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sincerelyneo · 2 months

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no judgement | l.mk

“i can be your lover or your shoulder to cry on, you can be whoever you like”

💿now playing: no judgement by niall horan

❯ summary: Mark’s shocked to see you at his front door step crying, but he isn’t surprised. You do this all the time - get a new boyfriend and forget about your childhood best friend. And the minute that asshole dumps you, you always want him to pick up the pieces. And he will. He always does.

❯ pairings: mark x fem!reader (brief mention of yuta)

❯ genre: friends to strangers to lovers? smut, angst

❯ words: 4.9k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, protected sex, lowkey sub!mark, hookup, rebound sex, glasses kink, big dick mark bc yes, oral sex (m receiving), nipple play, slight begging, yuta is an asshole for the plot, reader is also kinda mean, mentions of cheating (not between mark + y/n), slight unrequited love, use of ‘pretty girl’, reader uses she/her pronouns.

Mark thinks his mind is playing tricks on him. I mean - it would make sense - the last time he’d checked the clock on his desk it was 12:17 am. So, there’s no way the light knocking on his front door is really happening…right?

He tries to focus on the papers in front of him - a work assignment that was due last week that he’d already managed to get an extension on. He knows his boss will have his balls if he doesn’t have it completed and on his desk by 8:00 am sharp tomorrow (today).

However, Mark’s fears of premature insanity are put to a quick end this time when the knocking is paired with an unnecessarily loud yelling through his letter box.

“Mark Lee if you don’t open this door right now, I swear I’ll kick your ass the next time I see you.”

Now that - the sound of your voice - wasn’t in his imagination.

You bang harder, clear that you're using a fully clenched fist to make as much noise as possible. “I’m serious dude, I’ve kicked your ass before, and I’ll do it again. Now open. The. Door.”

Mark knows he should just ignore you, pretend that he’s sleeping and focus on his work; but, he hasn’t seen you in months, and you are supposed to be his best friend after all. He can’t just leave you out on the street at this hour — he won’t — what sort of friend would he be?

He rises from his desk, removes his glasses, and places them gently on the wooden surface before pinching the bridge of his nose.

You knock (pound) again.

“‘Alright alright, jeez, I’m coming,” he says, followed by a small curse as he ushers through his hallway to the front door.

As he swings the door open, he’s almost hit with a nasty sucker punch to the cheek as you simultaneously raise your fist to knock again.

“Woah there, calm down, you’re gonna get me a noise complaint,” he flinches.

“I think it’s a little too late for that,” you point to the house next door, “That woman has been glaring at me from her window since I got here.”

Mark peers out of his house, the cold night air nipping at the tips of his ears, and sees his neighbour looking down shaking her head disapprovingly at him. He raises his hand in a feeble apology, with a tight-lipped smile to ease the edge, but it doesn’t, he knows it doesn’t and he knows he’s going to have to do a lot of ass kissing in the morning.

“Well, Mrs Kim and her husband have just had a baby.”

He watches you shrug then grimace, “How was I supposed to know that? They didn’t have one the last time I was here.”

It’s now when Mark takes in the person standing in front of him, a mere silhouette of his childhood best friend. You’re barefoot, which already raises questions in his mind, and a bottle of wine is in your hand. Your hair is dishevelled and mascara smudged under the bottom of your eye – which makes sense since he can see the faded redness from where he knows you’ve been crying.

“So, you gonna let me in or what? I’m freezing my ass off out here.”

Well obviously, Mark thinks, you’re wearing nothing but a short black dress, covered by a thin sheer blazer leaving your legs completely bare in the middle of winter. Your teeth chatter and he has to suppress the smile threatening to dance on his lips because it reminds him of when the two of you used to mess around in the snow during winter break back in high school.

But he pushes those memories to the side, just like his front door, as he makes enough room for you to slip into his house. As you step inside, you waste no time making yourself comfortable - old habits die hard you guess - remembering how things used to be.

You remove the blazer you're wearing and walk over to Mark's desk, draping it over the back of his chair. Your eyes fall on the sheets of paper scattered across the surface, partially covered by his glasses. You recall that he had stopped wearing them during junior year, opting for contacts instead - a decision you found disappointing. You had always liked his glasses; they made him look kind of... cute.

“I’m not interrupting you, am I?”

Yes.

“Nah, not really,” Mark shrugs following in from behind you.

“Really?” You ask picking up a sheet of paper as you raise an eyebrow, “Marketing campaign for neo gummies, on my desk Monday 8:00 am.”

There’s a smile on your face as you read it because it’s nice to know that the Mark standing in front of you is the same as the one you grew up with. He was always the last person to hand in his college assignments, and school science projects; but don’t get it wrong, he’d always ace them.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve basically finished it.”

Mark’s lying, and you can easily tell by the way his arm reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. It's a mannerism you've become aware of, noticing how he used to do it when you asked him for his opinions on some of your uglier fashion choices throughout high school.

“You sure?” You add, “I wouldn’t want you getting in trouble with your boss or anything. Especially now that you live in this fancy-ass townhouse, your mortgage payments must be crazy.”

Mark shakes his head with a smile, reaching for his glasses and putting them back on. “They’re not that crazy…”

You give him a knowing look, his living room alone is practically the size of most apartments in the city. But you didn’t expect anything less from him, he’d always worked hard for everything he had. He graduated with flying colours, found a high-paying job after college, bought a nice house; and you’re sure that one day he’d secure himself a nice girl to live in it with him.

What you’re trying to say is Mark Lee had something to show for himself, which is more than you can say after you took a more leisurely approach to college. Mark had always worked a little too hard for your liking, or maybe you just worked a little too easy for his. Either way, he’s the one with his life put together and you’re just…standing barefoot in his living room, looking a mess, with a bottle of alcohol in your hand.

“Well then, since I’m not imposing, how ‘bout a drink?” You suggest, waving the bottle of wine in the air in an attempt to win him over and distract yourself from your own reality. As shitty as it sounds, you come to Mark to escape the chaos of your own life, so dwelling on comparisons isn't something you want to keep doing.

For Mark though, he knows he shouldn't indulge in a drink – after all, the work assignment on his desk is practically begging to be completed. But he's always struggled to say no to you, and he's well aware that you know that too. It's why you're so comfortable knocking on his door in the early hours of the morning when most of the city is asleep; you know he'll always open up for you.

And that’s exactly why he’s heading into his kitchen and rooting through his cabinets until he finds two wine glasses.

When he comes back into the living room, he finds you standing by the fireplace. It's not unusual, considering you were freezing just moments ago on his doorstep from your attire. However, what catches him off guard is that you're not warming yourself by the fire; instead, you're holding a picture – Mark's favourite one – taken by his parents on the day you got your wisdom teeth removed.

"No way you kept this," you groan, though there's a hint of laughter in your voice.

"Of course I did. You were completely out of it on anaesthesia, going on about marrying Lee Taemin," Mark replies.

You squeeze your eyes shut, remembering the way you sent the hot senior you had a crush on in your freshman year a DM in your high state. “Oh gosh, don’t remind me.”

But truthfully, that's not the sole reason Mark kept that picture, or why he still chooses to display it despite having hundreds of clearer, better ones of the two of you together. He treasures that particular photo because it was the day you told him you loved him – although you never brought it up again. Mark pins it down to you not remembering from the anaesthetic, but that photo, it’s the last slither of hope he has left.

“Well, I must say, Mark Lee, you have had quite the glow-up since your high school days,” you laugh putting the picture back on the fireplace.

Mark can't believe his cheeks are warming up as if he were that same teenager – pathetic, he thinks. And he wants to say the same about you, but he hardly recognizes you. You're a completely different person from the girl in the picture, and while he loves you, truly, it doesn't change the fact that you're a mess sitting before him.

To his defence, it's impossible not to notice it; he saw it the moment he opened the door and saw your smudged makeup and raw eyes – you’re defeated. And even though he knows precisely why, he still asks.

"What are you doing here, Y/N?"

You swallow, “Can’t I just come and see my best friend?”

“No, you can’t.”

His words carry a double-edged sword, both an accusation directed at you and an expression of the hurt he's experienced from your repeated instances of ghosting him over the last few months.

You begin pouring yourself a generous glass of the wine you brought along. If you were going to have this conversation with him, you weren't about to do it sober.

“Yuta broke up with me.”

And there it is. You always do this – get a new boyfriend and forget about your childhood best friend. And the minute the asshole in question dumps you, you always want him to pick up the pieces.

And Mark hadn't forgotten the name Yuta; in fact, it had been seared into his mind ever since you posted a picture with him on your Instagram account, looking all lovey-dovey. And then Mark had gone into full stalker mode – because of course he did – he always did. But the thing with Yuta was that he was one step ahead. One particularly awful day at work, when Mark wanted to check your account, he found himself blocked.

Honestly, Mark doesn’t blame Yuta, he’d be lying if he said all his thoughts about you were completely innocent, but you’d never blocked him over a guy before. He's accustomed to the isolation, the ghosting, and the personality changes that come with you getting a new boyfriend; but being digitally blocked by you was a new low. It's safe to say Mark had already formed his opinion about your new ex-boyfriend: he was definitely an asshole.

"Why did he break up with you?" he asks, not out of genuine concern, but rather out of selfish relief. Still, he knows it's the right thing to do.

“He found someone else, or I found him fucking someone else,” you spit bitterly, “and do you know what? That fucker didn’t even give me a chance to grab my shoes before he kicked me out.”

You take a long gulp from your glass, the liquid burning slightly as it goes down your throat, and then you flop back on the sofa. Your movements are heavy, weighed down by more than just the alcohol in your system. As you sink into the cushions, a wave of emotion crashes over you, threatening to engulf you completely. It's a moment of vulnerability that you've been holding back, and tears prickle at the corners of your eyes. You try to fight them, push down the rising tide of emotions, but it's futile.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he reassures, quickly taking a seat beside you on the sofa and resting a gentle hand on your thigh, where he begins to rub small, soothing circles into your skin, just like he used to do. "You can stay here tonight."

You groan into your hands, you can’t believe you're acting like this – pathetic – and it has you immediately defensive. “Don’t look at me like that,” you mutter, so quiet Mark almost misses it.

“Like what?”

“All judgy.”

“When have I ever judged you, Y/N?” he questions, his tone gentle, “I’m always your shoulder to cry on, we’re past the judgement stage,”

"I don't cry that much," you protest weakly.

“Well…” he starts, that teasing look in his eye you love.

In response, you push his chest playfully, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Because you’ve missed this – missed him.

And that’s the part that always stings the most: how effortlessly you two slip back into each other's company. Despite not speaking for a couple of months, it's like you didn’t lose any time. And perhaps that's why Mark finds it so easy to keep forgiving you, and why you find it so natural to slide in and out of his life and then expect him to mend your broken heart.

Mark grabs the hand you used to push his chest and looks at you seriously but gently, “Seriously, Y/N, you can just be yourself with me, just like it’s always been.”

His words resonate with you, stirring something deep within the pit of your stomach. You meet his gaze with glossy eyes, and in that moment, you feel an overwhelming surge of emotion. Without hesitation, you lean in and press your lips to his.

It's a tender kiss, soft and sweet just how you expected Mark’s lips to be. And he melts into it just as much as you do, if not more so. It’s like he craves it, like he’s hungry for it. And he is because you – his first-ever crush, the girl he’s been in love with since he could remember – is pressing her lips to his. The teenager in him is jumping up and down right now.

Just as you're about to deepen the kiss, your face bumps into his glasses, causing both of you to pause as they sit askew on his face. Mark blushes and begins to fumble with them, but just as he's about to take them off, your hand wraps around his and stops him.

“Mmmm. Keep ‘em on,” you bite your lip as you reposition them on the bridge of his nose. “I like them.”

“I didn't realize you had a glasses kink,” he teases.

“Neither did I...just like them on you.”

That triggers something inside of him because his tongue lightly sweeps over your bottom lip where he nips it with his teeth. One of his hands reaches up to cup the nape of your neck; the other finds its way to the hem of your dress, intrusive fingers brushing over your bare skin, making you gasp.

He stills.

Did he just fuck this up? Was he reading it wrong?

There’s a fraction of a beat where you just breathe against him, and Mark feels a twinge of self-consciousness. And just when he’s about to apologise, you dive into him and all reservations are thrown out the window as you give him the green light.

His hand wraps around your waist and he pulls you over his lap to straddle him. It gives him all the access he needs to grab your thighs and lift you up as he stands. He keeps your lips connected as he wraps your legs around his waist, pressing into you just enough to feel the swelling in his crotch.

If you thought he was hungry for it before, now he’s starving.

Your arms wrap around his neck, your breasts crushing against his chest. Your hips start to move against him without any control, almost like it’s instinctual. You suck on his tongue and he groans. And God if it isn’t the sexiest sound you’ve ever heard.

“You feel so fucking good, Y/N,” he says into your mouth, “Are we really doing this?”

You smile against his lips, “We’re doing this.”

You both take that as a confirmation to go harder, kissing like you’ve been starved of each other for years, and Mark supposes you have. His body moulds to yours and you feel his hand wander to your ass making your dress lift as he carries you out of the living room.

When you see him heading for the staircase you know exactly where his head is at, and when he opens his bedroom door with you still in his arms, you feel wetness pool right between your legs.

He drops you on the bed so gently and carefully not to hurt you – because even though he’s so goddamn horny right now – he’s still Mark. When your back hits the whites of his sheets it gives you a moment to look at him, his chest is heaving, lips swollen and cheeks flush. His hair is tousled and it makes your blood run cold.

He looks like pure sex. Hot sex. Good, filthy, all-night-long sex. And you want him, more than you’ve ever wanted any man before in your life.

Mark kneels on the bed in the space between your legs, coming close enough to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, and you wonder if he sees you the same way you see him right now. He brushes your cheek gently with his thumb and you lean into his caress and plant a small kiss against his palm.

His lips meet yours again as his hands slip between you two. They glide up your leg, to your stomach to under your dress, where he finds you not wearing a bra as your nipples pebble under his rough hands.

Instinctively, your arms stretch over your head, reluctantly breaking the kiss so he can tug the material off and over you, lips crashing back together as you roll your hips into his with desperation and need.

Mark groans when he pulls away to look at your naked chest in front of him, it’s a picture he thinks. One that needs to be hung up in an art gallery or some shit – actually now that he thinks about it – he hates the idea of you being on display like that for someone else.

His fingers wind themselves in your hair, a delightful shiver skittering along your body as you soften into his touch. You can’t help but grin suggestively as you look him in the eyes, top teeth holding down on your lower lip as your hands creep low enough to hook into the band of his pyjama bottoms.

Mark practically whimpers as your hand teases at the elastic, “Please.”

The plea has you smiling wider, knowing exactly what he wants. You remove his bottoms without a second thought, the same time he strips from his t-shirt. His cock springs free, thick and long and straining so eagerly for you.

You get a thrill knowing you’re the one who’s made him this hard and that makes you want to please him badly. So you do, taking control and flipping him over to be underneath you. He gasps at the motion and then he almost cums untouched at the sight of you kneeling between his legs, lowering yourself down just enough to kiss the tip of his cock.

The teasing touch sends a chill right through him. He leans back on his arms just to see you, eyebrows strained as he concentrates, glasses slightly fogged – he wants to remember exactly what you look like like this. You’re intoxicating, strong enough for him to get drunk on.

“So pretty,” he murmurs under a soft breath and you blush.

You lick your lips, focusing on his cock, flattening your tongue from the base all the way up to his head, where the slit is leaking with pre-cum. You hear him suck in a breath and it makes you smile.

You like knowing he’s needy, teasing him to ignite small reactions, but continuing to do so would only be hell for you; because right now you want nothing more than to suck on his cock like it’s the last thing you’ll ever taste.

You wrap your hand around his shaft and don’t waste another second before your mouth is sinking to suck on him. You manage all you can – there’s a lot of him – and use your fingers to move up the length you don’t swallow, stroking him painstakingly slow.

As you kiss and lick at him, Mark is going mad because it’s your mouth. Your mouth is wet and hot and currently wrapped around him good enough that his thighs have started trembling.

It’s not long before his hands find your hair and he helps you to slide more of his cock inside, knowing exactly when to stop instead of making you take too much. But he’s big and thick and your mouth barely covers him – which he hates – it feels like a reminder that he’s not made for you.

The thought has him letting out a growl, which catches you by surprise from the whimpering mess he was seconds ago. The grip he has on your hair tightens.

“Fuck, Y/N, suck me harder…” The dirty words sound dominant at first, but they trail off as you continue sucking on him, a lot like you’re melting him, and you fucking love that idea.

The thought of having him be so desperate for you is making you wetter and needier. And it’s that need that has you reaching up to graze his nipples with your fingers. Mark finds the chill of your cold digits distinctive, responding with a mewl that rings between the walls of his room.

You can't believe such a small touch makes him so…responsive.

Every tug on his sensitive peak is enough to pull a sound from his pink lips, enough to make him writhe his hips and edge his cock further into your mouth.

You twist and pinch and watch as Mark’s face twists in the feeling, mouth dropping open to release a stuttered breath. It’s so sensual - so carnal.

You pull off his cock with a sickening pop, looking up at him with spit-covered lips. “Who would have guessed your nipples would be so sensitive?”

Your hand stays at a steady pace, stroking him slowly as you speak. Mark shivers from the loss of your warm mouth around him, but there’s still a part of him that’s glad you stopped. But not because he doesn’t want this — he does, so badly — but because he was starting to feel his cock’s overwhelming urge to twitch with his orgasm. And there was no fucking way he was going to cum before he’d even buried himself inside you.

In a cooling breath, he replies, “Only sensitive for you.”

Warmth flushes on your face, and the arousal soaking between your legs begs to soak his cock. He’s so cute when he is all red-faced and whiny, eyes closed tightly as his brows knit together. And you suppose his own state of neediness triggers yours.

“Want you inside of me now, Mark,” you pant, “Need it.”

“Fuck~” his voice drips like honey as he moans, hands moving to grab at your waist to flip you under him.

You push yourself further up the bed and he crawls after you. It’s only now he realises the lace barrier still on your skin standing between you and his cock. Your panties are dark blue and they look so pretty against your skin.

He leans down, kissing the inside of your knee, letting his fingers slip up your ankle to cradle your smooth calf.

“Sometime tonight,” you tease.

But Mark likes to go slow, he likes to savour in your sight, study your body to remember every detail for his next late-night fantasy. He wants to bask in you being so bare and so ready for him — not your ex-boyfriend — him.

He skims his hands further up your bare legs until he slides your underwear down and disregards them somewhere on the floor. Then, he wraps his arms around you, holding you close, pressing your chests together skin to skin. He likes it like that — being so close and so intimate with you that it's almost raw.

He reaches into his nightstand and pulls out a condom. You don’t take your eyes off him once as he rips it open with his teeth and rolls it down the entirety of his length. Heat pools in your stomach because this is happening — and that makes your pussy throb.

He keeps his eyes on yours as he lines himself up with your entrance, pushing inside of you, breathless. You can’t help but sink your head back into the mattress, eyes closing.

“Eyes open.”

You lazily blink them open.

“Eyes always on me pretty girl,” he demands, thrusting into you.

You’ve never felt anything like him. You feel so full. He’s everywhere. Even your lungs and head are filled with him.

“Taking me so well pretty,” he groans.

His praise has you gushing, whining with the feeling of him stuffing you. It’s not awkward like the first time having sex with someone can be. It feels like you’ve always been doing this.

“You’re okay?” he asks.

He sounds calm, but you can see the restraint that he’s barely holding on to by the tightening in his jaw, and the tension in his brow.

“More than okay. Just fuck me, Mark. Please.”

He brushes his lips over yours and whispers, “Oh I plan to.”

You smile, but it’s quickly gone as he starts to move, fucking you slowly, then quicker and quicker, and harder and faster. The headboard is banging against the wall, surely denting it, and you know if the neighbours weren’t already pissed about your knocking they’d definitely be pissed now.

And selfishly, you can’t find it in you to give a shit because he’s like a machine, working thrusts into you at all the right angles to elicit sweet moans from your lips.

You’re panting and groaning like a bitch in heat. Mind fuzzy with euphoria as your flesh slaps loudly together. If college you knew that Mark Lee, your best friend, was about to give you an orgasm she would have laughed in your face.

But, God, the man can fuck.

He urges you onto his cock harder, clit rubbing against his pelvic bone, each time your hips connected in powerful thrusts.

“Oh God, Mark,” you try your best to keep your eyes open, but the pleasure is threatening to consume you.

“That’s it. Cum on my cock pretty girl. I won’t come until you do.”

The idea makes you want to hold off forever, let him fuck you for hours just to bask in the feeling of your closeness. However, your body disagrees with that sentiment, and suddenly you’re cumming hard.

“Shit,” he hisses, feeling your walls flutter around his length.

Mark doesn’t slow down though, he fucks you through your orgasm like a madman, hammering deep to the hilt to chase his high.

“I’m gonna cum, Y/N…shit…fuck…” He growls a sound so erotic in your ear, you feel like you might cum again.

He sags onto you, his body heavy but not crushing, his skin warm against yours. You touch your fingers to his cheek.

“I don’t think I can move,” he says, breathless.

“So, don’t.”

The tips of Mark’s ears turn red at the suggestion, but eventually, he figures he needs to move — much to his dismay. He eases out of you, catching hold of the condom and pulling it off his cock. He rolls off of you and out of bed to put it in the trash before he’s back next to you, arms engulfing you in a hug.

You look up at him and he presses a kiss on your lips before pulling back. “Are you staying?”

“Do you want me to?”

“I asked first.” He says.

“I’ll stay if you want me to stay.”

Liar.

Mark swallows, “Okay well, I’ll get us breakfast in the morning then, yeah?”

He says it but he knows come the morning you’ll have slipped out in the middle of the night because this isn’t the first time he’s had sex with you.

Mark has always been your rebound. Yes, he’s your best friend, but he’s also your favourite hookup call when your boyfriend’s being an asshole.

And he knew that when he first heard you knocking on his front door. He knows you'll never change – and strangely, he's content with that, he’s accepted it. Because even though he knows you'll move on again, he doesn't mind keeping your secrets safe until the next time when you want a man to heal your heart.

Because Mark will settle for being a pity fuck if it means he gets to be a constant in your life.

#nct smut #nct dream smut #nct 127 smut #mark lee smut #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #nct 127 x reader #mark lee x reader #mark lee imagines #nct imagines #nct hard hours #kpop smut #nct oneshot

541 notes · View notes

nivisdreaming · 1 year

Note

4 words

Hard dick

Grey Sweatpants

exactly. you get me.

Summary: Eddie’s thrilled to finally have his own place. Or at least, mostly his, since he does have a new roommate. A roommate that’s starting to give him some troubles, since she can’t seem to keep it down, and the walls aren’t all that thick. But, maybe she doesn’t actually mind all that much?

WC: ~1.8k

Tags: Roommates to lovers, mutual pining, a touch of emotional angst, fem!reader, 2nd POV, surprisingly un-smutty, cliffhanger, but still, exhibitionism, voyuerism, daddy kink, f!masturbation, vibrator use, mentioned m!masturbation, dry humping, bondage, heavy dom/sub undertones, implied oral (m!receiving)

“I’m gonna have to fucking move out. That’s my only option.” Eddie rests his forehead against the cool metal of the table in front of him with a thump.

“Don’t be so dramatic, I’m sure there’s something else you two can work out!”

“He has plenty of options, Stevie, however he is incapable of all of them because they include talking to pretty girls, something Edward Munson clearly has a chronic phobia of,” Robin chimes in as she lifts a french fry to her mouth. Eddie rolls his eyes despite knowing she can’t see them and lets out a long groan.

“What would I even say to her?? ‘Hey by the way, our apartment has the thinnest fucking walls in existence and I can hear every time you get off and it keeps getting me fucking hard so I would appreciate if you could not!’”

Steve makes an indigent sound. “Wait, hold your horses, you never mentioned this was a mutual thing Munson! This isn’t just a noise complaint, this is you dragging your roommate into your kink escapades, handcuffs on the wall guy!-“ He’s cut off by Robin bursting into laughter and throwing a playful punch to his arm.

Eddie grumbles a complaint and looks upwards just to fold his arms across his chest in annoyance. A pout crosses his face as Steve chuckles with Robin. “In my defense, it’s not like she didn’t get there on her own just fine,” he mutters, giving another roll of his eyes.

Robins jaw drops, “Wait, hold on, what?” Steve’s eyes fly between Eddie and Robin as he tries to puzzle out Eddie’s statement, his hand frozen over the basket of fries he was reaching into.

Now it’s Eddie turn to laugh, just glad he can finally find some humor out of this interaction with his friends. “I know I told you guys she was the total innocent type when I moved in, but, based on what I’ve been hearing… I assumed wrong,” he says with a smirk. He looks between Steve and Robin, both of them stunned into silence for a moment while Eddie takes another sip of his drink. “It would be easier if she was like, a vanilla girl or something, but god help me, I’m not allowed a bit of that Munson luck for once in my life. I just get to listen to her practically begging to be taken while knowing she’s not actually mine to be taken.”

Robin’s thoughts finally seem to reboot as she gives a clearing shake to her head. Steve shoots a nervous glance around them, trying to make sure there’s no children in range who could possibly overhear this, while she takes a long slurp from her milkshake. “Okay, but consider, could she be?”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Could she be what?”

“Yours for the taking, dummy. If you’re really.. overhearing as often as you say you are, there’s no way someone else has a claim on her, right? I fail to see the blockage here. Besides the you part of the equation, but that’s fixable bud!”

“Hey! First of all, ouch, my ego! Second of all, I’m not gonna fuck my roommate. I’m not even going to ask to fuck my roommate, because that’s weird and like you said I’m me!” Eddie scoffs and downs the rest of his soda. “Neither of you are helpful, and I’m not spending the last 13 minutes of my lunch break being made fun of,” he climbs out of his seat and pulls on his jacket, “Sayonara, suckers!” He turns to leave, but Steve grabs him by the sleeve.

“Eddie. Look, I know Robin and I joke, but seriously. I’ve seen how you look at her and how she looks at you. You’re not as bad as you think, you know that? This isn’t Hawkins High anymore, you’re not ‘The Freak’, you’re Eddie Munson, the cool metal-rocker she shares an apartment with.” Eddie shoots him an unimpressed stare. “I’m not saying do anything you don’t want to, okay? Just… keep your options open, okay?” Steve pulls away from Eddie to scratch the nape of his neck nervously. Eddie nods and sidesteps around him, leaving Steve to depart back to Robin while he briskly makes the 10 minute walk back to the garage.

—

By the time Eddie makes it home from work his roommate is already holed up in their room, but when Eddie enters his shared-wall bedroom, he is met with silence on her end.

He tosses his jacket off and flops onto the bed, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he reflects on his day. Work was the usual, a few bitchy customers but nothing out of the ordinary. It’s his lunch with Robin and Steve that’s really eating at him, running circles around his mind and planting ideas in his head that previously he would have only entertained as fantasies. He hates it, how dirty it makes him feel, to imagine his innocent, introverted roommate pinned underneath him and making those sweet mewling sounds at his touch instead of her own, but he can only suppress his urges for so long, especially when he hears the mechanical buzzing start sounding through the wall.

They didn’t necessarily start as dirty thoughts. At first, he was imagining making dinner for you, stirring a big pot of mac and cheese while you sat next to him atop the counter, legs swinging back and forth while he let you ramble your day just to enjoy the sound of your voice in his ears. Then it shifted to eating the dinner in front of TV, you curled up into his side while you ate and giggled at one of the cheesy rom-coms you roped him into watching. Then he was placing a kiss on your cheek just to watch you get flustered, and you were getting brave and leaning in for a full kiss, and if he squeezed his eyes shut he could imagine the sighs coming from the other room were his to inhale. His breath to steal from your lips as he trailed down your neck, marking you with red and purple fireworks until there was no covering up how he was corrupting your innocence. His.

A high-pitched whimper snapped him out of his daydreams, followed by a harsh huff. He barely had time to register that the whirring sound had ceased when a knock came from his door as it was nudged open.

“Hey Eddie? Do you have any batteries I can borrow?” Eddie flies up to a sitting position, making eye contact with the meek figure standing in his doorway. You’ve got a blanket wrapped around your body, held together with a tight grip in the front to keep yourself completely covered. Or, almost completely covered, because the blanket bunches behind you as you shuffle, revealing your bare legs up to the tops of your knees. Eddie can’t seem to keep his eyes on yours anymore.

You shift uncomfortably under his gaze, but take a step into the room, not away. “Eddie, you’re… staring,” you take another step forward, “This.. might seem a bit weird, but I really like those pants on you. Especially like this.”

Eddie lets out a high pitched squeak as he takes in his own grey sweatpants, and the outline of his erection that clearly showing through them. He lurches to grab a nearby pillow to cover himself, but a hand around his wrist stops him. In front of him, you’ve allowed the blanket to fall away in favor of halting his movement, revealing yourself to be nothing but a pair a white cotton panties with a very visible wet splotch. “Just wait a second,” you release his hand and lean over to shut his door and lock it. When you turn back around, Eddie is wide-eyed and disheveled, as if starstruck by you. “I was gonna let you make the first move with all of this, but I think the endorphin rush has got me all confident, so I’m just gonna go for it,” You return to Eddie’s bedside and place one hand on each of his shoulders before swinging your leg across his lap and sitting directly atop him, laying your crotch right on his.

Eddie gasps and involuntarily bucks his hips upwards at the sudden pressure, further encouraging you. “I know you’ve been listening to me. The thin walls thing goes both ways, I can hear when you get off with me. Was hoping you wouldn’t make me ask for it, but I can’t wait anymore,” you whisper in his ear as you begin to grind, rutting your hips against his to stimulate your clit. You sigh happily at the feeling of his hands trailing up your back, glad to finally receive his warm touch, but his grip on your waist is quick to turn harsh as he forces your movement to stop. You’re ripped away from him as he flips you over, pushing you to your back so he can place his weight on your own.

“You wanted me to ask? All this time, all I had to do was ask?” He gathers both your wrists in one hand and pins them above your head while the other finds purchase pinching and pulling at your exposed nipple, triggering you to whine and squirm under him. His eyes meet yours again, and the uncharacteristically dark look in them sends a shiver through you. “God, darling, I am going to make you beg. Trust me, when I’m done with you, there will be no asking, just you pleading for mercy.” He releases your hands and pulls away from your breasts to unbuckle his belt and tug it off, fastening it into a set a restraints that you willingly slip your wrists through. “Safeword is Metallica. You can’t talk, you slap me twice anywhere. Either way, that’s the only way this stops. Am I clear?” You nod as a response, but a soft palm cradles your cheek and lifts your chin upwards.

“Words, princess. While you still have them.” His thumb strokes a soothing pattern along your jaw.

You can feel your heartbeat racing, and the fuzzy feeling in your head makes a full sentence hard to put together, but the gentle touch lures you to a moment of grounding. “Yes, I understand Eddie. Metallica or two slaps if I can’t take anymore.”

He snickers and gives a gentle pat to your cheek before pulling back. “Make that a ‘sir’ or a ‘daddy’ next time, sweet girl.” He climbs off from on top of you to tug off his t-shirt and sweats, leaving his inked skin and hairy chest for you to ogle at. You tug on your restraints with a slight whine, disappointed by your inability to reach out and touch him.

“On your knees, baby. Your hands may be indisposed, but I can still put that useful little mouth of yours to work.” Eddie pulls his boxers off from around his ankles and tosses them behind him as he stands at the edge of the bed. You shuffle towards him eagerly.

“Yes daddy.”

#im like 99% sure this will get a part 2 btw!!#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #sub!reader #dom!eddie munson #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson smut #eddie x y/n #eddie munson blurb

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secretsofblackthornhall · 2 years

Text

Livvy to Julian

Dear Julian,

You can see ghosts but you cannot see me. Not when I come to sit by you while you sleep. Not when I am in the movements of the shadows across the lawn, or the twitch of a curtain. You cannot hear me, even though I am speaking to you because I have things I need to tell you.

I want to tell you about Ty.

He was there. We were there.

You don’t know we were there.

Kit knows.

Let me start over.

You like surprises, Ty says. Ty doesn’t like surprises, but you do.

He is learning Portals, how to open them, how to close them. You need a warlock. But Ty is learning and he is getting better. He wanted to come to see you and Ragnor said he would help.

We wanted to come to see you.

Ty warned Emma, but he told her not to tell you, so it would be a surprise.

So we came through together.

A ghost travels through a Portal just like a Shadowhunter. I didn’t know that. Isn’t that funny?

Well, I thought it was funny.

The Portal opened in the kitchen.

The kitchen looks nice. I am only a spirit caught between the world and the void but I think you chose an excellent shade for the walls. You have always been so good with color.

Other than the color, which was a surprise but not a bad one, there was another surprise in the kitchen. Kit.

Kit was in the kitchen. Wearing that jacket he likes, with the fuzzy collar. The sun came through the window and lit him up.

Everything in Ty froze. Even I almost froze. I’ve seen Kit, of course. I visit him sometimes. Still because I wasn’t expecting him, it hit me how different he looks from the way he did when he lived at the Institute with us. He looks older, and taller. More muscular. He moves like a Shadowhunter now. Graceful.

He’s beautiful.

I heard Ty take a breath like he never has before. Like he was gasping for air, like he’d been sucker-punched and he was trying to breathe and trying to breathe and he couldn’t.

He whispered, “That’s not how you clean a gun.”

Sorry, I should have said before. Kit was cleaning a gun. Why would there be a gun at your house? Blackthorn Hall is like a rock. You turn it over and so many things are underneath. This time a gun was underneath.

Kit went whiter than any ghost I’ve ever seen. He dropped the gun onto the counter. And he didn’t speak. I wonder if he was wondering what I was wondering. I was wondering how Ty knew how to clean a gun. Enough to tell someone they were doing it wrong.

Maybe he just didn’t know what to say, so he said that.

After that they looked at each other.

Time is not fast or slow where I am. And yet it was long enough for me to feel like the whole world was disappearing, like there was nothing else in it except Kit and Ty looking at each other.

Kit said, “You shouldn’t be here.”

He has never spoken to me like that. With such a cold voice. He had put his hands in his pockets and his shoulders were thrust forward, like he was being aggressive, but I could see his hands in his pockets, all knotted up. I wonder if Ty saw it too. Kit’s fingers, digging and digging into themselves.

But Ty wasn’t looking at Kit. He was looking past him at the window. I could hear birds, and quiet English sounds, and Ty breathing. He said, “How long do you think it will take you to forgive me?”

Kit looked at me. He looked a little betrayed, as if somehow I had known he would be here, had planned this. But I didn’t. “I don’t know,” he said.

“But not now,” Ty said in the smallest voice.

“No,” Kit said. “Not now.”

There was no more reason to stay then.

Maybe there was a reason. Maybe it was Kit’s hands crushing in on themselves, till I thought the bones would break like hearts.

But Ty couldn’t see that. Ty was in pain. I put myself next to him, wrapped myself around him, held him while we went back through the Portal. I was sad. I wanted to see you very much, Jules. But Ty needed me to be there with him.

If you dream this, maybe you will know we were there in your house. I am sorry we didn’t stay.

Julian, I don’t know what to do. Ty misses Kit more than he thought he could miss someone. He misses him as much now as he did the day he left. He loves him the same. I think he always will and it scares me.

Kit is used to not needing people, but Ty needs people. He is afraid to need people but that is only because he needs them so much. He is not going to stop needing Kit. I don’t know if Kit will always need Ty. But Ty will always need him.

Irene says hello. I am teaching her to play dead.

I love you.

Livvy

#sobh #secrets of blackthorn hall #julian blackthorn #livvy blackthorn #ty blackthorn #kit herondale #kit x ty #irene

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wroteclassicaly · 4 months

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Sit Down

(Gator Tillman x Female Reader)

Summary: Maxed out on stress, Gator is tired of you. And of course, he thinks he’s developed the perfect suggestion.

Warnings: Language, NSFW, smut, rough sex, vaginal sex, some heavy petting, biting w/ a little blood, slight breeding kink towards the end, & some fluffy comfort. That’s about it!

Word count: 2,849

Pairings: Gator Tillman x Female Reader

A/N: I’ve been stressed out and everything, and I’ve been daydreaming all day of getting my brain shut off by Gator like this. It’s porn without plot, so I hope y’all enjoy? ❤️

You didn’t smile at him, didn’t accept his fruitless jokes or quirky mannerisms. He tried to toss his half of the insults that you both usually hurl at one another, but nothing. It left a bitter bite on his tongue and a sucker punch to his guts. He’s embarrassed he even tried to converse with you. Balancing the local bank bordered pen between his thumb and pointer finger, Gator Tillman taps it against chipped desk wood, blowing a hot breath from between his winter chapped lips.

He can’t take it any longer, especially when you slam your purse down on the counter of your desk cubicle and insult the entirety of the precinct. His desk chair’s springs hinge underneath his weight, and he throws it forward to stride to you on faded snow covered combats. Elongating his leather clad arm, he watches his own thick fingers pinch your shoulder blade to get your attention and direct you towards him. He’s normally not this public with his reactions in regards to you, but you're under his skin, you’re inside of him more than he finds himself buried deep within you. It’s a given this was bound to break his reverie.

Your brows nearly meet in anger, creating a crease he fights to kiss off. He’s pissed, he has to let that lead right now. He can see your heavy breaths beneath the crinkle in your overcoat, your heaving breasts covered by a satin, blood red blouse that you’re wearing today. You don’t dare move, but wait. He likes this.

Your nostrils are brimmed with the hot cinnamon spice of the aftershave that’s wrapped around his neck, licking his jawline. You follow those freckles that wind around his jugular, single out those moles, all the way to his pretty pink mouth as it separates and begins to command you in a voice so deep it rattles your ribcage from a startled heartbeat. Pulsing, thumping, pounding, leaving muscles sore and aching.

“Get your ass out to my squad car! I need to have a talk with you.”

“No.” You spit, looking up at him, watching his adam’s apple bob from a jagged swallow. Did he expect that? He knows your mouth has a doctorate in back talking.

Your energy, your stress, it all piles into combat mode and it pushes against you, leaving you whimpering to its orders. You let it guide you, piss you off.

“You like havin’ a job to pay your rent?” It’s condescending, knowing what it can do, his tone is ever so present. Abusing his power just the way that you fuckin’ like it.

Here we go, the give and take that’s finally broken all boundaries, publicized whatever your relationship with Roy Tillman’s son is.

Your jaw clicks and you lick the roof of your mouth. “M’ pretty sure I can find another place to lay down my head at night, Sheriff.”

He can barely stand how the anger burns from his toes and electrifies his neck’s nape. He can’t see through its aftershocks, rolling forward and landing back on heavily booted heels. He fully clasps your shoulder now, leaving no room for another choice. You’re out the door first, the faux fur on your snowshoes dusted in the white powder, sludge scrambled beneath your heavy footfalls, Gator’s right behind yours. The cruiser is off to the side of the building today, shimmering beneath the wintery condensation, scoped out by the buttery glow of a Midwestern, countryside sun.

You hear the automatic lock release, and resist the urge to call him a good little boy. You’d chastised him for leaving a police vehicle, something that a Tillman drives — unlocked. He listened. You peel open the passenger door, a bit tough due to freezing conditions. Ice chips shred themselves and shake loose of the door, melting as they pelt your boots. Gator has a white knuckled grip on the driver’s door, standing opposite, a cold smoke cloud trickling off his mouth, his mossy eyes having evaporated into a midnight black.

You climb into the cold expanse of the car and slam your door with purpose, sealing your paced fate. You don’t turn as he leans down to look into the car, or even as he joins you and cranks the engine for some heat. His benefit beyond your own. There’s a few wrappers, however, that you do notice when you glance across the dashboard.

This is the thoughtful pause where your tongue feels heavy, legs a deadweight, yet lighter than a feather. Your body reacting to Gator while your mind becomes caged to his capture, and he’s the only one with the key. He’s the first one to react today, again. The sound is one you’ll never tire of hearing, saliva pooling on your tongue as he peels back the leather from his belt buckle and it clatters apart, giving him room to undo his jeans entirely. He gives halt to his actions and snaps his fingers in your direction.

“Look at me.”

Your knees knock together and it causes a smirk to tug on the corner of his beautiful mouth. He’s got one hand, a watch wrapped wrist - deep into his underwear, sliding his hand back and forth, squeezing, preparing, and levels you to the seat with that gaze that reaches, that cradles beneath his eyebrows, bringing them into focus. When he’s got you tangled into his trap, he grits his teeth as he struggles to free himself, his fingertips only grazing around the beautiful girth you’re once again gifted privy to personal indulgence with.

Cocky. He’s fed and greedy. “Oh yeah, you want this, huh? You can be the biggest bitch in Stark County and I’ve still got somethin’ you want, that no one else can ever give you. Ain’t that right, baby?”

You don’t verbalize, it’s pointless. Tears blurring your vision, burning into the ducts. You need him, you always do. He fixes you, even when he breaks you, puts you back together when he’s the one who's pulling everything apart.

“Get over here, quick, pretty baby.” A compliment and it has you crawling across the console and right into his lap, his cock jumping, smacking against that plain black t-shirt he’s wearing beneath his jacket, when your warmth is above him.

He doesn’t touch you yet, his spare hand tight on his holster and the other on his cock. You can feel its thickness scraping against you, and he grins, tapping the weapon. “Not like you’ve cared before when I wear this when I’m inside. Think that you like wonderin’ if I was smart enough to remember the safety, don’t ya?”

You start to say something, and he removes the gun and places it where you were sitting moments ago. No more crackling plays. He’s ready. That massive palm drifts in between your legs and wiggles around to find the hem of your work skirt, bringing it up and ordering you to hold onto it. The moment that you do, it’s an audible growl that festers from his throat, birthed in his diaphragm. He’s seen your situation through the sheer tights that you’re wearing, in addition to the massive wet patch that’s stained the seam.

“Where’s your fuckin’ panties?”

“Forgot to do the laundry. Sue me.” And he would on the spot, give you a sentence, a ticket, something. The way he’s looking at you when you permit your eyes to meet. That amber ring is completely engulfed in the vast expanse of his orbs.

“You’ve just been walkin’ around like this?”

“Looks like.” You sass, hands trembling to hold up your skirt, especially when he lets go of his cock and uses both hands to demolish the crotch of your stockings, fabric ripping down to your inner thighs, leaving you swollen and bare for him.

Vulnerable. Ready to have your worries shut off and be put aside. He leans up and you meet, his nose mashing into yours, lips shaping over your own, caressing, yet not meeting.

“Sit down.” He commands, and spits a clean line of saliva into his own palm, tucking it between your legs and rubbing.

You disobey instruction and sway forward, knuckle bones cracking as you fist your grip into the shoulders of his leather jacket, its echoing crinkle roaring in your ears with the static blood rush. Your lips part and it’s a trembling whine that escapes. Gator is elated, using his calloused digits to separate you messily, slapping once, twice. You jump, back smashing into his steering wheel and laying on the horn. He chuckles, uncaring now. It’s feeding season and he’s here to claim.

“Goddamned pathetic mess, aren’t you? Like a lost doe waiting on her buck to take the lead. You just needed me to fix everything you’ve been goin’ through, right?”

He craves to be your antidote, the only prayer you pray, even when you’re not on your knees for him, but at your bedside, and your sole place of worship. He knows that his home lies inside of you — warm and safe, all abandoned and found. He’s gripping his cock to hold for you, waiting, letting his sopping wet fingers leave a webbed string from your cunt to the digits, to which he takes greedily into his mouth and sucks. You’re on him completely within a flash, that fat head putting a welcomed pressure on the damp ring of muscle that beckons him a little deeper, gets off on the pain his size is about to bring. You tighten your grip on his jacket, rolling it back off his shoulders to slide your hands beneath and grip the fabric of his t-shirt.

His toes curl in his boots and he shifts, letting his heels roll back to assist him in a raise of his muscular legs as he pushes hard and fast, his wrapped hand meeting your folds in a sticky press. He lets go to grasp at your waist, keeping you steady and still. You fall into his neck, thighs shaking so hard that it causes him to practically vibrate, choking on the quaking. It’s a few moments that he gives you before he’s fetching you by the back of the neck and dragging you from the dotted crevice where you’d begun your quest to kiss those freckles and moles painted into his skin. This is how he holds you, irises matching to meet, your hips rolling to a rhythm that this amount of limited space can barely accommodate, with his fingers squeezing your neck, keeping it propped, adjusting your head when it lolls back.

He grows impatient within the next few movements, gritting his milky whites, pawing at your heavy coat, moving it to get to your clothing beneath to rip your blouse, buttons pinging all over, bouncing from the crystal windshield and onto the dash. Hell, you were sure one made it past the cage divider and into the backseat. Your bra cups are pushed beneath your tits and exposing your nipples to the change in temperature, which Gator immediately takes advantage of. Slapping each swell before taking a nipple between his lips and flicking his tongue to overstimulate you, getting you to move yourself a little faster over him, drawing his heavy balls just a little tighter. And then he’s letting himself steer it in reverse to watch you take what he’s giving.

He knows it hurts, a boastful pride that’s also made him bashful at times, surprisingly. But you’re taking him, riding him, holding onto his shoulders as your perfect tits bounce with every movement. There’s not enough room in here, it’s cramped, smelling of sex and faded fast food wrappers, but Gator doesn’t give two flying fucks. Your clit drags across that patch of hair at his base, smearing your thick cream down his shaft when he pulls out to push back in, and it has you begging him to hurt you some more.

His spare hand goes for the plush of your waist, and he gives a vice pressure, his boots leaving the floor as he gives you all he’s got, his cock colliding with that diabolically delicious spot inside. “How about that?” He’s panting.

You tighten around him, flooding him, jaw becoming unhinged to let your tongue roll out, licking your lips, your eyes glazed over. You reach for his hold on your neck, holding onto his wrist. And your other hand ventures into purchase, your body pressing forward, flipping his shirt up enough to press your breasts into those tufts of chest hair, your mouth finding his neck and you lick away that aftershave soaked perspiration, all the way from his gulping jugular, tasting his overworked breaths, to going across his jawline, and you nose your way into the overpowering smell of his hair product, your hand bypassing his chest and sliding between his slicked back locks, shaking them into a disarray, yanking so hard that he hisses, “You fuckin’ bitch. You know how much I hate that.”

But he doesn’t. He can fix his hair. And his pathetic cock pulses inside of you, letting you know that he’s close, so fucking close that his goddamned throat is on fire with it. You’re too brainless to make a sassing remark, that tightening in your belly beginning to take hold. Gator steps in to save, witty on encouragement.

“Soaking my fuckin’ dick. Think you’re about to cum for me, baby. Should I let you ride it out? You gonna talk back to me when we’re out of this car in a few minutes?” He cuts himself off, gasping into the kiss you steal.

You’re nodding, unsure of what you’re answering. You just know that if you don’t have your release that you’re going to tip off the precipice and shatter. Gator takes your warning, closes his palm over the back of your neck, and begins to piston his hips until the car starts to rock and you’re both unsure who’s making what noise. Your eyes roll back and he jerks you forward, keeping your beautiful chest-full against him, high on the stimulation. His nose is shoved in your cheekbone and he’s kissing you messily, your slick noisy and loud, embarrassing and overwhelming.

Gator bites down so hard on your bottom lip that you taste copper. He automatically licks it up. He fuckin’ loves it when he can make you bleed and tend to it. You’re crying, holding onto his hand around your neck, hand falling from his hair and onto his naked waist. All you get out is one word. “Please.”

“Fuck yeah, baby. You wanna cum all over my cock? Gonna let me fill up your worthless little cunt?”

That dam breaks and cracks at your foundation, flood gates exploding, Gator’s thrusts sounding wetter and messier. You know it’s happening before he does, uncaring how messy it is when it spurts from where you’re joined, drenching that connected trail of hair around his navel, matting back his bush with a translucent shine. His head thumps back against the seat and he swallows, crying out, “Oh, fuck. Good girl, fuckin’ mess me up.” He’s stroking, fondling your neck.

And then you’re taking the finality of his uncoordinated movements, his eyes connecting with yours once more, grip tighter on your neck, fingers laced with yours, other hand reaching for a breast, letting his fingertips tap down your sternum and press you apart to see himself engulfed in your cunt. He’s lifting his calloused thumb against your clit, blood smeared mouth kissing around the corners of your own. “Want you to do it again. Spill all over my lap and I’ll fill you so full that this town won’t have to wonder who put a baby in your belly. They’ll fuckin’ know.”

He’s got you so full on the next push that you lose your breath and give him what he wanted faster than you could’ve anticipated, the surprise of his words coursing through your every connected vein. Your body belongs to him, obeys, another layer dousing him. And he makes good on his promise, seconds later, whimpering, all the tendons in his throat tightening, his pupils expanding, and he’s brimming your insides with warmth, hips stuttering, movement fizzling out, holding against you as his orgasm completely drains him. You encourage him, you thank him, words jumbled. He’s seeking you out, forever needing solace and approval after it’s this intense (and it usually is).

He kisses your mouth, wettened, flat presses, his tongue licking inside as his hands move to hold onto the fat of your breasts. On the break away, he’s nosing you, an act of reserved affection. It’s all better now.

After you’d ran some gas out and redressed in a comfortable silence, wiping yourselves down with the console napkins Gator keeps — he’d voiced his opinions from earlier, trying to mask the concern but failing miserably.

“Everything is okay though, right? Nothin’ we can’t handle?”

We.

You smile at him, adjusting your skirt over the ruins of your tights, both of you aware that you’ll be completely bare for the rest of your shift.

“Turns out that all I needed to do to feel a little better, was to ‘sit down’.”

// Eat me paragraph //

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