. 

"I am who I am and if you can't accept that then I think we have some hard decisions we'll need to make here" he says a wipes away a few of my tears before tapping underneath my chin twice and walking away. 

"Where are you going?" I ask, getting up and following him out, my vision going glossy. "It seems you're not in the mood that I thought you might be in so I think it's best if I go. Give my love to the children" he says over his shoulder and walks out, leaving me speechless and beyond heart broken, mourning the life I had with his son all over again and missing the feeling of loving someone and being loved in return. 

"What have I done?" I whimper, sinking to the floor and sobbing, wishing that I could take it all back. That I could start over and never get mixed up with this family no matter how in love I was with his son. I never knew that a love that was once so pure would be traded for one that is so devastatingly one sided, wrecking my life beyond compare and stealing what little pieces of me I had left. 

Read series from the beginning

Taglist: @jkslipppiercing @trina864 @kaitieskidmore97 @goddesofimortality @coolbluedude @00frenchfries00 @bangtans-momma @coralmusicblaze @pastelpinkjoon @joonwater @marvelbun @j3nni-rs @evidive @beomieboi @forevrglow @jesssssmaybankk @teugiie @chaconnelatte @whoa-jo @snehal @xumyboo @mindurbuzznezz @diorh0seokie

Join my Taglist!

Feel free to fill out the form or just comment on any of my fics to be added :)

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook #fanfic #fanfiction #kpop #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #bts #kpop fanfic #ask #jungkook bts #jungkook x reader #do it for him drabble #do it for him

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Hey! I love your writing. Could I please request a fluff piece when Iris is till a baby and Joel is on dad duty? Idk just something really fluffy where he just enjoys being a dad and also Sarah helping?

Dad Duty

pairing: elementary!joel miller x f!reader

rating: F (no outbreak au, talks of diapers and poop because infants are a mess, elementary!joel being the best dad/husband in the world, talks of being drunk/alcohol consumption)

wc: <1k

a/n: sorry for the delayed wait on this, anon! i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless 🫶🏼

series masterlist | joel masterlist

“Are you sure you’ve got everything?” you asked, standing by the front door in a “going out” outfit for the first time since your daughter had been born six months ago. “I can cancel.”

Joel shook his head sternly as he and Sarah sat on the couch, Iris fast asleep in his arms.

“It’s your best friend’s birthday,” he said. “I won’t hear the end of it from her if she suspects you cancelled all because you don’t think I can handle a six-month old.”

“Of course I think you can handle it,” you said, offering him a sweet smile as you grabbed your purse. “I just feel guilty—“

“Baby,” he sighed, tilting his head at you. “Iris ain’t gonna remember you goin’ out one time when she was six months old.”

“I know, but—“

“No buts,” he said. “Get your fine ass out there, and take a couple shots for me while you’re at it.”

“Besides,” Sarah chimed in, pulling your eyes to hers. “I’m here as backup. Go have fun for once.”

Letting out a deep exhale, you nodded, agreeing to bury your guilt over leaving your daughter behind for the first time. “Fine. But if you need me—“

“Baby,” Joel chuckled. “We got it. Go get hammered.”

Walking over to him, you leaned down and kissed his cheek. “Thank you. I love you.”

“Love you more,” he said, tilting your chin so that he could steal a quick peck on your lips, careful not to smudge your lipstick. “Go on now before they start honkin’ and wake baby girl up.”

“Alright,” you said, walking over to the door. “Sarah, don’t let your dad try to cook anything. I’d hate to come back to ashes.”

“Already on it.”

“Sarah!” Joel called from the upstairs nursery, Iris on the changing table in front of him making the biggest and grossest mess he’d ever encountered in his tenure as a father. “We got any more wipes?”

Sarah was already laughing when she walked in, carrying a new pack of wipes in hand before she witnessed the scene in front of her and started to gag.

“I’m never having a kid,” she said, covering her nose with her t-shirt.

“This ain’t the usual,” Joel said, shaking his head as he tried his best to clean up his very wiggly daughter. “Stay still, baby girl. It’s—Jesus, Iris. How’d it get in your hair?”

“I’m not even sure a bath will fix this,” Sarah said, looking disgusted. “I think we have to take her back and get a brand new baby.”

“Your mom would notice,” he said. “Otherwise, ain’t too bad an idea.”

After a thorough cleaning that left Joel scarred, Iris was set down in her activity chair down in the living room, her favorite nonsensical cartoon on while Sarah helped Joel cook some mac and cheese for dinner, her babbles filing the home.

“And to think she thought the house would catch on fire if I tried to cook,” he said, smiling at the thought of you.

“Well, in fairness it has almost happened before,” she said, earning an offended look from her father. “You don’t remember the fork in the microwave incident?”

“Shit,” he cursed, shaking his head. “You’re right. But in my defense, someone left it in my takeout box.”

“Yeah, you.” Joel chuckled, amused by her wit. “But to pad your stats, we can lie and say you made dinner tonight.”

“No, she’d expect me to start cookin’ then,” he said. “I may have pulled a miracle tonight, but my battin’ average ain’t great. Do you want to take the chance of house burnin’ down?”

“Good point.”

“Exactly. You’re takin’ the credit for this work of art.” Joel pointed at the pot of artificial cheese goodness. “How in the world am I hungry after cleaning up Iris’s shi—“

“Dad,” she winced. “I just got the image out of my mind.”

“If I gotta remember it, you do too, baby girl.”

It was midnight by the time you stumbled in, waving your best friend and her designated driver-slash-husband goodbye as you cracked the front door open before heading inside. To your surprise, Joel was still awake and rocking Iris to sleep in his arms, though judging by the heavy blink of his eyelids, he was barely hanging on.

“Hey baby,” he said with a smile as you stumbled your way over to the couch as quietly and gracefully as you could to sit down beside him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “How was it?”

“I’m drunk,” you confessed, your voice raspy from singing along to the club’s music. “And hungry.”

“Well, lucky for you, Sarah made dinner,” he said, standing up with Iris and setting her down in her rocker before holding his hand out for you. “Come on, you drunkard.”

“How were the girls?” you asked, clasping your hand in his as he guided you to the kitchen table to have a seat while he warmed up tonight’s leftovers.

“A piece of cake,” he said, shooting you a smile from over his shoulder. “Iris had one very messy diaper incident, but besides that, she was an angel. Just like her mom.”

“Hey, I won’t be having any messy diaper incidents for another fifty years or so,” you joked, earning another grin. “You gonna love me when I’m wearing a diaper?”

“Baby, I’m older than you,” he reminded. “If you’re wearin’ a diaper, so am I.”

“Oh, I can’t wait,” you mused with a wide, drunken grin. “You can save your payback for then, have Iris see how it feels.”

“I like the way you think, baby,” he chuckled. “But I love her too much to make her go through what I went through earlier. I think I’m gonna need therapy after that.”

You stood up, finding your way over to him to wrap your arms around his waist and hug his back, too in love with him not to touch him.

“Thank you for tonight. I didn’t know how much I needed it,” you said, humming as Joel’s hand lowered from the pot on the stove to run over your forearm wrapped around his middle. “How about next weekend I watch the girls so you can have a night out?”

“Maybe one of these days we’ll both get to go out,” he chuckled. “Until then, I’m good stayin’ at home with my girls.”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fluff #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller series #joel miller tlou #elementary