#(he actually tried to stop this whole thing after the first few days by turning back but cas got depressed and upset (not in a manipulative | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zyafics-recs · 6 hours ago

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i know this gonna break my heart... sigh... taking deep breaths... let's go ⬇️

It was almost easy, something he wouldn’t have believed a few years back when everything he touched seemed to go up in flames. There’d been a time when he was just too much—angry, impulsive, doing all the wrong things for all the wrong reasons.

first and foremost, i love the characterization of rafe. something about ur interpretation of him feels so lively and real, especially because it relates to his canon. when i was reading thru his thoughts, i was like, woah, rafe would act this way.

He’d been selfish, reckless, it was intense, way too intense, and when you fought, it was like you were both throwing grenades, just waiting to see who’d blow up first. You’d pushed him away, he’d pushed you harder, and you’d both crossed lines that should’ve never even been close.

i love the line throwing grenades, waiting for who to blow up first. ur metaphors have always been some of my favorites, so i always love highlighting and pointing it out <3

Rafe didn’t know what the fuck to feel when he got the news. He knew what he was supposed to feel, right? He’d done it before with his mom, now it was his dad’s turn. The man who had raised him, the one to teach him everything he knew about how the world worked, even if it wasn’t pretty.

i love the turn of internal conflict, that rafe - who has always been loyal as a dog to ward - can have his own conflicting emotions about his father

Ward was a hard man, a strong man. The kind of guy who commanded respect, even if he didn’t always show it the way others might expect. But that’s the thing, he was a man of respect. To Rafe, that meant something. Everything

but at the end of the day, rafe recognizes that he has to set his father on a pedestal because that's all he's ever done. all he'll ever do.

At first, it was subtle—small things. He’d catch you looking at him like you didn’t quite get him anymore. You’d pull away when he needed you to listen, when he was ranting about Ward, and even though you tried to hide it, Rafe could see the dissociation.

that actually hurts, the idea that you're dissociating, going somewhere where he can't follow u? oh the miseryyy

He wasn’t perfect, but he was the only father Rafe had ever known. He was gone all of a sudden and that was what had hurt the most—knowing he’d never get the approval he’d always been chasing, even when he was clean, even when he was doing better. There was no fixing that.

i love u pointing out the validation-seeking 🙂‍↕️

Three weeks after the funeral he spent his days surrounded by a few bottles of scotch he’d stolen right out of his dad’s stash. Who was gonna stop him now, anyway? He almost laughed. Three years clean. Shit, that was something, wasn’t it?

this is such a bitter moment, but it's also shows how rafe just reverts back to his younger self in the presence of his father. that even if ward's death, he will continue to haunt the narrative. also, "shit, that was something, wasn't it?" was such a bitter realization.

Every time he saw himself— on a window, mirror, whatever—he had a drink in his hand, and something about it just felt terrifyingly right.

HE SAW HIS FATHER

Half the people were staring, too. Waiting to see if he was gonna go off, if he was back to the same volatile Rafe he used to be, the one they loved watching spin out. And just when he thought he could ignore it, some random pogue, scruffy, half-drunk, threw out a comment loud enough for the whole group around him to hear.

i love the depiction of seeing rafe as nothing more than a prop, an entertainment for the rest of the kooks. it gives u this zoo-like viewing of rafe rather than human.

It didn’t matter that he was twice as drunk as he should be; all that mattered was the way his father’s name was rolling off this nobody’s lips.

he's so protective over his father

“And you,” you called out, enough to silence the chatter around you. “Keep your fuckin’ mouth shut.”

I LOVE HER FOR THIS SOMETHING ABOUT THIS OWNS MY HEART

You took a step forward, finger pointed at your chest, “Don’t I? Because I remember standing in this very house, watching him tear you down every chance he got. You’re so busy mourning this man who treated you like shit, that you’re pushing the people who care about you away. It’s not just me. It’s everyone.”

she's real and she should speak on it

“Don’t you dare roll your fucking eyes at me,” you retaliated, stepping up beside him. “I stood by you through all of it, I’m not gonna stand here and watch you kill yourself because of him. He’s the reason you felt like you had to be so perfect all the time, why you’re always trying to prove yourself to people who don’t deserve it. And now he’s gone, and you still can’t see it. You’re still trying to be good enough for him!”

i love her but god that must've hurt

His breath was shaky, too fast, but he didn’t care. “So now I’m blind, huh? I didn’t see you sneaking out the door when I needed you? I didn’t notice how you pulled back, how you stopped giving a fuck about me? You’re just waiting for me to give you an excuse to leave.”

i love that he only picked up the things that he hears, not the fact that he's blind to see it, but rather accusing him of being "dumb"

he has such self-destructive tendencies omg

“Don’t. Don’t you dare try to make this about me,” he spat, the words ugly in his mouth, it felt like they were scraping their way out of him. “You don’t get to make me the villain in your story just because you’re tired of playing my fucking hero.”

i love their arguments so much, because it's so bitter, and resentful, and sharp and it cuts so deep. that's one of my favorite things about this series, is when they're talking, they're going all in

That shitty plan had gone down the drain once he saw you speed away at that party with absolutely no regard for your safety or Topper’s. He’d seen that wild look in your eyes before—the one that said you were about to burn it all down. Or when your dad’s gala came around, and he couldn’t sleep properly knowing he wasn’t going to be there that year, knowing how you spiraled every time you had to step on that stage.

SOMETHINGS WRONG GO HELP HER

But how the fuck was he supposed to act when the girl who had been everything to him was hurting?

my favorite line

He blinked, thrown off. “I broke her heart? She broke mine!” He laughed, but it was harsh, bitter. “I did us a favor. We were just—”

he's hurt too (but he's a dick) but he's hurt too 🥹

He had no reason to stay, you’d made it clear as day. He was supposed to be gone—out of your life for good. You’d told him you didn’t need him, he told you he didn’t need you. So why the hell was he still standing here?

i love the lingering love, especially because i believe rafe to be the type of person who cannot mourn loss whatsoever, he keeps it in his chest forever, when he loves someone, he'll love them forever

“I don’t think that’s the problem,” she murmured, with a knowing sadness. “I think the problem is that you two will never stop loving each other. He’s still hurting from dad’s passing, he’s angry because he doesn’t know how to stop loving you. And you—you’re here, angry that he loved my dad so much, hurt that he left, trying to protect me from him, still worrying about me when you should be focusing on yourself. You’re scared he doesn’t care anymore, and he’s scared you don’t need him at all."

ONE OF THE BANGER LINES OF THIS PART AHHH

“You’re allowed to be someone without him, and you’re allowed to find out who that is.”

oooo i love this, sometimes i be forgetting they're toxic.

💌 — i love love their argument in this one. i love how u manage to capture rafe's essence with this characterization, especially post-ward, because i often don't read a lot of fics with ward being a dead presence but haunting the narrative. and that make rafe's viewpoint so conflicting, especially since he's trying to grieve but come to terms on who his father is. i absolutely love how u build up to their breaking point, because they have all these things festering under the surface that neither are willing to talk about until someone breaks, and that's how their relationship dynamic is. every time we get to see an insider scope of rafe's head, i am amazed, because the way he analyzes things, flowing from one thought to the next, makes sense. he's insecure, he's grieving, he's angry, and all of these emotions are hitting him at full-force and no one is allowing him the proper space to actually deal with them—especially because ward never did. and when their argument was just bitter shots at one another, just to hurt each other, you know it hurt. oh oh, gigi, u amaze and fascinate me so much!!

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - SIX

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mention of pregnancy; abortion; lack of self-care; drug and alcohol addiction;

Rafe had been clean for the past three years.

Over the course of the year, things between him and you had been smooth sailing.

Eventually, both of you learned to talk instead of shouting, learned when to back down instead of pushing buttons just to get a reaction. You’d gotten better at letting each other breathe. He’d pull back when he felt himself getting heated, and you’d do the same.

It wasn’t perfect; sometimes you’d still get into it, still end up in an argument that felt like old times, but it was different. There were no more lines on the bathroom counter, no disappearing at all hours.

Until Ward died.

Ward was a hard man, a strong man. The kind of guy who commanded respect, even if he didn’t always show it the way others might expect. But that’s the thing, he was a man of respect.

To Rafe, that meant something. Everything.

Ward had shaped him, he couldn’t just forget that, couldn’t act like that wasn’t important.

At first, you were there for him, no question.

He knew you hated Ward, you barely tolerated the thought of him even existing in the same room as you. You spent those first few weeks with him, making sure he didn’t spiral back into the shit that nearly destroyed him. He needed the support, even if he didn’t always know how to ask for it.

You were there, holding it down. You got through it, the late-night talk, but then, you started getting distant.

He pretended he didn’t sense it, tried to tell himself you’d come around.

After all, this was his grief, and no one else was going to understand it the way he did. His dad had been everything to him—maybe not in the way you thought he should’ve been, but that was just the reality of it.

For the first time in years, it felt like you weren’t there with him. It didn’t make sense to him how you couldn’t see it.

Ward had been a tough guy, sure, cruel sometimes, but he was also a provider, a father who tried to teach him how to survive, even if it didn’t always come wrapped in the right way.

He wanted to mourn in peace, but no one seemed to understand why Ward still mattered to him, not even Sarah.

He’d had people telling him he wouldn’t make it three weeks, let alone three years. Shit, his dad sure didn’t think he’d get this far. Only you.

Rafe squinted at the amber liquid swirling in his glass, then leaned back in the worn leather of his dad’s old armchair. It felt weird being in here, in his chair, in his office, breathing in that persistent smell of old cigars and varnish.

After the whole “funeral”, with everyone looking at him like he was a wild animal about to snap, this was the only place he could sit without someone judging him.

If you’re so clean, why are you drinking yourself half to death? He took a slow sip, letting it burn down his throat.

It wasn’t like it used to be, that high that hit fast and hard, and didn’t care if it broke him apart.

This was different, a slower, quieter process.

Besides, he was in control this time. Just a drink, he told himself, fingers tightening around the glass. No powder, no pills. That was progress.

So what if he had to take the edge off? Who wouldn’t, if they’d just said goodbye to their only living parent and had to look at their younger sisters crying like that?

He was practically swimming in alcohol. Rafe knew he was overdoing it, but he didn’t care.

Every time he saw himself— on a window, mirror, whatever—he had a drink in his hand, and something about it just felt terrifyingly right.

Grounded.

Nobody understood him; they just kept looking at him with that worried face, like he was on the verge of losing it like he used to when he was younger. Maybe he already had.

You watched him—really watched him—and yeah, he could tell you were pissed. He saw it in that little wrinkle between your eyebrows every time he took another sip. But you didn’t say anything.

Even Wheezie was on his case in her quiet way.

She was hanging around, throwing out old jokes and trying to make him smile, but he barely reacted. She was looking at him like she was scared, as if he was some stranger she was trying not to set off. And he hated that—God, he fucking hated it. So he kept his distance, hoped she would back off, let him get through this his way.

But then came that night at the beach bonfire, when everything changed.

He probably shouldn’t have gone, but he needed to get out and feel normal again—even if that just implied showing up and pretending, he was fine. He dragged you along, flashing that cocky grin you could see right through, but you followed anyway, probably just to keep an eye on him. He could feel it—the way you were watching him, worried as hell, that just made him want another drink.

“Guess Ward Cameron finally found some gold he couldn’t buy his way out of, huh? What was he thinking, running off to some country where people don’t just take bribes? Practically killed himself.”

It took everything in him not to lunge right there, but he was too plastered to keep the anger off his face. He pushed his way over to the guy, hands clenched into fists.

“You got something you want to say to my fuckin’ face?”

The guy shrugged, muttering something under his breath, people were looking now, everyone watching to see if he was finally going to give them a show.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was shoving him back, hard enough that the dude stumbled, beer splashing out of his cup. The crowd around them stirred, murmurs, but nobody did a thing—they were just staring, waiting to see the blood spill. He felt tempted to hurt someone, felt that cameron fury crawling up his throat.

It didn’t matter that he was twice as drunk as he should be; all that mattered was the way his father’s name was rolling off this nobody’s lips.

He felt you grab his arm, long nails digging hard enough to pull him back, he jerked his shoulder, trying to shake you off, but you weren’t letting go.

“You’re gonna waste your time on him?”

Rafe gritted his teeth, but you didn’t give him a chance to argue. You hauled him back, forcing him away from the guy, who was still standing there with that smug look plastered on his face.

“Get out. Now,” you urged him, voice calm but with the tone that even he didn’t want to test. He glared at you, mouth opening to argue, but you didn’t let him get a word in. “Rafe. Now.”

You were mad at him.

It was enough to knock some sense into him, and he let you reel him away, but not before you turned back.

“And you,” you called out, enough to silence the chatter around you. “Keep your fuckin’ mouth shut.”

There was no bluff, no hesitation, and Rafe watched as the pogue’s smug expression dropped instantly, eyes widening as he realized you were dead serious, your family’s name always had an impact around town, old money and all.

As you dragged him to the car, he muttered that he didn’t need you playing bodyguard, but you ignored it, taking him out of the spotlight he hated but couldn’t seem to avoid.

His head was spinning, his blood boiling, and he couldn’t even look at you, not with how angry he felt.

By the time you pulled up to his house, you got out, guiding him inside with that hard, that silent determination he both hated and admired in you.

You were there, right behind him with that look on your face—angry, disappointed, like he was missing something big, as if he was the one who didn’t get it.

He stumbled into the bathroom, holding himself against the sink, and before he could even catch his breath, you turned on the faucet and splashed cold water in his face. He jerked back, sputtering, wiping it with the back of his hand. When he looked at you, his anger burned again.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he snapped.

“My problem?” you scoffed head already shaking, “Are you serious?”

“You don’t get it,” he growled, barely controlling the rage, the shame—everything. “You don’t know a fuckin’ thing about him. I had the right to defend him.”

Rafe laughed bitterly, the sound humorless. “Oh, here we go,” he muttered, rolling his eyes as he turned back to the sink, gripping the edge hard enough to make his knuckles turn white.

He didn’t look at you, didn’t want to see the indignation—or worse, the pity—in your eyes.

“Just stop,” he muttered, but you were past listening.

“No, I won’t stop. I can’t. I can’t keep watching you do this to yourself again. You’re better than this.”

He suddenly pushed himself away from the sink, and turned to face you, his blue eyes practically black with a hurt that was older and deeper than either of you could touch.

“You don’t get to stand there and tell me what I deserve.”

“I know what you deserve.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes again, though his face had gone a shade paler. “You think you know everything, don’t you?” he sneered. “Think you know what’s best for me? Get off your high horse.”

“You’re damn fucking right I know better than you do, I’m not the one who’s drowning every night in some pathetic tribute to a man who wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.”

He could feel it now, the bitterness you’d been hiding for weeks. It wasn’t just about him drinking himself stupid. It was everything—every fucking thing you’d been ignoring, it had festered between you two while you pretended things were okay.

“You’re the one who’s just tired of me, of everything that comes with me.”

You took a step back, eyes narrowing, but you didn’t flinch.

“What?” Your rage momentarily dialed down, the sound gurgling, “You think I’m tired of you? I’ve been here this whole time, trying to make you see the truth, but you won’t even look at me. You won’t let me in. You’re too fucking blind to notice.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he wasn’t done.

“You don’t get it! I didn’t need you to fix me, I needed someone to stay. But instead, you—" His voice cracked, the anger choking him up, "Instead, you started to make me feel like I was a b-burden. Some mess you had to clean up. How am I supposed to deal with that, huh?"

You were shaking your head, your eyes had already been filled with tears, your chest suffocating.

“I’ve been here. I’ve been standing right next to you, waiting for you to pull your shit together. I didn’t walk away. You did.

His stomach churned, as if you’d taken every inch of space in his chest and twisted it, just for fun. The worst part was, he couldn’t even argue with you. Not really. He had been so wrapped up in his own shit, so obsessed with keeping everyone out, that he hadn’t even seen how far you’d already gone.

“I’m not trying to play the hero!” you screamed, stepping closer, your eyes were cold. “I’m trying to help you see that you have to fix this. Not me. Not anyone else. But you. And if you’re so fucking broken you can’t see that, then maybe you really don’t need me.”

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Rafe could feel his heart racing, that agonizing coil in his chest, but he couldn’t stop.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said, voice quieter, but just as venomous.

He turned his back on you, walking to the door. The sound of his boots clamped against the wood floor like a countdown.

“Maybe I don’t. Grab your shit and go.”

"Don’t you fucking—" you snarled, but he was already moving, grabbing your jacket off the hook by the door and throwing it your way, “You know what? Fine. Maybe I will.” You shoved that stupid thing on, hands shaking as you yanked the zipper up. “Don’t come running back in two days like you always do. Don’t come crawling back.”

Rafe paused, hand on the doorknob, his jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle ticking.

He didn’t turn around, didn’t look back at you.

“I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.”

“Good. Because I stopped feeling sorry for you a long time ago,” you replied sharply, every syllable punctuated with weeks of resentment. “What I feel now? That’s just disappointment.”

You watched his shoulders lock up; his whole body wound so tight it was like he was one wrong look away from completely losing it. He didn’t turn around either, even as you slipped out the door, but he knew.

That was it.

Two moths later, almost three, he was standing in front of the ER pacing like a complete fucking idiot after you passed out in his arms earlier.

He’d told himself he’d stay away, make it easy for both of you.

He had stupidly thought that maybe, one day, you two could still be friends. But today? That shit blew up in his face, for the second time in the span of a week.

He forgot what you could invoke in him when you were standing merely an inch away. He promised himself that he’d moved on, forced to consider that the love of his life might not be someone he could spend his lifetime with. Maybe you weren’t meant for each other.

But how the fuck was he supposed to act when the girl who had been everything to him was hurting?

No, no, no.

Sofia was what he needed.

Someone who didn’t know shit about his past, who didn’t ask questions he didn’t want to answer. She hadn’t seen him the way you had, hadn’t been there through every drunken rant and punch he’d thrown at the wall or someone’s face, hadn’t heard him rail against his dad or drag himself back from one of his darkest nights.

She hadn’t called him a fucking idiot when he chose to throw his father’s ashes on the ocean. She wasn’t going to call him a coward for it. She didn’t have a clue about any of it, and that was supposed to be what he wanted.

He looked up at the ER doors for the millionth time in the past hour, his fingers clenched around his jeep keys so tight they left marks on his hand.

It was over between you two. He’d make sure to keep the fucking distance, two whole months. If he didn’t give you enough closure, you’d hate him faster and you’d both get over it.

So why the fuck was he about to set the whole hospital on fire as he watched John B’s beat up twinkie pull up to the parking area? It shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did.

Of course you’d call her, his own sister—his father's favorite.

Sarah had always been the golden child, Ward’s little angel who could do no wrong, while he was the family screw-up. Even now, you’d picked her, just like Ward would have.

He didn’t think before he moved, closing the distance between him them in seconds.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He barked right up in her face, daring her to explain herself.

Sarah didn’t back down, though. She just looked up at him with that same cool, level expression she always had whenever he tried to get a rise out of her.

“I’m here because she called me.”

“She called you?” He scoffed, eyebrows pulling together in disbelief. “You? She called you?” He took a step closer, “So what, you’re her savior now or some shit? Why the hell would she call you if I’m right here?” His eyes narrowed, searching her face like he couldn’t believe it. “Are you kidding me?”

Sarah threw her hands up, a look of pure exasperation on her face.

“Are you dense, Rafe? You’re with someone else! Why would she want the guy who broke her heart to drive her home?”

He blinked, thrown off. “I broke her heart? She broke mine!” He laughed, but it was harsh, bitter. “I did us a favor. We were just—”

“Oh, right. A favor?” Sarah cut in, voice dripping with sarcasm. “That why you’re pacing out here like a goddamn lunatic?”

“Go away. I’m driving her home.”

She stepped closer, her voice steely as she looked him dead in the eye.

“No. She called me, she wants me here. Not you. So do yourself a real favor and go home before you do something even more stupid.”

A breathless chuckle escaped his lips, “She already hates me, Sarah. What’s the fucking harm, huh?” He threw his arms out, as if daring her to come up with an answer that would hurt less. “What’s one more screw-up on top of everything else?”

“You’re real dumb if you believe that. But if you wanna make it worse, then by all means, go ahead. You’ll just prove her right.”

He stayed rooted in place, chest heaving, the conflict ripping him to pieces. His hands shook, his throat tight with words he couldn’t even begin to understand.

But Sarah had already turned her back on him, heading toward the entrance.

“Walk away,” she warned him, looking over her shoulder, “That’s the only thing left for you to do right now.”

Rafe didn’t know why the fuck he listened to her.

It was as if his body had already made that decision for him, understanding that if he didn’t leave right then, he’d end up doing something stupid—something even more fucked up than what he’d already done. His tongue was locked in place, a curse on the tip of his pursed lips, but it never came.

His feet wouldn’t move, his hands stayed at his sides, and that tightness in his throat wouldn’t let him get a single word out, not one that would make any fucking sense. He hated that. Hated that you still had this kind of control over him.

Hated that he just…felt like something was wrong.

You hadn’t been this frantic, so impulsive since he had to take you home after your sister passed. He didn’t want to remember that night—you damn near threw yourself out of his truck.

But he couldn’t ignore the memory, the desperation on your face, the screams, the fight in his grip as he pulled you by your shirt back inside.

He’d felt like he was holding on to something breaking apart in his hands, something he couldn’t fix but couldn’t let go of either. He’d seen it again in your eyes when he’d caught you earlier at the beach clean-up, the way you’d tried to dodge his stare, voice cracking, legs wobbling when he mentioned the hospital.

Rafe still felt like he’d swallowed shattered pieces of glass every time he thought about you. And if he could just push it down, if he could just get through one fucking day without looking back, maybe he’d start to forget you.

His feet were glued to the hospital pavement, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. If you were about to crash, if this was anything like before…He didn’t know what the fuck he was going to do.

Perhaps because he remembered the last time he’d let you walk out, the way he’d watched you disappear, thinking he was doing the right thing—giving you the clean end you’d both needed.

Maybe that made him sick to his stomach now, thinking of you in there with Sarah, telling his sister things you wouldn’t say to him, letting her be the person he once was to you.

But you’d called her, not him. You’d picked Sarah to be here, and that hurt like a bitch, but it was what he’d asked for, wasn’t it?

This was what he deserved. He told you to grab your shit and go, forced you to leave because that was supposed to make it easier.

He’d impulsively made his choice the minute he’d wrapped his arm around Sofia, pulling her close in front of everyone who’d once known he was yours. He’d talked himself into it. It was the right call, moving on was the only way to finally get you out of his system.

He was the one who decided it’d be easier to act like he forgot you than to actually try. He thought he could make it easy—pain-free.

Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose as he walked back toward his Jeep. He gripped the door handle so hard he could break it in half if he wanted to, feeling his knuckles strain.

If he let go, if he closed that door and stormed inside, he’d just be right back where he started.

He stared at his reflection in the window, his hardened face staring back. His pulse was pounding in his temples, his gut twisting and turning as he tried to bury it all six feet under—the need to just go to you, to hold your hand or yell at you for making him care so fucking much.

He finally released the death grip he had on the door handle, forcing his fingers to relax, his knuckles still throbbing. He slid into the driver’s seat, the cold leather you’d help him choose, mocking at his skin as he slammed the door shut.

With a quick flick of his wrist, he threw the car into drive, the tires screeching as he peeled out of the parking lot.

He drove like he was being hunted down. He wanted to get as far away from that place as possible, praying the miles between him and you would stop the churning inside him.

You’ll just prove her right.

He hated her for saying it, hated Sarah for knowing exactly what buttons to push.

As he rounded a curve, his headlights swept across Topper’s house. Rafe cut the engine and stalked toward the backyard. Topper’s sprawled-out form on a reclining chair, arms crossed over his chest, sunglasses somehow still on evenly.

He stomped up and smacked the end of his chair.

"Wake the fuck up."

He jolted, nearly tumbling off the chair, ripping his sunglasses off and squinting up at him. “Jesus fucking christ, dude, ever heard of calling ahead?”

But Rafe didn’t answer. He just paced, hands in his growing hair, digging into his scalp like he could rip the frustration out of his skull. Topper sighed, propping himself up on one elbow, he didn’t even look at him, just kept muttering to himself, biting his lip, pacing.

“What the hell happened?”

Finally, he stopped, “I need you to find out what’s wrong with your cousin,” he muttered, not wanting to admit he cared enough to ask.

Topper blinked, brow furrowing. “What do you mean, what’s wrong with her?”

Rafe only shook his head, hands on his hips as he stared at the ground. “I don’t know, okay? She just…she’s acting off. And I can’t—I’m not supposed to care, Top. I’m not. I’m with Sofia now, alright? But she’s still…” His voice trailed off, as he scrubbed a hand down it.

Topper tilted his head, eyeing him knowingly.

“Right, yeah, whatever you say. I’ll figure it out.”

If Sarah Cameron didn’t walk through that hospital door within the next three minutes, you’d lose all the courage you’d summoned over the last hours. Or was it just an hour? You weren’t sure how long you’d been lying there, the IV needle taped uncomfortably into your arm.

Your fingers curled into the thin blanket draped over you, and you wished—desperately—that you didn’t feel so…empty.

Ten minutes later, she strode in with a glance at the door, as if she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to get there on time. The relief on her face when she saw you was reassuring but it only made the confusion in your chest heavier.

She was so different from Rafe, yet still looked so much like him. She sat in the chair by the bed, eyes scanning your face like she was trying to gauge just how bad it was.

“Hi.”

You swallowed, blinking up at the ceiling to keep the tears at bay.

“Thanks for coming.”

“Of course,” She reached for your hand where it lay on top of the blanket, hesitating for a split second before giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You okay?”

You felt a laugh bubble up, “Not even a little.”

She let out a small breath and nodded, squeezing your hand again. “I figured,” she said quietly, and you appreciated that she didn’t pretend to have some miracle answer, “I made him leave.”

She’d made him leave.

You could imagine his face distorted with anger.

You wondered if he’d put up a fight or if he’d just walked away, giving in to his sister in that infuriating, self-pitying silence he’d perfected.

You weren’t going to ask, the less you knew, the better.

“Good.” You were relieved, but it felt bittersweet, “I didn’t want him here.”

Except your voice shook, like it simply had to let her know you were lying.

You’d been telling yourself for so long that you didn’t need him—that you didn’t want him anywhere near you. But the second you pictured him there, waiting… God, you hated yourself.

Hated that tiny, pathetic part of you that still wanted him to care, even if it was just a sliver of anything that wasn’t anger or flat-out ignoring you.

“He threw a hissy fight, but don’t worry. He’s not coming back.”

You nodded, half in agreement, half in frustration, “He never listens.”

“Especially when it matters,” Sarah added, rolling her eyes. “I swear, sometimes I think he just likes to make things worse for himself. And everyone else.”

You recalled the sound of his footsteps trailing yours earlier, the way his hand had hovered near you when you swayed, the wild look on his face when you told him to back off. He had seemed…hurt. Like he wanted to fix something he’d already smashed to pieces.

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

She respected that—she wouldn’t insist. There was a lot to unpack when it came to Rafe, but you didn’t need to go there right now. She could tell.

"Okay. Do you want to tell me why you called me and not Topper?”

There wasn’t any judgment in her tone—just plain curiosity, confusion. And you couldn’t blame her. If the roles were reversed, you’d be asking the same thing.

You had to bite your lips to avoid crying for the hundredth time that day. You hadn’t planned on telling someone the biggest secret of your life in a public space, or after nearly having a mental breakdown.

Not like this, with the IV in your arm.

"I—" you started, the words tangled in your throat. "I don't trust him," you admitted quietly, "I don’t trust him with this.”

This.

You turned your head to look out the window, the late afternoon light pouring through the blinds, but it never touched the void you felt inside.

“He’s too close. He wouldn’t get it. I needed someone who could just… not be involved, you know? I mean—You’re still his sister but—”

Sarah’s already frowning, interrupting your pitying party, “Sweet girl, you don’t have to explain your reasons to me. I’m listening either way. I don’t know what’s going on, but I get it, I understand why you’d want to keep him out of this.”

“You’re the only one I can trust to keep this a secret,” you confessed, “If anyone finds out—if Rafe finds out—it’s over. I’m not ready for that.”

A shadow crossed Sarah’s face, her lips pressing into a thin line. She didn’t ask questions about what you meant—about how Rafe had ruined things before. She didn’t need to.

“I won’t tell him,” Sarah promised, her grip tightening on your skin. “It’s safe with me. I’ve got your back.”

You closed your eyes, breathing out slowly.

This was hard, harder than anything you’d ever done before, and that was saying something considering all the shit you went through when your family died. She had no idea what you were about to say, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it would change everything between you—between you and her, and you and everyone else.

"Sara, I—" The truth choked you once more, cutting you off. You couldn’t breathe.

Your chest felt vacant, something was missing, something that you didn’t know how to fix, but you had to say it. It was the only way out.

“Are you—" she started to ask, but you quickly shook your head. You could hear the hesitation in her voice.

"Just… just let me tell you,” You begged, pushing the words out before you lost them. “I-I’m pregnant,” you finally blurted out, as if confessing it all at once could make it easier.

But it didn’t.

You didn’t dare look at Sarah right away.

Your eyes were stuck on the ceiling, blinking rapidly, you didn’t need her to see how much this was breaking you or how terrified you were. You could feel her eyes on you now, and your hand clenched around the blanket, your knuckles white from the lack of circulation.

Then, slowly, Sarah squeezed your hand again, she was giving you a moment to breathe, even though you didn’t feel like you deserved it.

“Rafe’s?” she asked quietly, confirming what you already knew she understood.

You nodded, not needing to say it aloud; she could sense the truth in the way your chest hitched, how you couldn’t bring yourself to meet her eyes.

“God,” Sarah breathed out, "And you... you want to...?"

You nodded again. She wasn’t asking if you were sure; you could hear it in the hesitation of her question. She was asking if you were ready to make the choice.

“I don’t want this,” you choked out, the tears finally breaking free. “I can’t have it, Sarah. I can’t. I’m not ready for that. I’m not sure I even know what I want anymore," you spit the doubt out with the brokenness you felt, wiping the traitorous tear that traced down your cheek. "I don’t know what to do."

“I’m here. Whatever you need, however you need to do this—I’m here,” she promised, making sure you wouldn’t float away.

“I can’t… I just… I don’t want him to find out,” you managed between shallow breaths. “If he knew, he’d… I don’t know what he’d do. Maybe it’s stupid, but I don’t want him to look at me like… like he owns me something.”

Sarah nodded, not a hint of judgment on her face, “He won’t know a thing from me, I swear. He’ll never have any say in this, not unless you want him to. This is your choice, no one else’s.”

You didn’t know you’d been holding your breath, but it came out all at once in a shaky exhale.

“Thank you. I just… I didn’t know who else I could ask.”

“Hey,” she said, her voice gentle. “This? This is exactly what I’m here for. I’ve got you, no matter what.”

The empathy there, the way she held space for all your broken pieces.

“New Mexico’s clinic rules… they won’t let me go through with it alone. They said I need someone with me.” You took a shaky breath. “I can’t imagine anyone else but you there, Sarah.”

“Then I’ll be there,” she said, without hesitation. “I’ll get the tickets, we’ll go together. And if you feel like breaking down, then break down, because you don’t have to keep any of this in anymore.”

Her words broke something in you that had been holding everything so tightly. The relief, the gratitude— “You’re really… You’d really do this for me?”

“Of course,” she murmured, pulling you close so your head rested against her shoulder, her fingers brushing through your hair soothingly. “Sweet girl, I’d do this a thousand times over.”

“I mean—he’s your brother. I don’t want to mess things up between you two even more.”

She sighed, giving a small, sad smile, almost like she’d been waiting for you to say that. “You think he’s my priority right now? Don’t you worry about me and him, we always figure it out. Trust me, I’m used to it.”

“He might hate me for this. And if he takes that out on you…” You couldn’t finish.

“Listen to me,” she sighed, “I’m here because I care about you. Rafe and I, we’ll always have our issues—he’s stubborn, and he thinks he has all the answers. But that’s our problem. He’ll never have a say over what I do or who I’m there for. Especially not with this.”

You swallowed hard, “I don’t want you to regret it.”

She gave a wry laugh, brushing a piece of hair back from your face. “You don’t have to protect me from him, remember? He’s my brother, yeah, I love him despite all our shit, but I’m not here for him right now. I’m here for you.”

“You’re sure?” you asked, the question a whisper, almost childlike. You were afraid of the answer, terrified she’d eventually pull away.

“Of course I’m sure,” she replied, tilting your chin so you’d meet her eyes. “Whatever’s going on with Rafe will figure itself out—But right now, you need someone who’s all in, no strings, no doubts. That’s me. You focus on you. I’ll handle him.”

You looked down at your hands, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket, “I don’t think he loves me anymore,” you admitted, almost hoping she wouldn’t hear it, “I was so mean when your dad died.”

When you finally looked up, Sarah was watching you with a sad smile, one that made your heart hurt in both comfort and ache. “You really believe that?” she asked quietly, and you could hear the disbelief in her voice as if it was so obvious to her, something you couldn’t see.

You nodded, swallowing down the sting in your throat. “He doesn’t want me, not really. He’s…he pulled away. Like he’d rather hate me than be close to me. He’s with her.”

The words tasted bitter, and made you want to hurt him twice as bad, but there was finally some relief in saying it out loud.

She sighed, looking down for a second, almost like she was thinking how to tell you something that hurt her to admit.

Your lips quivered, your heart about to leap out of your throat, your tongue darted out, briefly brushing your lips.

You weren’t sure you should say it out loud, but maybe you had to. “We’re better off without each other, aren’t we?”

“You’re allowed to be someone without him, and you’re allowed to find out who that is.”

You were slipping, falling back into that spiral of guilt and shame, the one that told you maybe this was all you were good for. Maybe Rafe was right to break things off, perhaps he’d realized that, in the end, you weren’t worth fighting for.

And shit, you hated yourself for still caring. For still wanting him to want you, even though you knew it was poison. Even though you knew that being with him, needing him, was only dragging you both down.

“Thank you.”

And as you sat there, in the stillness of that room, with the sunlight dimming outside, you felt that maybe someday you’d be able to trust yourself too. To believe that you were worth more than the heartache you’d come to accept as your own.

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige

@rafebb @rafesbby @whytheylosttheirminds

@zyafics @astarlights @bruher @nosebeers @carrerascameron

@serrendiipty @sunny1616 @yootvi @ditzyzombiesblog

@psychocitylights @maibelitaaura @kiiyomei

@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron series #rafe cameron (by @itneverendshere)

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quietwingsinthesky · 1 year ago

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jack one day into this fiasco: oh! i can be their baby for a little bit! it might be nice to be taken care of!

jack one month into it: If I’m Not Treated Like The Adult I Am In Five Minutes, I’m Going To Kill Everyone In This Room

#he’s going to start biting and killing if he’s infantalized (literally) any longer.#he grew up too fast was not an invitation to take his growth away #(he actually tried to stop this whole thing after the first few days by turning back but cas got depressed and upset (not in a manipulative #way just. a ‘he wanted a baby so bad’ way. and then jack. i mean he wanted to be wanted. even if not as himself. just a little while longer.#but the love isn’t for *him* but for an idea of him that he hates playing. therefore: biting and murder.)#jack kline #spn #anti domestic destiel au

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devotedlyandrogynousyouth · 6 days ago

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Virgin! Jason Todd

Virgin! Jason Todd who is absolutely whipped as soon as he meets you. Im talking stuttering, fumbling over himself, even a slight blush, dare I say. He just doesn't know what to do with himself in the presence of somebody so blessed with a goddess' beauty.

Virgin! Jason Todd who tries to act tough anyway (because, in all honesty, he is literally a murderer and not just some soft guy anymore.) And fails horribly. Its endearing to see him try, though... With those strong arms that could either snap you in half within moments or hold you throughout the night.

Virgin! Jason Todd who's constantly needy for you, both in an intimate sense and just for affection in general. In fact, you don't think that there's ever an extended period of time where his hands aren't on you in one way or another.

Virgin! Jason Todd who's so into dry humping that it's an every other days occurance. Laying down on the couch or bed cuddling? His hard dick is pressing right up against your clit through both his and your shorts. Doing yoga because your back is sore from work or cooking dinner when he gets home late? He's lightly thrusting onto your plump ass as soon as he gets his hands on you.

Virgin! Jason Todd who initiates things himself for the first time, starting with you simply sitting on his lap while watching a movie. Then, slowly, he starts kissing down your neck with warm lips and even warmer breaths while moving you to straddle his thighs. You can already feel him getting a bit hard from this alone.

Virgin! Jason Todd who gets so into the light kisses he oh so graciously presses against your lips that they end up turning into a heavy make out session. His tongue and yours are tangling together in such a sinful and addicting way that its hard to get enough.

Virgin! Jason Todd who slowly grasps at your hips to grind you at a torturous pace on his toned thigh. The slight amount of friction is divine after getting so worked up over a few kisses, but it's not long until you're humping his thigh like a bitch in heat as you normally do.

Virgin! Jason Todd who's never been afraid to eat you out, and he'll be damned if he doesn't tonight, too. You are his favorite meal, snack, and dessert, after all.

"Come on, gorgeous... You know the drill." He whispers in that deep, gravelly voice from between your legs as you close them, desperately wanting to do something for him in return. "Nuh uh... Let me eat that pretty pussy of yours before anything else, sweetness." And eat he does.

Virgin! Jason Todd who gets off on your pleasure. Every time you moan or squirm yourself closer to his face as he laps at your aching hole and bundle of nerves, he grinds himself right into the mattress or side of the couch.

Virgin! Jason Todd who wants you to ride him for your first time together so he can bury his face into your chest and hold you as close as possible. And because he's scared of going at a pace that you won't like, but after how many orgasms he's pulled out of you just by giving you head, you're sure you wouldn't mind whatever makes him happy.

Virgin! Jason Todd who has to actually stop himself from blowing his load just as you put his girthy tip in. He just cant help it... Your tight, warm, and soaked walls fluttering around him is just too heavenly.

"Fuck... Stay right there, sweetheart. Right there. Please." His voice is strained with his effort and slightly muffled as he buries his face into your chest.

Virgin! Jason Todd who is in pure bliss as soon as you start moving, even at such a slow pace to begin with while your creamy walls get used to the stretch of his beautiful, leaking cock.

Virgin! Jason Todd who never realized how much of a moaner he was until he got to have his first time with you. Sure, he's gotten himself off humping your ass or the mattress while he ate you out, but this was on a whole other level.

"Fuckkk..." His head is thrown back against the pillows or headrest of the couch as his hands grasp your ever moving hips. "Can't take much more of this, pretty girl." Jason is almost whining at this point, the sound of his skin slapping against yours joining the obscene sounds in the air of his apartment. "Gonna.. Im gonna-"

Virgin! Jason Todd who cuts himself off with such a gorgeous moan and whine as he cums that it has you going right alongside him. The large, calloused hands on your hips only tighten as you feel his cock fill you up with thick, warm, pearly ropes of cum.

Virgin! Jason Todd who can only whisper praises and words of love for the first couple of minutes coming down from his intense high.

"Fuck... Fucking love you, y'know that?" His chest is still heaving with every panting breath he takes. "Milking me dry with that pretty pussy..."

Virgin! Jason Todd who makes aftercare a top priority very early on, even though he's just barely gaining his own bearings.

"I love you, pretty girl... So much." He presses kisses along your sore and achy thighs as the cool, damp washcloth brushes over your most sensitive and overstimulated parts.

-----------------------------

Masterlist

#batfam #batfamily #batman #redhood #arkham knight #arkham knight x reader #dc #jason todd smut #jason todd x reader #jasontodd #jason todd #redhood x reader #red hood x reader #red hood #arkham knight smut

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bluerosefox · 1 year ago

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Assassin Heir? Crime Fighting Furry? NOPE NO THANK YOU!

"Danyal, its time to end this game and return with me."

Danny should had known Clockwork had something in mind when he sent him on this mission. He knew he should had been suspicious of the time keeper when he noticed the little 'this is going to be fun' smile on his face when he sent Danny off into the portal.

"Get back here you demon spawn 2.0!"

But how was he supposed to know that he'd wake up in this world version of himself in a pit full of corrupted (AND NASTY) ectoplasim at the tender age of five or that when he swam up to the surface he'd be meeting face to face with what was apparently a cult.

"-O just spotted him a block away! I'll try to cut itty bitty bridie off!"

An Assassins Cult his, new to him, loving yet a little insane mother was in charge of (though during the few months he stayed in the compound he heard rumors and gossip from maids and others alike that if his grandfather returned from the dead he'll take over once again, no doubt punish Talia for creating another heir after the failure of the last one, most likely was going to kill Danny and that... that was can of worms Danny didn't wanna deal with yet)

"Ten bucks says they try to stab RR when we get the feral thing home"

"...Losers bet...."

Danny had lived with his mother for a while after being brought back from the 'dead' for apparently the first time, it turned out training a five year old with an actual sword and a dumbass hidden revenge seeking teacher was a terrible idea.

"I swear if this one tries to murder me like the others I'm asking Zatanna if there is a curse on me."

He dealt with her high demands of perfection, the endless training, and the constant comparisons to his apparent older brother Damain... Who didn't know Danny, or rather Danyal existed.

Nor did his father (when Danny, using his powers he's kept hidden since 'waking' up in this Realm, he sneaked his way around the base and discovered how he came into the world. And tbh he couldn't blame his mom how she made him, she was an assassin first and foremost, being naturally pregnant would had painted a target on her for to long... but he also felt it was unfair and an asshole move on his unsuspecting father as well)

"As your elder brother I demand you to stop running!"

Now don't get him wrong, he did like his new mother (total badass assassin lady and all that) and he knew she loved him in her own... deadly way. But yeah, she really shouldn't be taking care of kids. He could tell she struggled with wanting to be a normal mother but her first instinct after so many years was to be an assassin first.

Something she was trying to engrave into Danny with as well.

"Ah, hello Beloved. I see you've learned of our Danyal."

"Talia. Back away from him and leave Gotham now."

"I can not do that. The League needs an heir and since Damian refuses to return... I have decided to create a new one and I shall not be leaving until he returns with me."

"Talia."

Hence why when Danny, or rather Danyal al Ghul had gotten decent control over his powers he decided to leave the League. Again nothing wrong with the life his mom leads, to each their own, but he... really, really didnt want to be an assassin. Or an assassin heir.

So here he was, after almost a year on the run, using his powers and training to out smart and out maneuver his mother and her many band of Assassins, in Gotham. One of the last places he ever wanted to run to cause he knew his father and brother lived here.

It was just his luck that his mother had managed to intercept his train ride that passed into Gotham for a few hours and forced him to run into the city...

Add her assassins into the mix and running into Robin, who heard from Oracle his mother had been spotted chasing a young boy across the city, that same night.

After that it became a full on "catch me if you can" chase for not only his mother but for the batclan as well.

And after two whole days of chase, it seemed like the final showdown was about to begin because everyone was on top of this rooftop, his mother and her assassins on one side, his father and the batclan on the other and Danny well... he was right in the middle of all of it.

He just had to hope no one would notice him once the fighting started...

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dp x dc #blue rambles #crossover #writing ideas #random idea #danny phantom dc #basicly Danny is sent on a mission by CW #he wakes up in the DC version of himself in the pits after being killed and Talia tossing him in #he was created by Talia since shes head of the LOA now and needs her own heir #but she once again wants Bruce's bloodline in it so she used some leftover dna she still had #so no one knows Danny was created until he left about a year later #danny has his ghost powers since he took a dip in the pits #but had to relearn some control and kept it secret #he knows his mom would see it as 'the pits granted my heir its powers.' mindset #so hes been on the run #and didnt wanna go to Gotham cause... his dad dresses as a gaint bat #and dont get him started on the rest of the batfam #he doesnt wanna be an assassin or a crime fighting furry #in case some people didnt get it. the words being spoken happen when Danny is running all across Gotham away from those after him #guess who said what lol #i want danny to be completely independent and trying to take care of himself tbh #but hes still baby to everyone else #talia is slowy becoming a little unhinged due to being the Demon Head now #maybe due to the stress of it all? or maybe due to a curse? idk

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upsidedownmvnson · 1 year ago

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tell me you love me | steve harrington

warnings: fluff (warning lol) friends to lovers, idiots to lovers,

a/n: i actually really loved this <3 i hope you do too

tell me you love me vol 2

Steve Harrington had already tried twice in his life to confess his love for you.

The first time, you two were in the tenth grade and you had just accepted stupid Jack Warren's invitation to prom, so Steve didn't bother. That was back when he was settling into popularity anyway, so he got over it pretty quickly. He was dating Cathy Bartlett the next week.

The second time, Robin had made him pinky promise not to date you. She had held him down, sat on his back and twisted his arm until he pinky swore that he wouldn't do anything to destroy the delicate ecosystem of the friend group. There was already one awkward ex-situation in there.

But Robin was right, you were not like the girls he normally dated. If things went wrong he wouldn't be able to just sweep it under the rug, it could have painful ramifications for all his friends. Although... he didn't actually think it would go that bad. Steve would find his mind wandering on the idea often. He pictured the two of you in the kitchen, side by side cooking dinner and talking about your day. When he thought of you, it felt like home. It felt like somewhere he could build a house and live forever.

If he could only get the words out, he'd realize how quickly you'd accept him. He'd realize he wasn't the only one of you that was stupid in love.

You had been in love with Steve since you could remember. But never once thought he'd shared your interest, not with all the girls around him all the time. The way he shines in their attention and basks in their praise, it's enough to make you sure he's happy with how it is. Or he probably wouldn't have told you all about his date with Debbie Dabbenthorn, right?

Tonight, you, Nancy and Robin were at a party. Something Steve desperately tried to make not happen. But he was working, so there was no one to stop you girls from coaxing each other into drink after drink, which you always did. The three of you always drank too much, and Steve always got stuck trying to coral you and Robin into his car.

At the party, Nancy was handing you another red cup filled to the brim, sloshing over the side and coating your fingers. You hadn't noticed.

"I love when we ditch the boys," Nancy said, smiling as she sipped out of her own solo cup. "It's so fun!"

"Same," Robin said, slinging her arm around Nancy's shoulers, making the two of them sway and laugh. They caught their balance and cheered drinks. "Hey, help me find the bathroom!"

It wasn't hard to find, but it was hard for all three of you to get there without knocking into each other, but it didn't matter. The three of you giggled the whole way, laughing too hard over barely anything. Enjoying the simple joy of being with your friends on a party.

The line for the bathroom was short, only a few people deep. Nancy was grilling Robin on her love life while Robin evaded every question with a vague answer, soon, she turned it onto you, focusing Nancy on the other singler girl in the group.

"Do you not think anyone is cute at least?" Nancy said, not quite believing you when you say you didn't have a crush on anyone at the moment. You shrugged, trying to avoid admitting that it was her ex boyfriend that really turned your head. Robin chuckled, and slid into the bathroom.

You started sipping your drink when Nancy asked, "Not even Steve?" and you nearly choked, but you coughed once and composed yourself. You stared at her, confused as to why she would bring him up.

"You don't have to say anything," she said, and you looked into your cup, noting that you'd need a replacement after this trip. "But it would be okay with me."

Robin opened the bathroom door again, reassembling the trio be throwing her arms around both of your shoulders. "New drinks!" she cheered, steering you all in the direction of the kitchen.

"Drink up," Nancy giggled, "and then let's dance!"

So that's what you did, you guys drank and danced and had a great time. Until Jonathan came to pick up Nancy. That's when you saw that it was after nine, so Steve should've been on the way to come collect you and Robin from your drunken outing. You told Robin again how nice it was for Steve to come get you.

"But c'mon, you love him right?" Robin asked, laughing at your shock.

"I do not love him," you argued, but you did. Robin shrugged, but didn't look convinced. "He just is beautiful, that's all."

"Nah," she said, brushing off the idea with a wave of her hand. "You just love him."

"Do not," you mumbled. But Robin already leaned the other way when Vicki walked up to talk to her. You leaned further into the couch, the ugly thing was very comfortable. Steve should be there any minute.

"Hey," Robin whispered, "Vicki invited me to go with her friends to the lake... Are you gunna be okay here? You're not too drunk are you? Because if you think you can't stay awake, I'll stay of course..."

"Robin, go! I'll be fine for like two minutes..." you slurred, you were pretty drunk but Steve really was going to be there any second.

"Okay!" she didn't have to be told twice before she was scrambling after Vicki in her love-drunk haze. Or maybe just regular drunk, but Robin was feeling giddy anyway.

Steve was running behind because he lost the address that Robin had given him. She'd just ripped off a corner of a piece of paper, and Steve had lost it at some point in his shift. When he finally found the place he was thirty minutes behind.

When he got inside you were curled up on the couch alone, snoozing while some couple made out next to you in the spot Robin had vacated. He smiled when he saw you, and took a knee next to you, trying to wake you up nicely. He stroked your cheek, and tucked some hair behind ear, making you stir softly in your slumber.

"Time to get up," Steve said, "Where's Robin?"

"Went with Vicki," you whispered, rubbing your eyes, smudging whatever makeup wasn't already ruined from the dancing.

"Well, how mean of her to leave you here all alone," he said, running his thumb along your cheek again. "Can't trust you guys alone now though, she did leave you to fall asleep at a house party. That's like really bad, I'm mad at her."

You made a soft noise in response, his stern voice was, not so stern. He smiled at you, and you couldn't help but notice how beautiful he was. Leaning close to you, rubbing your cheek, hair falling perfectly on his forehead and you just wanted to reach up and brush it away like he did. But your hands were wedged under your head, and you were afraid that if you stirred even an inch, he would leave, and this moment would be over.

"Guess you'll just have to make sure you come with us next time," you whispered, eyes bloodshot and glossy from all the alcohol. He thought you were the most beautiful girl in the room. The party was still raging around him, and he easily could've found a place within the girls, but he was content in this moment with you. Your eyes started feeling heavy, and you couldn't stop them from constantly fluttering shut.

“C'mon let me help you up babe,” Steve said, aiding your drunk figure. The nickname made your stomach flip. You were dead weight, giggling as he took care of you and grabbed your things and still found the patience to be kind to you, musing like he was interested in all your drunk babble.

“You're just so pretty, Stevie, it's stupid,” you cooed, finding a place beside him with his arms around you for balance as he lead you, slowly, to his car.

"D-Don't say that stuff," Steve said, voice cracking at the beginning. You were drunk, and it was dark, but you still noticed the blush on Steve's cheeks, and you smiled.

He opened the door for you, and you commented, "so romantic," while holding your hand over your heart, and Steve's heart raced. He went around the trunk of his car to get another second of fresh air, if you saw him in the light you were sure to see the heat he felt in his neck and cheeks. You were flirting with him, and he couldn't contain his excitement every time you complimented him, looking up at him with those beautiful eyes.

The entire trip was like that. From the moment he was in the car you were just a loose cannon of compliments and praises. This combination of him sober and you drunk has never happened while alone before. Were you this flirty with him when he was drunk too?

The answer was yes. The real reason Nancy knew you really wanted Steve was because whenever you two are drunk and together you look like you're in love... because you are. Holding hands, head on shoulder, legs across laps, big bright smiles that made everyone think you were truly, madly, deeply in love. Everything that's just a little too friendly, but never crossing that silly little line that kept you both under the umbrella of just friends.

You were a delight in his passenger seat. He only wished you spoke like this when you were sober, because then maybe he'd know for sure you love him too.

"Hey Steve?" you asked, voice coming out as almost a purr in your sleepy state. Steve's heart melted. "Can I hold your hand?"

"Yeah," he answered, clearing his throat and moving his hand over to your lap, intertwining your fingers. Your hands were cold to the touch, but all you felt was the comforting warmth of him. You were both smiling, goofy grins to match the butterflies in your stomach. "You can hold my hand whenever you like."

You made another happy hum, but said nothing else. The ride was short. No words exchanged, just the quiet songs on the radio, turned low to let you drift off in the passenger seat.

When you got to his house, he parked the car, looking at you. He didn't want to wake you. And he didn't want to let go of your hand. Maybe he should just stay in the car all night.

Of course he didn't do that. Steve weaseled his way out of your grip, not bothering to hide how pleased he was that you whined at the loss of his touch. he helped you out of the car, encouraging you to climb on his back for "an express ride to the VIP bathroom," and he delivered, carrying you, all dead weight and giggling, to the bathroom where he left you to clean up. You put on the clothes he delivered, Plaid pajama pants and a big grey shirt. Well, you put the shirt on, the pajama pants were thrown into the tub, because you couldn't be forced to wear pants.

"Steeeeeve," you slurred, leaving the bathroom, giggling and bumping into the doorframe.

Steve was standing in the doorway to his room, wearing only blue plaid pj pants. His torso on glorious display, while he stood frozen at the sight of you. You stretched your arms over your head, and the shirt rose, exposing your panties to him. He nearly choked looking at you.

"Can I sleep in your room?" you asked, smiling at the effect you had on him. "Look how cute I am," you said, turning around and lifting the shirt while bending over slightly, giving him a perfect view of your ass, with the panties laying deliciously over your cheeks.

"Jesus," he muttered, unable to look away but trying to force himself to. He shouldn't be sneaking a peak while you were this drunk, but in his defence you were the one showing him. "Come to bed, just put your shirt down."

"It's your shirt," you teased, obeying him anyway. You danced behind him into the room, and crawled into bed. It smelled so good, it smelled like him. You could've stayed by Steve's side under these blankets forever.

You lay facing Steve, in his overly big, overly comfortable bed, too tired and drunk to keep your eyes open, but you still try. Steve smiles at your determination to stay awake, he watches your eyes blink quickly, trying to shake the sleep away.

You want to reach over and intertwine your hands, you don’t. He wants to reach out and brush the hair off your forehead and behind your ear, he doesn’t.

“Are we in love, Steve?”

The sharpness of your question cuts him, wounding him in a way he didn’t know was possible. He wanted to speak, but there were no words. No charismatic come back, and no way to avoid the lingering question in the air. Steve holds his tears back. He really did love you.

When your eyes peak open, he’s nodding. His eyes filled with tears that he refuses to let you see, but you see. "Yeah, I think so."

“Why is it so sad?”

“Because we're best friends," he said, "and I can't lose you."

"Tell me you love me," you whispered, silly mood replaced with a tight feeling in your throat, like you were going to cry. But you held it back.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too."

He wanted to cry. He wanted to kiss you. But instead, he just sighed, and found your hand under the sheets, and held it tightly. He was frozen. This was his dream come true, so why did it feel like a nightmare? Like you were right there, but he couldn't have you. Like he was doomed to stay in love with you, and never actually get to be with you.

“I will still love you in the morning whether I say it or not, Stevie.” Your eyes finally started winning the battle, and they stayed closed more than they stayed open, too heavy too fight.

"I know babe," he said, watching as you breathing changed and your eyes didn't open again. "I will too."

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington angst #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things imagines

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solarmorrigan · 10 months ago

Text

I'm late, I'm sorry, but here's the full fic from this WIP post yesterday!

[CW: bullying, references to canon racism and violence, mentions of recreational drug use]

Steve makes it to the bathroom down the hall from the shop classroom—the one that’s far from the cafeteria and always empty during lunch, where people really only come to smoke, anyway—before he completely loses his shit.

“Son of a bitch!” He’s almost screaming as he hauls off and punches the wall of one of the bathroom stalls, putting every ounce of anger and frustration and humiliation into it, hitting it so hard that the whole construction rattles.

“Motherfucker,” he hisses, shaking his hand out, because it had hurt, and then he winds up to do it again, to make it hurt more, because at least he’s in control of that much, at least it’s anything but what he’s feeling right now.

“That’s a good way to break your hand, y’know,” a voice comes from the doorway, startling Steve into pivoting and aiming his fist at whoever is coming after him now.

He stops short when he sees nobody but Eddie goddamn Munson standing there, cringing into a startled flinch to protect his head as Steve nearly swings at him.

“Jesus shit,” Steve barks, dropping his fist and stepping back, shaky with adrenaline. “You walk like a fucking ghost, Munson.”

Munson peeks out of his defensive crouch before straightening up and sending a meaningful glance at the stall wall. “Somehow, I don’t think you would’ve heard me even if I was making all the noise in the world.”

Steve shrugs, his shoulders staying up near his ears in a defensive slouch. He can feel something dropping out of his hair and down the side of his face, and he feels the humiliation all over again as he tries to swipe it away.

“What do you want?” he asks, beyond caring if he sounds rude; he thinks he’s entitled, considering.

This time, Munson shrugs, a rolling, casual thing that belies the sharp look in his eyes. “Came to see if you were okay, I guess.”

Steve snorts. Is he okay?

Like, in the grand scheme of things, the answer is a really shaky “maybe.” But lately? It’s more of a resounding “no, not fucking really.”

Aside from everything else – aside from the nightmares, aside from the headaches, aside from the fact he’d had to drop basketball after his concussion, aside from having no real friends or allies at school now that he and Nancy aren’t together – aside from all that, there’s Billy fucking Hargrove.

Hargrove, who had taken all of a month to start pushing Steve’s buttons again. Who had taken less than a few days after that to realize that Steve wasn’t going to push back.

And then he’d started looking for the boundary line, pushing and pushing, shoulder-checking Steve in the hall, tripping him in the single class they share, knocking shit out of his hands, shoving him when his back is turned, all the while spitting names and insults, until it had culminated into today’s fiasco: dumping a carton of chocolate milk over the top of Steve’s head in the middle of the cafeteria with a deeply unconvincing “oops.”

It had gone dead silent, every eye in the room on Steve’s red face and Hargrove’s triumphant grin, while Steve had only been able to stand there, shaking with startled rage as milk had sluiced out of his hair and seeped into his collar and down the back of his shirt, knowing that he couldn’t retaliate.

He couldn’t.

He’d marched out of the cafeteria, shame and anger growing as voices had bloomed up behind him, already gossiping and speculating.

So, no, actually, he’s not really okay.

But instead of saying any of this to Munson, he just scoffs and turns away, looking towards the sinks.

“Wouldn’t have expected you to care,” he says, injecting as much lazy indifference into his voice as he can, trying to armor up the way he used to. “The number of speeches you’ve given about how much me and my group suck, I’d have figured you’d be the first to say I deserved it.”

Munson doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Steve doesn’t look back to see if the barb landed. He doesn’t really care, he just wants the guy to go away so Steve can finish his meltdown and clean up in peace.

“Not your group anymore, though,” Munson finally says.

Steve shrugs, pulling a wad of paper towels from the dispenser; might as well move on to cleanup if Munson isn’t going to fuck off. He guesses his little breakdown can wait until he gets home.

“Hasn’t been for over a year, now, right?” Munson goes on. Steve says nothing, using a dry paper towel to try to blot up the mess. “And whatever you were like then, you’re… less like that now. Like, anyone paying attention can see you’re kinda trying something new this year.”

Steve ignores the way that makes something catch in his throat. “Thanks for the endorsement,” he drawls. “I’ll put it on my college apps: Not as much of an asshole as I used to be.”

“It’s a start,” Munson says, and Steve glances up in time to see him shrug in the mirror.

“I guess,” Steve mutters.

“And, uh – hey, I grabbed your stuff,” Munson says, holding up the binder and notebooks that Steve’s attention had glossed over until now. “Some of it’s kinda… milky, sorry.”

Steve blinks. “Uh. Thank you,” he says, stunned for a moment into sincerity.

Munson shrugs again, putting Steve’s stuff up on the narrow shelf on the wall that no one ever uses to hold things because it’s probably never been cleaned. Not like Steve’s stuff is clean now, anyway.

Steve turns back to the sink, wetting a few of the paper towels and waiting to see if Munson is going to leave now.

“What I can’t figure out–” nope, apparently he’s staying, “–is why you’re in here punching the wall, instead of out there, punching Hargrove.”

At least that makes more sense; he’s here out of curiosity, not concern.

“I mean, most people would’ve hit him for that,” Munson goes on. “I would’ve.”

But Steve’s already shaking his head before Munson’s finished speaking. “Not worth it,” he says firmly.

“What, afraid of a little suspension?” Munson asks, almost teasing. “Pretty sure the school would let their golden boy off with a slap on the wrist.”

“Not anybody’s golden boy anymore,” Steve snaps, scrubbing a wet paper towel through his hair in a vain attempt to get some of the rapidly-drying milk out. “I dropped basketball, remember? Didn’t even go in for swimming this year.”

“Oh, yeah,” Munson says, like he’d genuinely forgotten. “Sorry, not really into the whole… sports scene. Like, at all.”

Steve shrugs. “Whatever. Not important. I don’t give a shit about being suspended. I don’t even care if he hits me back. Not like I need another knock to the head at this point, but – whatever.” Steve shakes his head. “It’s just that he could– there are other things he could do.”

In the mirror, Munson’s eyebrows go up. “What, does he have blackmail on you or some shit?”

Steve raises his brows right back. “If he did, do you really think I’d tell you?”

Munson tips his head to the side. “Yeah, okay, fair enough.”

“Anyway, he doesn’t have blackmail, he has… leverage, I guess.” Steve lets out a harsh sigh and gives up on his hair for now, wetting a paper towel to try to get some of the milk off his face and neck, instead.

“…are you allowed to tell me what that is?” Munson asks after a moment.

And for a moment, Steve thinks about it. The only people in school who really know are Nancy and Jonathan, and he’s asked them to follow his lead in just – not talking about it. He hasn’t told anybody any version of what happened in the Byers’ house, or why Billy seems to have made him his personal stress ball. But who the hell would Munson tell? All his nerdy friends in his game club?

(No, no, that’s not fair. Steve doesn’t even know those people, and he’s trying not to be that guy anymore. He doesn’t have to be nice, but he shouldn’t be unkind.)

(The point stands, though – who would Munson even tell?)

“Do you know why Hargrove beat my face in back in November?” Steve finally asks, avoiding Munson’s eyes in the mirror by focusing very hard on getting the tacky milk off his hairline.

“Well, I’ve heard most of the rumors by now, I think. Heard Hargrove’s version of events, as has pretty much everyone, I’m sure. Haven’t heard yours, though,” Munson says, his voice tilting up in interest. “I just figured it was because he hated you.”

Steve lets out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, you’re not wrong. But also…” He pauses for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “There are these kids I babysit. Sort of.”

“Sort of?” Munson presses.

“Well, most of the time it feels like they’re just ordering me around like a bunch of entitled shitheads. But I make sure they get where they’re going without, like, disappearing, and that they don’t have so much unsupervised time that they manage to get themselves killed,” Steve admits.

“Uh huh,” Munson says; he sounds… a little confused, but not disbelieving. “And you ended up with this gig, how?”

“It’s Nancy’s little brother, and his little nerd friends,” Steve says (he’s allowed to call them nerds because he knows them, and it’s true. And besides, it’s affectionate).

“Aaand you’re still doing it now? Even though you and Wheeler aren’t…”

Steve shrugs. “They grew on me. But that’s– that’s not the point. One of the kids is, uh. Hargrove’s stepsister. And the night me and Hargrove got into it, I guess she wasn’t supposed to be out.”

“Ah,” Munson says.

“Yeah.” Steve sighs, giving up on the milk as a bad job; he probably should’ve run off to the gym showers instead of a shitty bathroom. He turns and leans back against the sink, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at the floor near Munson’s scuffed sneakers. “So he came looking for her.”

“So… Not that I’m advocating handing over children to pieces of shit like him, but – like, wouldn’t it have been the technically correct thing to do, to send her home with what is legally a family member?” Munson asks.

Steve passes a hand over his face. “She was terrified,” he says quietly, feeling a little like he’s betraying Max’s trust by saying it out loud, by saying it to a stranger. “She was terrified of what he would do if he found her there, where she wasn’t supposed to be. Terrified of what he would do to one of the other kids if he caught them together, since he’d specifically warned her to stay away from him.”

“What’s wrong with this other kid?” Munson asks, brows furrowed.

“Nothing,” Steve bites out. “He’s smart, and he’s brave, and he’s, like, slightly less of an asshole than some of the others, but what Hargrove cared about is that he’s black.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Munson snaps, and Steve’s hackles raise, ready to defend his kid all over again if he has to, but before he can get anything else out, Munson goes on. “We already knew he was a racist piece of shit, but – a fucking kid?”

Steve subsides. “Yeah. A fucking kid. So I told them all to stay inside and I went out to try to head him off. Or at least keep him out of the house. Which, obviously, I failed at.” He lets out a derisive little laugh, aimed solely at himself. “He knocked me on my ass, knocked the wind out of me, got past me– and by the time I was able to get up, he was already– he was inside, and he had that kid by the collar, up against the wall– one of my fucking kids–” Steve breaks off, the same rage and terror from that night choking up in his throat again. After the day he’s had, his emotions are all too close to the surface, too near to bubbling out, and he rubs at his nose, trying to stave off the angry, exhausted tears he can feel pricking at the corners of his eyes. “So I decked him.”

“Good!” Munson exclaims, and for a moment Steve actually manages a real smile.

“Yeah,” he says. “Then he hit me back, which, like, obviously. I was expecting him to, but– I mean, I might’ve actually won that fight if the fucker hadn’t hit me in the head with a plate.”

The expression that crosses Munson’s face is almost comically shocked. “What?”

“Yeah,” Steve says again, running a hand over his jaw, thumbing almost unconsciously at the still-fading scar where the porcelain had sliced him open. “I’m a little fuzzy on shit after that. Like, I remember being on the floor, and him kneeling over me, and hitting me, and hitting me, and then– I dunno, nothing.”

Distantly, Steve realizes that the expression on Munson’s face has turned from ‘comically shocked’ to ‘mildly horrified,’ but he’s a little too lost in the blurry memory of that night to do much about it.

“Holy shit, how are you not dead?” Munson blurts out.

He looks like he immediately regrets asking, but Steve finds he’s actually grateful for the question. He’s glad to move the conversation along.

“Max.” He smirks over at Eddie. “Hargrove’s stepsister. I guess she, uh– threatened him with a baseball bat? Saved my ass.”

That’s a deep over-simplification, but Steve can’t think of a way to explain the presence of heavy sedatives in the Byers’ house, and, anyway, she had threatened him with a baseball bat. The kids had all taken great joy in reenacting the way Max had nearly neutered Hargrove with the nailbat, actually; it’s almost like Steve had been there (and conscious).

“Holy shit,” Munson says, and whichever part he’s referring to, Steve is inclined to agree.

“Yep. So I was out fucking cold at the time, but the kids all insist that she got him to agree to leave her and her friends alone, but…” Steve shakes his head. “Hargrove is a fucking psychopath. I don’t trust him to keep that promise. So, at least if he’s focused on me, he might leave her alone. But if I hit back…”

“You think he’ll retaliate by going after one of your kids,” Munson says, only a hint of teasing in his words at the end.

“I know he will,” Steve says; Hargrove had implied as much more than once. He crosses his arms back over his chest. “And they are my kids.”

Munson throws his hands up, as if in surrender, but he’s definitely smiling now.

“I’m serious,” Steve insists, close to smiling himself. “They think I’m stuck with them, but they’re the ones stuck with me.”

“Lucky them,” Munson says, and– what?

“What?” Steve asks.

“Look, you’re either a better actor than, like, everyone in the drama club, or you at least seriously believe what you told me, which is more than I can say for Hargrove and whatever shit he came up with about the two of you getting into it over… what, his car was better than yours? He’s better at laundry ball? I don’t fucking remember, and it doesn’t really matter, because it was clearly and pathetically fabricated,” Munson says with an authoritative nod. “You, at the very least, really give a shit about those kids. So, yeah. Lucky them.”

“Well,” Steve scrambles for a moment, trying to cover the way he actually feels like he might start fucking blushing, “if I’d known all I had to do to change your mind about me was tell you about a fight I lost, I’d have done it ages ago.”

And now Munson’s back to smirking at him. “Seeking my esteem that badly, Harrington?”

“What? No. I mean – not– not specifically yours, it’s just… like, there’s not really an easy or fast way to make up for being kind of a dick for the last… while.” Steve runs his hand through his hair, stopping with a grimace when he remembers the drying milk. “You just have to keep not being a dick and hope people give you a chance. So, like, compared to that, convincing you was easy.”

“And all you had to do was get a severe concussion first,” Munson drawls.

Steve rolls his eyes. “I didn’t say it was severe.”

“You got hit with a plate,” Munson deadpans, and Steve can’t quite help the resulting flinch, at which Munson almost immediately softens. “Sorry.”

Steve shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

Mouth screwed to the side, Munson eyes Steve for a moment, glancing over his shirt and up to his face before gesturing at him. “You want some help with that?”

Steve blinks at him. “What?”

“Your whole… hair situation. You could bend ov– like, you could lean over the sink and I could, uh. Try to rinse it for you. Or whatever,” Munson offers, awkward but apparently sincere.

It sounds like a stupid as hell way to try to rinse his hair. The sinks are small, and not exactly high off the ground; Steve would have better luck just going to the locker room and showering it all out. His soap is there, too, and an extra shirt.

On the other hand, Steve really doesn’t feel like leaving the bathroom yet. He’s pretty sure lunch is going to end soon, and encountering everyone during passing period sounds like a nightmare. In here, with Munson, it’s quiet. It feels almost safe.

“Yeah, sure,” Steve finally says, and Munson looks nearly shocked that he’s accepted.

Credit to him, though: he doesn’t back out. He just slides his jacket off, tosses it up over the wall of one of the bathroom stalls, rolls up his sleeves, and gestures for Steve to lean over the sink.

“Hot or cold?” he asks, going for the taps.

“Hot,” Steve answers immediately; he doesn’t need any other cold liquid on his head today.

“Hm.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Munson says airily, turning on the water. “You just kinda strike me as a cold shower guy. Like, up at dawn, go for a run, take a cold shower – all that weird jock shit.”

It isn’t intended to mock, Steve realizes as Munson tests the water temperature—the school pipes take forever to heat up—but to tease. It’s a joke, and Steve is invited in on it. And anyway, it’s… actually kind of close to the mark, so Steve doesn’t say anything at all for a moment as he puts his head as close to the faucet as he can get it and Munson places one cupped hand over the back of his neck and uses the other to scoop water over Steve’s hair.

“Cold water is better for your hair. Not that you’d know anything about that.” Steve finally says, hoping that his own teasing tone carries even with the way he has to raise his voice to be heard over the running water.

Luckily, Munson sounds amused when he answers. “Oh! Shots fucking fired. I see how it is!” Even as he’s pretending at being offended, his fingers stay gentle against Steve’s scalp as he tries to scrub out the dried mess, and Steve fights very, very hard not to shudder.

He can’t remember when the last time someone touched him with gentle intent was. Maybe he’d gotten a hug from Dustin last week?

Shit, that’s fucking pathetic.

He tries even harder not to lean into the touch, into the surprisingly kind hands on the back of his neck and on his scalp, tries hard not to act like some kind of touch-starved weirdo and make Munson regret offering to help.

The irony of the fact that Steve is trying not to act like a freak in front of Eddie Munson is not lost on him.

After another couple of minutes of Munson manipulating Steve’s head this way and that, doing his best to be thorough, he lets Steve go entirely and shuts the water off.

“That’s probably as good as I’m gonna be able to get it,” he says, pushing another handful of paper towels at Steve as he stands up.

“Better than I could’ve done here,” Steve says with a shrug, rubbing the paper towels over his hair and grimacing as he can feel it frizzing in about a hundred different directions.

When he finishes, he turns to look in the mirror, watching in real time as it droops over his forehead and tickles at his wet shirt collar. Munson stands next to him, watching without judgement, but with what feels like an inappropriate amount of fascination.

“Well, I’m not going to lie to you,” Munson says at last, “you look a little like a sad, wet dog.”

Steve’s eyes snap to Munson with a glare. “Gee, thanks.”

“Some people are into that!” Munson insists, holding his hands up placatingly. “That droopy aesthetic, with the big, brown puppy eyes. Someone might just wanna scoop you up and take you home to take care of you. It’s a thing.”

Do you want to? – the question comes immediately and unbidden to Steve’s head, and he quickly shakes it away. They might be on amiable terms right now, teasing each other a little, but he isn’t sure that wouldn’t be a bridge too far.

(He isn’t even sure it is teasing. For a moment, he’d had the genuine urge to ask.)

“Anyway, I think most of the mess is out of your hair, but I’m pretty sure your shirt is toast,” Munson goes on, gesturing to the brown stain around the collar, over one shoulder, and probably down the back.

If he’d been wearing a darker color today, it might’ve been alright, but of course today he’d chosen light blue. Steve sighs, plucking at the front of the shirt. If he can’t salvage it, he might as well ditch it; it’s getting uncomfortably stiff and tacky with the dried milk, and he’d honestly rather stick it out in his undershirt for as long as it takes him to get to the locker room than walk around with evidence of Hargrove’s little stunt all over him.

He untucks the shirt and yanks it over his head, no need to be careful of his hair, emerging from the depths of it to find Munson staring at him in a stunned sort of silence.

“What?” Steve asks. “If it’s wrecked, anyway, I might as well get rid of it. I’ve got a spare shirt in my gym locker I can go grab.”

Munson blinks at him, almost like he’s trying to clear his head. “Or!” he practically shouts – possibly louder than he meant to, since he continues more quietly, “Or, you could just ditch for the rest of the day. I mean, you have any particularly interesting classes after lunch you feel the need to attend?”

“Not really,” Steve admits with a huff of a laugh. “But leaving after that feels a little like– letting Hargrove win. Like I’m retreating or some shit.”

“Nah, don’t think of it like that.” Munson tosses an arm over Steve shoulders, waving his other in front of both of them, like he’s trying to show Steve a grand vision and they aren’t both just staring at the ugly tile on the bathroom wall. “Think of it as cutting class and getting free weed from Hawkins High’s most esteemed dealer.”

Steve turns to look at Munson, staring at him more closely than he’s ever had reason to, and realizing there are tiny freckles on his face. “What, seriously?”

“Sure.” Munson shrugs. “Lemme smoke you out, Harrington. Seems like a good way to let your stress go for a bit – though I am just a little biased.”

“Why?” Steve asks; he doesn’t understand the sudden turn this day has taken, the sudden and bizarre kindness offered that he doesn’t even know what he’s done to deserve.

Munson’s eyes slide away from Steve, though his arm notably stays draped over his shoulders. “Been where you are. It’s not great. And, I mean, if it had happened last year, then, admittedly, I probably wouldn’t have given as much of a shit. Jock on jock violence, whatever. But you,” he glances back at Steve, “you’re genuinely trying to be, like, a good person. And I don’t think you should be punished for that. I think, in fact, that you could probably use a friend.”

“I…” The words stick in Steve’s throat, because what the hell can he even say to that? On anyone else, Steve would have assumed an ulterior motive, but Munson had infused it with so much awkward sincerity that Steve can’t help but realize it’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s said or offered to do for him in… he’s not even sure how long.

His silence must stretch on a little too long, though, because the hopeful light in Munson’s eyes fades a bit, and he begins to slide his arm off of Steve’s shoulder. “Or, y’know, you can tell me to fuck off, because I’m, like, way overstepping some boundaries, and–”

“We should go to my place,” Steve blurts, while grabbing Munson’s wrist for some insane reason.

“What?” Munson blinks over at him, (understandably) startled.

“My place. We should go there to smoke. If you still want to.” Steve could cringe for how stilted the whole thing is coming out. “I want to be able to take a real shower.”

Munson stares at him for a moment longer before laying a hand over his heart with a gasp, suddenly leaning heavily into Steve’s side and forcing Steve to wrap an arm around his waist so they don’t both lose their balance.

“I see how it is!” Munson gasps dramatically. “My sink shower just wasn’t good enough!”

Steve holds in a laugh. “Your sink shower was… fine. But I’ve got milk dried in other uncomfortable places, so unless you want to wash my back for me, too, we should go back to mine.”

Munson’s gaze snaps back to Steve, something a little odd in it, and – oh. Oh, that hadn’t sounded quite like Steve had meant it. It had sounded a little like an offer of the kind you don’t go around making to just anybody.

Steve braces himself, waiting for the reaction (he doubts if Munson would get any kind of physical, but there will probably be an awkward pulling away and sudden remembering of something he has to do literally anywhere else that afternoon), but all Munson does is break into a sly smile and say, “I could, but I’d have to charge you extra.”

Steve can’t help it: he laughs, giving Munson a good-natured shove, who finally releases Steve but doesn’t stumble more than a couple of steps away.

“Meet you at my place?” Steve offers, balling up his shirt and dropping it on top of his notebooks as he grabs them from the shelf. “Half an hour?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Munson gives him a corny little salute before grabbing his jacket from over the stall wall and preceding Steve to the bathroom door.

“Munson,” Steve finds himself calling out, just as the other boy’s hand closes around the door handle; Munson glances back and Steve fights the urge to look away. “Uh. Thanks. For, like… yeah. Thanks.”

Whatever meaning Munson takes out of Steve’s absolutely eloquent verbal vomit of gratitude, it makes him smile. “No need for thanks, man,” he says. “I’m honestly a little surprised to say it, but the pleasure was definitely mine.”

And then he disappears out the door, leaving Steve in the bathroom wondering how the hell his day had taken this turn, and just what destination it’s leading him to.

And thinking that he’s honestly a little excited to find out.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things post s2 AU #stranger things #this one is a bit long just as a heads up; about 4.6k #is it good? I dunno but I had fun writing it and you guys seem interested so here we go!#eddiesteve #solar wrote

2K notes · View notes

cannellee · 9 months ago

Note

omg, i giggle like a schoolgirl whenever i read your abo hcs🤭

can i have bestfriend! mikey who comes over to the reader’s house (not realizing she’s in heat) and ends up mating & claiming her?

ty for all the juicy fics btw 😋

TOKYO REVENGERS OMEGAVERSE ☆

୨୧ alpha! mikey x omega! reader

— mikey claiming omega! reader

my masterlist : ☆

cw: sex, cockwarming, breeding kink

(it's only my third time writing full smut like this, so I hope it's not too bad!!)

you knew mikey since primary school, when innocent friendships bloomed easily. none of you knew your second gender yet, and you actually never gave it too much thought.

you grew up pretty close, the proximity of your houses making it easier for you to bond. mikey was carefree and seemed always sure of himself, these traits of his kept your future omega-self nearby.

being with him felt great. he was a kind friend despite his overly direct behaviour, he always got your back whenever school kids were being mean to you.

you guys were with each other through every stages of life. when you turned out an omega, mikey was quick to drive away students who wanted to have a taste of their freshly presented schoolmate. he was protective, never going overboard either.

it was safe to say you thought you guys would remain in a special relationship all your life. and mikey thought so too. for years, he had never seen you as something more than a friend, qualifying the protective position he took as nothing more than an amicable worry.

but lately, something had begun to shift within mikey. a subtle change that he quite couldn't put his finger on. at first, he brushed it off as nothing more than a passing phase, but days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months and he soon began to realise that his feelings for you were changing in ways he had yet to understand.

it started with small things — the way his heart skipped a bit whenever you laughed, the way his gaze lingered longer than before when you smiled - has your smile always been this bright ? he slowly came to crave your scent, unconsciously leaning towards you and watching the way your soft lips would move each time you talked.

mikey felt a pull at his chest just by thinking of his dear friend with someone else. will they be able to treat you right, and keep you safe ? mikey was just worried. he wanted to hear your voice, to hear your secrets and make sure you were not seeing anyone.

it was a week off, so mikey called you. it wasn't unusual for you to talk over the phone, even if you had a house at a five minutes walk away from the other.

but you didn't pick up your phone. and mikey noted how uncommon it was, you always did. he tried a second time and when he was denied again, he just gave up, giving you some time. upon seeing his missed calls, you'll call him back.

but you didn't, and not even a text was sent his way. he tried multiple times after a while and grew worried. you never were this silent online, not answering him for a whole day was strange, to say the least.

so he went out, took a few brownies emma cooked with him to give him a reason to come over, and crossed the street to your home.

he didn't bother making his arrival announced ; none of you ever bothered for such formalities.

clenching the doorknob, he frowned at how it actually opened, half expecting it to be locked. still, he came in, quietly making his way into your house. it was silent and dark, with the windows all wide opened, a cold breeze hitting his skin.

confused at first, mikey softly called out your name, putting the snacks on the kitchen table and getting rid of his jacket, leaving him in his plain white tshirt. "y/n ? are you in there ?"

the absence of response pushed him to keep going, dangerously approaching your room. he stopped mid way, when a few noises came out from the end of the hallway. "y/n ? is that you, everything fine?"

as he stood right behind the door, mikey could now decipher the said noises. soft desperate cries, erratic breaths and an intoxicating smell embalming the air, seemingly seeping from every hole under your door.

mikey took a deep breath, connecting the dots and cursing himself for coming this far to you —you were in heat. the omega he grew obsessed with, was right in front of him, the wall, the only thing keeping him away from his growing urge to just burst in.

"m-mikey ? is it you ?" despite your weakened state, your friend was close enough for you to recognize a foreign smell inside your house. mikey probably didn't even notice his own pheromones started to spread, instinctively reacting to your erotic ones. fuck you smelled so good.

"I'm sorry I'll leave, I didn't know you were in heat". as overwhelming as his need to claim you was, mikey didn't want to risk your trust.

"n-no please mikey stay!" you were in a haze, too high off of your wish to to be taken to actually have any clear thoughts. and mikey knew that, but he didn't want to take advantage of you.

"I just came here to make sure you were doing fine, and give you some snacks emma made. I'll leave and lock your door, this isn't safe in your state. beside, I don't want you to regret anything, you're not thinking straight" it took a great reasoning for him to actually ignore his instincts screaming at him to just barge into your room and take you right here. breeding you until you're full of cum and exhausted to the point you can't walk straight. dirty thoughts are flooding his mind, the whole situation sending blood to his cock.

"no please, I know I won't ! I'm still clear enough to know what I want, they barely just started today. please mikey". pleas fell out from your mouth. and too overwhelmed by the consuming need for release, you can't even get up to pull him to your nest.

"or is it that you don't want to do it with me ?" mikey sighs heavily, body all tensed up. this sent a growl down his throat, you only whined in response, scared at the prospect of the alpha you desire not wanting to mate with you.

but, of course he does, that's the only thing he can think about right now. and whenever his own ruts hit, he's ashamed to admit your body is the image he pictures each time.

"please mikey, I just really need you right now. I wouldn't do it with anyone else if not you" you begged once more, voice growing even more desperate. a few salty tears rolled down your face at the frustration mikey was submitting you to.

and just like that, mikey was right in front of you. he took in your whole form, shaking and sensitive, desperately awaiting a touch.

you wore only your underwear, the heated room feeling too much. despite your opened windows, some hair stucked to your damp forehead, and the blankets were since then long gone, thrown out of your nest.

you looked heavenly in mikey's eyes. actually, you always looked perfect, not a day passed without mikey admiring your dreamy features secretly. but today particularly, something seemed different.

it was the way your eyes slowly looked up at him, lust and envy clouding your vision, and the way your body seemed to immediately attract him to you, legs spreading as if they had a mind of their own, your heartbeats quickening and scent getting progressively sweeter to tempt him even more.

there was no turning back. after witnessing such a delightful scene, mikey would never be able to turn around, close the door and act like nothing happened. you had him right where you wanted and he was more than willing to comply to your wishes now.

"please mikey, it hurts"

by now, mikey's instincts had fully taken over and an ardent desire burned inside of him, praying him to just take care of the delicate omega laying in front him.

"yes I know baby, and you did really great on your own, waiting for me to find you, all spread out and pretty". you reached out for him instantly when mikey came to join you, you emitted a satisfied purr, happy to finally have the alpha you longed for give in to your demands.

he didn't wait long before starting a short foreplay, kissing, licking and sucking every inch of your skin, leaving tiny bite marks all along your neck, insisting on your scent gland.

he brought his fingers to your entrance while continuing his assault on your neck and collarbone. he massaged it slowly, observing your reactions to know exactly where it felt good. he kept going for a few minutes before stopping, throwing away your bra and finally pushing aside your panty, giving more access to his hands.

and you felt one finger entering you, his mouth now sealed to your nipple. his tongue rolled against it, lapping expertly while drinking in your moans of pleasure. he kept bullying your heterogeneous zones, in hope to hear more of you, to see you completely break under him, just like he always wanted to see you.

"that's it baby, moan for me, let me hear your pretty voice"

and moan you did, especially with how three of his fingers were now sliding in and out of you with a sweet speed you couldn't get enough of. you had tears building up in your eyes and you watched as a string of saliva connected mikey's mouth to yours. his finger felt so great, and his mouth, now attached to your lips, turned you absolutely breathless. but still, it wasn't enough, you needed more.

"please mikey. I want you in me, please I want more" the friction of mikey's fingers felt good, but you were too far into your heat to actually need foreplay. the slick you produced was enough for mikey to just fuck you without any prep.

"I know I know baby, I'll make you feel so good don't worry" he stopped his movements, your fluids coating his fingers. he licked them, looking at your droopy eyelids.

you waited patiently for mikey to undress himself, throwing both his tshirt and your panty aside, before finally getting rid of his bottom. you watched eagerly his length revealing itself to you, a sight which only made you drool. and you could only wait for mikey to give you what you wished for, completely at his mercy.

you were now fully naked, squirming in front of mikey. he contemplated you again, your honeyed scent driving him crazy by the minute, and the way your pulsating core seemed to call out to him was very much a sight mikey could get used to if you let him.

"I've wanted this for so long, God you're so beautiful"

he let his hands travel all around your body, kissing you passionately while whispering praises of how pretty you looked.

"that's it baby, lay nice and still for me. you're doing so good". and you did, waiting expectantly, hungry for his touch and affection. you couldn't care less about your dignity, it just felt great to want him, obey him, beg him. whatever he had to offer your body, you would accept it with a smile on your face.

and with all his restraint, mikey entered you in one painfully slow thrust. you moaned louder, eyes shutting by themselves with the intrusion, and "yes, yes, yes" flowed out from your lips.

he didn't let you any time to adjust, he knew you didn't need any, and immediately started rocking his hips. he let out low growls of pleasure, mouth right next to your ear. you drank them in, feeling pleasure building up inside not only from the relentless pace he was going at, but the satisfaction that your omega had succeeded in making her alpha feel good too.

you were desperate for validation and release, clawing at his back with weak hands, legs spread wide open for your alpha. your tits bounced with each slap and mikey's hips connected with yours in a excruciatingly delightful manner.

with the way your brain was clouded with pleasure, you could only chant his name. if only you knew what your desirous pleas did to him.. knowing you'd let him to anything to you was a major turn on that kept mikey yearning for more.

"you're doing perfect, that feels incredible baby". reassuring you, he maintained his pace, capturing your mouth for a heated kiss before sucking on your skin, whishing for it to leave deep red marks.

fuck, mikey wanted to mark you, claim you and breed you in every way possible. he didn't think he would be satisfied with just one round now that he finally had you under him. he was going to take such good care of his precious omega, fucking you dumb until you can't think of anything else but him.

he felt you clenching around him, your tight hole pushing him closer to the edge. "just like that, good girl, you're gonna make me cum". and you so wished for him to cum inside you, filling you up to the brim with the seeds you desperately wanted.

slapping thighs, wet noises and erratic breaths were the only thing you could here. and the pleasure mikey granted you, the way his strong scent enveloped you and how his fingers found your clit again to help you chase your release made you see stars. not a single thought could make their way into your brain, all you could think about was the heavenly sensations you were experiencing right now and mikey's strong chest on top of you.

you begged for him as soon as you felt it come closer, scratching his back, mouth wide opened and tongue lolled out. your eyes rolled to the back of your skull and you thanked mikey for giving you this much pleasure. "that's right baby, take all of it". his thrusts were getting sloppier with each passing second, announcing your coming climax.

you both came at the same time, with a high pitched moan for you and a deep growl for mikey, which always managed to send shivers down your spine. you felt his cum flow inside of you, painting your insides with a white fluid.

and you took it all, just like he told you, hoping for more praises but too high off of his cock to do anything else. he kissed your temple, looking into your exhausted eyes while slowly going in and out of you. you both tried to catch your breath after bliss took over you.

"you did so good for me angel, such a perfect omega". you chirped happily in response, content about his satisfaction with you. you couldn't talk, heat turned you into a submissive mess.

you let him cuddle you from behind, cockwarming him to make sure you didn't spill any drops of cum, and you stayed put for him to do anything. he kissed your shoulder softly, whispering about how good and obedient you were.

he liked the calming feeling of his cock plugging your wet pussy, taking you like this felt so good and heightened his already possessive thoughts about you.

you were so perfect, you took your alpha so well and now you're staying still for him to pour his cum into you. he wanted to keep you all to himself, fuck you throughout all your heats and never let you go after someone else. the claim he put on you wasn't just out of sexual interest, but genuine love he had for you. and now that he had fucked you, it felt like everything was falling into place, his sense of purpose reaffirmed.

he had you, his lovely and delicate omega, waiting for her alpha to wreck her and turn her into a sobbing mess.

he looked forward to the rest of the day.

"now were not finished baby, we'll need a lot more if we want to go through your heat smoothly, right?"

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alexiswritingstuff · 2 months ago

Text

Everyone can heal.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Gn!reader

Summary: Logan falls asleep in the day room at Xavier's school, you accidently startle him awake and end up getting hurt.

Genre: hurt/comfort.

Warnings: mentions of blood, and descriptions of wounds, mentions of nightmares.

This is the first time that I am writing in a while, so I hope this isn't just straight up terrible.

A/n: this if my first fic for Logan, so like I usually say when writing for a new character, I may not have portrayed him in an accurate way. There might be parts that seem out of character and such, so please keep that in mind while reading!

Anyway, I've watched the X-men movies since I was a kid. And after watching the new Deadpool and Wolverine movie I was put right back at square one. So, here you go!

I hope you enjoy!!

Logan masterlist.

It had been a long few days.

It was one of the first weeks that you had actually tried to be a professor. Of some sort.

Now, generally, you weren't exactly the kind of person that worked well with kids. It was a lack of experience on your end, as you hadn't gotten the chance to grow up with much others.

But you wanted to learn. Or... did.

The main fault was that you had forgotten to weigh your personal life, more so the things you needed, alongside being a professor in a school.

See, there were a few things that you didn't know about your abilities beforehand. Charles managed to bring some to light, and in turn, you had to figure out how to use them: Incorporate them into your training, into your fighting skills.

It was a lot to relearn. And you misjudged just how much it was going take it out of you.

Though, you didn't seem to be the only one.

Logan was practically in the same boat. Maybe even a little worse. I mean, he was good with kids, but working with them was different, especially when it's a whole group of them at a time. He even bailed on his own classes once. Or twice... could’ve been more.

But you couldn't exactly blame him.

This was the man that barely stayed a week anyway. He was always leaving, whether it was for a bar or something else, you didn't know unless you went with him.

He wasn't used to it yet. The change of being alone, pretty much all the time, to suddenly being surrounded by a boat load of people 24/7. It was understandable. Especially to you, which is probably why you had got to know him so well.

It was the end of the day. The sun was tucked far beneath the horizon, blanketing your part of the earth in a complete darkness. Minus the slight light pollution.

The hallways of the schools were empty at this time, each kid, hopefully, getting a good night's sleep for the next day of learning. But you could never be sure when it came to the teenagers.

It meant that there were less things in the surrounding area for the sound of your footsteps to bounce off. And that, combined with the size of the archways themselves, allowed the echoes to ring a lot longer than needed.

You were on your way back to the day room, having made a quick stop by the kitchen to get more sodas in order to soothe the joint annoyance of having a lack of beer.

It was where the two of you usually set up for quiet moments like these. There wasn't really anywhere else to go, unless you wanted to be stuck in an empty classroom, or have to sit on a freezing bench. And neither of you had an interest in being near a bed.

The most important factor about the day room, however, was that it had a TV. Which just so happened to be the first thing you heard after passing through the final corridor.

It was distant, set at a cautious volume. It must've been one of those talk shows, or maybe some kind of sitcom, as a chorus of laughter would erupt after almost every sentence said.

Either way, it didn't really matter. It had only been put on for background noise. A sound that would carry the silence whenever the two of you had stopped talking, unsure of what to bring up next.

Though, it seemed it had worked a little too well.

The last time you got a look at Logan, he had resumed his usual position. He was upright, back pressed firmly into the sofa as if he were trying to meld with it, and leant against the palm of his hand that had his elbow digging into the armrest.

Your feet halted in a matter of seconds of turning into that doorway. Your tongue was curled in your mouth, lips parted and remaining so, as your eyes had landed back on the man.

He was lying in the opposite direction. His body was sprawled across the length of the couch, though his feet were cursed to hang loosely over the edge. His muscles looked tense, regardless of the usual relief that sort of position was supposed to give a person. But that wasn't the interesting part.

His eyes were closed.

At this point the condensation on the bottles had begun to grow into little drops of water, joining together, one by one, before leaking onto your skin.

Your steps were slow, testing each of the floorboards beneath your shoes to avoid the ones that creaked like an old door.

Logan wasn't a person who got tired easily. It was part of his mutation, that of which you had learned very quickly, but apparently it had manifested into thinking that he couldn't even feel it at all. I guess you were wrong.

Though, in his defence, he may not have even meant to fall asleep when he closed his eyes.

Eventually, you had made it to the edge of the couch. There was a side table on each end of it, the safest and the closest option regardless of the fact his shoed feet were almost right above it.

You took one of the bottles in your free hand, making sure that your grip was just right, before beginning the descent to the table.

You held your breath, narrowed gaze flickering consistently from the eventual destination to the sleeping man. The concentration had even caused your tongue to poke through your teeth as you took about a step closer--

And then bam.

Right as the bottom of the bottle had touched down on the wood, this sudden guttural sound rippled through the air. It had you stumbling backwards, gaping in the direction of the continued noise that sounded like fear itself.

In front of you, now, was not the same sleeping man. In fact, this man was sat up, though almost hunched over most of his body. His arms were raised, aimed straight ahead, and that happened to be right at you.

“Whoa-- hey!”

He was heaving. Each breath taken almost shook his entire body. And the noises... They were almost like growls.

They were so deep and harsh as they pushed out of his throat one after the other, but his inhales were somehow even worse. It was like all the air in the room had suddenly dissipated.

It wasn't until you heard the seams of the couch starting to rip that you realised his claws were even out, the ends just about digging into the pillows beside him.

“Logan, hey, it's me, okay? Look,” you attempted to call, trying to lower your head so that he could properly meet your eyes, “Look, it's me!” And then he did. He saw you, even if It took a moment for it to actually kick in.

He was still heaving, his gaze was fierce and his eyebrows never eased. He had even slightly choked on a breath on its way out.

But you saw the way he had slightly leaned back. There was a relief within the swirl of other emotions.

Until his gaze lowered.

Now, at some point in the past few minutes, the other bottle in your hand had been discarded. It most likely hit the edge of your shoe, sending it to roll off into some corner of the room where it would be forgotten about until morning... But it hadn't smashed.

So, why did something sound like it was dripping?

“Y/n.”

By the time your eyebrows had furrowed in confusion, Logan had hurriedly shoved himself up from the couch, his claws shrinking back between his knuckles within seconds. “Shit.”

You were lost. The sudden switch in atmosphere had you just standing there, fixated on the man that was moving towards you with this look on his face. Similar to one of guilt.

“Logan?” You had barely gotten the name out before you suddenly felt a hand on your arm. Your head snapped in its direction, lips parting so that you could ask what the hell was going on. And then he slightly tilted your arm.

There was your answer. “Oh.”

Three marks. There were three lines etched diagonally into your arm, one deep enough that it led the pooling blood to trickle down your skin. How did you not feel that?

“Fuck,” Logan's hand was careful. His fingers were light and gentle as they grazed the side of your arm. Hesitant. His breaths were getting louder again. “I'm…”

“I'm sorry,” he attempted, his voice barely escaping as a whisper, “I'm so sorry.”

His eyebrows were more furrowed than they were before. The rest of his face was sort of scrunched up too, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Or he was disgusted by it.

“Logan,” You tried placing your hand on his closest wrist, but he immediately retracted. He let go of your arm, “Hey, look, I'm fine, okay?” you started louder, more insistent, “It doesn't hurt.”

Logan shook his head for a moment. He took a slight step backwards, his stance heavy. His eyes never moved. “I'm sorry.”

He grunted, the frown taking over his lips deepening for just a moment before his torso twisted. He grabbed the neck of the successfully placed soda, and then just walked around you.

“No, wait,” You tried to reach out, wanting to grasp his arm or even the fabric of his top, but he swerved, completely avoiding you, “Logan?”

You couldn't even make another attempt as if your other hand was away for longer, more blood would end up dripping on the floor. So, your body turned, desperate eyes following the man in a way that was more of a plea than anything else.

But he never looked back. He continued walking through the doorway, rubbing hard against his temples with a final grunt before disappearing behind the wall.

~~~

The time, at this point, was unclear. The clocks in this school were usually around the learning areas, mostly in the classrooms, which created a sort of guessing game anywhere else.

It was apparent, however, that the sun had just begun to rise. Peeking over the horizon enough so that a bright mist seeped into most of the corridors.

You found yourself back in the hallways. There wasn't a very clear reason as to why than this inability to sit. A failure to be still for seconds at a time, regardless of the tiredness that had started to cling to your skin.

But that was the last thing on your mind.

You kept thinking about it; the previous encounter. It was sort of plaguing your mind, more so how you handled it.

Granted, it was in fact your first time having to deal with a situation like that, and usually you were on the other side. Though this seemed different, like something had just been exposed.

You were aware of the fact that Logan had nightmares. I mean, it was one of the most believable things about him, considering the things he'd gone through. The extent, however, was undetermined.

Until today.

A huff of air sifted through your lips as you attempted to straighten your spine, stretch the accompanying muscles that had grown tense over the past few hours.

The aimless walking was almost nice. The surroundings were mostly quiet, excluding the wind that whistled against the glass of the windows, having picked up some time earlier.

It was that time of year again. The group of months where the weather grew cold and the plants began to change. It almost made the school feel cosy even if there was no heating in the hallways.

In fact, where you were now was the coldest, and it wasn't until you looked up properly that you realised you were about to walk into a dead-end.

Slowly, your feet came to a stop, your lazy eyes blinking hastily in the blaring yellow light, which was starting to mix into this sort of orange.

Your shoulders lowered, a sense of relief filtering through your system as the decision had been final. You were going to go to your room, maybe even get to lay down for a few hours until it was time to teach.

So, you turned on your heel, taking about a step in the other direction as your blurry eyes attempted to focus on the closest doorway, until you could note the surroundings. It was the kitchen.

Now, that door was always open, usually swung all the way back and held by a stopper. But a light was on. Allowing you to properly get a view of the room and what was in it.

More so who.

Your movements had halted right as you were about to take another step.

Logan.

He was sitting at the narrow table at the back, set between the array of windows. His elbows were against the surface of it, one of his hands clasped around a bottle he had just set down. He swallowed, and so did you.

There was an initial pause, seconds taken to calculate the right decision, before you went in. Your lips parted, ready to release the script you had gone over in your head for the last hour--

“I didn't mean to hurt you.”

Instead, you were frozen. The volume of his voice, and the angle he sat at, almost made it seem like the words didn't even come from him. He probably heard you before you had even come down the hall.

Your eyebrows furrowed, “Logan–” you tried, but his mouth opened before you could even finish, “Just let me talk,” He hadn't moved. He was in the same position, still holding the bottle, and staring straight forward like there was someone there across from him. “Okay?”

You brought your lips together, placing a hand on the kitchen island to distribute your weight. Logan took the silence as acceptance and he cleared his throat. “I'm sure you already know,” he had begun, sparing the slightest glance your way for confirmation that didn't even need, “about the... nightmares.”

It was as if something in his mouth went sour when he said it, like the words itself tasted bad.

“Some are about the past, you know-- bits and pieces of it, anyway, but…” Logan paused for a moment, both verbally and physically. It only held for a few seconds. And then he sighed. “There are other ones too- Ones... ones where people get hurt, and, I'm…”

“I'm the one doing it.” It was a slow movement, an action that looked like it had to be forced, as Logan suddenly began turning in his seat. He met your eyes with a look that had your eyebrows furrowing all over again, “I'm the one hurting people.”

“Y/n, I'm sorry.”

“Logan,” you started, shaking your head in disagreement with the apology, but he only repeated it. “I'm so sorry.”

You made your way to the edge of the island, pace slowing once round the corner, “Hey,” Logan's gaze had shifted as you moved. It was lower, directed at a specific point. He was looking at your arm.

It had been engulfed by a layer of, hopefully, the appropriate bandaging. An attempt at following the tips Jean had given you from previous injuries.

But it being covered somehow made it seem worse than it was.

“Hey, look at me,” you called, stopping at a good place where you were actually in front of him, yet still a good distance away so he wouldn’t want to back off. “Look at me.”

The next words only left your lips when he had finally decided to comply. “I'm fine.” you assured, the tone of your voice much lighter than before. But that made the look on Logan's face shift, “I hurt you.”

“It was an accident,” Your response was quick, your voice making it sound so simple. Like the sentence said should’ve been accompanied by a shrug of the shoulders. Logan didn't like that, “Accident or not, I still hurt you, Y/n.” His tone was riddled with this disbelief, as if he couldn't believe that he had to tell you that in the first place.

“And, I'm still here, Logan.”

You didn't understand it. The two of you had trained together many times, each round ending with either one receiving a new injury until your skills developed. Hell, you had been in battle together.

A little scratch was nothing. “It was a mistake-- my mistake. I'm the one who startled you, shit like this happens.” you tried to assure. Logan scoffed immediately, “What-- Does that make it magically okay for me to hurt people?”

“No!” you huffed out, the ability to contain your annoyance dwindling the more he challenged your statements. “No, okay? But-- You know, what-- Look.”

You took a few more steps, the care for all of the previous caution going completely out the window as you grasped an end of the bandaging, and unwinded the material before pulling back the padding beneath.

“See?”

Logan almost looked like he had buffered for a few seconds. He blinked, and then again, and then twice really fast, as if it would change what was in front of him. His hand had even flexed, like he wanted to reach it out, though it remained on the table.

They were gone. Each mark, each line that was carved into the skin had completely gone. Disappeared without a trace. There wasn't even a scar.

“You…” He spoke slowly, his eyes trailing up the length of your arm to your shoulders. And then your face. “You can regenerate?”

“Granted, a little... Well, a lot slower than you-- But, yeah.” you confirmed, wrapping the bandage up in your hands before placing it on the kitchen aisle behind you.

Logan leaned back slightly in a way that straightened his up spine. He brought his legs from under the table and set them in the direction the rest of his body was facing. He had turned right towards you.

“Are you serious?” The complete deadpan had you staring right back at him. You couldn't read the expression, nor the stance. You didn't even know what to call it. “Yep.” You blinked. Logan didn't move a muscle, “You can heal.”

Now, you could hear it in his voice. It wasn't just a statement, a form of repetition to clarify the new information. He was getting mad.

You furrowed your eyebrows, “I... I don't really know what else you want me to say.” Which was the truth, the whole healing thing was one of the things you had discovered with Charles.

It's an entirely different process than it is for most anyway, let alone when it comes to Logan. At the moment you actually had to activate the process for anything to heal. But you were working on it.

I guess it just slipped your mind.

“So, you were just willingly acting like a damn damsel?” The lines around his eyebrows deepened the way they usually did when he was getting angry. And they weren't stopping.

“A damsel?” you repeated, even tilting your head as a wordless question, and he just nodded. “You stood there. You just stood there until I came to you-- You didn't even try to stop the bleeding. Hell, did you even notice?”

That look on his face never changed. You hated it. The way it darkened his eyes, or tensed the surrounding muscles. The most bothersome thing, however, was the fact that it was aimed at you. “No,” you started, this time with a deeper voice. “No, I didn't-- You know, why?”

“Why?” Logan commanded, the veins around his neck becoming apparent. It was as if he was trying to win an argument, get the upper hand and serve some kind of justice, like you had done something wrong.

He was supposed to be relieved.

“Maybe, it's because that was the last thing I cared about, Logan!”

The two of you were just staring at each other. At this point, both of you were almost heaving, the past few minutes taking the air out of both pair of lungs.

The expression on Logan's face twitched for a moment, a crack in the anger that usually wasn't breakable. His posture had become more of a slouch as he suddenly decided to lean back a little, like before.

You watched with curious eyes when he then sighed, breaking the held gaze to grab his bottle of soda and bring it to his lips.

It all resembled a puzzle. A constant attempt to find the right piece, the right thought, that would fit it all together. But there was a lack of progress. You were at a loss.

Was he mad that you didn't tell him? Was he actually mad that you didn't do anything about the scratches? Were you reacting the wrong way? Did he want you to hate him? Were you supposed to?

Or did he think that you couldn't grasp the situation? The severity. The big 'What if?' Maybe he was in fact tired.

Just a different kind.

You started to move after another few seconds, the sound of your shoes against the tiles piercing through the layer of created silence. It was apparent that Logan was watching, albeit discreetly, following what he could as he took another swig.

Your movements concluded by the length of the table he was sitting at. You leaned onto it, releasing that weight that had started aching both your knees and your feet from standing for so long.

By the time your eyes were back on Logan, his own had snapped away.

You took in a deep breath of the cold air, feeling it hit the back of your throat, your shoulders deflating, “I get them too, you know... Nightmares.”

There was a beat of silence again. A lack of movement, or reaction. And then he met your eyes again. Slower this time, almost hesitant. He set his drink down ,listening. So, you continued, “I wouldn't go about comparing them,”

“But, I understand enough to know what it's like.”

Logan sort of huffed a laugh after that. Not a malicious one, or in disbelief of the sentiment. He was acknowledging it. “You shouldn't have to.”

He was back to that whisper of a voice again. It was still deep, and a tad gravely, almost forceful. But it conveyed enough. “Neither should you.. yet,” you paused, shrugging your shoulders, “Here we are.”

This time, the huffed laugh was louder. More pronounced in a way. It left a mark on his lips, leaving them curling at the corners. It fit right in. You wanted it to stay. Maybe a little too much, “At least, now, I get to say that I was attacked by The Wolverine and survived.”

The comment was a little dangerous, especially if taken the wrong way. In all honesty, your eagerness allowed it to be blurted right through your lips before you could catch it.

But Logan practically snorted. “Shut up.” he breathed, bringing the soda back to his lips. You pretended that you didn’t hear him, even crossing your arms over your chest, though a grin had slightly appeared, “I could even say that I defeated him.”

In about a second his eyes had snapped to yours, a singular brow rising as the bottle smacked onto the surface of the table, “Okay,” He swallowed, “you did not defeat me, bub.”

“Oh, really?” you challenged, attempting to mimic his expression. “You were done after one move.”

Logan pushed the chair with his back in a way that had the legs screeching against the tiles. He stood from it, moving about a step to the side before continuing towards you.

“I was distracted.” he pointed out, gaze narrow as his eyebrows decided to furrow in an attempt to support his justification. “Excuses, excuses,” was all you said, accompanying it with a light shrug.

Logan was right in front of you now. He was close, about a step away. Though, the longer he looked at you, his eyes scanning across the skin of your face, that amusement once held had begun to fade.

He became sort of serious, the tension making the lines of his face more prominent all over again as his lips curved into more of a frown.

“I don't want it to happen again.” He was avoiding your eyes now, his own gaze cast downward. They were following his hand as he had brought it to your arm, the fingers of which ghosting across where the marks had been like he could still see them.

“Logan,” you started, your voice quiet yet loud enough that his attention was recovered. The two of you were looking at each other again, this time properly. Your features eased, all of the concern and the previous anger completely melting away.

You brought the hand of your previously injured arm upward, and he watched it until it went out of his vision.

You gently placed your hand on the side of his cheek, your palm pressing into the hair of his mutton chops which brought his gaze back to yours. And then you smiled lightly, just enough that he could see it, “Even if it did, I am not going anywhere.”

There was this quick twitch in Logan's expression. A split second of movement that had almost gone unnoticed until it happened again. His eyebrows pinched together.

Before you could say a word, he had suddenly pulled you forward, away from the table you were once against.

By the time you were up straight, his arms had wrapped around your body one after the other, entrapping you in this warmth that the kitchen could never achieve. It had you copying him as fast as you could, letting your hands land across the skin of his back and the fabric of the tank top.

Logan's head was planted on your shoulder, his hair sort of tickling the side of your face as he tucked himself in further.

His body slightly deflated after a moment, a sort of gravelly hum of content rumbling from his throat. He obviously wasn’t putting his entire weight on you, the two of you would've tipped over within seconds. But you could feel it.

An extra weight that you were glad to carry.

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x gn reader #wolverine #wolverine x gn!reader #gender neutral reader #hurt/comfort

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bedsyandco · 5 months ago

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୨୧ ⋅ 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍﹙⠀LH43⠀﹚

𐙚 ─── pairing: fem!reader x luke hughes

𐙚 ─── summary: in which your bf loves giving you head. . .

𐙚 ─── content: oral f!receiving, overstumulation. i think that's it? lmk if there's more!

𐙚 ─── word count: 0.6K

𐙚 ─── a/n: my first attempt at writing a longer smut piece, it’ll get better the more I do it <3

“luke,” his name falls from your lips on a sob, your back arching from the bed as you push at his head, fingers tugging on his curls. his arms were wrapped around your thighs, one hand gripping your hip and the other pushing on your lower stomach, trying to keep you still. Luke turns his head and runs his tongue over the purple bruise on your inner thigh. you let out a whine when he turns his attention back to your clit. “please lu, it’s too much”

you woke up this morning with the sun on your face, a light breeze trailing through the open window, and luke’s head between your thighs. you’ve lost track of how long he’s been down there. how many times he’s made you cum. It was a good thing Jack agreed to an early morning workout with Nico, you were grateful you and luke had the apartment to yourself, knowing you couldn’t keep quiet.

there were few things luke loved more than eating you out. hearing the moans spill from your lips. the way your legs closed around his head. the way you didn’t know if you wanted to pull him closer or push him away. the way you tasted. he could spend all day between your thighs. luke has no doubt that he gets more pleasure out of this than you do. it’s his favourite thing in the whole world.

he presses his tongue into you, nose bumping your clit and smirks when he feels your hands clench in his hair. “luke,” you moan again, voice hoarse and breath hitching. that was his favourite sound ever. whenever he’s on roadies, this is the moment he replays in his head over and over again. this moment. that sound. he’s obsessed with it. with you. so obsessed he just needs to hear it again. and again. and again.

“please,” you beg, pushing at his head. Luke makes a noise at the back of his throat, tongue softly flicking over your clit as he tries to build you back up again. his eyes were glassed over, staring at the mess you’ve made. focused on the task at hand. seeing that expression you knew he wasn’t going to stop until you said that magic little word.

“you’re okay baby. you’re doing so good.” he mumbles, lips brushing against your pussy and you whimper. when he lifts his head and looks up at you, your stomach clenches at the sight. the wild look in his eye. his swollen lips. your release all over his face.

“you okay?” he asks, gently rubbing your thigh and you nod.

“good, you can give me one more.” luke says, dropping his head again.

“But-”

“shh baby. just one more, promise.” he mutters, already preoccupied again.

“you said that before the last one” you protest

“I know sweetheart. I just can’t get enough of you. just one more, I promise. please?” he begs. actually begging and you nod, agreeing before you could even really think about it. your head drops back against the pillow as Luke stares down at you, using his thumbs to spread you open a little more. he lets spit drop from his mouth onto your clit before bending his head and taking it into his mouth again.

after a few minutes, you reach that peak again, tears falling from the overstimulation and luke gently presses kisses on your stomach.

“think you can go again?” he asks, grinning up at you and laughs when you use your whole hand to push his face away, and snap your legs closed.

#୭ 🗄️ ₊ ⌇ hhughes #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes fluff #luke hughes blurb #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes fic #luke hughes smut #18+ mdni

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acowardinmordor · 4 months ago

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I kinda want a fic where Eddie is straight. Strong Ally, totally safe, but the guy is straight. There's a few months after they successfully take down Vecna that he and Robin and Steve are all besties, living in each others' pockets. During that time, he makes a lot of jokes that Steve is going to make a great housewife someday, makes some comments that aren't quite jokes that he wishes Steve was a girl, and has some very much suppressed thoughts that the only thing stopping them is that Eddie isn't attracted to men.

Near the end of the summer, before Steve is going to follow Robin to Sarah Lawrence, Steve comes out as bi to the whole group, and Eddie, for the first time, unashamedly thinks, damn, if only I wasn't straight. Steve even gets brave a few days before they leave and broaches the topic of Steve having a crush on Eddie. Keeps saying that he's not going to hit on Eddie, but wanted to take the chance, just in case Eddie had ever thought about it.

"Sorry, Steve, I only date girls."

And the awkwardness isn't the only reason the three drift apart, but it doesn't help. They send letters and post cards between Chicago and New York, and try to call at least once a month, but they're all broke, and long distance is expensive. Two years out, and Eddie knows something weird is happening with Steve and Robin, but they don't want to talk about it. They still talk, they're still friends, they'd still die for each other, but there is something they're hiding from him. Three and a half years out, and the bureaucrats finally got their act together. 'Thanks for not telling anybody' checks get sent to everyone in the know. Very large checks.

Robin graduates, and she and Stevie have a comfortable cushion. They don't have to take horrible minimum wage jobs anymore, and some expensive things they've been saving up to do for a while can finally happen.

This is where the fic in my head actually starts.

Eddie hears all about Los Angeles from Robin, but she tells him that Stevie isn't feeling great after the trip, and that Eddie will get a letter soon.

Its four months later, almost exactly four years since the three last saw each other in person when they finally meet again. Robin got a job in Chicago, and Eddie is still there, now a full artist in a tattoo parlor, playing gigs for fun with random friends. Stevie, of course, follows Robin, and Eddie tries hard not to stay upset with the guy for the weirdness and the sometimes silence, and the very obvious distance that Steve put between them recently.

Then they see each other. Meeting up at what has to be the queerest bar in the city, and it takes Eddie way, way too long to put together what's waiting at a booth along the wall. He's an ally, he's heard all the terms and types and nodded along in supportive silence because he doesn't get it, but he's trying.

But there's Robin, sitting on the outside, with a brunette beside her, possibly the most beautiful woman Eddie has ever seen, strong, tall, long wavy chestnut hair, and a spattering of very distinct moles. The little bit of a smile she has when Eddie first comes over melts into something small and scared as Eddie stares in shock. It's Stevie, it has to be, and Robin's exclusive use of what was once only a nickname suddenly makes more sense. He knows he needs to make sure he's using the right name, pronouns, whatever she wants. He's friend of a friend with a couple trans people, and again, he doesn't get it, but he listened, and he cannot fuck this up, because it's Stevie and this must be what they were hiding, but the inside of his brain sounds like an endless loop of mic feedback for a solid sixty seconds.

Sixty seconds is an insanely long time.

Before his brain turns over and he can smile and reach the table, Stevie has shrunk into the corner, and Robin looks ready to launch herself at Eddie's throat in her soulmate's defense.

A whole list of intrusive thoughts hit Eddie all at once while his mouth runs on autopilot, asking the right questions, smiling encouragingly, introducing himself to, yes, Stevie Harrington, and dragging the mood to a happy place by sheer force of will. Stevie starts to uncurl, smiles a little brighter, sits up straight, laughs properly at Eddie's dumb stories about terrible tattoos, and leans closer as the night goes on.

He fixes the weirdness he started in his shock, because there is no way in hell he's not going to keep two of his best friends now that they live in the same city again.

But his head is stuck spiraling around a snarl of horrible, selfish, invasive thoughts. The worst of which: Stevie is now Stevie because Eddie told her that he only liked girls. And he knows thats stupid and isn't why Stevie made this choice, and he hates himself for thinking it, but the thought is still there. That Eddie wanted so badly that she's now Stevie. Another, only slightly less horrible thought, is that the immediate fairytale ending he imagined on first sight - might be ruined because Eddie is still straight, and he's just not sure about, you know, the details.

Eddie did a great job that first night, and they're back to hanging out all the time as soon as the last boxes are unpacked. It is not Stevie's fault that seeing her in a sports bra for the once confirmed that the payouts, the LA trip, and her new shirt size were related. It's not her fault that Eddie can't stop thinking about how hot she is.

It's absolutely not her fault that Eddie starts getting weird around her. He's trying, okay? He's trying so hard. But its weird for him. He likes her. That part he's certain of. Loves her, almost definitely. He thinks she's gorgeous, high confidence on that part too. He has a crush, but he knows, deeper than the rest, that Stevie isn't confident in herself yet. She acts it most of the time, but its under the surface, a thread of fear that she's not girl enough to count.

And Eddie has a crush. And Eddie can't tell her. Because Eddie won't put them in a situation where Stevie's pants come off, and Eddie suddenly can't see her as the woman she is. It would hurt Stevie so bad, and Eddie would never forgive himself.

It's not like he can ask her just how much surgery she got in LA so he can prepare. And honestly, he's not sure it would matter one way or the other. He's terrified that whatever her choice, Eddie will fuck up his reaction. The risk is unsolvable. Robin calls him out on his crush two months later, and since the other choice is even worse, Eddie lies, and says she's wrong. No crush. Nope. Not even a tiny one.

Eddie tries to will himself into becoming bisexual for an entire month, going so far as making out with a very feminine twink at a club - he thought he'd ease his way into this - but he's still decidedly straight. Rubbing against the twink's remarkably small dick wasn't repulsive, but it didn't do anything for him either. Sure, he learns there's all kinds of pleasurable things to try that he didn't know about, but he's still not into anyone but girls.

(I don't know if this is the right resolution bc Ive spun Eddie pretty tight here, but this is getting so long. )

Robin's girlfriend has a party at a gay bar for her birthday. Obviously, Eddie and Stevie are invited, and obviously, just like every other day on this earth, Stevie looks incredible. She has a sparkly dress and tall boots and glitter on her collarbones and Eddie wants to lick her. His lovelorn staring only gets worse as the night goes on. Stevie is dancing, and Eddie is drinking at the bar with a collection of purses and carabiners of keys slung around and clipped to him. It's obvious enough that a gay couple - Nick and Chris - starts teasing him about it, telling him to man up and ask the pretty girl to dance already.

Eddie is too drunk for this, and he for sure has a guilt trip later for it, but he just starts talking. All of his fears and all of his love, and how he can't ever say anything because he's tried, and he's straight anyway, and he loves Stevie too much to hurt her like that. It's an entire miracle that Eddie broke down in front of a decent pair of human beings, and not some assholes. They sweep him off to a quieter corner outside, help him calm down as he smokes, and feed him some fries.

Eddie is still wearing purses like bandoliers, is snotty and red eyed, is on his third cigarette and fourth whiskey, and resisting the need to runaway forever when the older of the couple calls over someone named Angel. A woman who, if Eddie was not hopelessly in love with Stevie, would be the source of an immediate new crush. She's older than he is, thin through the waist, thick thighs, bottle blonde hair in a ponytail, and has a few inches on Eddie with her heels. The primal part of his brain wants to climb her like a tree.

'Hi Chris. Oh, honey, you having a rough night?" Angel has a few words with Chris, then grins like the cat who caught the canary.

'You're gonna be my good karma for the month, cutie. You are attracted to me, no don't try, thats a cute blush but I can still see it behind your hair, you are. You're straight, right? Yeah, that's why you think I'm hot. Hey, Chris? Do you think I'm hot?"

"Not at all, babe. You know I only go for men."

Angel turns back to Eddie and leans close to explain. 'Chris is a bit of a man whore. Loooooves dick. Don't worry, he says it all the time. Favorite thing in the world, and I've heard he's great at sucking dick. Tragically, I never get to find out, because I'm not a guy.' She pushes the word a little. Then she steps even closer so she's pressed against his side.

Arousal sweeps through him because in love with Stevie or not, Angel is hot as hell. 'Wanna go fool around in the bathroom?' she whispers

Eddie is definitely tempted, already nodding, but doesn't get to speak. Angel rolls her hips. He feels -- A new bolt of arousal shoots down his spine. 'this change your mind at all?' Her voice drops two octaves, and Eddie's brain breaks.

Because, as it turns out, no. No, it does not change his mind. He's half hard, he still wants to climb her, and he's not entirely sure how to get her off, but he takes direction well.

'Aww, figure yourself out, already, honey? Or do you want to test run this a bit more before you go for it?' Angel is back to her real voice, a high alto. She has one hand on his chest, and Eddie can hear Nick laughing nearby. 'I won't lie, I know I won't get to keep you, but you look like we could have a real fun time as I teach you. Happy to get you trained up for her'

Eddie shakes his head, an insane mix of bubbly and numb.

'Ohhh, so you're gonna go get your girl?' She's teasing him.

Eddie nods, already moving, vaguely aware of more laughter and jokes about karma and saving lost lambs, but too fixated to listen. He's still carrying all the purses. He's not entirely sure where Stevie is in the bar. He has absolutely no idea what he's going to say when he finds her. Still not sure how to worship her properly. Extremely interested in following directions on the topic.

Eddie is still straight, but luckily, the girl of his dreams is dancing inside, and the rest of the details don't matter in the face of the possibility of finally asking her out.

When he finally chases her down at a high top with a cosmo, she laughs at how he looks, but he's never, ever seen her smile like she does when she agrees to a date with him.

This is sort of about a friend as they worked through realizing they weren't attracted to their wife after she transitioned, but that was sad, and this needed to not be. I guess I'm just thinking about the non-fanfic nature of life. Where it takes a guy a long while to figure himself out, because good intentions are separate from shifting how you think. Basically wanted Eddie in a situation where he has to reconcile the difference between gender and anatomy, and rewrite his own definitions of what he is and isn't attracted to. Robin had to go through a similar thing as she became attracted to Steve but only in the abstract. They're too platonic for gender to stop their bond

#steddie #my writing #sorta #this got so long #trans steve harrington #Eddie is confused #and straight

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specialagentlokitty · 1 year ago

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Zuko x reader - I want a future with you

Zuko x water tribe/bender reader! Slime three years after the war he wants to propose to reader and so he ask Katara and Sokka about marriage traditions within the tribe and he carves a betrothal necklace?? And the readers reaction!! Thank you - Anon💜

Zuko gazed at you from across the water village as you smiled and sat in the snow, throwing snowballs with some of the children.

He was so utterly, and deeply in love with you, and he had been since he first laid eyes on you.

You were captivating and he was so proud and happy to be able to say that he was courting you.

But he didn’t want to just court you.

He looked around for Sokka, wanting to ask him about this, but when he couldn’t see Sokka, he began looking for Katara, and he found them both together.

“Zuko? We thought you left this morning.” Sokka said.

“I was supposed to. I have a question for you both actually.”

They nodded and the three of them went to the side to talk privately.

“I know how things work in the fire nation, traditions and everything. But I want to know how they work for the water nation.”

“Is there anything specific you want to know?” Katara smiled.

Zuko glanced around nervously and turned back to the duo.

“Marriage traditions…” he mumbled.

“You want to marry (Y/N)?!”

Zuko slapped his hand over Sokka’s mouth.

“Shut up!” Zuko hissed.

“Aw that’s so cute!” Katara beamed.

Sokka slapped the fire lords hand away and share a look with his sister and they both nodded their heads.

“We can help you, but it’ll take a few days.”

They took him away and explained everything he needed to know, gathered all the materials for him and they showed him what he could do.

“Do you have any ideas in mind?”

“Not yet, but (Y/N)s come to the fire nation next month so I’ve got time, thank you so much.”

The whole way home Zuko thought about what he wanted to do, and for days he was stuck up until he looked at the bracelet you had made him.

The little waves you had carefully carved, and he smiled brightly, a new idea entering his head.

He spent nearly a week working on it, trying to make sure it was perfected, then he put it in a little box on his nightstand while he waited.

When you arrived to the fire nation you ran through the city heading up to the palace.

Zuko was just leaving when he saw you running over.

The fire Lord opened his arms and you ran into them, and he laughed softly, wrapping his arms around you, pressing a small kiss to the top of your head.

“You’re early…” he whispered.

“There was a storm coming in, so I set off a day early.”

He hummed a little and nodded his head, watching as some of the guards come over with some of your things to bring them inside.

“I have a meeting, but meet me in the garden in an hour.”

You nodded and jumped up, softly kissing him and you ran away.

Zuko smiled as he watched you run into the palace to go to your shared room.

He knew exactly what you were doing, and he had no issue with it as he had the box in his pocket for safe keeping.

He could hardly pay attention during the meeting, all his thoughts were of you.

The moment it ended Zuko made his way to the garden as fast as he could, and he found you walked around wrapping up in one of his jackets.

Zuko stopped, smiling softly as he watched you for a moment.

“Dear?” He called.

You looked up from the flowers you were admiring and smiled, wondering over.

You stood in front of him and he reached out, taking your hands in his.

Zuko raised your hands and gently kissed the back of your knuckles.

“I have something for you, close your eyes and hold out your hands.”

“Oh?”

You did as he said, and you felt something being placed in your palms.

“I love you and I.. I really tried.” He said.

You opened your eyes and looked at the open box, a soft gasp leaving your mouth.

You reached out, carefully picking it up, and Zuko took the box and he set it aside.

“Do you know what this is Zuko…?”

“I do. And I hope you consider accepting (Y/N). I love you, I want to marry you.”

You smiled to yourself, running you fingers over the carvings of the water and fire nation symbols.

It was kind of messy, and you could see where he had make a few mistakes or gotten angry and accidentally burned the wood.

But it was perfect.

“I want to marry you too Zuko…”

Zuko grinned brightly and he gently took it from you, putting it around your neck and he slowly moved his hands to cradle your face.

He ran his thumbs along your cheeks.

You reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck, and he leant down, brushing his nose against yours.

“I’ve wanted to marry you for ages…” you whispered

#avatar the last airbender imagine #avatar the last airbender #avatar the last airbender x reader #avatar the last airbender x you #Zuko #Zuko x reader #Zuko x you #Zuko imagine

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naughtyjjk · 1 year ago

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jjk men during no nut november

characters: gojo, geto, nanami, toji | fem reader warnings: 18+, smut, teasing, blowjob, masturbation, orgasm denial (just bc of the challenge) ty to everyone who voted for this! it ended up being so much longer than i expected. anyway, enjoy — it's that time of year ;)

GOJO...

talks big at first about how easy the challenge is going to be, but quickly realizes how wrong he is when november actually comes. it's natural, after all; the more he's not supposed to do something, the more it's on his mind. so he finds himself thinking about sex all the time, thinking about you. he recalls the previous times you've fucked, how good it felt to have his cock inside you without any stupid rules holding him back.

he ends up becoming soo fucking horny that it's unbearable, getting himself all worked up and finding any excuse to touch your body. "i want you... god, i wanna fuck you so bad," he says, stripping both of you down and pulling out his cock. it's nice and hard already, dripping with precum. just looking at it makes you turned on, too.

he thrusts into you and as soon as he bottoms out, the full length of his cock buried deep, you stop him there and ask, teasingly, "are you sure you want to do this? you’re not supposed to come this month, remember?" but it’s obvious that this is the limit of his self-control. you can already tell how badly he needs it, unable to take the sexual frustration anymore. "will you be able to hold back from coming?"

gojo whines, cock twitching inside you. he's so desperate and aroused and there's no way he's going to stop now that he's already gotten this far. ignoring your warning, he begins to thrust into you, moaning at how good it feels.

in the end, he only lasts a few days, which means he doesn't get any bragging rights about making it through NNN. but he has no regrets at all because now he can fuck you whenever he wants.

NANAMI...

manages to hold out for a while, but loses by the end of the first week. he tries his best, but he's weak and just can't resist you. at night, he would jerk himself off because he needs some relief but forces himself to go slowly enough to make sure he doesn't come. it doesn't help, though, because he only ends up more turned on, knowing that he can’t fully give himself the orgasm he needs.

after a few nights of going to bed hard and aching, even the most innocent touches from you gets him all riled up. his resolve snaps when you wear extra revealing clothing one day, as if you're testing him on purpose—bending over to show your cleavage, wearing leggings that draw his attention to your thighs. you know he's lost the challenge when he reaches out to touch your your legs, trailing higher and higher until he's rubbing you through your panties.

you rock your hips against his hand, noticing the bulge in his pants, the outline of his hard cock. "are you going to do anything about that?" you ask, and his eyes darken. he's far too horny to hold back any longer, taking you right then and there.

"careful," you say when you notice him start to get close, whispering into his ear. "you don't want to accidentally come now, do you?" but of course that only makes him more aroused, knowing that he isn’t supposed to be doing this.

"fuuck," he groans, thrusting into you harder and you can feel him pulsing inside you, a warning. "i c-can't hold it." he comes in you and it's so hot and filthy and you can feel his release dripping down your legs. but he doesn’t stop until you’re also shaking and moaning, riding out your orgasm on his cock.

maybe next year, you'll both have more luck finishing the challenge.

GETO...

doesn't touch you at all. he's almost too good at keeping his hands off you, determined to win this challenge. it's annoying how composed he is at the halfway point, like he's completely unaffected by the whole thing. but just because he doesn't show it doesn't mean that it isn't slowly getting to him, too.

when the end of the month approaches, he's in constant battle with himself. on one hand, he's so close to winning the challenge; on the other hand, he's beyond sexually frustrated from denying himself for so long.

the day that his resolve snaps, you're eating a lollipop and decide to tease him when you notice him starting at your mouth. you swirl your tongue around the lollipop, licking, sucking, swallowing it down, all whole making eye contact with him. he's aching and hard in his pants by the time you're done and he makes you kneel on your knees in front of him as he pulls out his cock.

he says, "if you want something to suck on so badly, then show me just how good you are" and you're happy to do so. you do the exact same thing—licking, sucking, swallowing him down. swirling around his sensitive cockhead, tracing the veins on the shaft. it's been weeks since his cock had any stimulation so it doesn't take much to get him to the edge. soon, he's thrusting into your mouth, hands tangled in your hair, moaning at how good it feels. "f-fuck, your tongue—i'm coming, i'm—"

his cock twitches as he comes, spilling down your throat. he’s breathing hard. when his mind clears, he decides that it's worth it, even if he was only a few days away from completing NNN.

TOJI...

plays dirty the whole time. this man is absolutely ruthless. he teases you relentlessly, doing whatever he wants with your body—nothing is off limits as long as you don't come. which means he can still touch you, finger you, eat you out as long as he stops before either of you orgasm. and he does this all with a wicked, sexy grin on his face, knowing exactly the torture he’s putting you through.

by far the cruelest thing he ever does is fuck you with his cock and stop mid-thrust just as you're about to come. then he pulls out and leaves you there, desperate and begging for him to go all the way. but he doesn't. he never does. and he repeats this every day for the whole month, constantly getting you worked up and keeping you on edge while denying you of your release. denying himself, too.

he says, "don't feel too good yet, baby" even when you're moaning and whimpering, begging him to finally give in. “p-please—ah, please toji... i don't care about the challenge anymore, let me come—"

meanwhile, his own self control is made of steel; he could be rock hard in his pants, leaking precum, but just knowing the effect it has on you is enough for him to ignore his own desires for now. he gets off on making you more and more aroused, pushing your limits to see when you'll break. and if you're able to last the entire time, he's looking forward to the payoff at the end, where he gets to fuck you hard, leading to an orgasm that's been building up for a month.

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natriae · 1 year ago

Note

Dad!haikyuu is everything! I imagine Omi being your fake date to a family gathering and he swoons at your interaction with the kids until an auntie shoves a baby in his arms and he’s like UHHHHH 🧍🏻”don’tcrushthisbaby don’tcrushthisbaby” And now everyone including yourself can’t take their eyes off him 😭😭😭😭

STOP I LOVE THIS

warnings: fake dating, fluff, cue flustered kiyoomi

One month ago Sakusa Kiyoomi took you aside during one of your usual hangouts with Atsumu to ask if you could pretend to be his girlfriend. Your brain told you over and over that this is a terrible idea, but you couldn't help yourself and said yes. Plus, it was one night at his mom's house. You already knew his family it wouldn't be to shocking to see you by Kiyoomi's side.

That's the thing. Your heart strings started to be pulled on the moment the two of you walked through the door and Kiyoomi let out a short, quiet "we're dating now." His mom's only response was to pull you into a hug and explain how she's been waiting forever for this. After greeting the two of you she told everyone the good news.

You felt terribly guilty for lying to her but Sakusa seemed unbothered. Maybe you were just being dramatic about the whole situation.

Somehow mid-way through the night you ended up spending most of your time with Kiyoomi's sister's kids. She was your favorite Sakusa. She also was the only one who knew you had a crush on her brother since middle school. She would help you get pretty for him, but it never worked. She claimed it did, but you never saw any progress. You and the children were in the basement playing with toys while a random kids TV show played in the background. The characters would sing and save the day successfully holding the attention of the youngest Sakusa. She isn't even one yet, but she has the whole family whipped except Kiyoomi of course. For some reason he tries to stay away from her leading you to never actually meeting the little one til today. She was adorable. She'd bounce her arms up and down while babbling to the song. In front of you was her older brother, and Kiyoomi's first nephew. He had toy trucks and a few random characters from animes you know and some you don't. You were helping zoom the cars around the basement, crawling on your knees still you looked up to see Kiyoomi has finally decided to spend time with you. You could have swore you saw his lip twitch before he stepped pass you and sat on the couch switching the TV channel.

Kaia, the youngest, immediately started crying when she couldn't hear the joy of a few cartoon pups saving the day. Quickly you ran over to her picking her up to help calm her down. You lightly bounced her on your hip while giving small shushes to the baby. You walked away from Kiyoomi because your pretty convinced by his actions that he doesn't like children. Which tears a bit of you heart knowing that you always imagined what having kids with him would be like. What a great dad he would be, but that's all in your imagination. The little girl begins to quiet down as you lift her up so she can stuff her head into your neck.

From across the room Kiyoomi watches you calm the baby with a red face. How are you so good at this? He's never seen you with a baby and from what he knows your not an aunt of any sort, unless you count Atsumu's dogs. He finally lets out a small smile as he watches you bring the baby up so she can snuggle into your neck, but as if the gods are against him. You turn around to see him watching you, and you tell the baby with a slight smirk, "baby I think your uncle Kiy wants to apologize," you walk over still holding the baby like a natural. Finally setting her down to crawl over to him on the couch. The older man trys to hold the baby like a puppy. He's never done this before and he's never felt embarrassed in his life. You giggle softly at his nervous face and tell him, "Kiyoomi that's not how you hold a baby," he can barely focus on your words when your giggles are enough for him to worship the group you walk on. He swears he enters heaven the moment he hears that sound. "it's good that your holding her butt but i think she wants to be facing you," You say as you scoot closer and reach to try and show him the proper way.

Kiyoomi leaned back on the couch and attempted to correctly hold the baby on his chest. One hand on her back and the other holding her butt up. As if Kiyoomi was a sleeping pill the little girl immediately closed her eyes and fell asleep on the tall man. "see it's not hard. Do you wanna take her to her momma? She seems sleepy," you said with small smile on your face. Not forgetting the little boy playing behind the couch you glanced over to make sure he was okay. God, Kiyoomi could help but want to ask if you wanted to be a mom right now.

Unmoving Kiyoomi stiffly shakes his head no at the though of having to hold this baby while moving. You srunch your eyebrows together in thought trying to understand why he's so stiff. noticing your confusion he squeaks out, "What if I break her?" and at first you thought he was joking but there was genuine panic in his features. He thought he was this cool collected guy, but you could honestly read him like a book.

"i'll be right here, okay? You're not going to break her," You nodded your head while you spoke to him in the calmest voice you could muster. Slowly he stood up and you redirected his hand so that it held up some of her head too along with her back. "you need to keep her head up. Baby's head's are weak," he nodded his head at your words like they were the gospel. Anything you said he would take it as the truth. If you said it, it was right. Cautiously walking up the steps to the family room. His whole family seems shocked to see the large man holding such a delicate baby. He takes a deep breath while he tries to pass the sleeping girl to his sister.

"whoa, what did you do to her? She never sleeps this heavy." His sister said in shock, "Kiyoomi you need to hold her more often," she continued. Then did you finally take in how red his face was. He was so flustered it was adorable. Quickly you took your phone out and snapped a picture of the boy without his knowledge.

bonus:

It was late and about everyone at the gathering had left except for Kiyoomi's immediate family. The baby girl was back in your and Kiyoomi's lap trying to decide who she wants to get attention from. You and Kiyoomi were shoulder to shoulder and at one point he brought his arm over to hold you even closer. After falling a few times on Kiyoomi and then gripping his shirt like a life line the little girl turned and crawled into your lap. You let a small Ha at Kiyoomi for her ultimately choosing you, but you take it back once the little girl tried pulling the top of you dress down to get to your boob. Kiyoomi quickly grabs the little girl and she starts crying sad that she didn't get fed. If you heard correctly you swore you heard him tell the little one that you would have milk soon but not now.

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu fluff #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #kiyoomi fluff #kiyoomi sakusa #im sorry for making him horrible in another chance #babygirl kiyoomi #kiyoomi x reader #haikyuu sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa x reader #dilf sakusa #haikyuu dads

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ldrfanatic · 7 months ago

Text

promise.

theodore nott x fem!reader

synopsis - as you quite literally stumble upon the enigmatic persona of theodore nott, you unintentionally become entangled in the intrigue surrounding him

warnings - mentions of death, domestic violence, cursing, and alcohol consumption

considering a part two to this... I have a few cute ideas in mind.

the next part of thirteen is coming soon I'm like halfway through but in the meantime, here's this.

works slytherin boys

Theodore Nott absolutely hated human interaction. He didn't want to be looked at or spoken too. And he most certainly did not want to be touched. In stark contrast to his best friend Mattheo's loud and boisterous personality, Theodore Nott was quiet. Reserved. He rarely ever spoke to anyone outside of his friend group, and even then he'd been known to simply pretend the rest of the world didn't exist on a whim. Yes, Theodore Nott hated people.

Theo was yanked from his thoughts as a figure slammed into him.

"I'm so sorry!" You exclaimed. The books and parchment in your arms had gone flying as you collided with someone else in the halls. When you were met with silence, you looked up and suddenly, Theo lost his train of thought. You'd ran into Theodore. The slytherin boy looked at you with a rather intense stare, but he didn't say anything.

He just stared.

Awkwardly.

Theodore stared at you as you rambled out apologies and phrase after phrase of complete nonsense. It was actually kind of cute. And it was the first time that someone had taken the time to talk to him properly since he'd been at hogwarts. Even teachers had given up on trying to engage him in conversation.

"There's a party tonight at Slytherin house. Be there." You stood gaping at Theo with your mouth slightly open. He figured you were fairly shocked at having heard him speak considering how scarcely he allowed words to fall from his lips.

Internally, Theodore grimaced at his own words. Years and years of barely speaking to anyone had obviously done nothing for his social skills. He racked his brain as he tried to recall his time in primary school so as to remember how to properly communicate.

"I mean, you can come. I-If you'd like that is." Once again Theo cringed as he tripped over his own tongue. It felt unnatural to stutter. He'd never stammered over his words like that. But there was something about that unhinged his soul. He hadn't quite figured out if he enjoyed it or not but this party was the perfect excuse to get closer to you while he studied the affects you have on him.

"I'll be there." You offered him a smile that made his heartbreat thrum in his ears.

“Promise?”

The word tumbled out of him before he could stop himself. He watched as your brows furrowed curiously. After all, it was quite an odd thing to make someone promise. But you didn’t question it.

“I promise.”

Your words meant everything to him. Theo closed his eyes in a manic attempt to calm his thoughts, and when he opened them, you were gone. Odd. Perhaps he'd imagined the whole thing.

Or perhaps not.

In fact, as he looked at over by the snack table casually conversing with Pansy Parkinson, Theo was certain he hadn't imagined the interaction. Even more so when you turned and smiled at him apparently feeling his gaze on you.

He watched as Pansy muttered something to you that had you looking curiously over at him. You pointed at him and cocked your head slightly sideways (an adorable action that made Theo's heart beat too fast). Just as quickly as you'd done it, you shrugged at Pansy and took a sip of the juice in your hand.

For the second time that day, Theodore was jarred from his thoughts.

Mattheo's hand knocked onto Theo's shoulder.

"Hello? Anyone home?"

When Theo turned to look at the boy, he wasn't surprised to see that he was intoxicated. Mattheo often found solace in drugs and alcohol, something Theo didn't quite understand. No. He preferred to be calm and in control.

Mattheo carried on, not expecting Theo to respond.

"So who's the girl?"

Theo flashed Mattheo a feigned confused look that he knew Mattheo saw right through.

"Oh don't give me that bullshit. You know the girl that you're staring holes into?"

When his friend continued to ignore him, Mattheo pulled back so he was standing up mostly straight and set his beer down on the table in front of the couch with a rather loud thunk.

"Fine. If you have no interest in her then surely you won't mind if I make her my next conquest. She is quite pretty."

Mattheo didn't make it two steps before Theodore was harshly shoving him aside until his bum found the couch. "Stay away."

The dark haired boy smirked up at him. It was pretty clear that Theo had some sort of feelings for you well beyond what he normally thought of pretty much anyone else.

In their own little world, the two hadn't noticed you and Pansy approaching them. Pansy looked on with a knowing look as you flocked to Theo worriedly.

"Are you alright Theodore?"

When Theo turned to look at you, he felt his rage dissipate. He also fell silent again. For the first time in his life, Theo was unable to speak not because he didn't want to, but because he just didn't know what to say. He fished for sentences in his brain or words of any kind really and yet he came up empty.

Afraid that he'd make a fool of himself again, Theo turned swiftly on his heel and removed himself from the situation.

As you watched Theo leave, you found yourself wildly confused. What the fuck just happened? Sure, Theo was known for just getting up and leaving conversations. But he'd stood there looking at you and even opened his mouth like he was going to say something. Then he just left.

"No hard feelings, Y/n. Theo doesn't like people."

You tried to force yourself to believe Pansy's words. Theo was fine, he just didn't like people. Everyone knew that. But the look that Mattheo exchanged with Theo before he left itched at you in a way that made you feel as though there was something deeper going on there that you weren't privy to.

It turns out, Theo's behavior bothered you enough for you to break one of your cardinal rules: never involve yourself with Mattheo Riddle & Co. You'd had this ingrained in your mind since you started hogwarts. There were only ever two exceptions. One, for Pansy Parkinson who it turned out really spent more time with the Greengrass sisters than Mattheo and his posse. And two, for Theodore Nott whom you'd had a schoolgirl crush on since third year. He was simply too handsome to ignore. And though you'd never really had more than exactly one ten second conversation with him right after you'd damn near toppled him over, you felt concern for him after the incident in the Slytherin party the other night.

Hence why you were standing in front of a grinning Mattheo Riddle at breakfast one morning.

"Where's Theodore?"

Mattheo sucked a breath in through his teeth and looked at you with mischievous eyes.

"Sorry darling. Can't betray one of my best mates, can I?"

"I'm worried about him."

"Then go find him."

You rolled your eyes. You should've known conversing with the likes of Riddle was going to be a waste of your time.

"If I knew where to find him, do you really think I'd be slumming it with you right now? I just want to check on him."

Mattheo looked up at you from his seat with false offense.

"Slumming it? I will have you know that my company is desired by many. And if you're really that desperate to find him, what do you say you and I go get ourselves a broom closet? I'm sure he'd be more than willing to crash our party."

Your eyebrows furrowed as the hidden meaning of Mattheo's words flew clear over your head.

"As if. Enough of your games, Riddle. Draco!"

The platinum haired boy jumped when you barked out his name. He squeaked out a 'yes' in return. You really could be quite intimidating when you wanted to be.

"Where the hell is Theodore?"

"Last I saw him he was out in the gardens."

You swung your bag over your shoulder, watching on in amusement while Mattheo delivered a rapid thump to the back of Draco's head. The boys began to squabble, but you didn't stay to watch, instead taking off towards the gardens.

When you got there, Theo was pacing back in forth in front of the Gardenias. The sound of your approaching footsteps startled him and he whipped around to see who'd followed him out here. As his eyes fell on your figure, he noticeably relaxed.

"Theodore, are you alright?" You repeated your words from last night. Theo's chest heaved as he took a rather deep breath.

"Gardenias were her favorite flower."

You stared on in confusion before it hit you. "Your mother."

You remembered hearing your parents talk about the death of Isabella Nott when you were around 8 or 9 years old. Cantankerous Nott was a prominent figure in the Ministry of Magic, so the death of his wife spread like wildfire amongst the wizarding world.

"When I want to talk to her, I come out here. Being near Gardenias makes me feel... closer to her. I know it's silly."

"It's not silly Theo." This was the most that anyone had ever heard Theo speak. There was no way you were going to let him recluse out of unnecessary embarrassment.

"When I was a boy, my father used to hit my mother. I- I couldn't understand why. She was kind, loving, beautiful. Everything a foul man like him could've hoped for. It frustrated me that I couldn't do anything to help her."

He took a deep breath and tears welled up in his eyes. His gaze had found it's way back to the Gardenias and he focused on them as he continued.

"Then one day, I came home from primary school and they were fighting. My father was the angriest I'd ever seen him. My mother told me to go upstairs to my room. But I didn’t want to leave her so I hid behind the stairs, peeking through the bars. I was worried for her. Then as I watched, my father beat my mother to death. It's why I can see the Thestrals. It's... also why I don't speak. I prefer to be in my mind, where I can be with my memories of her."

Though you couldn't exactly relate to Theodore, your heart ached for him. To have watched his mother die at such a young age, and at the hands of his own father in such a brutal way. It's understandable the impact that it had on him.

“That’s understandable.”

Theo turned to face you, face flushed and chest heaving as though he’d just run a mile.

“It’s more than that though. If you stay away from people, you can’t get attached. If you don’t get attached…”

He trailed off but you could piece together what he was getting at fairly easily.

“You don’t have to worry about getting hurt.”

Theo nodded, chestnut curls blowing gently as a breeze passed through. Your hand made itself busy toying with the leaves of a nearby bush. The deep tones of Theo’s voice echoed as he spoke again.

“It’s different with you. I tried like hell not to get attached. But I can’t help it but want to be close to you. Because you’re so kind. Because you don’t push me to speak, instead you fill the silence with your own beautiful voice. Because for the first time since her death, being present, with you, brings me more happiness than being in my memories with her.”

Theo motioned frantically with his hands as he spoke. It was odd to see a boy usually so stoic be overcome with emotions in this way. When he turned to face the Gardenia bushes again, you came to stand beside him. With gentle hands, you ran your fingers over the white petals of the Gardenias.

“You know I remember reading something once in a muggle book about flowers. Muggles are so silly, aren’t they?”

When Theo turned to you with a questioning look, you took that as your cue to continue.

“They see things they don’t understand. They label them as ‘miracles’ and then come up with these ridiculous folktales and stories just so they don’t have to face the discomfort of not knowing. It must be maddening to them, not knowing.

“Not knowing about where they came from. Or what comes after when they… pass. So instead they label everything, instead of marveling in the beauty and the realness of simply not knowing.”

The boy at your side had completely torn his attention from the ivory flowers and fixed his gaze on you. His eyes seemed to hold and unspoken question, are you going anywhere with this?

“They have a belief about Gardenias. Ancient tales speak of gods and goddesses who transformed Gardenias into sacred tokens, giving them magical properties, which I found to be most intriguing considering that nowadays the majority of muggles don’t believe in magic at all.

“One thing I did find particularly interesting. The muggles believe that Gardenias signify an untold love. They are also given to convey “you're lovely”. Because of this, the gardenia is a flower that they give to lovers, friends, and even family. It's a way of telling them how lovely they are.”

You grasped his hand in his.

“Theo I think remembering your mother through Gardenias is a lovely way to do so. I think she would’ve liked that. And I believe that whatever happens to us when we die, your mother uses all of her strength to tell you through every Gardenia on Earth how much she loves you.”

With your kind words, the dam that seemed to be holding in Theo’s emotions for the last 7 years, shattered. Hits tears streamed down his face and he all but launched himself into your arms. He cried, sobbed actually, and clutched your figure closely to his.

When he finally calmed, his rough hand made its way back into yours. He sniffled softly for a few minutes and the pair of you watched the Gardenias together for a little while.

Finally, after he’d regained control, Theo plucked a Gardenia from the bushes and brought out his wand. He muttered a few spells softly which you recognized as preservation spells. Then, to your surprise, he held the flower out to you with two simple words.

“You’re lovely.”

“Promise?”

You teased him lightly, returning the words he’d spoken to you yesterday afternoon.

Theo fought his own grin at the way your lips turned up. He did have a reputation to uphold and he couldn’t very well do that if he was caught grinning at you.

“Promise.”

Oh to hell with Theodore Nott’s bloody reputation. In the week following your stolen moments in the garden, you and Theodore Nott began courting. When the rest of Hogwarts got wind after a Hufflepuff saw him kiss you outside of the Herbology greenhouse, the student body descended into chaos.

Still, the chatters died down within the day following. In fact, most of your fellow students seemed to think that the whisperings surrounding a relationship between yourself and Theo were simply rumors.

‘She spends a lot of time with the Slytherins.’ One student whispered in the back of Potions.

‘So? She’s friends with Pansy Parkinson, isn’t that her lot as well.’ Another student whispered back.

And since neither you nor Theodore were particularly large gossips, not one of the pair of you said anything to confirm or deny the rumors. Which only fueled more into the leading theory, that the Hufflepuff who saw you kiss was simply imagining it.

Of course, you, Theodore, and the rest of Mattheo & Co. knew differently but that didn’t really bother either of you.

So Theodore continued his life in peace. Knowing that he had the most beautiful girl in the castle in his arms every night, and his reputation for being the most emotionless son a bitch in Hogwarts was still in tact. Theodore Nott had found happiness for once.

Or he was happy.

That is until he saw that bloody Ravenclaw Anthony Goldstein chatting you up by the juice at the evening’s Slytherin House Party.

All week Theo had successfully maintained his carefree and cold hearted front. Yet watching the stupid blonde chat you up while you constantly waved him away made his blood boil. It was more than simple jealousy. It was disrespectful enough to dally around with another man’s girl. But to continue to harass the poor girl when she’d clearly asked you to leave was just in poor character. And for Goldstein to think he could get away with pursuing Theodore’s girl at all was ridiculous and frankly insulting.

So, employing a trick as old as time itself, Theodore stood from his seat next to Draco and just walked away. Whatever the platinum blonde was saying to him was cut off. He looked around at the others around him, motioning to Theo’s retreating figure.

“What are gonna do with him?”

But Theo ignored him. If he didn’t want to entertain Draco’s nonsense any longer, it was his given right to walk away. He had legs, after all.

Legs which were currently making short time towards where his beautiful girlfriend stood in a black cocktail dress. As soon as he was in arms reach, Theo pulled her soft figure into his own, closer and closer until he could smell the perfume on her. It was like having his own little Amortentia when he was around you. As usual, the feeling of your soft skin against his was calming.

It should have been calming.

It would have been calming.

If that idiot blonde hadn’t rudely interrupted Theodore’s plan to remove his personal heaven from the situation by walking the pair of you away from fucking Anthony Goldstein.

“Wait! I was trying to give her an invitation for the party Ravenclaw is having next week.”

Theo stopped and turned, desperately trying to reel in his anger for your sake.

“Sorry she has awful memory.”

The edges of Theo’s mouth ticked up slightly as a giggle broke from your lips behind him. He fought the urge to smile at the sound of your laughter.

“That’s alright I can just tell you, mate.”

This kid was either absolutely stupid or had a death wish. Clearly, you weren’t interested. Clearly, you were already well taken care of.

“No need, mate.” Theo spit out the word in a tone drastically unlike the cheerful one that Goldstein had used. They most certainly were not mates.

“Oh come on, Nott. It can’t hurt.”

Finally Theo’s resolve snapped. He released your hand from his own, faintly aware of your hand grasping the back of his shirt as he stepped closer to the boy in front of him.

“Might hurt.” The words concealed a thinly veiled threat. One that Anthony Goldstein apparently picked up on.

His face blanched and his features twisted. He returned the Slytherins glare with a less effective one of his own.

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise.”

A beat of tense silence passed between the pair, interrupted by you.

“Oh—kay. Let’s all calm down. We’re all… acquaintances?”

Even calling the two boys acquaintances was a major stretch. But before Theo could satisfy the growing need to slam his fist into Anthony’s face repeatedly, the Ravenclaw scoffed out a ‘whatever’ and stalked away.

“Theo…”

Your soft lips dragged out the syllables of Theo’s name but he was still feeling the after effects of his jealousy. He couldn’t believe that stupid fucker had the nerve to challenge him for a girl that was already his. No more of that.

Theo gently took your small wrist in his hand. He led you to the top of the stone stairs that let to the Slytherin Dorms. As you passed, heads turned. And by the time you made it to the top of the grand staircase, every pair of eyes in the party had focused on the two of you.

And in front of all of them, Theo kissed you. Fiercely.

The party was silenced in shock. Even the music had stopped. A few students whispered between themselves. Theo’s friends were exchanging grins and knowing looks.

Theo finally felt at peace as he leaned his forehead against yours.

“You’re my girlfriend.”

“Promise.”

---

wc 3.4k

04.21.24

theodore taglist

@moonlightreader649 @svt-dk97 @thatdammchickennugget @helendeath @fandom-life-12 @bouquetolegoflowers @maryvibess

#slytherin boys #slytherin #theodore nott #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x reader #theo nott #slytherin boys x reader

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rcmclachlan · 5 months ago

Text

Relative Value (buck/tommy)

"And I feel for her, you know? I really do. The dissolution of a relationship, especially a marriage, feels like you're drowning in hot tar, and you spend every waking moment kicking your way to the surface to try and breathe. But if she brings up her divorce again while I'm in the middle of peeing? I'm going to divorce her head from her body."

Buck makes a face at the thought of Maddie's decapitated coworker. "Please don't send the 118 to that scene. I'm not so great with entrails these days. Send the 147—they deserve it after they botched that extrication on Monday."

Maddie laughs, the sound tinny but comfortingly familiar coming through his phone's speakers. She'd propped her phone on Jee-Yun's dresser halfway through the call so she could put away laundry while she talked, and for the last five minutes he's been watching her fold Jee's clothes like she's being judged at the Olympics.

It's nice to see that hasn't changed. Maddie should've been in jail years ago for the way she loads a dishwasher, but when it comes to laundry she's a goddamn wizard. When he was younger, his parents saddled him with taking out the trash and doing the dishes, but putting away the laundry was always Maddie's chore. She actually enjoyed it, the weirdo. She used to tell him the first whiff of warm Snuggle right out of the dryer was a cure-all. Also, she can fold a fitted sheet in under ten seconds. He'd timed her once.

Maddie takes an eye-wateringly orange shirt out of the laundry basket and with three decisive motions turns it into a perfect rectangle. If Jee ever decides she wants to go deer hunting, she'll be all set. "Since when are you not good with entrails?"

"Since that guy was ripped in half last week."

It'd easily been the grizzliest car crash he'd ever been called to. It made the 405 pileup a few years back look like Disney on Ice. About halfway through tagging and bagging almost a dozen casualties strewn all over the westbound lanes of the Pomona Freeway, the guy responsible for the crash snapped awake while Hen and Chimney were setting up and drove off in a panic. The top-half of the motorist stuck under his car was dragged maybe sixty feet, and Buck had a front row seat to the sight of the poor guy's nerves and vasculature trailing behind him like squid tentacles before the driver came to a stop by hitting yet another car.

"I'm also not eating spaghetti for the foreseeable future, FYI," he adds.

Maddie wrinkles her nose. "Okay, changing the subject: when do you leave again?"

It wouldn't be an overstatement to say the smile that question invokes explodes over his face. He feels it happen; the spark eats the fuse so quickly there's barely any lead-up and his cheeks burn from the sheer magnitude of the blast.

"You look deranged," Maddie says, laughing.

"I feel deranged." He's been like this all week and it's starting to scare everyone. Chimney keeps leaving pamphlets for Clozaril in his locker. "Tomorrow morning. We're picking up the bird right after we do a coffee run."

"I wish my boyfriend was whisking me away to the mountains for a romantic getaway." Maddie heaves a theatrical sigh. "My husband says the best he can do is Shake Shack."

The whole thing is absolutely bonkers. He'd been minding his own business, half-watching a documentary about volcanoes with his feet in Tommy's lap, when they showed some insanely beautiful footage of Mount Rainier. And although his mind was focused on completing level 29 of Euclidea, his mouth was busy saying, "I've always wanted to go there."

Thumb digging into Buck's instep, Tommy had made a thoughtful sound and said, "I'd tapped a buddy of mine to get us into Griffith Observatory after hours, but I like your idea way better. Let's do it."

If someone had told Buck 1.0 that someday a beast of a man would be flying him by helicopter to the Cascades for their two-year anniversary, he would've laughed his way into a pneumothorax. And then he would've tried to fuck his nurse.

He looks across the living room to where their bags have been sitting, fully packed, since last night, and grins. "Tell Chim he needs to step up his game. You're worth Zankou, at least."

Maddie snorts. "Gee, thanks."

Behind her, there's unexpected movement, and every muscle in his body locks up as his heart stops in a moment of brief, blinding terror.

It's stupid to feel this way after seven years, but a little part of him is still waiting for Doug to crawl out of the shadows like a wraith to finish what he tried to do. He's spent many a sleepless night spiraling to the soundtrack of Chimney's desperate, Do you know he's dead for sure? Did you see a body?

Buck did see his body, but a little voice sometimes whispers to him from some deep, dark place at two in the morning: it was freezing that day. It could've slowed the bleeding, could've kept him alive long enough to go to a hospital. You don't know what happened after the ambulance left with him. What if he survived? What if he's out there right now, just biding his time?

Which are bad and ridiculous thoughts to have because he knows that monster is dead, and frankly he's got better things to think about than Doug, who's absolutely having his skin torn off in hell right now—especially since his adorable, perfect niece is the one who came into the room.

"Say hi to your uncle, Jee," Maddie says, smiling. In her hands, a pair of polka dot leggings becomes a polka dot brick with hospital corners.

Jee-Yun jumps a little like she can't quite see him, and Maddie goes over to the dresser to obligingly tilt the camera down.

"Hi, Uncle Buck." Jee-Yun waves, then rises an inch or two higher in the frame, and he realizes she's standing on her tiptoes. She cranes her head, moving it a bit from side to side like she's looking for something. After a few seconds, she drops back down, grimacing in disappointment.

He looks over his shoulder, but no one's there. "Sorry, kiddo, it's just me."

"Just you is fine, always," Maddie immediately pipes up, and he ducks his head with a smile. It's always nice to hear her say that. "It's just that… well, she had a question and we weren't sure if you were the one we should be asking."

Buck grins. "Lay it on me, Jee."

It's always a little hilarious to watch how Jee reacts when the spotlight's on her. She bounces and twirls a little, and her whale-spout pigtails move with her. For someone getting ready to enter kindergarten, she's got the stage presence of a Broadway star. "Uncle Buck, how do airplanes fly when they're so big and heavy?"

He opens his mouth to answer her, but there's nothing there, just an empty pocket of air that tastes vaguely like the ham sandwich he had for lunch. He closes his mouth with a click, stymied. He could've sworn he knew this one. Something about lift and drag?

"Jee, I-I'm sorry. I don't know off the top of my head. I could look it up for you?"

A little groan escapes her, but it turns into a shriek when a tie-dyed sweatshirt comes winging from off-camera and lands on her head. Jee wrestles the shirt away, static making her hair cling to her face, which she swipes with a whine.

"That's why I wanted to ask Uncle Tommy!"

Buck has forgotten a lot about the tsunami. Time has softened the memory of how warm the water was, how it shoved its way into his mouth and nostrils like it was trying to find a way inside his veins, and that it was filled with so much debris it scored the insides of his cheeks bloody. But the one thing he never lost was how his feet went out from under him when that first wave hit like a freight train. He hasn't been able to ride a roller coaster since: he doesn't see the need to pay to experience the feeling of free fall again. He remembers every second of it like it just happened.

He may be sitting on the couch with his feet firmly on the floor, but his stomach is thrilling at the familiar sensation of being completely unmoored. Only instead of being dragged into the dark, he's being pulled up into endless blue.

Breathless with stratospheric joy, he digs his trembling fingers into his knees like it's going to do anything to keep him grounded, and chokes out, "Who, Jee?"

The look Jee turns on the camera is so confused that Buck isn't sure he was even using real words just then. It could've been a jumble of sounds falling from his mouth like aquarium gravel.

"Uncle Tommy," Jee says, with the patient air of someone who forgot they were talking to an idiot. "It's okay if you don't know about airplanes, Uncle Buck. You drive fire trucks."

He's pretty sure he was just insulted. Behind Jee, Maddie's wide-eyed and mouthing an ecstatic oh my god!

"Tell you what. When—" he swallows thickly, overcome "—Uncle Tommy wakes up from his nap, I'll have him call you and he can tell you all about how planes stay up in the air."

She mulls it over, and he can see the outline of her tongue poking the inside of her cheek like she's swishing the offer around in her mouth. Finally, she gives him two decisive nods of her head that has her pigtails bouncing. "Okay. When's that?"

"I-I don't know. Soon." If the lightning had struck a few feet away from him instead of dead-on, he thinks it would've felt like this. Any second now he's going to vibrate out of his skin and scar Jee for life. "Maybe I should go check on him."

"I think that's a good idea," Maddie says cheerfully, coming into the foreground. Her eyes are glossy and red, and even with two screens and several miles between them it feels like she's about to wrap him up in the warmest hug. "Why don't we let you go for now? Uncle Tommy can give us a buzz later."

"Yeah, t-that sounds like a plan." He knows he's rocking the deranged look again, except it's somehow so much worse. He doesn't care. He hopes his face gets stuck like this. When he rolls into the station two weeks from tomorrow, he's going to take every pamphlet Chimney shoves at him and eat them.

Maddie's grin is threatening to split her face in half. "Give Uncle Tommy a big kiss from us."

He's going to do way more than that. "You bet. Bye, Mads. Bye, Jee!"

The very second the call ends, he's on his feet and practically running down the hall. Tommy had been coming off a rough 24 earlier when he'd sloppily kissed Buck and then staggered into the bedroom. It's been almost three hours and Buck hasn't heard a peep since.

Buck makes sure to lift the bedroom door when he opens it so the hinges don't creak, and when he sees Tommy—sprawled diagonally across the mattress with his jeans still on and enough drool soaked into the pillowcase to fill a bathtub—his knees decide it's the perfect time to stop working. He clutches the door frame so he doesn't crumble to the floor under the weight of all this euphoria.

Jee thinks of Tommy as family. It's not hard to figure out the logic she must be using to get there: she has an Uncle Buck, who has had a Tommy for as long as she's been making real memories, and therefore…

He can't help but wonder who else in the world is operating on that same intel. Jee has no doubt told the teachers at her kindergarten about her mom and dad and her amazingly cool Uncle Buck, but maybe she's also told them about her other uncle, who always lets her ride on his shoulders when they go to the park and who talks to her like she's a forty-seven-year old at brunch. Maybe she's told kids at the playground about the uncle who knows why planes stay in the air and who folded himself into a pretzel because she wanted him to sit next to her at the kids' table last Friendsgiving. Maybe she's drawn shitty pictures in crayon of two stick figures holding hands under a smiling sun, and when her classmates ask who they're supposed to be, she tells them, "That's my Uncle Buck and my Uncle Tommy."

Inhaling shakily, he makes himself move from the doorway to the bed, crawling in as gingerly as he can. It's all for nothing, though, because Tommy cracks an eye open and fixes it on him. Buck scrunches his face up in apology, but Tommy just smiles a little and tugs Buck down, pressing his face into the space between Buck's neck and shoulder and settling with a hum.

Buck slides a hand into his hair and holds him close, breathing in old sweat and a hint of his own shampoo. "I love you, Uncle Tommy."

"If this is a new kink, I'm going to need at least another two hours of sleep before I'm prepared to tackle it," Tommy mumbles.

Choking on laughter, Buck presses a kiss to the side of his head and wonders if it's possible to die of happiness. "Not quite. Your niece has a question about airplanes and wants you to call her when you wake up."

When there's no immediate answer, Buck is sure Tommy's fallen back to sleep, but then Tommy shifts a little in his arms, presses a kiss to his shoulder, and murmurs warmly, "Will do."

#bucktommy #911 abc fic #give me uncle tommy or give me death #911 #rc's 911 fics

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