#A MONTH IS STILL TOO FAR ACTUALLY *FALLS TO MY KNEES* | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rememberwren · 25 days

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A Girl (Not Mine) || 1

Ghost is a little obsessed with Soap and a lot obsessed with Soap's girlfriend--you.

About this: ghoap/fem!reader, suspension of disbelief regarding anything military related is actually necessary for enjoyment, canon-typical trauma for Simon, intrusive thoughts, slut shaming, voyeurism, fingering, accidentally seeing nudes not meant for you, poor writing unless you squint, try squinting. 4k

“I’m so glad I got a girl to think of,

Even though she isn’t mine.”

The first time Johnny mentions you, the 141 is fresh from a month-long leave.

Ghost has a love-hate relationship with time spent off duty. He’d like to enjoy it—to do fuck all, to hike through Clayton Vale twice in a day if it suits him, to drink tea for every meal. But all leave does is remind him of the glaring emptiness in his life, the one he usually fills with violence. So he spent the month climbing up the walls and crawling out of his skin, waiting to be called back like a dog brought to heel.

Here was his comeuppance for craving something to fucking do instead of relaxing the way Price had told him to do. Now they were on their way to San Lorenzo in Ecuador dealing with Ghost’s least favorite flavor of criminal: drug cartels.

It’s too close to Mexico. Too close to that which he would forget gladly if it didn’t come with the loss of so many valuable skill sets. He’s crawling out of his skin for a whole new reason, watching the water fly by beneath them, deep in memories.

Ghost takes all those feelings, fears, remembrances and swallows them whole. Lets them sink to a sour, dark place in his belly. He sits tense on the helo, still except for the rise and fall of his chest, his rifle a familiar weight across his knees. Sometimes he has to shut his eyes, swallowing against the rising nausea.

He only has half an ear on Garrick and Johnny’s conversation beside him, but it is all he needs to follow along.

“—lass of my own now,” Johnny is saying around a laugh, his accent thick enough to chafe at Ghost’s skin in a way he doesn’t want to examine, one that leaves him feeling raw but not necessarily hurt. “So no more picking up the barflies back in Hereford.”

“She making an honest man out of you, Tav?”

“Aye, you could say that.” Johnny sounds proud of the fact. It all is so far from anything Simon has experienced in his life that he feels no distant stirring of empathy, not even a muted sense of familiarity in the words. Honest men do not exist.

Not to mention, Simon’s never had a woman (willingly) and he never will.

“You love her?” Garrick asks, earnestly interested to hear the answer. Ghost couldn’t care less.

“Aye. There’s something special about her.”

“What, she’s cool with anal?”

Johnny crows with laughter, and now Ghost does feel something: annoyance, cloying, creeping up his spine like a spider in a web headed for the wiggling maggot of his brain.

“Will you two ever shut up?” he snaps. “Not a moment’s fucking peace since we boarded.”

“Sorry LT,” Johnny says, sounding genuinely apologetic. Ghost cuts his eyes toward the other man, assessing for honesty. Johnny’s face is too expressive: brows lifted, eyes wide and earnest, mouth tipped into a tiny grimace, like the thought of irritating Ghost gives him real pain. Between the two of them, Ghost can’t help but think that it’s Johnny who needs a mask if he wants to survive in the world.

Ghost doesn’t have the energy for this. He goes back to watching the scenery pass by. They are over trees now: thick lush jungle, the scent of which he associates with pain—plenty of which was his own. Plenty of which he caused to others.

“What about you, LT?” Johnny asks, calling out over the sound of the helicopter blades. “Do you have a woman back home?”

Ghost lets his head turn, slow and dangerous. Johnny’s audacity never fails to surprise him. “What do you think, Johnny?”

“Honestly?”

“Go on, then.”

“You look like if yeh’ve got a woman, she’s probably locked in yer basement.”

(right where she’d belong.)

Garrick slaps Johnny’s thigh, his face mottled with panic. He hisses under his breath, something like, There are faster ways to die, Tav! Less painful ways, too, Ghost thinks. He fixes Johnny with a dead stare. The silence stretches, growing long and thin and dangerous, like the blade of a knife, until Johnny looks away.

“Think less about my private life, Sergeant,” he warns him.

“Not often you tell me to think less, LT.”

Ghost just grunts, finished with the conversation, returning his unseeing eyes to the trees and slipping back into his own memories.

That should be—well, not the end of it. He expects Johnny to become insufferable about it; that’s just the other man’s way. Still, Ghost had never expected to see you.

He’s doing paperwork in the rec room, too stifled by the tiny, enclosed space of his office to remain there. Paperwork and debriefing are always his least favorite parts of an op. Give him a gun with which to kill and he will gladly kill; give him a pen with which to write and he spends half the time thinking about burying it in his own eye. Garrick and Johnny are there nearby fucking around on their phones having finished with their easy portion of the work ages ago.

A phone is what Johnny thrusts beneath Ghost’s nose. It takes all of his mental fortitude not to flinch away from the unexpected action (or, more likely, not to rip Johnny’s arm off and beat him half to death with it). His eyes flicker down to the screen on instinct and—there you are.

You have one eye squinted shut, your hand up to create a visor against the overbearing sun. The picture shows you from the bust upwards, and Simon sees it for approximately one full second before he grips Johnny’s wrist in a brutal hold and forces the hand and the phone away.

It’s already too late. He’s committed you to memory. The way your hair sits, its color in the blistering sun. The curve of your lips (fuckable, he thinks against his will) as you give Johnny behind the camera an exasperated smile. The arch of your nose (images now—fingers pinching noses shut, forcing mouths further down his cock just to watch them choke and struggle)—

“Get that out of my face,” he grits out through his teeth. His thoughts won’t stop, not now that the floodgates have been opened, and it makes him feel like a dog backed into a corner, frightened-violence rising up in the back of his throat like bile.

—the smooth line of your throat (and his hands around it, choking the light from your eyes just to fuck you when you’re soft and pliable and he doesn’t have to listen to you crying and begging)—shut UP!—

“It’s just my girl, sir,” Johnny laughs, his own eyes flickering back down to your image on the phone, like they are drawn to you. Like it is hard to look away. Ghost doesn’t have that problem—he has some discipline left. “And it’s not as if she’s naked.”

Ghost grips the pen in his hand so tightly that the plastic shell cracks. He’s barely keeping it together, sick and afraid and horrified and angry that Johnny has done this to him—has done this to his own girl—

His voice is rough when he croaks out: “What makes you think I care to see her, Sergeant?”

“‘S it wrong to share the most important person in my life with the other most important people in my life?” Johnny says, eyes too guileless to be taken seriously.

“Share less,” he snaps.

“Been saying that to me an awful lot lately, sir.”

“A good Sergeant would take my words to heart.”

“A good lieutenant would know a futile lesson when it’s biting him in the arse.”

Ghost’s eyes narrow. “Careful, Johnny. As much as I hate paperwork, I’d write you up—gladly.”

Johnny gapes. “What for?”

Ghost grins without mirth, mask stretching around his features. Even grinning cruelly like this, his face feels unused to any expression that is adjacent to happiness. He swears darkly: “I’ll find a reason.”

It would send anyone else running. Even Garrick looks fearful, though fascinated: the same look a man wears when he’s watching a car crash in progress. But if sense were dynamite, Johnny wouldn’t have enough to blow his nose. Instead, he just flops down on the couch close enough to flutter the pages in Ghost’s lap. Close enough for their knees to brush.

“Jesus, you’re a tadger today,” Johnny says quietly, boot knocking against Ghost’s, a touch he feels all the way up his leg. “Shove off some of that paperwork on us. What’s the use of being a lieutenant if you can’t lord it over your sergeants?”

“I’m sorry, us?” Garrick asks.

“I don’t shirk my responsibilities, Johnny,” Ghost says coldly, gathering his papers. His elbow brushes against Johnny’s ribs, the firm, burning warmth of the other man’s body. He jerks away. He’ll take the stifling seclusion of his office, that makeshift coffin, before he subjects himself to any more of this. “You’d do well to follow my example.”

Ghost resolutely does not think of you. Not during quiet lazy moments on base, not during the frustration of training recruits, especially not during the eerie calm of missions. You do not cross his mind.

His dreams are another thing altogether.

There are the dreams where he hurts and the dreams where he is hurting, and he doesn’t know which are worse. He only knows that they are made worse by your strange presence: your body bent and being broken in by others; you, bent and being broken in by him. He wakes in cold sweats, jaw aching from gritting his teeth in his sleep.

He hates himself for this last place where he cannot execute control: his subconscious.

“Mail?” Johnny asks cheerfully at the sight of Garrick seated on the bench outside the DFAC, a stack of papers and letters laying on his lap.

Johnny is sweaty, gray t-shirt clinging to his toned body as he (for once) keeps a companionable silence at Ghost’s side. They have been training recruits all day—work which Ghost considers far beneath his pay grade, but which he can’t refuse when ops are so slow to arrive and when he is so eager (desperate) to keep busy. Ghost lets himself sit heavily on the bench a safe distance away from Garrick, sweat cooling on his own body.

He’s not ready to be alone yet.

He’s allowed to do that. To want company. Of all the people on base, Garrick and Johnny (and Price) might be the most tolerable of the lot of them. During the rare moments when the pitiful piece of humanity left inside him craves companionship, this is the least painful method to mainline it.

He ignores the lack of letters for him. There is no mail for Ghost—there never is.

Garrick passes Johnny no less than four envelopes. Johnny’s soft smile as he flips through them speaks volumes. Ghost can guess who they’re from: his mother likely, who writes as often as she can. One of his various sisters, surely. Take your pick. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Johnny flip through the letters and settle on one in particular, thicker than the others, tearing it open and tugging the letter out.

The pictures slip from the folded piece of paper and fall to the ground.

Johnny dives to grab them, but all it does is bring Garrick’s attention to them more. Even Ghost’s interest is piqued, his dark eyes giving up pretending to watch the recruits limp back to their barracks to shower before dinner and following Johnny’s hasty movements instead, watching the hot flush that crawls up the back of his Sergeant’s neck.

“What are those?” Garrick asks.

“No’ a thing.”

Garrick lights up. He practically tosses his letter to the side. “She sent you pictures?”

“Possibly,” Johnny says smuggly, the images—old fashioned Polaroids, a nice touch—pressed to his chest. His eyes narrow at the expression on Garrick’s face. “Don’t even think about it, Gaz—!”

Garrick pounces. The two begin grappling, both of their faces split into wide grins. Johnny can only defend himself with one arm, his other protectively clutching the photographs to his bosom. They take each other to the ground and Ghost watches, half interested and half irritated, wondering who will win.

The pictures go flying—and fate’s invisible bitch of a hand causes them to land at Ghost’s feet. Garrick and Johnny freeze.

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t, the same way he knows that he’s going to. Ignoring their renewed struggles on the ground as they fight to untangle themselves and stand, he leans down and reaches for the photographs.

The white of the Polaroid’s edges contrast nicely with his dark gloves as he gathers the pictures together like a deck of scattered cards.

“LT—“

They’re relatively tame. Perhaps you knew the high risk of sending them. In one you are kneeling on a bed amongst a sea of mussed, white sheets, wearing nothing but a t-shirt that you have tugged down between your parted thighs to offer yourself some modesty. It is painful to flip to the next one, but pain calls to Ghost, lures him in. In another you’re wearing some strappy lingerie but still covered artfully by the sheets, both hands covering your eyes, a grin on your face like you are mid laugh. Did Johnny take these photos of you himself? Did a stranger? A friend? Another shows your side profile, back arched, topless, every inch of you curved and poised.

You’re (a filthy little slut) so fucking pretty.

“Give ‘em back, LT, please,” Johnny asks gently, like he expects Ghost to tear them to shreds. Or confiscate them.

Ghost drops the photographs to the bench, wishing he could scrub the images of you from his mind. He shouldn’t have picked them up in the first place. It’s adding fuel to the fire of his broken brain, and he knows that he will pay for it dearly.

Johnny is talking. “—shy, she’d just die to know you saw.”

“She’ll only know if you tell her, Johnny,” Ghost reminds him. His mouth feels numb, his brain the quiet granted by white noise, a conglomerate of screams.

Johnny frowns. “Suppose so. You alright?”

“Since Ghost saw—“

“No, Gaz.”

Ghost watches the two of them enter the building.

His hand burns, where he has palmed the picture of you topless. He stands and slips the Polaroid into his back pocket. It’s on the tip of his tongue to call out for Johnny and give him the picture back—he could find some excuse, and Johnny would believe him, he knows it—but he doesn’t. He makes for his room, feeling sick with himself. He isn’t hungry. Not for food.

Ghost is compromised.

The thought replays in his mind over and over again as he drives to Price’s house in Solihull. You and Johnny have crawled beneath his skin and infected him, dug your way into his DNA and are affecting everything from his decision making capabilities to his dreams. He knows that going anywhere where you both will be is a mistake, but it’s one he can’t seem to help hurdling himself toward at high speed.

Nothing will happen, he tells himself, knuckles white against the steering wheel. He only does what he allows himself to do—no more. The others will be there at least, Garrick and Price and Johnny himself. Physical barriers between him and you. Human meat shields, if necessary. Ghost wouldn’t dare to lay a finger on you. (But who would stop him if he tried? Who could?) You are safe, he tells himself.

He is the last to arrive, dragging his feet up the concrete steps to the two story brick historical home that Price owns. He lets himself in the way that Price told him to and can tell by the eerie silence of the house that everyone is already outside enjoying the well-landscaped yard. Already he sees the evidence of you: a purse (go through it) laid neatly on the dining room table. He sets his keys beside it but does not touch it.

Ghost doesn’t bother trying to delay the inevitable. Every part of him wants to run, but that’s all he’s ever wanted his whole life. He’s used to it by now, used to being forced to walk toward the thing which terrified him. He squares his shoulders and slides open the patio door, slipping back out into the muggy heat of the afternoon, face mask in place, hood up.

The landscaping is one of the best features of Price’s house. The privacy fence is tall and appealing to Ghost’s seclusive nature, the lawn neatly clipped. There is a hedgerow running along the southern edge of the fence that is meticulously maintained. Flower beds lined with bricks rest along the house full of geraniums and phlox. The patio is smooth stone with an inlaid fire pit that would be crackling if the weather were any milder. An iron-wrought table sits nearby surrounded by chairs, and seated there are Garrick, Johnny, and Price.

You are over by the flowers, kneeling in the soft grass, picking phlox just a few shades darker than the sundress you’re wearing, the one that skims your soft thighs. Ghost’s eyes roam over you and away all before your head even turns at the sound of the door opening.

“LT,” Johnny calls, lighting up. “You made it!”

“Didn’t think you’d show, Lieutenant,” Garrick says with a smile.

“As if he’s got something better to be doing than spending time with us,” Johnny crows.

“Jesus, will you two leave the man alone? Wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already regretting coming,” Price says. Ghost inclines his head, grateful for the backup.

He hears your approach, the soft sound of your flats against the patio stone. You are small (weak) compared to him, craning your head up to look in his eyes. He hates the dark part of his brain that calls you easy prey as he watches you twist the phlox stems between anxious fingers.

“You must be Simon—” Johnny shakes his head a little, subtle, visible only out of the corner of Ghost’s eye. “—ah—Ghost? I mean—”

“I don’t care what you call me,” he admits.

“Ghost,” you settle where it is nice and safe. “It’s nice to meet you. John talks about you all the time.”

“Likewise,” Ghost says flatly, hoping you will not mistake it for a compliment.

Garrick snorts. “Never shuts up about you is more likely.”

There aren’t enough chairs for everyone, so you sit on Johnny’s lap, legs crossed demurely, skirt riding up around your upper thighs. He wonders about the softness of your skin, wonders if his calloused touch would hurt you or if you’re used to Johnny’s by now. He could make it hurt. The thought doesn’t come with any zing of pleasure, just the cold apathy of fact. Has Johnny ever tried that? Has he ever—

Ghost’s gloved hand clenches into a fist, curling around the iron armrest of the chair. He takes a measured breath and holds it until his lungs ache. Those thoughts aren’t his own. They come from the dark part that Roba seeded inside him, that part with creeping vines too deep to root out. That part with thorns.

He could hurt you, the same way he could hurt anyone, he tells himself. But he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to.

He does only what he allows himself to do. No more. No less.

You and Johnny stand, heading into the house to retrieve a round of drinks for everyone. Ghost watches Johnny’s hand dip low on your back to the curve of your ass as he guides you through the open door, shutting it behind you.

“Are you alright, Simon?” Price asks around a cigar. “I know meeting new people isn’t exactly in your repertoire.”

“Don’t mother me.”

“Don’t have to be your mother to care about you.”

“Garrick—get lost,” Ghost barks.

The iron chair legs screech against the stone of the patio as Garrick stands hastily. “Had the same thought, sir. Hedges look lovely this time of year.”

When Garrick is properly out of earshot, pretending to find amusement in the neat hedgerows along the fence line, Ghost says: “I shouldn’t have come. I’m… I— can’t be left alone with her.”

“With—? Soap’s gal?”

Ghost grits his teeth in shame and nods.

“Do you know her?”

Ghost shakes his head in the negative, but it’s not necessarily true. He knows a thousand women just like her, soft and unexpecting. The betrayal always cuts deeper than his cock could reach (estoy preso, somos lo mismo, por favor).

He stands, chair legs dragging against the stone. “This was a mistake. I need to leave.”

“If you say so,” says Price, knowing better than to argue. “Go around the side. You won’t even have to see them.”

“My keys are inside. I’ll be quick.”

“Take care of yourself, Simon,” says Price, his eyes dark and lips downturned as he watches Ghost stalk to the patio door and slip inside.

He braces himself to see you and Johnny in the kitchen, but when the door slides open near-silent, neither of you are anywhere to be seen. Like a fool, he considers himself lucky. Quiet as his namesake, Ghost goes to the table and picks up his keys, palming them.

That’s when he hears it. The unmistakable muted slap of flesh on flesh.

(Go look.)

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t, but that is his modus operandi these days: failing himself, doing what he isn’t meant to, seeing what is not for his eyes. His feet carry him silently to the door, which is cracked open just wide enough for him to see through into the room. It is a guest bedroom judging by the bland decor, the queen sized bed. Johnny has you sprawled on it, your sundress hitched up around your waist, his fingers buried to the final knuckle inside your cunt. Ghost can hear the way it squelches from all the way outside the door, knows that you must be dripping down Johnny’s wrist.

“Keep quiet, love,” Johnny pants, one hand over your mouth (he’s not doing it right) to muffle the whines and groans trying to slip past your lips. “Needy little thing, aren’t yeh? Squirming in my lap, making my cock hard right there in front of my Captain, in front of my Lieutenant—“

You whine something back, but it is lost into his palm.

“Don’t have time to get my cock in you,” Johnny sighs, twisting his fingers inside you, hooking them to press against that tender spot past your pubic bone that has your knees knocking together. He shifts his palm down to grip your neck, your panting breaths filling the room. “But you can bet this dress is coming off as soon as we’re home, do y’hear me?”

“Yessir,” you whisper, and it has Ghost’s cock throbbing.

This is not for him. He thinks about Johnny’s words from months ago: that you are shy. There’s no chance you would ever want to be seen like this by him. Reaching out, he grips the doorknob and quietly tugs the door closed, til the sound of Johnny’s palm slapping against your clit is muffled behind the wood.

He takes his keys and is gone before you ever know he was there.

Johnny texts him later that night:

Why’d you leave early, you numpty? We wanted more time with you.

Ghost doesn’t respond. He’s too busy spiraling in his own flat, losing control every few minutes and slipping back into that place of pain and blood and dirt.

An hour later, Johnny ends up adding, My girl wants me to say she was glad she got to meet you. Only Jesus knows why! Ghost definitely doesn’t respond to that. But he doesn’t delete the messages either.

#ghoap x reader

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izvmimi · 1 month

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cw: breakup mention. alcohol use. hurt/comfort.

When Katsuki shows up to the exact location you provided him, just minutes after you’d called him out of the blue at 3 am, not even the excuse of being under the influence available to you given the three pathetic sips you’ve had of the can of beer in your right hand, you realize you hadn’t exactly thought this far.

You hadn’t expected him to pick up, and you hadn’t intended on leaving a message. Not from a number he couldn’t possibly know given you’d changed it about two years ago, and definitely not from you, not after the way you’d severed ties with him abruptly and mercilessly.

In his opinion.

… Okay, perhaps yours, too.

You had expected the half-groggy, half-livid way he’d answered, the hothead in him not immune to a call that would annoy literally anyone with a modicum of sense, but you hadn’t expected his voice to so immediately soften at the sound of yours, to recognize you so readily even.

And now watching him touch down from the sky to where you sit on a park bench, just several feet away from a 24 hour convenience store, you realize you’re not sure what to say.

Still, you’re happy to see him. Enough so, that for a moment, you blink back tears in your eyes, precluding you from seeing how uncharacteristically gentle his red ones are.

He tries to play it cool, shoving his hands into the pockets of his dark gray sweatpants, a slight hunch in his back accentuated by the snug fit of a black hoodie. A skull insignia covers the front, and you wonder if he’ll ever grow up.

That was one of your points of contention when you were once an item. Growing up.

“Hey.”

Katsuki is careful; reticent in his speech as he moves towards you, and you can see him ponder before he takes a seat by your side. You clutch the can of beer in your hand a little tighter, resting your arm upon the knees you’ve folded and raised onto the seat of the park bench. His posture is still closed, hands in his pockets, and he stares straight ahead. He lets out a sigh.

“Why’d you call? Get dumped or something?”

You scoff as you say, “yes.”

Katsuki did not actually expect you to say that and turns to look at you, which has you amused, if only for a second. You’re not drunk, but you sure are acting it, you think, but perhaps madness from your bout of depression is really settling in.

“Months ago, though,” you add. You take another sip of your beer, and he watches you wince. He knows you’re not actually a fan of it at all, and plus there’s nothing intelligent or safe about drinking in the middle of the night without a companion, without a definite way home.

He remembers he actually doesn't know where your home is these days.

“Why did you need to see me?” he asks firmly now, his eyes still focused on the can because he’s afraid of looking at your face and letting old love resurface.

You smile and look at him, resting your head on your knees.

“I didn’t expect you to come,” you admit.

“You called.”

In another world, he’d then roll his eyes at you, but tonight he looks at you steadily and seriously. Perhaps he's the one who has matured, and you haven’t. He remains your longtime crush and your longtime crutch, even now, as you feel yourself lose your grip on sanity, embracing madness, regardless of how transient it might be.

It’s quiet for a few more moments, save for the rustling of leaves as the winds of the witching hour pick up between you, and you let out a soft sigh, realizing he won’t say anything else to fill the silence. Letting your feet fall flat to the ground, you shrug.

“I couldn’t sleep and I thought of you,” you admit.

Katsuki’s eyes slide away from you quickly, his fingers curling around the edge of the seat at his sides, as if bracing himself.

“It’s been years,” he reminds you. You nod, without looking at him.

“My heart remembers.”

It’s cheesy and he doesn’t mock you for it. Instead, he crosses his arms over his chest.

“I see.”

You’re suddenly embarrassed, face warmed from toes to nose. He sees. What does he see? That you’re pathetic? That you’re needy? That perhaps you were wrong all these years and even if he’s flown back to see you, you’re the one crawling back to him?

You remain in disquiet now, your arms wrapping around yourself for support. You can hear it now - If you wanted someone to pat your ass, should have called damn Deku or Kirishima. I’m not a goddamn booty call. You lost your chance with me ages ago. Don’t fucking call me again.

Instead, he takes the can of beer you’ve set beside you and takes a sip first, then downs it as you watch. Just as soon as he’s done, he crushes the can and throws it into the nearest recycling bin.

He doesn't miss.

“You’re not an alcoholic. No use pretending to drown your sorrows,” he says. “Either talk about them or don’t. I’m already up anyway.”

It’s not meant to be a joke or a jab, just a statement.

You’re surprised for a moment but an unwitting smile comes to your lips.

“Are you sure you want to hear me complain in the middle of the night? I have a lot to say.”

Katsuki gives you a look, a raised eyebrow reminding you not to ask any more silly questions, and it almost makes you laugh.

As if you intend to be considerate now of all times.

“Well, it all began with the day I was born…”

He lets out the softest of groans and lets his head hang back in a dramatic fashion, arms still crossed over his chest, and legs spread. This time your laugh is loud.

It’s unfair and unreasonable that he still makes you laugh without trying.

And yet he does anyway, and he listens to you speak until the sun comes up.

#bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #mimi's notes #daydreams: bnha

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chelseeebe · 8 months

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still into you, part 2

eddie’s back, keeping to his word while trying to make up for his past mistakes. will it all work out when your worlds collide?

sauurrr i feel like i want to do a part 3 bc i have ideas but i’m not sure !!??!! also i just wanna say that it’s felt sooo good seeing people in my notifications again, tumblr finally unshadowed me after emailing them god knows how many times !!

18+, mdni. smut. a lil bit of angst and mean words towards reader and mentions of pregnancy. no use y/n!

read part 1 here.

‎♡‧₊˚

he’s late.

you’d spoken on the phone this morning and eddie had told you he’d be back some time tonight and that you should wait up because it’ll be worth it.

and now he’s fucking late.

late or not even coming.

it had been a long month of phone calls and anxiously reading magazine articles about his whereabouts, learning to trust again hadn’t been easy. there had been a handful of times where he’d called too late and missed you or you’d called while he was out which meant you’d gone days without speaking.

steve had done his best to reassure you that it was just different out there and you shouldn’t worry. he’d made a promise, right?

but there’s a pressure in your chest now, a feeling you hadn’t felt since the first time he left. defeated and dejected once again.

eddie is so late that you fall asleep on the couch. the same couch you first kissed him on just a few weeks ago. your dreams are filled with images of eddie, the wide smile that graced his face when ella forced him into fairy wings or the look on his face when you’d roll over in the middle of the night and kissed the corner of his mouth.

you’re awoken by a soft palm cupping your cheek, eyes peeking open to see the familiar silhouette of curls and denim now illuminated by the flickering television, deep set frown on his lips.

“i’m so sorry,” he starts, the words sound like static in your barely conscious mind, “my plane was delayed and i couldn’t call you.. i’m so fucking sorry,” you realise he’s on his knees in front of the couch, still squinting as you adjust to the light.

“i thought you weren’t coming,” you murmur, placing your hand atop his, the pressure in your chest subsiding the more you realise that he’s actually real and not just a dream.

eddie sighs, it’s his fault for even giving you reason to have those doubts and that kills him. “of course not.. i made a promise,” his thumb strokes gentle patterns into your cheek, “i’m coming back, always.”

“mhm,” you nod, a mix of tiredness and a lingering lack of trust.

“you wanna go to bed?” he asks, desperate to get in your good books again. hell, he’d have to do far more than this to make seven years of shit up to you.

“only if you carry me,” offering your arms out, if ella can do it, you can to.

“obviously,” he chuckles, sliding his arms underneath your knees, hoisting you off of the couch.

you’re anything but quiet walking up stairs, giggling into his neck as he groans his way up the staircase. “fuck, i’m getting old,” he complains, backing his way into your room, gently laying your body on top of the duvet before knocking the door shut.

you nestle into the pillows, watching eddie as he undresses, his jacket hitting the floor with a soft thud. he’d only been gone a month but you’d missed his presence. the way his eyes glided over your body, enamoured by your less-than-impressive mom body.

he collapses onto the bed, shuffling underneath the blanket with you, reaching out to bring you closer. “i know i said..” his nose pokes against your neck, a deep inhale before he continues, “that it’d be worth it.. but i’m tired and you’re tired so.. can i just make it up to you tomorrow?” nuzzling against your soft skin.

your laugh vibrates against his cheek, sliding your arms around his neck, legs tangling together in a mess of limbs, “eddie munson turning down sex? jesus christ, what’s happened to you?”

eddie grunts, deep and husky, flipping the situation on it’s head as he clambers on top, “oh fuck you,” his barely holding himself up, body weight keeping you pressed firmly against the mattress.

“please do,” grinning up at him, marvelling the way that even in the dark, he was still the prettiest man you’d ever laid eyes on.

his lips find your neck, peppering kisses along your jawline, hips rutting against the thin material of your pajama shorts.

when his mouth meets the delicate spot between your collarbone and the crook of your neck, you can’t help but let slip the one thing you’d been waiting to say, “i’m glad you came back,” gasping as his teeth graze the fragile skin.

he pauses, looking up at you, basked in moonlight, “i’ll always come back to you,” mumbling quietly, before continuing his descent down your body.

your eyes flutter shut, allowing your body to relax, blissful desire overcoming every nerve.

holy shit, you were happy.

the next few months go by smoothly. he’s back when he says he’s going to be, keeping his nose clean and his head down while he’s out on the west coast.

of course it’s never easy saying goodbye. each and every time you’re filled with this sense of dread, petrified that this might just be the time he doesn’t return.

but he does.

each and every time.

eddie had got back late last night, still half-asleep as he sips his coffee next to ella, haphazardly feeding her the breakfast she was quite capable of feeding herself.

“i’ve been thinking,” he starts, watching as you busy about with dishes. he doesn’t understand how you have the energy to care about that shit this early in the morning. “i think you should come out to california with me.. next time i go back,” shoving a spoonful of mushy pancakes into ella’s mouth.

you pause but don’t turn to face him, staring down at the sink full of bubbles, “what for?”

that part of his life didn’t interest you one bit, maybe he enjoyed it and you were happy if he was but that wasn’t anything you wanted. in fact, you’d been meaning to bring it up for a while now.

you understood that dating eddie meant that strangers were far more interested in your relationship than they should be but they’d started to accost you at work, taking ella to and from school, just about anywhere in public. the attention was starting to get a little tiring, nothing you couldn’t handle but you’d wondered if he somehow had the power to stop them.

“well,” handing the spoon to ella and getting up from the table to join you at the sink, “we’ve got our album rollout soon so i’m gonna have to be out there a little longer this time,” his shoulder knocks into yours, pulling your attention from the dirty dishes, “but.. we have our release party and i want you to be there,” pulling that cheeky grin he knew you couldn’t say no to.

how much longer? he was already out there for weeks at a time, how much longer could they keep him? oh god what if they go on tour? you’d never cope.

“release party?” grabbing the dishcloth, wiping the suds from your hands, “i don’t even know what that is.. you don’t want me there,” turning to face him and his sickening smile.

“of course i do,” lips turning into a frown, taking the cloth from your hands, “it’s a small party.. the boys and their girlfriends.. a few people who helped on the album,” he’s serious now, dipping his head to meet yours. “they wanna meet you, everyone does.”

you sigh, looking into his gleaming eyes. you’re obviously apprehensive to agree, if the stories you’d heard of the other guys were anything to go by, that weren’t the goofy nerds you’d once watch practice all night, now you think you’d actually probably hate them.

“what about ella?” turning to look at your daughter, your one saving grace.

“i’m sure we can figure that out,” eddie blinks, “steve can have her or.. or his mom,” throwing out anything he could think of, “i’ll throw them some money, make sure she has the best week ever,” rubbing his fingers together.

“he won’t take your money eddie,” you sigh. steve would never, because as much as he now liked eddie, he was still your best friend and he knew you’d kill him if he did.

“no,” eddie whines, “it’s not for steve, it’s for ella.. so they can go and do whatever they want.. eat whatever they want.. you know,” he peers over your shoulder at the kitchen table, eyes gleaming with opportunity. “ella, don’t you think mommy should come with me and you can have a vacation at uncle steve’s house?”

you tut as ella chimes in with a loud, enthusiastic “yes!” banging her fists against the table.

your palm meets his chest, “don’t use my own child against me, asshole,” struggling to stop your lips from curling into a smile. it was working and you hated the fact that you were so easily swayed by him.

“ella has spoken!” he exclaims, taking your hand on his chest into his, “so you’ll come?” cocking his head to the side, much like a tiny, manipulative little dog.

you huff, admitting defeat, “fine.. but only if steve says yes and there’s no guarantee he will,” flicking your eyes back over to ella, who is watching with a massive toothy grin.

it’s times like these that you’re grateful she doesn’t take after her dad.

of course steve says yes. useless prick.

“why don’t you wanna go?” his brows furrowed, sipping the overpriced coffee he’d suggested you go get.

“can you imagine me in la? me? really?”

he chuckles, “yeah.. yeah i can actually,” shaking his head. knowing steve, he’d probably been thinking about how he would fit right in there. if you ever did end up moving west, there’s no way in hell that you’d leave him here.

“shut up,” brushing him off, “what if nobody likes me?”

it had been a genuine worry of yours since before eddie had even asked. there’d surely be a thousand eyes on you seeing as you were now very publicly with him. you paled in comparison to his exes. models and singers alike. you were just some frumpy mom who no one had ever heard of.

why would they like you?

“stop it,” steve swats at you, “they’ll love you! i love you so they’ve got no reason not to!”

but you weren’t so sure.

so after weeks of fretting about clothes and deliberating over whether you should even go with steve, you jet off to lax.

you’d attempted to pay for your own ticket but eddie hadn’t accepted any of it. told you it was all taken care of and all you had to do was go. much to your disapproval.

there are a few fans at the airport, with no interest in you, obviously. they were so used to him at indianapolis airport now that the paps didn’t even bother.

eddie’s excited babbling about the party keeps you relaxed throughout the flight, focussing on his smile and not the fact that you were thirty thousand feet in the air.

everything starts to feel real when you land and are immediately ushered through the airport, bundled into a car and told to stay put until they got your luggage.

holy shit.

“there’s some dickheads out front.. it’s just so we don’t see them,” eddie soothes, taking your hand into his, resting on his thigh.

“is it always like this?” you ask, curious about this side of his life that you never saw. even more grateful that people in indiana mostly left you alone now.

“sometimes.. but they’re only doing this because of the album.”

you nod, sitting in quiet reflection as people come and go constantly. bustling around the car, muttering things to eddie as they do. it all just seemed so overwhelming, like there was never a moment alone.

eventually, your bags get stuffed into the car and you begin the journey to god knows where, all the while clinging onto eddie’s hand with a iron tight grip.

when you turn into a gated driveway, you sit up. peering out of the window at the glorious garden. his drive was bigger than your entire house, you couldn’t imagine having this much room at your disposal.

his house is big. actually, big is an incredible understatement. it’s breathtaking.

nicer than anything you’ve seen before. you couldn’t even begin to materialise how much he must have spent. you’re not sure you even want to know.

the ceilings loom ten feet tall, walls covered in tasteful but overpriced art. the sofa alone probably cost more than your entire house. christ, it’s the size of your living room as it is.

“jesus christ,” you breathe, still taking in the lavish house, gawping at the tacky statues and the glistening glass chandelier hanging above your head.

“nice, isn’t it?” he states, still wheeling your suitcases behind him, “obviously i didn’t decorate it myself.”

“you’re ridiculous,” you smile, marvelling the rather excessive house, “you don’t need all of this,” gesturing around the room.

“hey,” he pouts, ditching the suitcases to make his away over to you, “this house used to be very useful when..” trailing off as he realises just what he was going to say.

“when what? when you were a whore?” you bite, only half-joking.

“woah,” awkwardly laughing, unsure of whether you were joking or not, “when i had parties,” correcting your presumptions, “but i’m a boring man now.. thanks to you,” his arms snake around your waist, pulling you into his body.

your arms return the favour, tilting your chin to match his, “hmm is that right?”

his eyes are no longer on yours, gazing down at your lips with a twinkle of lust, “yup..”

“oh, well maybe i should just go..” but before you can finish, his hands are grabbing your ass, palming at the doughy flesh.

“uh uh,” pressing your heads together, pausing just before he connects your lips, “i’m never letting you leave now,” and with that, he finally kisses you.

skilfully walking you backward through the large foyer, still palming at your ass as he does so. you should’ve known that this was first on the agenda. there weren’t as many opportunities for the two of you to have sex at your house.

his lips hang from yours, leeching onto your bottom lip, palming at your sweater, eager to get it off. “i’ve thought about having you in every single room in this house..” he mumbles into your mouth, making your cheeks burn.

“every.. room?” you speak softly through kisses, bashful at his words.

“mmm,” he grumbles, hand slipping under the soft material of your sweater, brushing over the curve of your waist, “need you.. here,” walking your body back into the marble counter, your lips still barely connected, “in there,” gesturing back towards the grand living room, “everywhere,”

your thighs squeeze together in anticipation of it all. you were flying back home in a week, there was not a chance you’d get through the entirety of this massive house in that short time.

eddie growls into your mouth, hoisting your body onto the countertop in one swift movement, forcing his way between your legs. you can feel his cock already, pressed against your throbbing cunt.

his tongue slides into your mouth, moving against your own with hungry movements. you were too old for this kind of excitement, the ferocity was making your head spin.

his hands are quick, working your sweater off without much interruption, immediately finding your lips again. your hips cant, chasing the needed friction of his cock, eager to strip him from the rough denim.

“someone’s impatient,” a rough laugh echoes from his lips, but he’s obliging. unbuttoning your jeans before patting your thigh to move for him.

you do, letting his cold hands slide your jeans down your thighs, stuck around your ankles as he’s really not concerned with taking them off fully. you’re soaked already, can feel it when the fresh air hits your heat.

eddie’s focused now, his own pants pulled down around his knees, cock jumping in his boxers when your hand reaches out to touch his chest. you liked that. the fact that even now, you could control him with a simple touch.

“jesus baby,” he remarks, two fingers slipping between the crotch of your underwear, “you don’t know how much i’ve thought about this,” mouth hanging open as he works his way between your soaked folds and into your hole, eliciting a sharp gasp from your mouth.

he’s slow with it, curling his fingers at just the right spot, “oh god,” you whisper, one hand clinging to his forearm, the other holding onto the hard counter.

your eyes flutter shut, head rolling back, granting him access to your untouched neck. he immediately attacks the delicate skin, no doubt leaving his mark like some unruly teenager.

“need you now baby..” he grumbles, removing his hand from between your legs and nudging his boxers down just enough for his cock to spring up, already leaking with pre-cum.

“yeah.. yeah,” muttering into the room, heels attaching around his hips, urging him to speed things up.

his hair brushes against your neck as he gazes down between your bodies, staring in awe at the way they connected, almost losing all composure when his cock nestles between your folds and slides perfectly into your quivering cunt.

pretty pink lips parting to groan when he bottoms out, savouring the feeling for just a moment before his hips take over. his pelvis connects with the backs of your thighs, finding his rhythm, seeking whatever pace made you the loudest.

your quiet squeaks aren’t enough for him, after years of being quiet, you’re not used to having the freedom to be loud.

“c’mon sweetheart,” he pants, hand skirting around your hip, squeezing the flesh, “i wanna hear you,” slipping out of your cunt, refusing to give you what you want without something in return.

your eyes open to eddie, staring right back at you, devilish grin on his lips, “don’t be mean,” you pout, squeezing your legs to pull him forward, huffing in frustration when he keeps back.

his forehead presses against yours, glossy eyed as he gazes into your eyes, “this what you want?” he bites before sinking back in, profanities tumble out of his mouth.

a disgusting whine finds itself at your lips, filling the space between you, drawing his gaze to your wetted lips. “that’s it baby,” thrusts starting to gain speed, his tip bullying your walls.

you can’t help but get louder, keeping your eyes trained on his dilated pupils, moaning with each time his pubic bone brushes against your starved clit. knuckles turning white as you grip onto the counter, chanting his name like some sort of mantra.

“there she is,” he pants, slamming into you with such speed that makes you feel as if you’re flying. it’s filthy how much the wet, pornographic noises your bodies are making spurs you on. only wanting to get louder to match them.

eddie’s thumb meets your neglected clit, circling the bud in line with his thrusts. the pleasure is overwhelming, sending your head into the clouds and your stomach hurtling toward your long-awaited orgasm.

“eddie..” drawing out his name, letting it echo through the decadent kitchen, “fuck,” fingernails leaving behind half-moon markings on his forearm, unsupported by the ruthless motion of his thumb against your clit.

you’re struggling to even stay with it, gasping for breath as your walls tighten around him. sighing as he begins to falter, “you gonna cum princess? huh?” beads of sweat beginning to form on his nose, holding his own orgasm off to allow you yours first.

“yeah.. yeah,” you babble nonsensically, “oh fuck.. oh eddie,” thighs trembling around his hips as you topple over the edge, holding onto the counter for dear life as your orgasm takes over.

body going numb as the fuzzy feeling takes over, watching his lips mouth that’s it and baby’s over and over. trying not to topple over as his cock continues to nudge against your spongy walls, slowing as his own orgasm begins.

“cum in me,” you urge, completely besotted by your own desire for him, “please,” resorting to begging when his eyes squeeze shut, unable to hold himself off any longer.

he grunts, you coax him through it, ankles still resting at the small of his back, unrelenting with their grip as his cock spurts thick ropes of cum, painting your walls. “shit- baby.. i- you-,” he puffs, “what the fuck,” throwing his head back, his messy fringe sticking to his damp forehead.

“sorry..” you mumble, ashamed by the way you turn into a ravenous monster around eddie, wanting to give him your all and nothing else.

“jesus christ don’t apologise,” his hands clamp around your cheeks, pulling your face to his for one final kiss, mumbling a quick i love you before helping you from the counter.

eddie’s in his element here, not that he didn’t make himself at home in your home, but this was his domain.

there’s a strange twinge in your heart, a rogue voice that occasionally makes an appearance, something that made you question whether he was really happy with your little life or if it was just something he was accepting for the time being.

you bury it down, refusing to let it grow into anything more and follow him down the hall, listening to him complain about his back.

nothing could’ve prepared you for the party. it couldn’t have been further from how eddie had initially sold it to you.

it’s all bright lights and thousands of people. expensive dresses and unfamiliar faces fill the room, prodding and poking at eddie and subsequently you. wanting to know the ins and outs of everything.

fuck. you think. this is suffocating.

there’s no release, people are fucking everywhere.

even after you gulp down a glass of wine, people whizz around you, echoing fake niceties about your dress or your hair or whatever materialistic bullshit they were pretending to care about.

eddie is a natural of course. he’s been doing this for years. he always had the ability to carry a conversation, to make people listen to him. you weren’t so lucky.

he’s prattling on about some sick riff on the new album now, barely giving you chance to let him know you’re going to the bathroom.

hoping to seek some solace from these vultures. you so wished steve was here. he’d make everything feel better, tell you that it was okay and that these people don’t deserve your time.

but he’s not. he’s a thousand miles away, probably tucked up in bed with ella. somewhere you longed to be.

after a long ten minutes in the cubicle, uttering a chorus of positive affirmations to yourself, you push your way out, right into the crowd of very glamorous women all stood in front of the mirrors. reapplying their makeup or touching up their already stiff hair.

one of the older ladies takes notice of you lingering behind, turning to face you with a smug smile, “you’re eddie’s new thing, aren’t you?”

venom laced between her words, rolling effortlessly off of her sharp tongue. the other women all turn in tandem, all narrowed eyes and faux smiles.

“uh.. i’m his girlfriend,” shaking their glances off, focusing on the stream of running water on your hands and not the prickly feeling at the back of your throat.

“oh! girlfriend!” she titters, barging into one of the other, “usually they don’t make it that far.. what d’you have that the others didn’t?” her icy gaze runs the length of your body.

no doubt judging your dress, the way your mom body sat in the lavish fabric. you don’t blame her. you’d hated it from the moment you first looked in the mirror.

“we..” clearing your throat to avoid your voice cracking, “we used to date.. in high school,” you could feel yourself physically shrinking, reverting back into the same quiet girl you were in school.

“aw sweet,” there’s not even a hint of sincerity in her nasally tone, “well you know, we all thought gigi was gonna be the one,” the other women nod in agreement, “he was just different with her.. everyone thought he was going to propose.. never seen him like that since,” nodding like she’d won a contest you weren’t even competing in.

her words sting, and she knows it. in fact, she relishes it. even though you know she’s only doing it for some sort of reaction, you still let them in. your heart prangs in your chest; now stood frozen in front of the basin.

“you have a kid, don’t you?” she continues, clearly unhappy with your lack of reaction. wanting to stick her claws in just a little deeper.

you nod, biting down hard onto the inside of your cheek. trying to swallow the growing lump in the back of your throat.

her eyes wander down once again, “yeah i thought so.. eddie always said he didn’t want kids,” tutting her shiny white teeth, “i wouldn’t expect him to hang around long, he’s at the peak of his career darling.. no time for high school sweethearts and their kids.”

and that’s it. the final blow. slicing through your chest, churning your guts from the inside out. a stranger had affirmed every single fear and doubt you’d had. crumbling the facade you’d curated for this fucking party.

you don’t even give her the satisfaction of a reply, or perhaps you give her exactly what she wanted, storming out of the bathroom with a trembling bottom lip and watering eyes.

instead of going straight back to eddie, you find a quiet corner, facing the wall as you collect yourself the best you can. your throat hurts, the lump struggling to disappear, tears threatening to spill over as you attempt to remember how to breathe.

eddie is higher than you’ve ever seen him before, relishing in the moment. he’s completely different out here. talking to any and every one, turning the charm on the second someone walks his way.

“eds,” mumbling quietly, tugging on his arm to garner his attention.

you hated him a little for even convincing you to come. why couldn’t he have just sent pictures? no fuck that, why couldn’t he have just stayed here and never forced his way back into your life?

you don’t mean it. you love him.

“hmm?” not quite looking at you.

“i wanna go back.. i don’t feel good.”

this is where he turns, focusing his attention on you, brows furrowing immediately, “what? what’s wrong?”

now, you could tell him. let him know that his friends were assholes and you were either going to burst into tears or run out of this place screaming. but decide to leave it until you’re back at his, there was no use in causing drama on his night.

“i just..” you sigh, dipping your head low so no one else could hear, “i don’t feel good.. maybe i’m sick,” it wasn’t a lie as such. your stomach had been turning all night but you’d brushed it off as anxiety, eager to not ruin the party.

“well-,” he begins but stops, “d’you want me to come with you?” though you can tell he really doesn’t want to. you don’t blame him.

eddie’s always been an extrovert, begging for people to pay attention to him, even if it meant tussling with basketball players or anyone else that dared to question his character. he just wanted people to notice him.

“no no.. i just wanted to let you know,” chewing on your bottom lip, his face becoming increasingly more concerned with every word. you hope he hasn’t noticed your watery eyes, not in the mood to have to explain what had happened right here, right now.

“okay.. we can go, it’s okay,” eddie soothes, picking up that something wasn’t right.

this is what you’d tried to avoid, not wanting to selfishly snatch him away from his event, his friends and his album launch.

“no.. stay here, i’ll be fine, just need to.. rest,” brushing him off, as if you wouldn’t kill to just curl up in his big bed, talking away all of the harsh comments you’d heard.

his expression becomes incredibly soft, despite the crowd surrounding the two you trying to pry, “you sure? i don’t mind..” he frowns, “i’ll come back with you, I don’t want you on your own if you feel that shitty,” already looking past you trying to catch someone’s eye to tell them about the change in plans.

“no!” you push, rather quickly, “please don’t let me be the reason you miss this.. i promise i’ll be fine,” pulling away from his grasp, rushing out of the building with absolutely no plan to get back.

eddie strides along behind, grabbing onto your arm, forcing you to stop and face him, “hey.. stop, i’ll get rob to drive you,” guiding you through the see of people and out into the fresh air at long, long last.

it’s like you can finally breathe again. the stifling heat of a hundred bodies wasn’t helping your anxieties, relief washing over your body the second the november breeze hits your flushed face.

he leans into the same car you arrived in, muttering something to who you assume is rob, motioning for you to come over. you oblige, standing at his side as he repeats what’s happening to you though none of the words compute.

“i won’t be long, okay? a couple hours max and then i’ll be back,” pulling you in for an unreciprocated hug.

he bundles you in to the back of the car, nodding to rob to start the journey.

you’re thankful the conversation is non-existent, leaning your forehead against the window, drawing lines into the condensation on the glass.

you want to go home.

and not eddie’s house.. home.

three days had been more than enough for you to decide this life wasn’t for you.

wiping spaghetti off of ella’s smiley face was. gossiping with steve about people you went to high school with was. los angeles certainly wasn’t.

eddie stumbles into the bedroom some hours later, obviously tipsy with a vague stench of booze and people clinging onto his clothes. the smell turns your stomach, peering over your shoulder to see him sliding his suit jacket off, trying to be quiet but failing miserably.

"whoops sorry.. did i wake you?" he asks, slightly slurring his words.

"no, i wasn't asleep," you shift, turning to face him, preparing to break the news.

he slides into the gargantuan bed, running a hand over his face as he comfies himself, "you all okay now?" extending his hand to rest on your waist, smoothing his fingers over the thick duvet.

you exhale, peering up at him through the dimly lit room, "i think i'm gonna go home tomorrow," you’d stewed on it all night and decided it was what’s best.

“what?” his hand stops, sitting up to see you better.

“i’m going back to hawkins tomorrow.”

“why?” he exclaims, unable to comprehend why tonight had gone from a great night to you rushing off home.

“because i miss ella,” you’d umm’d and ahh’d about telling him what had gone down in the bathroom, ultimately deciding not to. he’d only reiterate some bullshit about it not being true and you shouldn’t worry, it wasn’t worth the effort.

“it’s three more days babe.. wha- i don’t understand, where’s this come from?” he’s breathing heavily, focussing on sobering up you suppose.

you sigh again, hesitant to tell him that his friends were assholes and had made you feel like shit. “i just.. i guess i don’t fit in here,” shrugging it off, minimising the niggling thoughts of insecurity that had planted themselves into your brain.

“what are you talking about?” eddie frowns, genuinely perplexed. “did something happen? what are you not telling me about?”

you shake your head, struggling to find the right words, “there was just..” trailing off into the void, “someone said something to me and i’m-,” biting down into your bottom lip, decidedly letting it all out, “i don’t want this life eddie, i never asked for this.. for people to try and pick my life apart! that wasn’t part of the deal!” becoming increasingly frustrated with your boyfriend.

how could he not get it?

“woah.. who said something? i can fix that,” his eyebrows knit together, you’re not sure if he’s angry or just confused. “if you don’t tell me, i can’t do anything.”

“what are you gonna do?” nostrils flaring at his inability to just understand, “what’s said was said.. and i want to go home eddie, that’s the end of it,” running a hand through your hair, still stiff with hairspray and whatever other gunk the stylist had shoved into it.

“jesus christ,” he huffs, sick of the conversation, of trying to get you to stay. “fine. i’ll get someone to change your flight in the morning, can you wait that long?” his snarky voice making an appearance. you hadn’t missed that.

“thank you,” you whisper, unable to get any louder for fear of the lump in your throat.

instead you turn over, squeezing your eyes shut, refusing to let the tears brim over. eddie wouldn’t have understood even if you could tell him, ella wasn’t his kid, those words wouldn’t hurt the same. sure, he’d be pissed and he’d more than likely get her fired but what use was that now?

she’d still uttered the words. still forced her poison into your brain, she’d already got what she wanted.

eddie barely musters up two sentences to you in the morning, speaking in hushed tones to the muffled voice on the other side of the phone.

everything’s fucked and it’s your fault. he knows it too.

“flight’s in four hours.. rob’ll take you to the airport at twelve,” he huffs, hanging the phone back on the wall with enough force to make the plastic rattle.

“thank you,” you call after him, watching as he disappears down the long hall. he had just trampled on your already throbbing heart, stomping on the organ as if it didn’t matter.

when rob arrives, eddie’s in a more optimistic mood, wheeling your suitcase out of his room with a sullen expression, attempting to sway your mind one last time. “i can always cancel this flight..” opening the large door for you, “you can stay if you want to.”

“eddie..”

and with that, he knows it’s not going to work. blinking rapidly, a deep sigh coming from his chest, “right, got it.”

his hand slams the car door shut, still lingering on the metal as you sit inside. you felt like a petulant child, being sent away because you dared to disobey the rules. it’s all so stupid.

and deep down, eddie knows that ultimately, this is all his fault. he’s the one that skipped town eight years ago, left you without so much as a note to explain himself. as he watches the car roll down the drive, he lets himself wonder what life would’ve been like if he didn’t leave, if you’d even still be together or if this had to happen to bring you two back together. the universe was cruel like that.

the airport is bustling, families dithering around trying to find their flights and busy men dashing from one place to the other.

there’s only one thing you need and that’s the bathroom. shoving yourself and your things into a cramped cubicle to do what you needed to do.

and maybe you were being silly, perhaps the stress of last night had got to your head and now you were jumping to crazy conclusions.

but you’d been here before. known the signs, the little things that most people would probably just brush off. so you’d made rob pull into a gas station on your way to the airport and bought a two pack of the cheapest tests you could find.

five minutes feel like five hours. refusing to even peek at the shitty piece of plastic until the time was up.

your heart is thudding, blood pumping around your ears so loudly that you’re sure the lady in the stall next to you could hear it.

hands shaking as you turn the test, two thin blue lines reveal themselves on the tiny screen.

the test clatters to the floor, your mouth falling open as your eyes fog. it wasn’t like you didn’t know, you just didn’t know.

and now you do, everything feels fragile. someone’s cough rings in your ears, the sterile bathroom felt a thousand times smaller than it did five minutes ago.

eddie always said he didn’t want kids.

her voice echoes around your head, just as snarky as it were the first time you heard it. you feel sick. the acidic liquid rises quick, forcing you to spin and stick your head into the porcelain bowl.

emptying your stomach until your throat stings, retching and coughing, trying not to start sobbing.

eddie always said he didn’t want kids.

you can’t tell him, not yet anyway.

fuck.

a thousand thoughts flood your mind. were you even still together? he was on this press tour for weeks now. you can’t tell him over the phone. maybe you had broken up and you wouldn’t ever have to let him now. he would just have an illegitimate child in his hometown that he’d never know about.

nothing felt right. the high you’d been riding from the first two days with him had quite violently come crashing back to earth.

the only thing you want to do is tell steve.

he probably wouldn’t know what to do nor would he be very much help, you just needed to know that everything was going to be okay.

it’s the first thing you say as you slide into steve’s bmw, blurting out the news like it wasn’t potentially life changing.

as expected, his jaw drops, blabbering about babies at a hundred miles an hour. excited and amazed all at the same time.

“- i haven’t told him yet,” you manage to spit out in the middle of his nonsensical ranting.

“what?”

“i didn’t even know until i got to the airport,” you sniff, staring at the drops of rain on his windscreen rather than his eyes. “he’s on this press tour for weeks now.. i can’t tell him over the phone.”

“well shit,” steve’s shoulder slump, empathising with your less than ideal situation, “you have to,” he blinks, focusing on the road ahead.

“steve.. i don’t think you understand,” swallowing the air, unsure if the car was the best place to tell him about your little argument. “shit happened, it’s not.. it’s not that easy.”

he frowns, tapping his thumb against the steering wheel as he drives, “well,” voice louder than expected, “we’ll think of something, trust me.”

your body relaxes for the first time in hours. if no one else had you, you know steve did.

there are paps fucking everywhere, littering the sidewalk as steve pulls into your drive, the bright lights already blinding you.

“what the fuck?” steve screeches, turning to face you in the driver's seat. They aren’t dumb, they know that if they step on your property, you are well within your rights to escort them off. so they hang back, inching towards the car but staying far enough away to not allow you to get them off.

“i don’t know.. i don’t know,” shaking your head, you were baffled how they had even found out you were home. you’d known they were scummy but christ, not this scummy.

“just get inside and I’ll bring your stuff in,” steve nods reassuringly, stepping out of the car ready to punch whoever got in his way.

you exhale, preparing for the onslaught of questions and pictures. the key poised in your hand to get you inside as quickly as humanly possible. word must have got out that your trip had ended abruptly, that or someone had seen you sulking around the airport like the sad sack you were.

your feet stumble along the asphalt, holding your hand to your face as to guard your eyes from the flashes. hundreds of questions echo in your ears, what happened between you and eddie munson? have you broken up? did he cheat again?

it’s god awful. gritty voices screaming across the lawn at you. steve has your suitcase rolling behind him, jaw clenched as he guides you to the door.

“you’re harassing a pregnant woman you fucking scumbags! go fuck yourselves!” he unleashes over his shoulder, flapping his arms about.

your mouth falls open, pulling him through the door and into your hall. the one thing you had not wanted him to let slip and he had just blurted it out to the crowd of hungry vultures.

it’d be the first thing on the front page tomorrow and yet you still hadn’t told eddie. at least now you didn’t have to.

he knows he wasn’t supposed to say it too, hand slapped across his mouth, inundated with shock and regret. “i’m so sorry, i’m so fucking sorry,” he rushes, eyes like saucers as his arms wrap around your shoulders, “i’m an idiot.. fuck! i’m sorry,” you cheek smushed against his chest.

the familiar feeling opens the floodgates, tears stream down your cheeks, wetting his t-shirt as your shoulders shake. wailing hysterically into his beating chest. he wasn’t quite expecting this, more so a few hours of the silent treatment.

“oh no.. i’m sorry, i really didn’t mean to,” steve whispers into the air, his chin coming to rest atop of your head, squeezing your fragile frame in his arms.

“it’s not-,” rudely interrupted by a rogue hiccup, “shit.. it’s not you-,” hiccup, “oh my god,” you exclaim, tears turning into laughter at an unprecedented rate.

steve loosens his grip, confused as all hell at the mess you’d become against him. “jesus christ, are you okay?” holding your shoulders at arms length to examine the snotty, hiccupy mess in front of him.

“no,” you laugh, completely hysterical.

he guides you to the couch, making your movements for you, plonking down on the cushions in a flurry of emotion.

there you tell him everything. the party, the bitch with the sharp jawline in the bathroom and her nasty words, the aftermath and then all about your panic attack in a tiny lax bathroom.

it’s cathartic, knowing he won’t judge or diminish the way you feel. steve just listens, his hand rubbing small strokes on your knee every time you got to a juicy part.

how the hell were you ever going to tell eddie now?

there’s a knock at your door, mindlessly going to answer it without thinking much of the mad crowd of people that were out there just a few days ago. steve had gratefully been staying with you, helping with ella while also trying to hatch a plan to tell eddie without ruining everything.

it only occurs to you that it very well could be another nosy reporter as the door is already unlocked and slightly ajar.

you peep around the tiny crack, prepared to be bombarded with a bunch of questions and bright lights.

there’s none of that.

only the pitying image of one eddie munson stood on your doorstep with his shoulders slumped, black ray-ban’s hanging from his shirt and an inconceivable look upon his face.

“what the fuck?” he utters, barely audible. he looks exhausted, dark rings around his eyes with the body language to match. his hair in dark matter tangles hung around his face.

your mouth opens but the words fail to materialise, utterly speechless. there’s nothing you could possibly say now that would lessen the blow. and bless his soul, steve had fucked it.

no.

you had fucked it by running off back home without telling him the seemingly very important news.

“were you ever gonna tell me?” eyebrows screwed together, eyes glossy with what looked like tears.

“i.. i- yes, i was.. i didn’t.. i didn’t know,” pleading with him with your eyes, hoping they could tell him exactly what your words couldn’t. your lip trembles, as much as this had played on your mind since steve had let slip, the two of you still hadn’t come up with an acceptable explanation.

deep down you know really why you still hadn’t called him. you were scared, terrified even, that he’d laugh at you. tell you to fuck off, or get rid of it and to never contact him again. that wouldn’t surprise anyone, he was at the top of his career and definitely wouldn’t want to jack that in for his boring high school ex-girlfriend.

that’s what you’d told yourself anyway.

“when? when it was born?” his words are sharp, reaffirming every single fear you had conjured up in your brain.

you inhale sharply, the lump making it up and out of your throat before you had the chance to swallow it down. tears spill down your warm cheeks, the most ghastly cry coming from your mouth.

you must look utterly pathetic as eddie’s face softens almost immediately, springing from your doorstep and over the threshold to caress your cheek, mopping the tears with his thumb. “sorry.. i’m sorry fuck- i just wish you’d told me,” leaning forward to keep his eyes solidly on yours, any anger had dissipated from his face.

“i was scared, i’m sorry.. I didn’t know what to do,” burying your face into his shoulder, already wetting the shirt with your tears. shoulders shaking as you sob. “i swear.. i didn’t know until i got to the airport, i really- i just needed a few days..” howling into his steady shoulder.

he walks the both of you inside into your hallway, pushing the door shut before his other hand tangled into your hair, soothing out the wild strands. “i know.. it’s okay,” reassuring you even though you really didn’t deserve it.

“and that lady.. i don’t know, she got into my head,” sniffling, appreciating the familiarity of his cologne and the faint smell of cigarettes he always seemed to have.

his body stiffens, pulling your body from the safety of his, “what lady? is this about the party? fuck sake man, no one would tell me anything,” he’s serious now, frustration overcoming his features once more, although this time they weren’t directed towards you.

you sigh, using your palm to wipe your stinging cheeks, “it doesn’t matter.. and it’s fine, you know? i get it.. why someone like you wouldn’t want kids. i’ve come to terms with it,” nodding through your lines, despite the fact that you couldn’t have believed them less.

“what? what the hell are you talking about?” flabbergasted that you’d even suggest that.

your face falls, once stoic and ready to face being a single mom again. “that lady.. she said..” shaking your head, “you didn’t want kids,” bottom lip quivering, tears threatening to spill over again.

“oh my god,” it clicks for him, and you wish it would for you too. “that’s.. fuck- i did say that but it was a long time ago now,” his fingers dig into your arms, ensuring that he really hammers his point home, “of course i do.. shit sweetheart, of course i do,” the flecks of caramel in his eyes shine through ten-fold when he’s staring at you, glossed over with the remnants of his tears.

your mouth opens, moving though nothing comes out, hopeless as the words fail to form.

“you’re an idiot,” eddie laughs lovingly, pulling you back towards him, encasing your face in his rough palms, the cold of his rings soothes your tear laden cheeks. “why didn’t you tell me? or just ask me?”

you giggle a bit, shrugging your shoulders, “i don’t know.. i didn’t think,” nothing made sense and yet, you felt better than you had in weeks.

eddie’s here, in front of you, happy, grinning from ear to ear as he remembers why he’s even stood in your dark corridor, “baby.. we’re having a baby,” squishing your cheeks between his hands.

his joy is palpable, brushing off on you despite your leaking eyes. he still looks at you like that, even though you’d scarped off, even after you had let the world know you were pregnant before him. it was like the stars shon in your eyes, as if the very key to living was buried somewhere within your soul and he just had to be the first to grasp it.

your heart is bursting, a weeks worth of sleepless nights and fretting over destroying your relationship had come to this. to holding each other in the dim light, both terrified for what was to come.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson stranger things

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sluttsumu · 2 years

Text

let me live my fratboy!inarizaki dream okay?

chars: ‘tsumu, osamu, suna, & kita

nsfw — mdni, tw: corruption

fratboy!atsumu who is literally the worst person alive, but he’s hot and a good fuck so it makes it okay, okay?

he’s fucked every girl from his fan club and every bimbo on campus but that’s not what satisfies him at all. prissy, hard-to-get girls with their hymens still intact really turns him on. why? because he enjoys the chase of a women who won’t instantly fall to her knees for him. secretly finding information about his next target so he could casually end up in the same study period, or walking along the same path just so he could talk to her. it could be labeled kind ‘stalkery’ but he labeled it as persistent, because at the end of the day once her manicure was clawing at his back it’s mission accomplished, and onto the next. “you didn’t think i actually wanted you? did you” he’d chuckle in the faces of the girls who looked at him with tears in their eyes, he figured that in the end they would end up blaming themselves for fucking a known whore anyway.

fratboy!suna whose an old money nepo-baby, in which he flashes his parents cash to attract gold digger, wannabe future housewives.

slut is an understatement, calculated whore is a better term. as a psyc major he’s the king of gaslighting and manipulation, AND THE GIRLS EAT IT UP. unlike atsumu he somewhat puts in the effort to finding a girlfriend, but there’s always a new one…every month. being sly and cunning is genetic according to him, it’s also the same way he manipulates girls into not wearing condoms. “c’mon pretty, how’re gonna give me an heir with latex in the way, hmm?” and it works every time. every selfish, greedy girlfriend he’s had falls for his antics in hopes to marry their way into his family, and give him a baby. let’s just say the only “compensation” they got was from a therapist or him buying them off to get a plan b the next morning.

fratboy!kita who is literally so smart he manages to y= m (x+d)^2 + k, girls into his bed.

it’s all so innocent at first when he offers to carry a certain girls books, and that turns into him sitting next to her in class. it’s cute from a far, isn’t it? when in reality he’s just singled out the classes bimbo in hopes to tutor her. day by day he’d observe while sitting next to her, as she’d glance over at him to catch him staring from time to time. she thought that he was maybe admiring how pretty she was or caught on to her perfume of the day, but that was never the case. in his mind he was practically drooling over the way her tits spilled out of her shirt, or when they had a test and he could tell she stayed up all night because she looked completely fucked out. after her whining a few times about her grades he offered to help, which just turned into him making her that much dumber by fucking her over his desk till she was babbling. “stupid girls fall into stupid traps” he’d say, and the fact that he did this every semester meant that he was always right.

fratboy!osamu who is literally the most nonchalant asshole known around the entire campus.

osamu was too persuasive for his own good. he could never hold a solid relationship or friendship with anyone of the opposing gender, why? because he ends up fucking all of his female friends, and then ghosting them not even 24 hours after. his tricks were the same with every girl, and a night out with him always turned into the walk of shame the following morning. the only notifications any girl would receive from him afterwards is a copy of their intoxicated sex tape which most don’t remember making and a follow up message saying “my friends think you look really good on camera btw”. confronting him after study hall the next day wouldn’t change a thing, simply because the only response he’d give was “do i know you?”

SLUTTSUMU 2023

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i-2hoon · 4 months

Note

can u write hc's for sub!enha and their first time w their bf :00

no need to ask me twice ugh i love this

enhypen & their first times

pairings ᱖ sub/switch!enha x dom/switch!male!reader

warnings ᱖ explicit content, established and implied relationships, subtle sub/dom dynamics, conversations of virginity, underlying corruption kinks, sub!enha, dom!reader, subtop!heeseung + jay + jake, subbot!sunghoon + sunoo + jungwon

important notes ᱖ hi!! thank you so much for suggesting and i love this so much! you never specified top/bottom, so i did follow my personal preference. the oldest three are sub!tops, and the youngest three are sub!bottoms, however they are all still subs, i hope its not an issue!

heeseung 박희승 : patient

heeseung, compared to other members, may need a bit more time to be ready for anything sexual beyond making out and greedy touches. needless to say, you two will be taking it slowly and patiently. he has trouble relaxing and relinquishing any control to you, but with the way your fingers scrape against his scalp and the tone of your voice when you whisper in his ear.. ah, even if he wasnt ready, something switched in his mind. he wouldnt be one to lean back and let it happen; you would speak him through it all for him to be comfortable. this includes whispering sweet praises and reassurances as your fingers wrap around his cock, and interlocking your fingers with his when you move your lips to bite at the pale skin of his neck. just know that the moment youre actually on him he might fall into some sort of.. daze, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he let you do all the work. you would have to be slow as to not overwhelm him or make him overthink, but itll be beyond heavenly for the both of you.

jay 박정성 : intimate

see, for him, jay never exactly wishes to be out of control. but theres something about you—his beautiful boyfriend—that allows him to give in. running your hands down his chiseled chest and nipping at his ear, it seems like majority of the night would be calculated foreplay. youd trace a line up his jaw and fuck would he have a hard time keeping his hands off you. simply send him that one glare, however, and hed put his hands behind his back if he had to. its your eyes that make him melt like that. hes never seen you like this before and that in itself was a turn on. when you ride him for the first time with a hand around his throat and lips against his (well, barely. your minds are too fogged you think you may be missing his lips when youre kissing), he thinks that theres nothing better in this world but to be like this with you.

jake 시재윤 : need

have you ever seen a man genuinely so eager to get you off that he forgets about his own raging hard on? ah right, thats jake. the second your makeout session morphed into something more, this man was putty in your hands. grinding on his thigh with your hands tangled in his hair.. well its certainly far from a romantic first encounter with sex, but the desperate whines and curses slipping from jakes lips are enough to make it worth it. you seriously could mold this man into whatever you wanted with your hands. when you told him to suck you off? he was on his knees before you could even finish the second. due to all the pent up frustration in him after a few months of not having any sort of sex, just know that hed come untouched in his pants just from blowing you.. and hed have zero shame about it.

sunghoon 박성훈 : lust

while a lot of people assume that sunoo would be the most of a brat or tease, i disagree. sunghoon is the definition of bratty when it comes to these situations, and youd only just get a taste of how he can be when it is your first time. it was like there was zero warning for how he would be, but part of you isnt complaining. how pretty he looks against the sheets, giving you that smirk and lidded gaze as you have two fingers knuckle deep in him. maybe you partially wanted to give up and give into him, but the way he taunted you with his words and his body was far too great of a reward to give up. overall, itd feel more like a game than anything; a back and forth until you snapped and pressed his face into the sheets. who said anything about first times being gentle? you probably only did it because he pushed your sanity just a bit too far this time.

sunoo 김선우 : playful

really, it started as a cute make out session. no more than pressing teasing kisses to each others lips and jokingly tugging at waistbands. so how did you end up here, with sunoo on his knees in between your legs? well, regardless of how, just know that itd all be lighthearted and playful. teasing insults, gentle bites, and maybe a bit of humiliation. it was more casual than you were expecting for your first time, but you werent complaining. the way he giggled when you bit his thighs was enough to ease any of your nerves and insecurities, truly. no need to even begin to speak about the way he looked at you and spoke meaningless insults to motivate you; some comments along the lines of "well? if you havent messed up my makeup already, you really arent that good."

jungwon 양정원 : affection

on the contrary, your first time with jungwon would be quiet and intimate. the only words that would leave your lips would be 'i love you''s and sweet nothings filled with praise. despite taking it slow, it was truly nothing but love and trust. he trusted you with his body, shivering at the way your cold hands felt against his bare waist. and you? you trusted him with your ego here, but that would be a topic for another time. gentle kisses against his chest that trail down to his hips and his feet resting on your shoulders—you were never a religious man, but you swore that this was heaven itself.

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moonstruckme · 1 month

Note

I am clean from sh for about 6 months now (yay me) and lately, idk why, I’ve just kinda been struggling with accepting my scars and the fact that I’ll have them probably forever and your writing is really comforting and actually helps, so I wanted to ask if u could maybe write something with Spencer helping reader feel ok with having them on reader‘s thighs?

totally understand that that’s a touchy topic and if u don’t wanna write it, I also completely get it, thanks anyway for even reading this xxx

Ahh yay you!!! Congrats baby, and thank you for requesting <3

cw: past self harm, some nudity that's really not sexual but they joke about it a bit

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

You’re sweltering. D.C. doesn’t usually get very warm, but for the last week you’ve been on a streak of record-breaking temperatures that’s made your clothes stick to your skin and has caused even your perpetually chilled boyfriend to refrain from putting on his cardigan until he gets inside his work each morning. Just walking between your car and various air conditioned buildings is enough to make you consider moving to the Arctic.

“Oh my god,” you groan, flopping inelegantly down on the bed to peel your jeans off. “Can we turn the A/C down to sixty, please?”

“Let’s start with seventy,” Spencer negotiates. You hear his footsteps stop halfway down the hall as he adjusts the monitor. “I think we still have some lemonade left, if you want some.”

“Ugh, yes.” You tear your jeans off your ankles with enough force to nearly send them flying across the room and sigh blissfully as the A/C kicks on.

You change out of your sweaty shirt too, going for your pajamas despite it being hours from darkness falling. You have no plans to go out into that hellscape again until tomorrow. You hesitate over a pair of pajama shorts before slipping on loose pants instead, not quite as cool but still light enough to allow some air flow.

“I love you,” you tell Spencer when he passes you your lemonade as you come into the living room, sitting beside him on the couch. Ice clinks inside your glass, which is already forming little beads of condensation. You have the urge to rub it on your face. “I mean, unconditionally, but especially right now.”

“I’ll take it,” he jokes back, tilting his head back so his face is in the path of the A/C vent. When he looks up, he finds you pinching up the fabric of your pants around your knees, trying to create a pathway for the air to move up your legs. “Why are you wearing those?”

You know what he’s asking you, and you intentionally misunderstand. “I felt like it was pajama time. No way am I going outside again today.”

“Right, but aren’t you warm?” Spencer tilts his head. He looks like a particularly cunning puppy, brown eyes soft and inquisitive.

“A little,” you admit.

“Then why not wear something shorter?”

“That’s awfully forward of you.” You do your best to give him a smile. It doesn’t stick around long in the face of your boyfriend’s serious expression, increasingly worried. “Maybe I don’t feel like parading my legs around for you.”

You can see the cogs turning in Spencer’s brain, and the usually fascinating process is suddenly almost painful to watch. You know he’s thinking of what you refusing to wear shorts used to mean, how nobody ever thought anything of it because, again, D.C. doesn’t tend to get very warm. How evasive you were about it then, too. An uncomfortable weight settles in your stomach.

“Is there a reason you don’t want them out?” he asks, and his voice is gentle but his gaze is unflinching.

You try to hold it as you shake your head. “I’m still clean.” The words seem to take more air than they should. Your guilt and embarrassment are enough to choke on. “I promise.”

Spencer nods. “I believe you.”

His eyes don’t so much as twitch down to your covered thighs. Relief like a cool breeze passes through you. It’s no small thing, his trust in you. Not after you’d gone so far out of your way to hide the evidence of your hurt from him before.

“But it’s still related to that, isn’t it?” He lifts his glass, taking a sip before wiping the corner of his mouth. You almost smile, picturing your boyfriend in an interrogation room asking questions with this same gentle tone and wide open, curious expression. You don’t think Spencer could ever be harsh.

“Yeah,” you say. What felt like something private and humiliating a minute before you suddenly want to share with him. Spencer tends to have that effect on you; he makes divulging your most gut-twisting secrets feel natural and easy. “My scars just haven’t gone away. I don’t really want to see them.”

Spencer’s mouth pinches. “You know they won’t ever fully go away, right?”

“Yeah.” You sigh, but it doesn’t feel like letting anything out. “I know.”

“They will probably fade, though.” His fingers circle your ankle loosely, calluses skimming softly over your achilles tendon. “Is it that you don’t want to see them, or you don’t want me to?”

You rub your lips together. Shrug. “Both, I guess.”

He tilts his head. Like your answer is expected, but nonetheless perplexing. “I don’t care if I see them,” he says. His hand coasts up your leg, over the fabric of your pants, until he grasps it by your knee. “Can I?”

You nod. You know he’d let it go if you said no, but it’s not worth begrudging him. “Sure.”

Spencer brings both hands to the fabric at your hips, and you lift your bum up off the couch as he pulls downwards. Your legs are happy to breathe, the cool air coming out of the vent even nicer than you’d thought it would be. Spencer keeps going until your pajama pants are balled up underneath your feet.

“You really were hot,” he says. It’s neither teasing nor gloating, a simple statement of fact. His fingers come to rest at your ankle again, and it’s the only kind of warmth you’ll allow. “Is it actually worth it?”

You look down at your thighs. Your skin feels better than it had covered up, but it’s also a physical reminder of things you’d rather forget. “I don’t know,” you reply.

“I understand why you don’t like them,” Spencer says. When you look up, you expect him to be as stuck on your scars as you are, but he’s looking at your face. His stare is calm and unmoving, like they don’t command his attention the way they do yours. “But I think they may be with you for a while. It might help to start trying to get used to them.”

You blow out a breath. “I want to.”

“I know,” he says. Easily, the way he’d said I believe you. And you think that he probably does know. Spencer has things from his past he can’t fully leave behind, too.

His forefinger moves slowly up and down the back of your ankle, an absentminded gesture for him and a comfort for you. Slowly, his eyes dip down to your legs. You fight the urge to squirm and hide.

“You know,” he muses, “there’s actually one thing I sort of like about seeing them.”

Your top lip starts to curl automatically, your brows pulling together. “What?”

“Just, that they’re old.” Spencer seems not to have noticed your reaction. His gaze is contemplative. “I mean, it’s not that I’m looking for them all the time or anything, but it’s nice to see them and know there aren’t going to be any new ones. These ones will fade, and then that will be it.”

Something new clogs your throat. It’s just as heavy as before, but far kinder.

Spencer looks up at you. He looks sheepish, the corner of his mouth uptilted self-consciously. “Sorry, it’s a weird line of thinking. I don’t want you to think I’m always checking on them.”

“No,” you swallow, “I get it. That’s nice, Spence.”

He shrugs. “It’s the truth.”

You could almost laugh. He makes things so simple. “I’ll change into shorts.”

“You don’t have to,” he says. “If you’re already cooling off.”

“Oh, yeah?” You keep your voice light, grinning at him as you shuffle over to straddle his lap. His fingers brush over a couple of the lines on your thigh as he brings them around your back, and the sensation doesn’t make you feel as shuddery as usual. You hug him with your arms around his neck. “You’re cool with me just staying like this then? No pants?”

“Not if you don’t want to wear them,” he says agreeably.

You laugh and hug him harder. “Thanks,” you tell him sincerely.

Spencer only makes a soft dismissive sound as he hugs you back.

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disneyprincemuke · 11 months

Text

midnights, 5 * mv1

max knows how much you hate thunderstorms, and he can't help but think of you when he's home and there's one

pairings: max verstappen x fem!reader

warnings: nothing~

notes: some might say i'm using midnights as a way to cope with my rough breakup from like 7 months ago but i can't be too sure (oversharing is my personality)

(prev) // (next)

max had been on his driving simulator playing a game when the rain started to pour about 10 minutes ago. he didn't even realise that it had been raining that heavily until jimmy and sassy curled up by his lap.

now he's on the couch, both cats snuggled up into his thigh with the tv on. from the corner of his eye, he notices the crackling bright lights that break up the sky that’s often accompanied by a rumble.

it started off soft, but it’s gradually getting louder.

his mind starts to drift to you. max doesn’t imagine you’re sleeping well in these conditions - or that you're even able to. you’ve always hated thunderstorms in the middle of the night, claiming that all the ruckus is more disruptive than relaxing.

on nights like these, he would typically hold you tight in his arms. he would be sat up against the headboard while you lie on his chest, chatting with you as a distraction from the noise. on rare occasions, he would brush your hair until you’ve fallen asleep on him.

he wonders how well you’re coping with it now that he’s not next to you. he glances at his face-down phone, wondering if he should check in on you just for tonight.

it wouldn’t have to lead to anything — he just wants to make sure.

he just needs to ensure you’re not curled up into a ball in a corner with your hands on your ears. he can still remember it like daylight when it happened the first time.

it was your very first night in his apartment, and you’d both fallen asleep very early in the evening. at some point in the night, it started to rain heavily. a particularly loud thunder had shaken him awake but when he tried to pull you closer to his body, he realised you were no longer in bed with him.

he muttered your name and found you curled in the far corner of his bedroom. your knees were pressed to your chest, chin resting on top with your phone on the ground with a video illuminating your face. even with your airpods in, you still had your hands over your ears.

you weren’t crying, but you were definitely shaken up quite a bit. he managed to get you back into bed but you didn’t fall asleep for another 2 hours. so he stayed up with you in hushed whispers and muted giggles until you drifted off to sleep on his chest.

thunder rumbles, actually surprising him with its intensity as he juggles his phone from falling on sassy. even his cats flinch at the loud sound and snuggle even further into his thigh.

now he’s growing even more concerned about your whereabouts. when there’s a thunderstorm and you’re apart because of his race, he tries to call and talk to you until the storm has passed.

but it seems that he’s lost that privilege to ask if you’ll be okay tonight. he doesn’t even know if you’d answer his message.

the paranoia of your wellbeing never leaves, because he keeps glancing at his phone for a call or message from you. if you called him right now and asked him to come over, he would go to you without a doubt and another thought.

his phone lights up and buzzes, actually making his heart jump in his chest. the excitement immediately disappears when he finds out who the notification is from.

it’s just daniel, asking him if he’s doing fine over the break.

daniel hasn’t left him alone since his confession that night in qatar. though he was able to leave the bar on his own, the older driver was knocking on his hotel room door 10 minutes later.

daniel just hung in his hotel room until he fell asleep. max assumed that he wasn’t trusted to be on his own after a confession that shook daniel, because he was gone by the time he woke up the next morning.

max has tried asking alexandra about you, once after the main race in qatar. but she just shook her head and gave him a weak smile before walking away. charles could only mimic his girlfriend's response with a pat on his shoulder, promptly moving on to talk about other things.

nights like these, max usually sleeps peacefully. unlike you, rain and thunderstorms mixed with the darkness of the night calm him. since your distaste for the combination, he has learned to enjoy it differently.

he loves the late-night conversations he shared with you and having your weight on him. he misses the intimacy of just lying in the dark room with you, talking and mapping out your future together.

your future. your future that suddenly seems like a blurry hallucination, once being the only thing that he would look forward to when he would think about the course of his life. your future that's now obsolete.

max doesn't fall asleep at a reasonable time that night. he waits for the weather to calm and everything to go silent before he does. it's his way, on his own, to feel like you're still here with him. even if you're not.

taglist: @merchelsea @leclercdream @labelledejourr @laneyspaulding19 @lpab @graciewrote @hollie911 @thatsojasminesworld @mycenterfold

#hehe #screaming crying throwing up #LOL #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fanfiction #max verstappen x you #f1 x reader #f1 #f1 x you #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke imagines #disneyprincemuke f1

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lorkai · 5 months

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.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: Hello Genshin fandom 🥺👉👈, how y'all doing? This is actually my first real time writing for this fandom but I've been reading so much sagau fics and they are all so cool that I wanted to write something too. Not really sure if I'm going to start writing for genshin but we'll see. Hopefully this is good.

"So... This is how it ends?" A last whisper leaves you as a coppery taste invades your mouth, a strangled half laugh escaping from your blood wet lips.

It was tragic. Still, a little comic how golden blood escaped from the giant wound in your stomach caused by Zhognli's spear. The whole world thought you were an impostor, someone worth killing and now time seemed to stop. The clocks hands stoping moving, the sand stopping falling inside the hourglass.

For a moment everything was static, unmoving, not even breathing.

The whole world was shaking, the winds started howling. You looked at them, eyes moving from face to face. And they had the audacity to look shocked, pale, nervous and anxious as you were dying.

The adrenaline had reached its peak, making any and all pain bearable, painless, but with an injury like that you knew what the result would be. You laughed again. After running away for so many months, being cold and hungry, and only knowing fear, you let everything you felt come out of your chest before your death.

You laughed till your eyes were blurry with tears. Tears filled with pain and hatred. You laughed till your throat was hoarse, the sound stretching till it was all but a hiss.

"Your Grace!" You heard Venti's panicked voice, smug smile wiped from his face as he had the audacity to come closer. Though he was far too coward to touch you, he fumbled anxiously. "No... How could this happen?"

Yeah, how could this happen? You thought bitterly. You were isekai'ed to this world but you were ok with it. And then the characters you used to love and cherish started hunting you.

All because of some kind of creator. You didn't even knew there was a creator in the game? There was one? You can't remember. Skipped dialogues, playing it through drowsiness, not reading the books. There was plenty of lore you could have missed.

It was too late now.

"Use your futile head once, bard." Was your reply, dry tone making him wince. "Write me a song while you're it."

"We thought..." Ei started. But a glare from you had her silent in seconds, imponent Shogun Ei trembling under your eyes.

"You thought but you didn't ask me for clarifications, you didn't let mm..." You coughed blood, a pool of golden coating your clothes and feet.

"You Grace!" Zhongli screamed, alarmed.

Your body became weak and you fell forward, your knees weakening and small tears running down your star like eyes, Zhongli held you, so delicate and with so much love. Once, you used wished for him to hold you like this, for him to cuddle you and share all this knowledge with you over tea but now it just left a sour taste on your mouth while you looked at those ambar eyes as the minutes go by.

"Please, don't leave..." A cry from Ei's wounded soul. Followed by Venti's regretful tears.

A god of freedom took the Creator's freedom, deprived them of it without using his mind like he used to do. And the goddess of eternity was sentenced a spend eternity alone, without her sister, her son, her creator...

Zhongli lips were moving, you could feel the vibration of his voice reverberating through his chest where your head rested. But the words became blurred and their meaning was lost.

The wind was swaying your hair so gently, caressing your face with its smooth invisible fingers.

In his arms, you died.

#genshin impact #genshin sagau #genshin impact sagau #impostor au #zhongli x reader #zhongli x y/n #zhongli x you #genshin impostor au #venti x reader #venti x you #venti x y/n #ei x reader #ei x y/n #ei x you

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onsunnyside · 1 year

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.♡ ⃗ 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫 (𝟏/𝟓)

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 | best friend!JJ Maybank x reader (College AU)

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | fluff, friends-to-lovers, college au, non-canon ages, ‘lessons in love & pleasure’ trope, kook!reader, size difference, shy!reader, inexperienced & virgin!reader, clumsy!reader, cute first kisses.

♫ ·ﾟ𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝗪/𝗖 | 3.97K

𝗔/𝗡 | and here we go !! this is my first obx series, so pls wish me luck, also note that this is a college au, meaning all characters are 21+. this will be angst-free, just a fluffy fic about two friends falling in love, starring a charming blond surfer. i'd love to hear your thoughts about this so far. as always, all mistakes are my own. ☼ 𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐊𝐨-𝐟𝐢 ☼

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 & 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲: @𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

˗ˏˋ 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭ˎˊ˗ ⋰˚ 𝐎𝐁𝐗 (& 𝐀𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬) 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The rays of the sun beam down, burning your heated face as you exit the building. Hurriedly stuffing your uniform in your bag, you rush down the stairs and toward the main campus. You weave between students, nearly tripping while anxiously checking the time on your phone.

A few minutes late wasn’t that bad. You didn’t expect your professor to take the entire period given that it was the last day before spring break. It would’ve been more bearable if you had any friends in that class, but none of them showed. Perhaps you should’ve done the same and got a headstart on break too, or at least a full eight hours of sleep for the first time in months.

Approaching the common area, the familiar sound of the fountain meets your ears amongst the chatter and laughter from your peers.

Your eyes fall on a familiar blond, a toothpick between his teeth as he mindlessly scrolls through his cell phone. He stands out amongst the sea of plaid skirts, ties and blazers, wearing a backwards cap, cargo shorts and a tank top, his toned arms as sunkissed as ever. You call his name and break into a skip.

“If it isn’t the smartest gal I know…” You melt in his hold, that signature coastal citrusy scent washing over you like waves on a shore. After one final squeeze, he pulls away, his blue eyes flickering down to your feet. “And she still doesn’t remember to tie her damn shoes.”

“I was already running late, I couldn’t stop!”

He rolls his eyes and drops to one knee, bringing your foot to the other, “yeah, and what would’ve happened if you tripped? Or got stuck in an escalator? Or tangled in some wild vines?” He asks, quickly tying both your laces.

“Too late for one of those…” You pull up the hem of your dress, exposing the mismatched bandaids on both your knees.

“Did you try to walk and chew gum at the same time?”

You huff, “actually, I got it while golfing. The tall grass is really misleading.”

Your mother had scolded you for the grass stains on your new shoes, yet another pair just victim to your clumsiness, much like everything else you own.

As expected, JJ’s mood sours at the mention of Figure 8. Years after that kegger incident, JJ was still very bitter towards anything Kook-related. He didn’t want to hear about Rafe and his crew and almost turned red at the mere mention of their names. He tolerated you, Sarah and Kie talking about Midsummers, and was absolutely zero help when you were discussing dresses and crowns.

“Who was there?”

“Just my dad, Sarah and Mr. Cameron.”

JJ hums, peering up at you through his lashes. “Anyone else?”

You cross your arms, “Rafe never comes if that’s what you’re asking. He’s too busy working for his dad, and is probably halfway across the world, sipping on Dom Pérignon by the beach.”

“Yeah, I guess it’s not like he asked you to join him… again.”

A loud sigh falls from your lips, “That was one time! And he didn’t even ask, Mr. Cameron wanted me to check on him and make sure he wasn’t blowing profits on new bikes or drugs.”

JJ drops it after that, he could say anything he wanted but that wouldn’t impact your relationship with the Camerons. Since your parents owned and operated the Island Club, and rich people liked other rich people.

Your entire childhood was spent on Figure 8 alongside Sarah and the rest of the Kooks. You were grateful to live so comfortably, never having to worry about bills or losing electricity for days on end, but you’ve always envied the Pogues. Their freedom and exciting adventures were so different from the lonely box you were born in.

With years of friendship between you and the rest of the Pogues, your mother still referred to them as ‘those kids from The Cut.’

Your father, on the other hand, had a soft spot for them—especially JJ because of their shared love for cars and motorbikes. There have been a few times that you’ve caught them messing around in the garage after JJ left for more snacks and drinks, practically abandoning you all by the pool for some grease and engines.

Although he liked the blond boy, you know your father would disapprove of the many nights he’s sneaked through your window for a little sleepover. You were used to it now, sharing a bed with your best friend was a regular occurrence. It was platonic, even when you’d wake up in each other’s arms, tucked close.

JJ’s morning voice never failed to make you all fuzzy inside.

“Hello? Are you gonna get on or does the princess need help?”

Ignoring his remark, you quickly straddle his bike and wince at the dull pain in your thigh, “I also got a nasty bruise that day—note to self, never try to retrieve golf balls from deceitful tall grass again.”

He chuckles and twists around, “poor baby, want me to kiss it better?”

As if the sun had solely focused on you, your whole body heats up, a warmth fluttering in your belly as your mind searches for a response.

“I-I, uhm…oh, I—”

JJ laughs loud with a dimpled grin, “Why don’t you think about it and tell me later? We’re already running late and you know how Pope is with that.”

The Wreck is busy this time of day, every seat filled with college students and Tourons as waiters zoom from table to table. The delicious smell of seafood clouds the air and loud conversations drown out the radio. Sunshine pours from the windows, bathing the nautical decorations in an orange glow. Fishnets, brass ship wheels, and various hand-painted signs hang on the walls, strung up alongside fairy lights and ceiling fans.

You and JJ beeline for your designated spot, the booth all the way in the corner of the restaurant. As suspected, everyone is already there apart from Kie, you side in next to Pope and exchange gleeful greetings.

“And she lives! After that tumble at the golf course, I’m surprised you don’t have a cast or something.” Sarah snorts, the memory of you literally disappearing in the grass replaying in her head. “How’d your mom take it?”

You pout, “She was more concerned with my dirty clothes than my injuries,” and your bruised ego, “can you believe it?”

You’re met with mumbles of ‘yes’ and ‘of course,’ everyone awfully aware of your mother’s obsession with the picture-perfect image. If she had it her way, she would dress you every day to show off that Kook status, she’d put you in pastel prints, ironed polos, and hand-shined shoes. A part of you knows that the only thing stopping her from dressing you like a doll was your clumsiness, a saving grace disguised as aches and bandaids.

Her overbearing nature was also to blame for your timid heart, sometimes you were too scared to do any wrong that you wouldn’t do anything at all. Looming fear kept you in that box of solitude, unfulfilled expectations and thrills made you shrink away. As a child, you never had the confidence to speak up and often went with whatever your mother said, but that was until you met the Pogues. They helped you get out of your shell and introduced you to new experiences, they were the most patient and caring people you’ve met, and you wouldn’t trade their friendship for the world.

Out of the corner of your eye, Sarah and John B exchange a few chaste kisses. You immediately turn away, jumping into a conversation about Kie’s whereabouts with Pope.

“Her dad needed a hand, hopefully, she’ll be back with our food soon.” He answers and slides a glass in front of you, “she got this for you.”

It was your favourite smoothie flavour. You don’t waste any time and take a long sip, the sweet berries melting on your tongue, a momentary distraction from feeling so different from your friends.

Under your mother’s watchful eye, you never dared to step out of line and that has led you to being terribly inexperienced in everything dating-related. While your friends were partying and earning their stripes, you were watching from the sidelines and fumbling every opportunity that came your way. You tried to forget all those people who have pursued you, their texts unanswered and calls ignored.

You shake away those thoughts, “Did any of you have class today?”

Sarah flips her blond hair over her shoulder, “All my uniforms were in the wash, so it really wasn’t my fault. If private universities didn’t have mandatory uniforms… I still probably wouldn’t have gone.”

You and Sarah went to the same campus, but your schedules were far different. You could barely remember your own, let alone keep track of hers too.

Your gaze slowly shifts from each of their faces, “even you, Pope?”

“In my defence, I’m way ahead in all my courses, I could afford to miss a day.”

“Hmm… And does your dad know?” You tut, tilting your head.

He stares back at you, “Does your dad know you let Sarah and John B spend their anniversary in the country club after hours?”

Across the table, Sarah’s jaw drops. “You said you wouldn’t tell anyone!”

“I didn’t! Only you and he know.” You point to her boyfriend who was blinking owlishly.

John B raises his hands, going rigid under his girlfriend’s glare. “I only told JJ.”

All eyes land on the blond, a paper crane napkin in his hands. “Hm? Oh yeah, I told Pope and Kie.”

“No secrets between Pogues.” They both high-five over your head.

You deflate, covering your face. “Don’t tell anyone else, okay? I don’t want to accidentally start some under-the-table business renting the club… My mom would kill me.”

JJ coos, rubbing up and down your back. “Hey, it’s no different than Sarah lending Ward’s yacht to Pope when he wanted to impress that Touron…” He shrieks when a hand slaps the back of his head, knocking his hat to the ground.

“Idiot! No one knew about that!”

“I think we can all agree that JJ is just terrible at keeping secrets. Can’t trust him with anything.”

You giggle and sip on your smoothie, half-listening to John B’s rant about some customers at the surf shop. JJ sticks a straw in your cup and drinks too, cheekily bumping your foreheads together, his pretty blue eyes locked onto yours.

You find it hard to turn away, your gaze drifting over his face. From his strong nose to his cheekbones carrying a slight sunburn to his defined jaw. He flashes a grin, those stupid dimples making you a little flustered.

JJ was a natural flirt, he could make anyone swoon, he showered his friends in platonic love and affection—hugs, cuddles, kisses, you name it and he’s done it to each of you. He’s dated around the island but those relationships never lasted long enough to get serious, and they’ve never been introduced to your group either.

You’ve always wondered what he was like as a boyfriend, if he was as sweet with his partners as he was with all of you, if that tenderness bled into all his actions. He wore his heart on his sleeve in the most admirable of ways, although he was hotheaded and troubled, you’ve always felt safe with him.

You pull away, squeezing your eyes shut, “agh! Brain freeze!”

He snorts, bringing you forward for a sloppy kiss on your forehead, his cold lips against your warm skin. “Maybe you shouldn’t drink so quickly, ya dummy.”

Kie finally joins the rest of you a while later, bringing trays of fresh food and more drinks before sitting beside John B. Her long brown hair is up in a bun, loose strands frame her face, “Just letting you all know, I expect a mighty fine tip today and everyone is helping me clean up after closing.”

“Might as well take my kidney while you’re at it.” JJ speaks through a mouthful of fries, “we’re supposed to relax today.”

“And I don’t feel like getting elbow-deep in dirty dishes if I’m not being paid for it,” John B adds.

“These free meals say different. C’mon, my dad promised he’d try not to disturb me this week if we get this place spotless for spring break.” She looks at you, brown eyes pleading, “I’ll get you a smoothie to go.”

“I mean… it’s a small price to pay for a week of freedom, right?”

“Not guaranteed freedom.”

JJ leans towards you, “don’t say yes.”

“There’s six of us, we could get it done in one hour or even less if we work fast!”

“I guess that’s true.” You agree, despite JJ’s protests.

“Sunshine, no—if you stay, I’m gonna have to stay too.”

Kie calls your name, reaching over to physically turn you towards her. “Don’t look at him. If you stay, he’ll stay, same goes for Sarah and John B, and well… Pope will stay regardless because he doesn’t have a choice.”

Pope pulls a face, “excuse me?”

Truthfully, you were going to stay anyway, but it does make you a little bashful knowing that JJ wouldn’t leave without you.

“Okay, I’ll stay.”

“Same here.” Sarah decides, earning a huff from her boyfriend, “And just for your attitudes, the guys have to clean the deep fryers.”

“Including Pope.”

“I didn’t even say anything!”

After thoroughly cleaning The Wreck, the night concludes with a movie marathon at the Chateau. Pope keeps his streak of picking the best movies and chooses a trilogy you haven’t seen before. Bowls of snacks and beer cans litter the floor, and a half-finished pizza sits on the coffee table. Sarah and John B share one couch, and Kie and Pope are sprawled on the floor atop cushions and blankets, while you and JJ are tucked into the smallest couch, your legs over his lap.

As the opening credits roll on the screen, everyone takes the opportunity to do more catching up. Kie talks about cleaning up some beaches with other volunteers and her most recent trip off the island, a small project with a group of marine wildlife rescuers. She even shows a bunch of pictures of her with baby turtles.

John B and JJ talk about their co-owned surf shop, “We caved and hired extra help.”

“Finally!” Kie exclaims, “If you and JJ were running that shop alone any longer, it would go bankrupt, you’re both so fucking lazy.”

“Hey, I’m a great employee. I just got employee of the month actually.” JJ defends.

“You shouldn’t be proud of that if it’s only you two. You literally just vote for each other every month,” Sarah states knowingly.

You, Sarah and Pope don’t have much to say about your college careers, except for the lack of sleep and dependence on caffeine. It’s not very exciting, but Pope’s story about his professor who only attends class in socks makes you a little thankful for your overly strict school.

The marathon goes on, and the conversation dies down by the end of the second movie. Someone’s soft snoring flows over the steamy soundtrack and for the umpteenth time tonight, you look away as the two leads share a passionate kiss. At least it wasn’t another sex scene.

As your best friend, JJ could read you like a book. He knew you from the inside out, he could tell what you were thinking before you even said it, and he knew all of those humiliating secrets that kept you up at night. One of them being your lack of experience. When you confessed that, he told you it wasn’t something to be ashamed of, everyone moves at different paces and lives different lives—but kissing?

“You’ve never been kissed?”

You cover your face, embarrassment flooding in. “You don’t have to say it like that!”

“I’m not—I’m not teasing.” His smile says differently. He easily pulls your hands down, holding them in his lap, “it’s just not what I was expecting.”

He generally knew you weren’t the most experienced in intimacy and relationships, and that’s partly why he was so protective of you. Even at crowded parties and in his drunken state, he’d keep an eye on you, watching out for any creeps. Unbeknownst to you, it was an unspoken rule between the Pogues to treat you a little softer, a little sweeter because they all know how sensitive you were.

But he figured you’ve kissed someone before. Maybe some lucky kid from Figure 8 or a dude from your private school.

“I know, I know. You probably find it so funny.” You huff and roll your eyes, “laugh all you want, jerk.”

And to your chagrin, he does but quickly apologizes. “Sorry, sorry. Okay, maybe it’s a little funny. But not in a bad way! It’s actually cute.”

Cute?

“It’s adorable.” He cups your face, “itty bitty baby hasn’t had her first kiss… not even with that poster in your bedroom?”

Your chest warms as he pinches and pulls both of your cheeks, puckering your lips when you try to speak, “...posh-ers don’t ha’ tongues.”

“Oh, so you wanna French kiss for your first time? Didn’t think you were that type of girl, sunshine.”

You push him back and try to scoot away, making do with whatever sliver of space you can manage between the two of you, but he doesn’t let you get far. Keeping you in place with his hands on your hips.

“You’re telling me, aside from no one taking you on a date before, no one has asked to kiss you either?”

“JJ, you know my parents. My mom is so hard to please, I can’t imagine bringing someone home for her approval. And I had opportunities but… I kept getting too nervous.”

He’s quiet for a moment, his gaze tracing over your face. You hadn’t realized how close he was until now, you could count his every eyelash and his every freckle.

“I could help you out.”

A lump appears in your throat, it would silence your words if you could think of any but you can’t. Too caught up in his deep voice as it repeats in your head, again and again like a broken record.

“You trust me, right? You know me, I’m not—I’m not some guy you just met. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. If you wanted to, uh, kiss someone you just met, go ahead.” He reassures, “but I don’t think you want to do that.”

JJ was so awfully sentimental when it came to his friendships. His several shoe boxes of polaroids, tickets and trinkets under his bed said enough about his love for nostalgia. He was always one to take a chance, to live in a moment for as long as he could, and to find the positives in any situation, even the worst ones.

Years down the line, he never leaves the house without the silver zippo that you got him on a trip with your parents. It was easy to find something for each of your friends from your weeks-long stay in Europe: jewelry for Sarah and Kie, a first edition copy of a novel for Pope, and a vintage compass for John B, but you were stumped when it came to JJ.

You saved his gift for last, long after everyone else had fallen asleep, the mess of your celebratory return littering the backyard in empty beer bottles and confetti. He bugged you all night, eager for his special little something.

“Don’t open your eyes.”

“...Mhm, I’m having trouble keeping ‘em open.”

You placed the zippo in his hand and stepped back, “Okay, just feel it.”

He passed it between his hands, dragging his fingers over the cold metal until he popped it open, “a lighter?”

You nearly turned away when your nerves started bubbling and you’re thankful you didn’t, or else you would’ve missed his reaction. To this day, you’ve never seen him smile so wide or his eyes light up that bright at the sight of his initials and P4L ingrained in the silver.

He’s just JJ, one of your best friends in the entire world.

Deciding to take this opportunity before it slips away, you nod and his lips meet yours. He starts with little pecks, soft and sweet like cotton candy, and they slowly drag into short kisses. Putting a bit of intensity behind it, his tongue swipes along your bottom lip, but you don’t get the hint until he gently thumbs at your chin, just barely pulling your lips apart. He tastes like beer and a bit of weed, and his lips are softer than they look.

He’s slow and steady, letting you get used to the feel of him. You exhale in his mouth and shyly follow his lead, hoping he can’t hear your heart hammering in your chest. You don’t know if it’s the sweet rush of his lips against yours, or if this is how it feels to kiss someone for the first time, but you feel like you’ll float away.

Before you know it, he pulls away and presses his forehead against yours.

“You can breathe while we kiss.” He chuckles, nudging your nose with his, “don’t want you passing out on me, sunshine.”

You realize how lightheaded you feel and gasp for air, subconsciously licking your lips to taste him again. In a daze, you breathe in and out, briefly wondering if it felt like this to kiss just anyone.

One of his hands slips behind your neck and the other falls to your thigh, warm and gentle. “Do you want to stop?”

You glance at your friends, still passed out on the floor and other couches, the movie playing dully in the background. “No?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“No.” You repeat, firmer this time. “I don’t want to stop. Pl-Please don’t stop.”

How could JJ deny you? Especially when you ask so dreamily with that glazed look in your eyes. He fights the urge to pull you into his lap and touch you all over and be the first person to make you into a pretty mess, to feel you in a way no one else has before. He connects your lips again, taking the lead and slipping his tongue into your mouth.

The unmistakable wet noises cause tingles to course all over your body, from your toes to the tips of your fingers clasped in your lap. They only get stronger when he tilts your head to kiss you deeper.

“You can touch me too,” he murmurs, bringing your hand to the back of his neck. Your digits automatically curl in his blond hair, drawing a low groan from his throat.

That’s when you go completely dumb and totally thoughtless. All concerns fly out of your mind and join the bluebirds above your head. They’re playing a little song to the beat of your heart, hitting every note and putting you at ease like a lovesick lullaby. You almost assume that’s why you feel lightheaded again.

JJ leans back, his voice raspy, “you keep forgetting to breathe, baby.”

“I’m sorry,” you exhale heavily, the butterflies in your tummy going wild as he caresses your face. “I’m not good at this yet.”

His rough fingers drag down your cheekbones and trace your jaw, the pad of his thumb gently presses on your bottom lip, almost slipping inside your mouth. His eyes seem darker, the clear blue shaded in something you can’t name.

His lips trail to your jaw, the movie long forgotten, “It’s okay, we have lots of time to practice. I’m gonna teach you everything I know, sunshine.”

𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: ahhh I've always wanted to write a sweet fic like this, i'm so excited to dive into a new fandom 🥰🥰 i'm still a lil nervous, but i'm hoping for the best !! feel free to stop by my inbox and let me know what you think of this so far, or request blurbs/drabbles for this au !!

𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞! this fic doesn't have an update schedule, but i'll add dates on the masterlist (linked here) if i have a date in mind. also, here's the 𝐏𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐁𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝 for this fic !!

As always, I hope you all enjoyed this and I’d love to hear your thoughts/feedback !! <3 — ☼ 𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐊𝐨-𝐟𝐢 ☼

I don’t do taglists anymore. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 & 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲: @𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

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lovebugism · 1 year

Note

Hi I am begging on my knees for more of your steddie x reader it’s so good I’m crying

BIZARRE LOVE TRIANGLE | baby fever

summary: steve's got a bad case of baby fever. it's not so bad until you start getting sick with it too. eddie has to come up with a solution before all of you fall ill.

pairing: steve harrington / f!reader / eddie munson

a/n: i just realized i haven't posted anything steddie related in almost three months. i am so sorry. this is a total travesty. please enjoy this 3k blurb and find it in your heart to forgive me <3

You squint at the grocery list scribbled on a bright blue sticky note. It’s a mish-mash of all your different handwritings. Some are certainly neater than others. “This just says crabs… I think...”

“It doesn’t say crabs, you loon,” Eddie laughs from where he mans the shopping cart beside you. He’s steering the thing about as well as his van. “It says cereals.”

“No, it says a bunch of gibberish that no one can read but you,” you retort with a giggle of your own as you follow him down the breakfast aisle. “And we just need one box of cereal, alright? Singular.”

He turns to you with a cartoonish pout on his lips. “But why?”

“Because you’re like a kid, Eds. You eat the entire thing in one sitting, and then you’re absolutely haywire for the rest of the day.”

And, just like a child, the boy stands in front of the vibrantly colored boxes of cereal with a wide grin on his face.

The local grocery store was smaller compared to the others in town, but they had every brand of the breakfast food known to man, stacked in neat rows from the floor to ceiling.

Eddie’s got a twinkle in his eye as his gaze runs over them all. And even though you think it’s all boyish and hilarious, you let him have his fun.

He grew up unable to enjoy all the goodness of overly sweet cereal because bills and food with actual sustenance were always more important. Now, he’s got a halfway stable job with Wayne at the car shop, and he’s living at his own place with his boyfriend and girlfriend, and he can buy whatever the hell kind of cereal he wants.

So, as far as he’s concerned, everyone who said he’d never amount to much can suck it.

And you know you’ll let him buy the whole damn grocery store out of their cereal if that’s what he wants. It’s the least you can do for the world’s best boyfriend — a title he begrudgingly shares with Steve The Hair Harrington.

You’d give him the world if you could, but for now you’ll have to settle for a couple of boxes of Lucky Charms.

“Okay, so the OJ’s we got last time tasted like absolute shit,” Eddie mutters, mostly to himself as he crouches to peer at the lower shelves. “I saw a commercial for Waffle-O’s this morning, and they looked pretty good. But I know you like Breakfast With Barbie and Steve ate a bowl of C3PO’s every day for, like, two weeks, so…”

You stand by the cart and laugh at his rambling. You turn to look behind you with a lighthearted joke sitting on the edge of your tongue. It dissipates when you realize Steve isn’t next to you.

Instead, he’s still standing at the end of the aisle with his back to you and Eddie — like his feet forgot how to work when he caught sight of the family across the store. It’s a mother and a father, dressed in their mid-weekday finest, with a baby swaddled at their chest and a toddler bouncing in the seat of the shopping cart.

And you know it’s got the boy totally lost in his own head. You know he's picturing you and him and Eddie as that happy family — the one fills every store you walk into with baby babbles and bubbly laughter.

Steve told you his senior year of high school he wanted a baby, that he wanted six of them, and that he wanted them all with you. And you were just a stupid seventeen-year-old girl who would’ve done anything he asked you to, though you definitely drew the line at babies.

But you’re older now, and far more settled than you had been all that time ago. Steve’s ready for a family, but you don’t think you’re anywhere close.

“How about we just compromise and get all three?” Eddie finally concludes with the boxes already in his arms. He dumps them into the cart and notices that your attention is elsewhere. He realizes then that Steve’s gone too because his attention is stuck on a nice family minding their own business.

“Not again…” he murmurs to himself while you go rescue the boy.

“I’ve never seen someone so sick with baby fever in my life,” you laugh as you drag Steve back to the cart by his wrist.

“I can’t help it!” he defends weakly. “They were so cute! They were all matching and I couldn’t stop thinking about how I can’t wait to coordinate outfits with our baby. Doesn’t that sound like the cutest fucking thing ever?”

“It sounds very adorable, Stevie,” you nod understandingly and try to ignore the way your stomach twists at the thought of him and his baby girl wearing matching pastels every time they step out of the house. “And we can be just like them in five years—”

“Five years?” he gapes.

“Maybe even ten,” Eddie shrugs and nonchalantly tosses a box of Count Chocula into the cart.

“Ten years— You guys are insane if you think I’m waiting ten years to have a kid!” Steve protests with a pair of buff arms crossed boyishly over his chest. “I’m not getting any younger over here, you know that, right?”

“You’re twenty-five, Steve, stop being so dramatic. We’re just now trying to get settled. I’m still in school, you’re still working at Family Video, Eddie’s still… Eddie. Don’t you think we should have actual careers before we have a kid?”

Steve huffs and rolls his eyes, feigning annoyance even though he knows you’re right.

It’s not like he wants to keep working at the stupid store on Main Street. He keeps putting off the conversation with his dad about another job, because he puts off every conversation with his dad. He’s scared of what asking for a position at his firm will do to his pride.

“She’s right, and you know it, Steven,” Eddie tells him, then scoffs. “I mean, can you really imagine me with a baby strapped to my chest on tour?”

You and Steve both pause and tilt your heads to the side as you picture the sight, terribly in sync as always. You can imagine it, quite perfectly actually, tangible enough to touch.

“Well—”

“That’s the cutest thing I think I’ve ever heard,” Steve finishes your thought for you.

Eddie cowers at the sudden attention. “Okay, stop looking at me like I’m a piece of meat, alright? We are not having a kid right now. There’s no fucking way.”

Steve all but deflates at the rejection as Eddie pushes the cart down the aisle, desperate to escape the bubble of tension the conversation had created in the cereal section.

You smile sheepishly over at Steve and wrap your arms through the crook of his elbow, standing on the tips of your toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “He’s being grumpy about it, but he’s right… It’s just not a good idea right now— but it will be, okay? One day. Just not… to-day.”

┄

The day, for you, comes exactly seven of them later.

You accompany Steve on his morning run and his routine stop for coffee. You’re not quite sure how he’s still mobile because your muscles are screaming, even after the warm shower you took to soothe them.

You left him alone for all of half a second to use the bathroom while he ordered drinks for him and you, and something extra for Eddie for when the boy decides to roll out of bed.

When you return, you find him bouncing a baby on his hip — a young thing, maybe three if you had to guess, with two buns in her hair like bunny ears and a sparkly pink dress to match the bows she wears in them.

Steve smiles down at her, talking to her in a baby voice and saying something you can’t hear because you’re frozen in place. You resemble him at the grocery store a week ago, when he was thrown into a daydream so suddenly that his body all but shut down.

You look at him now, tickling the baby’s sides just to hear her giggle, and you see him with your firstborn — sleep deprived, covered in spit-up, and still the most beautiful human you’d ever seen.

You have to shake your head to remove the thought before it ruins you entirely.

Freshly jostled from your stupor, you walk over to him. “Steve… Please tell me you didn’t steal someone’s baby.”

He laughs. “What? No! She was just a little fussy, and I offered to take her while her mom looked for something,” the boy explains. You look just behind him to see the woman bent over at one of the smaller tables, sifting vigorously through a large baby bag.

“She doesn’t seem very fussy now,” you observe, eyes flitting between his and the child's and noticing they’ve both got matching grins.

“She doesn’t, does she?” he smiles, softly scratching at her sides again to make her laugh. And she does, most enthusiastically so, tilting her head back and letting the giggles spill from an open mouth.

He turns back to you, with wide eyes and raised brows and a bemused grin. “I like she likes me.”

“Of course, she does,” you scoff. “Babies always like you.”

The mom returns with a snack in hand and a relieved smile. Steve passes the baby back to her with little effort. She whines at the loss of him, though the brightly packaged treat is quick to quell her sorrow.

“Thanks for taking her,” the mother's grateful smile falters with exhaustion. “If I don’t give her the same snack at exactly the same time every day, she tends to go a little nuts.”

Steve tells her that it’s no problem, that he was a part-time babysitter at one point in his life, and that her kid was better than those little shits combined. He censors himself before the swear slips out, though.

You go your separate ways when the barista calls out your drink orders and walk hand in hand back to your place.

“Did you get their names?” you ask him before taking a sip of your latte.

“The mom’s name was Maeve and the kid’s name was Harper—”

“Holy shit,” you mutter.

Steve snaps his head over to you because he thinks you’ve burnt your mouth. Instead, he finds you with a distant smile on your face.

“Those are the cutest names I’ve ever heard. It sounds like something out of a fucking cartoon or something.”

“Yeah…” is all he can say because his mind is preoccupied with a million other thoughts. He doesn’t tell you them, obviously, but you know they’re there. The sly smile pulling at his lips makes it obvious.

“…Why are you looking at me like that.”

“Because I’m totally gonna wear you down,” he grins and brings his coffee to his mouth, sipping through his smirk.

You only scoff in response. “Never.”

┄

It doesn’t take you very long to realize that Steve was right.

You spend the rest of the day thinking about it — about him with a baby and how perfect he'd be as a dad. The thoughts plague you far more than they usually do. They take up the entire frontal cortex of your brain and make it nearly impossible to think about anything else.

You’re self-aware enough to beat yourself up about it.

You were just telling him that it wasn’t time yet, and you knew you were right. As far as you’re concerned, you still have another few good years before you’re ready to even start seriously considering it.

But here you are, having to calm yourself down every time the thought of Steve Harrington with a baby, your baby, crosses your mind.

You wait until the boy heads to bed to talk to Eddie about it. You find him in the kitchen, eating handfuls of Breakfast with Barbie like a maniac. You’re too preoccupied to make a snarky comment about it.

“Steve wasn’t lying,” you warn him.

“..About what?” he wonders through the mouthful.

“About him not waiting ten years to have a baby! He wants one now!” you explain through a yell-whisper hybrid. “And he told me he was going to wear me down, and he was right.”

Eddie’s eyes go wide too, like he’s just learned you caught some sort of plague. You have. It’s called baby fever, and it’s only a matter of time before the entire house is afflicted. “Shit…”

“So you have to be the strong one, Eddie.”

“Oh, god,” he whines with pinched brows. “Why does it have to be me?”

“Because I saw him hold a baby today.”

“…And this is a bad thing?”

“Of course, it’s a bad thing! My hormones went crazy, okay? It’s like my brain stopped functioning, and I started thinking with my ovaries or something! All human instinct told me to lay down and procreate the second we got home!”

Eddie laughs to himself. “Are you sure it was human instinct, or was it just you on a normal Wednesday?”

“I’m being serious, Eddie,” you tell him, a sudden solemnity to your features. “You have to put your foot down whenever Steve talks about it because I will cave.”

“Alright, alright, have some Barbie cereal and settle down,” he tells you with a playful grin.

He offers you the box and you pout for a moment before sticking your hand into it and pulling out several red and purple butterfly pieces.

The boy wraps an arm around you with his free hand. He pulls you closer and noses at the crown of your head. You sigh as you relax into him.

“I’ll take care of it, okay? I actually have the perfect idea.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” you waver through a mouthful of cereal.

“Don’t worry about it,” he lilts with a grin, smacking a kiss to your forehead. “Let me take care of it.”

┄

You and Steve are tangled in bedsheets, both slowly rousing but trying desperately to go back to sleep.

You’re laying on your stomach, face smushed into the pillow you clutch to your head. Steve lays halfway on top of you — his legs knotted with yours, arm splayed over your back, and softly snoring in your ear.

Both of you noticed the lack of Eddie’s presence, but chose not to linger on it too much, figuring he must’ve gone for a breakfast run.

He returns hardly a moment after the thought of him crosses your mind. You hear the door open and shut again, then the shouts of your names entwined with a muffled barking.

You groan at the intrusion on your sleep.

Steve huffs and shifts against you, voice gruff with fatigue as he wonders: “Why do I hear a dog?”

The mixture of confusion and subtle knowing has you both shuffling out of the bedroom and trudging into the living room.

You round the corner and find Eddie standing by the door with a rowdy goldendoodle bouncing at his feet. He’s trying hopelessly to undo its leash when the thing starts to squirm at the sight of you and Steve.

Eddie’s eyes flit to the both of you when he notices you standing across the room. A smile bursts like early morning sunshine on his face. “Surprise!” he beams.

The metal of the leash clicks when he finally gets it unbuckled. The dog dashes your way, all but jumping into Steve and then spinning in circles with excitement as it tries to figure out who to accept attention from.

“You got us a dog?” the boy wonders, head cocked back to dodge the thing as it licks at his chin.

“You said you wanted a baby,” Eddie shrugs. “So, I got you a baby.”

“This is so not what a meant,” the boy grouses in response, though he’s got his arms wrapped around the dog like he’s hugging it. “I mean, it’s not even a baby— it’s huge.”

“The woman at the shelter said he was eight months old. And he is a he, so stop calling him it.”

You crouch beside Steve, scratching the dog behind his ear. He pants with his tongue sticking out, almost looking like he’s smiling. It makes you smile too.

“We don’t even have dog food. Or toys. Or a bed,” you stress. “What are we even gonna name it?”

“Well, I took care of exactly one of those things,” Eddie lilts with a grin. “They only had that gross artificial shit at the grocery store, but they did have some badass collars and an engraving machine, so…”

You and Steve peek through the dog’s golden curls and find a black band with silver spikes dotted around the neck. “Super metal, huh?” you hear himEdiejoke as you reach for the dangled heart pendant handing around the collar.

“…Ozzy?” you recite.

“See what I mean?” he beams. “Metal.”

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x reader #steddie x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington imagine #eddie munson imagine #steve harrington fic #eddie munson fic #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #st drabbles #stevie drabble #eddie spaghetti drabble

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dem0batz · 11 days

Text

Love and Deep Possession

Sylus/MC/Zayne

Summary

Sick of Zayne's possessive need to be the only one in MC's heart, Sylus decides it's time to prove a point to the good doctor. How will Zayne handle his jealously when it comes to sharing her?

Author's Note: The long awaited by no one but me fic featuring Sylus/MC/Zayne. MC is based off of my character, Opal.

🔞Content Warnings: Why-Choose, dubcon, phone/videochat sex, exam room oral

Word Count: >3000 || Read on AO3

Opal’s eyes dart across the tablet screen as she reads the articles yet again, absorbing the information on how to be respected like a boss and how to make an opponent fall to their knees with a single glance. Even she had to admit that the articles were a little ridiculous and felt silly reading them, but she only had a week to prepare for an undercover mission at some fancy elite dinner.

“I’m offended that you still feel the need to read those when you came all this way for my help.”

Even after all these months, Sylus’s deep cadence still made her spine tingle, making her stomach flutter. After his offer to help her learn the ropes of navigating the criminal world, she couldn’t turn down such assistance that would only help her be a better hunter and in turn, do her job more efficiently. Sylus was a rare resource and admittedly, the line between Hunter and informant had been blurred between the two of them from the very first meeting.

Few knew that she was… involved with the Onychinus leader. Not even Tara or their team leader Captain Jenna knew of the professional side of her relationship with him, let alone the unprofessional side. How could she explain to her boss and co-worker that she essentially made a deal with the devil for answers about her past and the odd relations to the Aether Core in her heart? Opal’s relationship with Sylus was mostly a self-serving one and no amount of reasoning would be accepted by the association. She would lose her license and job faster than someone could shout “Wanderer!”

Every meet up with Sylus was a risk, but he had proven himself more than once that whatever was happening between the two of them was equally beneficial and impossible to ignore.

Even if it turns out that for this particular visit, he was far more of a distraction than a help.

Her hair is pushed aside and soft lips graze the side of her neck.

“You seem tense, sweetie. Looks like you need a break, and I know just how to help you relax.”

“I think your idea of ‘relaxing’ will wear me out too much to prepare for this dinner.”

“Maybe,” he teases, placing another tingly kiss below her ear. His voice lowers to a warm purr. “But I quite like the idea of you exhausted in my bed.”

A soft sigh falls from her lips as her head sinks to rest on his shoulder. Just as her body relaxes into the sensation and Sylus’s hands creep around her torso, the phone trills. Before her eyes even open to see who it is, he swipes to answer the call.

“Dr. Zayne, how nice of you check in.”

Like a bucket of ice water had been poured atop her head, she jolts up to swipe the phone from the stand. Red mist swirls around her limbs, pinning her to the chair and keeping her rooted as Sylus continues his leisurely petting. He speaks in her ear, though his ruby eyes are directed at the small screen in smug satisfaction.

“Did you have a scheduled virtual exam that you forgot to tell me about, sweetie? Should I perform the physical for you, doctor? You must be rather concerned about your patient to be calling this late…” Sylus baits.

“Sylus—”

“It’s rude to interrupt, kitten. I’m speaking to the doctor right now.”

Opal chances a look at the screen where a stoic Zayne watches, hands steepled beneath his chin. He was clearly still at the hospital, though it was not a surprise. It’s more surprising when he actually makes it to his own apartment instead of sleeping on the cot in his office or her couch.

“It would seem I called at a bad time. I’ll speak to you later, Opal.”

Zayne leans forward to end the call but Sylus speaks before he is able.

“Oh there’s really no need. Stay for a while and chat. We were just discussing relaxation techniques. Perhaps you could offer some sound medical insight.”

With that, Sylus releases the shadows of his Evol to pick her up and take her seat.

Ensuring that the phone’s camera is aimed directly at her, he slides his hands under her sleep dress. Slowly hiking the material up her thighs with his large hands, he makes a show of slipping the panties down her legs, teasing Zayne with flashes of soft skin.

Her face heats as Sylus guides her to sit on his lap and then drapes each of her knees over the armrests of the chair. The only thing keeping Zayne from getting a full view is the silky crimson nightgown draping between her legs.

“Sylus—” she tries again, body heating to an unbearable degree as her eyes find Zayne’s through the device.

Sure, she and Zayne had a more than friendly relationship that often crossed the boundaries between patient and doctor, or even friends, but nothing between the them had ever gotten to this point. She still wasn’t even entirely sure how he felt about her. It was obvious that he cared, but she didn’t know whether it was in a friendly or… more way.

“He doesn’t mind. Do you, Zayne?” Sylus asks.

Zayne’s jaw ticks but he hasn’t made another effort to hang up.

A victorious smirk pulls at Sylus’s lips, the sight obstructed from her view as his warm hands find their place on her body once more.

“Now why don’t you be a good girl and let your doctor and me perform our check-up, hmm?”

Her breathing stutters when Sylus’s hands graze the underside of her breasts, smoothing over the soft silk coving them, though it does nothing to conceal the peaked buds straining against it. His lips find her neck again, wet kisses turning to soft nibbles as he gropes her over the nightgown until she’s panting and grinding against nothing in a desperate search for more friction.

Her soft moans sound over the speaker right into the earbuds that Zayne had put in. His eyes flick to the office door, ensuring he had locked it behind him. The last thing he needed right now was for Greyson to barge in. There were already too many men vying for Opal’s attention and even the thought of the young doctor accidentally catching a glimpse is enough to set him on edge.

Finally, Sylus puts everyone out of their misery, sliding the hem of the gown up and revealing her shiny, slick core. It was enough to coat her thighs and was quite obvious even through the dim lighting of a phone screen.

Zayne sucks in a breath at the sight, though it was barely audible over Opal’s intoxicating mewls. Sylus slides a finger down her slit, parting the folds to give him an unmistakable view of the pretty pussy he had been fantasizing about for so long. She was so much more perfect than his mind could have ever conjured.

“Would you look at that,” Sylus chuckles. Pulling his fingers from her center despite her whining protest, he holds them up to the light. His fingers part, allowing the slick to web between them. Sucking them into his mouth, he hums in satisfaction. “Divine.”

She lost track of time as Sylus spread her out on his lap and played with her, bringing her to the edge over and over again until her legs shook and she felt madness taking over. Just as she was on the edge of the peak for the umpteenth time, he pulls away with a sadistic chuckle, demon that he was. A tormented cry rips from her throat as she sinks into his body with defeat.

“Sylus, please!” she whimpers, tears streaking down her cheeks in frustration. She couldn’t even bring herself to feel any shame in the moment at Zayne seeing her in such a pathetic state.

“What do you think, doctor? Has she been good for us? Or should we let her suffer a little longer?”

Silence erupts from the other line for several beats. The only sounds are her sweet pleas and the wet squelching between her legs when Sylus begins his steady torment once again.

“Go on, sweetie. Ask the good doctor to let you cum.”

“Zayne,” she mewls. “Please...”

When she trails off, Sylus clicks his tongue in disapproval.

“Now, now, kitten. If you can’t ask for what you want, how are we supposed to provide?”

Her throat bobs as the rush of embarrassment floods back, face heating at the prospect. But right now she was so wound up that she needed the release more than her dignity. She looks to the camera, meeting Zayne’s eyes through screen.

Though stiff as ever, he looked so handsome with his sleeves rolled up and top buttons of his shirt undone. The only indications that he was winding down for the day because his hair was still perfectly styled, and though he must be exhausted, not a hint of it shows.

“Zayne,” she swallows nervously, trying again and hoping she wouldn’t come to regret this. “Please let me cum.”

Sylus rewards her with more pressure between her legs, barely any effort needed at this point to send her reeling toward the top of that peak again. Shivers wrack through her, moans echoing off of the dark walls of the study and filling Zayne’s ears like a symphony. He couldn’t take it if she were denied again, her pain feeling like his own as the aching erection beneath his desk throbs out of control and he subtly presses down on it with a firm hand.

“Let her orgasm,” Zayne says quietly, voice clipped.

Sylus grins like the devil he is.

“Doctor’s orders, sweetie.”

The swirling of his teasing fingers finally give her what she’s been begging for, making her fall apart on his lap with a cry. Sylus drapes an arm over her center, holding her in place while he presses his own painful erection into her back. She falls limp against him with exhaustion.

“Thanks for checking in, Zayne but as you can see, I have things under control here.”

Clearly having made whatever point he aimed to, Sylus leans forward with Opal still spread out on his lap and ends the call.

“Why do you have to antagonize him?” Opal asks, voice laced with sleepiness though she knew her night was far from over.

“Because he thinks you’re just his. You’re not,” Sylus growls in her ear, that careful control of his slipping now that there wasn’t an audience for his depravity.

He makes quick work of his trousers, oblivious to the fact, or simply not caring, that the designer material was soaked in her essence. His long pale cock springs free, the tip an angry red and slick from denying himself.

“You’re ridiculous. Zayne doesn’t-- ahh!” Opal loses her train of thought as Sylus impales her where they sit, cutting her off with the sounds of their shared bliss. She quivers around his pulsing cock, making his head spin at how good she feels.

“He does,” Sylus insists with a hard thrust, emphasizing his point as his arms tighten to keep her from squirming. “And you know how I feel about sharing.”

She did know. Sylus had taken to learning about Rafayel, Xavier, and Zayne surprisingly well. In fact, he had known about them long before she disclosed her relationships with the other men in her life because Sylus was a certified stalker.

“As long as you get your fair share,” Opal repeats the words Syus had said to her when they finally had that conversation.

“That’s right, kitten. The hunter knows how to share and the artist… well, you seem to know how to make him behave. The doctor though?” Another hard thrust to make her cry out and quiver. “He seems to think that if only he waits long enough— is patient for long enough, that he’ll eventually have you all to himself. And I’m here to show him that won’t be happening.”

Days later, Opal sits in an exam room wearing a gown, awaiting the arrival of the doctor for her weekly check-up. She is equal parts embarrassed and worried about how things will be with Zayne after that call with Sylus.

Apparently she had nothing to worry about because form the moment he walked in, Zayne was the picture of professionalism, though she expected no less. What she did not expect was the room temperature reservation in his tone as he checked her stats, something totally normal for any other patient he was seeing.

But to Opal, it was off.

Since they found themselves in one another’s lives again, they had developed a friendly— even flirty rapport, and had been growing closer by the week. Now, it was just like that first appointment all over again.

“No dramatic changes from last week. That’s good,” he says. Pulling the stethoscope from her chest, he loops it over his neck. “Though I suspect you still are not getting enough sleep.”

The implication of why she hasn’t been getting enough rest hangs in the air like a weight. He’s using the same voice he uses with his staff and other patients; the one where he is trying to be polite and cordial but keeping the conversation clinical. Cold Analysis. Though his tone seems to have an icy undercurrent that he has never directed at her before.

It feels like an accusation.

Even though he participated in whatever that night was.

He’s so hard to read.

The pen scribbles across the clipboard as Zayne takes his notes. He hasn’t looked Opal in the eye once since entering the exam room.

Unable to take this weirdness any longer, she decides to rip off the bandage. The only way to face this was like any other problem she encountered in life. Head-on.

Her face heats as she forces out the words.

“I’m sorry about that night. Sylus can be… intense is the nicest way I can put it,” she forces out a laugh.

Zane’s only response is a hum of acknowledgment. The incessant scratch of pen on paper fills the silence, only making it all the louder.

“Why won’t you talk to me, Zayne?”

“We’re talking right now.”

“You know what I mean…”

Silence.

“You can’t even look at me.” Opal’s voice shakes, practically pleading with him to open up. At a loss for anything else to do, she cups his cheeks and pulls his gaze to meet hers. Those forest green eyes finally break from the paperwork. “Please.”

He lets out a deep sigh, placing the pen and clipboard on the counter.

What he does say takes her by surprise.

“Because with you here, all I can think about is how beautiful you looked spread out on his lap. Asking for my permission to…” He trails off with another deep sigh, swiping a frustrated hand through his dark strands. “It’s taking every ounce of professionalism I possess as your physician— and respect as your friend— to not lay you out right here and wrap your thighs around my head so I can find out for myself if you taste as sweet as I have been imagining.”

Her lips part in shock at the confession, catching the bottom one between her teeth to stifle the words wanting to follow. It would be a lie to say she hasn’t been thinking about him in this way for a very long time. Ever since they were young. Anyone with eyes could see that Zayne was absolutely gorgeous but that cold attitude of his is difficult for anyone to bypass. She was one of the few people he allowed into his icy fortress, so she never pushed, not wanting to take that for granted.

But it was too late for that at this point, wasn’t it?

“So find out.”

Zayne goes still at her words.

When he makes no move to either back away or put a stop to this, she takes the risk of carefully sliding his glasses down the bridge of his nose. Closing the arms, she places them safely atop his clipboard then slowly lies back, lifting her feet to rest on the edge of the exam table.

Still Zayne doesn’t move, frozen like an ice sculpture as he analyzes Opal with cold calculation.

After a moment of nothing still, she begins to panic as shame and doubt take over.

This was a mistake.

Just because he took Sylus’s bait that night doesn’t mean he ever wanted to continue whatever was started.

When her watch begins to beep, indicating an increased heart rate, it seems to break whatever spell Zayne had been under. His attention drops to the note the number pulsing on the screen. However, he doesn’t seem concerned as he presses the button on the side to suppress the beeping and his gaze finds hers. Chilly fingers run up the outer part of her thighs, pushing the gown up with a trail of goosebumps in their wake until cool air kisses her center.

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Yes,” Opal rushes out, not wanting to give him another moment to over think it. “I want you, Zayne. Please.”

There was that word again. And she says it so sweetly.

Beautiful.

Grabbing her hips, he yanks her down the table until her bottom rests on the edge, making her yelp in surprise at his suddenly aggressive nature. As he lowers to one knee, Zayne places each of her knees over his shoulders, making him the only thing to keep her propped up.

Only then, does he allow his eyes to trail down her body. He would have preferred for their first time together like this to be in her own clothing and not a hospital gown. Would have liked to court her properly in his own time, but he had done enough waiting and look where it had landed them. He had been the shining example of patience when it came to her, but now he was feeling selfishly spurred on with her consent.

Pacing himself, he starts with a light kiss on the pretty little bud peeking out between her folds. The moment his lips come into contact, her juices glossing his tastebuds, he groans into her. Soft, lean fingers grip under her thighs, pushing them back to open her up more as his tongue flicks out to lick from bottom to top, gathering the taste. He kisses her pussy the way he has been dreaming of kissing her mouth, something else he will have to remedy soon.

After having a taste of her, he wouldn’t be letting her slip through his fingers again.

Even if it meant sharing her with the artist and that criminal.

Even if the thought made his blood frost over.

“Zayne,” she gasps, fingers threading lightly through his hair.

Normally, he would be irritated that his perfectly coiffed hair was being mussed up, but he finds he rather likes the feeling of her nails on his scalp.

The only response to his name on her lips is to keep going, tongue dipping into her slick cavern and coating himself with her sweet flavor.

He hates to admit it, even if only to himself, but Sylus had been correct— Opal was absolutely divine.

#love and deepspace fic #love and deepspace smut #lads smut #sylus smut #zayne smut #Sylus x MC #Zayne x MC #Love and Deepspace #LADS Sylus #LADS Zayne #LADS MC

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loveharlow · 1 year

Text

'TIL DEATH

PAIRING‧₊˚ Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ [2k] You realize just how unstable your summer fling turned boyfriend is...

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, murder, mentions of blood, mild crude humor, gaslighting, manipulation, co-dependency, violence, mentions of broken bones

A/N‧₊˚ part of my angstober event!

˗ˏˋ rafe masterlist ˎˊ

YOU STOOD IN SHOCK. Bewildered at the sight in front of you. No, no, that word wasn’t even enough to describe the pure terror your eyes were laid upon. You could feel the tips of your fingers shaking, your knees were weak, and tears burned the edge of your waterline.

He called your name as he attempted to step towards you but you cringed, folding in on yourself by an inch but enough for him to stop in his movements. “Don’t…” You started, your voice was meek and feeble, cracking under your emotions. “Don’t come near me.” You cried.

You were at some kook kickback in a cabin built in a clearing, it was someone's birthday. You had no idea whose. You wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for Rafe — your boyfriend. You’d gotten together with him during the early days of summer and it was the most unexpected thing of your life. You knew of him, of course you did. Who didn’t? But up until three months ago, you weren’t even sure he knew the first letter of your name.

You’d had your fair share of fun — late night talks, car rides, food runs, sex. Lots of sex. He was your summer fling and you were actually starting to fall for him. Which is why you let him drag you out of your house tonight. Where parties appeared, Rafe followed. But you hated going to parties with Rafe. He’d always abandon you for a prolonged time and return to you only to be drunk or high. It wasn’t something you were fond of but you weren’t here to change anyone.

But maybe you should’ve been.

When he’d disappeared this time, you went to get a drink for yourself, bumping into a random touron at the alcohol littered table. He complimented your dress and asked your name and you... entertained him for lack of better phrase. You couldn’t even call it flirting, you were just lonely and it was nice to talk to someone else at this party who didn’t know anyone either. After a few minutes of idle conversation, you excused yourself when you decided Rafe had been gone longer than usual.

You searched for him in the bathroom, the kitchen, even some of the bedrooms upstairs and still nothing. You sighed and sat your cup down God knows where, pulling down your mini dress where it rode up from your fast-paced wandering. You walked outside of the house and closer to the bulk of trees where the clearing became more of an actual forest, pulling your phone from your bra and pressing Rafe’s contact. Bringing the device to your ear as you wandered further into the tree-crowded area, you could’ve sworn you heard his phone ringing not too far from where you were standing.

Your eyebrows pinched together in confusion when you heard leaves ruffling and after an abnormally short amount of rings, the call went to voicemail. You looked down at your phone, the small object your only good source of light. You called again, this time not bothering to put the phone to your ear, instead listening out to see if the ringing came again.

And it did, prompting you to edge further into the woods. “Rafe?” You called, softly but loud enough. Leaves and branches crunched under your heels, the shoes making it harder to navigate the thick terrain. The further in you went towards the ringing sound, you could hear frantic shuffling and a string of curses — someone was out here, that you knew for sure.

When you finally reached the source of the sound, it took you a moment to realize what exactly was going on. The first thing you saw was his face, a smile growing on your own, ready to ask why he was all the way out here. But you didn’t get that chance when he turned to look at you, revealing the blood splattered all across the left side of his face. You felt your smile drop and your eyes seemed to take in the scene before you in its entirety — Rafe kneeled on a pile of leaves, covered in blood with his hands clutching his phone that had long stopped making noise, and a body. An unmoving, non-breathing, beaten body not even a foot from where your boyfriend kneeled in the dirt.

You didn’t even notice you had dropped your phone, not until you took a step back out of fear when Rafe rose to his feet, accidentally stepping on and breaking the device with your heel.

He called your name as you slowly shook your head, you could hear your own heartbeat in your ears. You felt hot and cold at the same time, but more than anything you were terrified.

“Hey,” He called, hands out in front of him as if that would quell your anxiousness. He was taking slow steps towards you. Your fight-or-flight kicked in on instinct as you made an attempt to turn the other way and make a run for it.

But he was much taller than you, his legs carried him greater distances. So needless to say, he caught up to you before you made it much of anywhere at all. His arms wrapped around you tightly from behind and you could feel the wetness and warmth of the blood on his hands smear across your arms.

“No! Get off of me! Get OFF! GET OFF!-”

“Stop, just listen-”

“Get your fucking hands off of me! HELP-”

“Stop it-”

“SOMEONE HELP ME-”

“Dammit! Shut up!” He yelled into your ear, jerking you around. Rafe clasped a bloody hand over your mouth, the smell and the little bit of the substance that hit your tongue making you want to vomit. You choked on your own sobs as he dragged you back to where the body laid lifeless on the soil. You couldn’t take your eyes off of it — clearly a guy from the haircut and the shoulders and you swore he looked familiar but you couldn’t see his face. You didn’t want to.

You didn’t want to know who your boyfriend just murdered.

You didn’t even fully register when Rafe released you from his grasp, just briefly, in order you pin your frame against the length of a tree. His hand still covered your mouth as you tried to calm yourself down, your sobs turning into never ending sniffles. Your own hands clawed at the bark of the tree as you tried to ground yourself.

“I’m going to move my hand, alright?” Rafe started, his eyes running wild. “If you scream, I’m going to hurt you. And I don’t want to hurt you, so…” He trailed, making sure you understood what he was alluding to. Slowly, he removed the hand covering your mouth, the skin that was covered going cold in the night air from the blood that was no doubt smeared across your face.

At this realization, you wiped at your face like a mad woman, only stopping when you realized the blood was now on your hands. A dead man’s blood was on your hands. Your gaze snapped to Rafe’s, then the body, then to Rafe again. Your breaths were heavy and labored. You were scared. And angry. And disgusted.

“What the fuck did you do?!”

“Keep your voice down.”

“Keep my- keep my voice down?” You hissed. He was too calm — and it angered you. It made you want to kill him. Your hands balled into fists as Rafe just stood there, a hand in his hair but he didn’t look stressed or worried. Truthfully, he looked annoyed. “Is he…”

Rafe sighed and turned to look at you like an idiot. “Oh, he’s just taking a nap.” He spoke with no humor in his voice. “Yes, he’s dead. You think he’s resting? In the middle of the woods? And what, using his blood as a blanket to keep himself warm-”

“Don’t talk to me like some kind of child. I didn’t kill someone-”

“You did, though.” He chuckled. "Oh, but you did." You narrowed your eyes at him, silently waiting for him to elaborate. “I saw you. Flirting with him, giggling at whatever dumbass lines he was feeding you-”

“Oh my God!” You couldn’t help but laugh. Nothing was funny but you couldn’t stop laughing. You folded in on yourself, laughing until your laughs turned to sobs. Angry sobs. Shooting back up to your full height, you charged at Rafe. Pushing his shoulders so hard he stumbled back. “You…stupid…fucking…” You cursed in between each assault. Pushing him until he’d had enough and ceased your wrists. “Are you fucking kidding me? I can handle the coke, okay?” You started, the terror you felt before creeping back into your veins as he eyed you down but you kept talking anyway, no matter how shaky your voice got. “I can handle the coke a-and the alcohol and the fighting. But you just killed someone for talking to me. Do you realize how deranged that is?”

“He isn’t the first.”

…

“What?”

“The dweeb on the ground? He isn’t the first person I’ve killed for you.” The way he spoke with such disgust for an innocent being and endearment for his actions sent a chill down your spine. He said it like killing someone for you was a gift to you.

You knew Rafe wasn’t the most stable individual — in between the good moments, he had some incidents this summer. Fights and squabbles here and there. But you never thought he could hurt someone like this.

“...You need help.” You started, the tears rolling again as you tried to pull yourself out of his grip. You were shaking your head vigorously as you spoke. “You’re insane. You’re crazy!”

Rafe attempted to quiet your cries, opting for his hands to roughly cradle your face now, wiping your tears away. He was shushing you and trying to pull you in closer to him but you wouldn’t allow it. Eventually, the push-and-pull caused you both to fall onto the ground and unfortunately, you had landed partially on top of the dead man’s hand, hearing his bones crush under the impact.

Your head snapped to his now oddly shapen wrist and you let out a gut-wrenching scream and frantically crawled away from the body. Rafe wouldn’t let you get far, though. He was right back in front of you, rubbing your arms while you sobbed.

“It’s okay..” He tried to soothe.

“It’s not! It’s not okay!” You bawled, slapping his hands away. “You’re a bad person, Rafe…” You whimpered, just speaking at this point. You were too emotionally disarranged to even know what to do anymore. You couldn’t run, you couldn’t take Rafe down.

So, in your weak state, you let him embrace you. The action alone made you want to puke. The way he comforted you was so casual, like any other time he’d comforted you for small things. In his mind, this would pass. You’d forget about it and you and him would be fine again. And maybe, in some sick way, you might have to be. You were no stranger to how the law barely existed for the Cameron’s in Kildare.

If you walked into the Sheriff’s Department and told them Rafe Cameron had murdered a man, they’d probably believe you but wouldn’t do a thing about it. Because his last name holds more weight than gold in this town.

“I’ll hide his body and then we’ll get out of here,’kay?” He spoke with his forehead now pressed against yours. When he got no response, he pulled back and grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at him. He didn’t look as caring now. He looked cold. And his voice matched the canvas. “Stop crying.” He spat. “You can either sit here and whine, covered in blood or you can pull yourself together while I get rid of him. Do you understand?” He spoke harshly. You weakly nodded, a response that satisfied him enough.

When he stood up, he called your name once more. “If you even try to run, I’ll make sure that’s the last thing you ever do.”

General taglist; @livlaughquinn

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.

©loveharlow

#angstober23'#obx rafe #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x fem!reader #rafe cameron x female reader #drew starkey #drew starkey fanfiction #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #rafe cameron x kook!reader #dark!rafe cameron x reader

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joonieskinks · 1 year

Text

"Just Call Me Angel" - jjk

mafia!jjk x reader | s & f - 18+ readers only! | 3.4k

summary: your mafia-leading, tattooed, bad-boy lover has gone too far this time, causing you to go into hiding and try to escape that criminal underworld of his. but what happens when he finds you before you can leave for good? what if he actually wants to show his angel that he can change?

warnings: swearing, stalking, dirty talk, toxic kind of love, death, seggs, finger fcking, talk of insecurities - but happy ending!

a/n: I recommend listening to "angel of the morning" by Juice Newtown with this lol

“Didn’t I tell you that you couldn’t escape me, baby?” Jungkook’s voice declares from the pitch black darkness of the living room.

“Jungkook!- God.” You scream in surprise, he wasn’t supposed to be here. You saw his car out front leave with him in it to one of his regular “business” meetings.

So how did he get back here?

Yet at the same time, you’re somewhat relieved to know it’s only him and no one else scaring you like this. You have missed his velvety voice after all.

Damn.

“I thought you might come back around here. Thought I would welcome you home again, angel.” He says with a smirk that’s almost audible. He slowly struts his way over to you, your eyes unwavering from the make of his dark silhouette. As you meet face-to-face again, you realize he’s still just as handsome as you remember and for a brief second, you can’t quite recall why you stayed away for so long.

“You can’t call me that anymore. I’m not…” You trail off as Jungkook's movements take you off guard, head leaning down, breath that could just kiss your cheeks. His familiar scent hits you and the memories flood back in an instant, weakening your knees and nearly disarming you altogether.

“You’ll always be my angel. Even when you run away without so much as a goodbye kiss.” He whispers, sneaking a hand into your hair, trailing down to your cheek. Jungkook pauses and holds his gaze on your lips. A tender laugh leaks out of his throat, and he brings his lips to ghost over your forehead. You freeze, feeling his warm lips on your skin again.

You missed him.

You missed him so much, you could wrap your arms around his neck and have him right there on the floor without a second thought - but you can’t. You could, but you know you shouldn’t. Your lives weren’t compatible. He killed people, he was in a dark business that played with drugs, fire and gambled in human lives. You were a regular, working woman, not even close to the kind of person who could stomach this constant close proximity to death.

It wouldn’t work, not in the long run, so you left. Even though you loved him. You thought you could get away from this dangerous life, from the scary man he has become, you thought he might let you move on after six months.

But boy, were you ever wrong.

“I think I’ll have to punish you, angel. You’ve been a bad girl, leaving me all alone and only coming back to our house when you needed something from me.” He kept his lips against your head, teasing you with the ever so slight skin contact. He could feel you shiver beneath his simplest of touches. Jungkook knew then and there, that he still had absolute power over you. Just like you do over him. Still have over him.

Before you could protest, he grabbed you by the waist, picking you up and pinning you to the couch nearby. You could do nothing but screech in surprise, fall beneath him and take whatever he was about to give you. He placed one hand over your two wrists, holding them above your head. Along with his knee nestled right between your legs. At the contact, you nearly let out a moan. You knew you missed him, but didn’t realize that the tiniest of touches had this deep of an affect on you still.

“I have your passport, my love.” He pulls it from his jacket pocket to show you, before throwing it over his shoulder and away from the two of you. You can’t meet his eyes, you feel like you’ve betrayed him. You guess you have.

“Do you really want to escape me so bad?” Jungkook asks, and for a brief second, his tough exterior dissolves. He looks… hurt. You see his eyes flicker between your own, looking for some sort of comfort, reassurance. You don’t see him like this very often, his sentimental side. But you both know this will only go one of two ways, and Jungkook needs to know how you feel. He’s showing you he’s still the man you fell in love with, that deep under that tough exterior, he still had a place for you in his heart.

“Baby?” He asks, taking you from your thoughts.

“Jungkook-” You start. “I never wanted to leave you, I just couldn’t be in that life anymore.” You hesitated, waiting to see if Jungkook would let you continue.

“You killed him, I saw it.” You confess. You hadn’t told Jungkook you saw him kill Yoongi at the time. His enemy that consumed his every waking second. You had gone into Jungkook’s gang bar in Itaewon, looking for your boyfriend. You hadn’t seen him in weeks, his drive to wage war against Yoongi consumed him entirely. He would text you he would be home shortly, then disappear for days on end with nothing reassuring you he was even alive. There was only so much you could take before the utter loneliness and worry drove you mad.

That’s when you saw him, Yoongi, Jungkook’s long term rival, kneeling before your lover. He was bleeding, beat up so bad he could barely see out of his bruised up eyes. That’s when Jungkook placed the gun to his forehead. That’s when he pulled the trigger and took another man’s life in front of you.

You simply ran at the sight, the shot still ringing in your ears. You never looked back after that, too afraid to confront the truth. Jungkook watched you run from him, and in that moment, he froze. He felt shame, he knew he needed to let you process for a while, but he never gave up on trying to get you back. Jungkook let you be for the last couple months, watching closely. It was only today he realized that he could really lose you for good, and that terrified him.

“He wanted you, Y/N. Yoongi was coming after you to get to me. He wanted to hurt you and I-.” Jungkook breathed out, letting go of your pinned hands and sitting up straight. He felt his heart collapse at the thought, tears flooded his eyes.

“Y/N, I don’t know what I would have done if he had got you.” He confesses back, pouring out his heart for you.

You sit up, staring at Jungkook in shock. You had never seen him cry before. Sure, you had seen him emotional in rage, denial and revenge, where he really showed his feelings. But never sadness, out of heartbreak, and never over you.

“Please say something.” Jungkook cleared his throat, attempting to wipe the tears from his eyes. You jump to him at the sight, instantly rushing to his side. He may come with a dark past, but he is also just a man who loves you in this moment, showing you his whole heart.

You could never resist him anyway.

“Jungkook,” you hush, wiping his tears for him, holding his head in your hands. “I’m sorry I left you. I was scared. I didn’t believe my eyes and I couldn’t cope with what I saw. I ran in fear and didn’t care to understand. I was scared - scared of this life. But now I want to understand, you make me want to understand. I’m sorry for hurting you by running away, I didn’t mean to…” You confess.

You couldn’t control yourself around him, instantly abandoning your resolve the second he comes running. Perhaps that’s why you told yourself to stay away in the first place. Perhaps you should have been more careful, perhaps you wouldn’t have gotten back into his bed if you had been…

Jungkook looked up into your wet eyes and knew, he knew you meant every word you said. He had you wrapped around his finger, and he loved you for it. In this moment, you were his again and he wasn’t about to let you slip from his grasp. He’s got you back, and he’s going to keep you there if he has anything to do with it.

A gasp escaped your throat the second Jungkook sprung on top of you, pushing you back down onto the couch. He rested himself back between your legs, allowing your hips to meet. He was finally kissing you again with passion, fire, everything you missed and craved over the last six months. You moaned into his mouth and twisted your hands through his hair. He felt good, just as good as you remember. Everything was blurred, and as you kissed him back, letting his tongue meet yours, you couldn’t remember why you would ever run away from this. You were his. You knew it too.

“Angel,” Jungkook moaned into your mouth, and ever so slowly started making his way down to your throat. Your hips writhed under him, pushing up against him for more friction.

“You’re so gorgeous for me, impatient too, but just as gorgeous as I remember.” He said in between kisses, one arm wrapped around your middle pushing you closer to him and the other pushing your shirt up to display your breasts. Once they were out on display for him, he let his mouth dance along them, and took your nipples into his mouth. You moaned at the sight and his wet touch, determined to get your pants off as soon as possible.

“Jungkook, please.” You whined. Not having had him for months made you desperate. He could only laugh.

“I know, angel. But I want to take my time with you, show you how much I missed you. How much I want to keep you, show you that you should stay.” He purred, making his way back up to your mouth.

“Jungkook!-” You insisted, you could barely stand the foreplay at this point. You just really needed him inside you or it felt like you might combust.

“Baby, you’re not listening to me.” He took your chin into his hand, centering your focus on him again. “Do I have to shut you up?” He smirked, looking into your eyes which were entirely dilated. “Be a good girl and take my finger in.” Jungkook slipped his pointer into your mouth, lubricating it. You immediately wrapped your lips around it and swirled your tongue around it.

“Shit- The things you do to me, baby. Can you feel how hard you make me?” He pushed his covered length into your core, both of you sucking in air at the friction.

“Slide your skirt up for me, angel.” He demanded, and you swear you never moved faster.

“Oh. You dirty girl, Y/N.” He tsked as he realized you came all this way without wearing any underwear. Just for him. He glanced up at you, smiling. A genuine smile, and you couldn’t help but smile and giggle back.

You planned for this, just in case.

Nothing could encourage Jungkook to continue more than knowing his angel still wanted him, still planned to have him.

“What can I say,” you started. “I can’t resist you, Jeon Jungkook.” You teased.

“God. I’m going to absolutely ruin you.” He bit his lips in anticipation and brought his mouth up to kiss you once more. He let his wet finger dance against your exposed core, playing with your clit and into your slit. Your back arched at the touch you had just nearly forgotten.

“Jungkook!” You moaned, the tiniest of his touches setting you off.

If you were already like this now, what were you going to be like in 5 minutes?

“I think you’ve missed me, haven’t you, baby?” He kissed your mouth, swallowing your moans as his finger entered you. Pushing inside you, your brain shut down at the pleasure. You could do nothing but take it, Jungkook had this power over you. There was no doubt.

“Tell me.” He encouraged, as he began slowly slipping his finger in and out of you.

“Yes-“ you breathe, unable to think straight.

“Yes what, baby?” He asked as he added another finger, filling you up even more.

“Please, don’t stop-” Your heavy breaths cutting you off, trying to focus but unable to.

“Should I fuck you stupid, baby girl?” Jungkook purred, taking his tongue to your ear, letting the shivers travel down through your body.

“Yes, yes!” You exclaim, not caring about the consequences in the slightest, all you want is him. The familiarity of your lover's arms, kiss and length. Him.

Jungkook then moved quickly to take his pants off, freeing him from his restraints and that much closer to actually having him inside you once again. It felt exhilarating, and forbidden, perhaps that’s why you craved it even more.

Maybe you would feel silly about it later, however you now find yourself unable to take your eyes off of him while he strips for you. His strong stomach, tattoos that decorated his whole body, his hips, his weight that now settled on you and his large length now sliding up and down your aching hole.

“Ready, baby?” Jungkook asked, kissing your neck and sliding his length up and down to gather your wetness. “God, you’re so wet, you’re dripping all over me.” He cooed, glancing down to see the mess you’ve made all over him.

You could only focus on the feeling of him just barely entering you, only for his tip to pull out again. Your body was writhing under him, his arms locking your frame in place.

“Please, Jungkook. I need you.” You whimpered, your fingers sliding up to his back, nails ever so slightly digging into his skin. You remembered how it drove him crazy over you.

“Fuck, baby, okay.” He captured his lips with yours, finally pushing into you and bottoming out immediately. You gasped and clenched around him, squeezing him.

“Shit, don’t do that, baby girl. I’ll finish too quickly. You feel so good, just like I remember.” Jungkook kissed your cheeks, trying to distract himself from finishing inside you already.

Finally, you began to relax around his length, needing him to move inside you and take you already.

“Please- please move.” You encouraged, kissing his arms around your head that held him above you.

“Okay, baby. I got you.” He purred, dropping to his elbows to get closer to you, moving his hips in the slightest. Immediately, you reacted to his touch, preparing to take him over and over again. God, how you missed him.

Jungkook set a brutal pace, barely preparing you for his hips running into yours repeatedly. However you could do nothing but take it, just how you liked it. It felt so good to have him take control and spoil you again. He was so strong, so caring in the moment like this. This, this was the Jungkook you knew and loved. He’s always there, like this, somewhere beneath the surface - you just hoped it could stay like this forever.

You were taken from your thoughts and he plunged himself so deep into you, he made contact with your cervix and the pain mixed with the pleasure ran through your system.

“Jungkook!” You exclaimed and his eyes immediately locked onto yours, full of concern. He then slowed down slightly. “You okay?”, you quickly reassured him.

“Yes, yes! It felt so good, please keep going, don’t stop, don’t stop.” You could feel your eyes rolling to the back of your head, you wanted all of his pleasure and you know in the next moment, he would surely deliver.

Jungkook’s concern for you rapidly turned into a smirk and he continued with his pace. He locked his tatted arms around your head and shoulders, wrapping your legs around his waist and he began pounding into you. Your head went into overdrive and could only focus on his tip hitting your G-spot over and over and over again.

“Fuck! Jungkook, oh my-” He gently raised a hand to your throat, pressing the sides ever so slightly. He still remembered exactly what you liked in the bedroom, the movements and positions that had you seeing stars. He knows you like nobody else knows you.

“You like this, don’t you baby?” Jungkook chuckles, watching your face curl up in pleasure. His length entering you over and over again, filling you up completely each and every time.

“I’m gonna cum-” you managed to let out as the unstoppable pressure started building up in your tummy.

“Me too, baby girl. Cum for me. Cum on this dick. Made just for you, only you…” Jungkook is whispering in your ear, his words taking you over the edge as he pounds into you. His length, his lips, his presence, his love - you can’t contain yourself anymore and you let yourself go, the white wave of pleasure finally releasing. “Shit, shit, you feel so good, baby”, Jungkook exclaims as he feels you clenching and finishing around his length. He can’t help but finish too, filling you and holding your body close to his as he does so.

You two come down from your highs together, wrapped up in eachothers limbs, breathing heavily. It feels oddly intimate, and the feeling of his body weight on you feels euphoric. Sometimes you think you could die like this - Just desperately wanting to be so close to him like this. He’s your love after all, even if he’s done some bad things, you can still see the person underneath the facade.

Your Jungkook.

When the high passes, you two are able to think a little more clearly. The haze finally leaves your minds, and Jungkook sits himself up on his elbows to look into your eyes. You look at him, almost concerned, you now feel nervous about what he’ll say next. Your innermost fears and doubt creeping up on you in your moment of vulnerability.

Will he leave now that maybe he’s gotten what he wanted from you? Will he threaten you? No, no surely not. He loves you, tonight has proven so… right?

“Y/N.” Jungkook interrupts your thoughts, “I can see what you’re thinking, you know?” He slightly smiles down at you, and instantly you feel more relaxed. You smile back a little too.

“I know, I wear my emotions, you always told me.”

“You do, my love.” He coos, coming to kiss your lips ever so slightly. He then hovers above you slightly -

“...Do you regret it?”

“What? No, no of course not.” You immediately refute. Your hands come up to comfort his concerned face, fingers wiping the tears that start to pour from his eyes a second time tonight.

“I thought I had lost you for good, Y/N.” His resolve breaks and he tucks himself into your neck, his arms wrapping around you and keeping you close.

“I don’t want to be without you - I don’t want to lose you and I don’t want to be a man you’re ashamed of loving.” He cries into you, tearing falling onto you wet and warm. You start to tear up as you hear him sob, the tough-guy persona falling apart as he opens up to you. This was the Jungkook you were in love with.

“I want to try and be better for you, for us. I want to be the man you need and deserve. I want us to be together, Y/N. Please, I want to change.” Jungkook kisses your neck, wet and all over. It tickles you as he reaches that one spot just beneath your ear, it leaves you giggling. He immediately whips his head to look at your expression below him. You're crying too, but smiling at him, looking at him so fondly.

“I love you, Jungkook. I do. I want to be with you, but we have to try and do better. No more of this life, we can leave together. For good, okay?” You look deep into his eyes, searching for reassurance. He smiles down at you once again, holding your hands on his face, fingers running over yours soothingly.

“Okay. Let’s leave this life behind. We’ll move, we’ll get normal, boring 9-5 jobs and a little apartment together.” Jungkook giggles, and it makes you giggle as well.

“Can we get a little dog too?” You chime in, already loving the idea of your new life together that’s being imagined up before your eyes.

“Yes, and two beds. One for sleep, one for sex.” He winks, kissing your palm. He wiggles his eyebrows, trying to win you over to the idea. You simply roll your eyes and eventually nod. You can’t resist him, especially like this.

“Fine, but you’re doing the extra laundry then.” You smirk, Jungkook smiles softly back at you.

“I will. So long as I’m with you, everything is right in the world. I love you, angel.”

“I love you too.”

a/n: I was totally gonna make him still a bad boy at the end of this, but then I got too soft - ugh I'm a sucker for a happy ending

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michelle-is-writing · 7 months

Text

Protector, Warren Worthington iii

Word Count: 4.5k~

I had been best friends with Warren ever since I met him.

Throughout our years in school, Warren and I had always stuck by each other's side. We hung out together, ate lunch with each other, and nearly forgot about all those people around us who would point out his wings to hurt him. It was like we were in our own little world, and in a way, we were.

We met in the second grade while our class was in the library. While looking for a book, I found Warren, huddled up behind a bookshelf in the elementary school library. He was red in the face and crying as he held his knees close to him. Instantly, I noticed his wings, of course - how could I not?

However, this didn't stop me from going up and asking him what was wrong. I can still remember the way his curls bounced against his scalp as he turned his attention away from his lap and up to me, quickly wiping away his tears to cover up his emotions. Despite being so young, he knew how to expertly do this as he pretended that nothing was wrong and he wasn't crying merely thirty seconds ago.

"What's wrong?" I asked, sitting beside him. I saw him tense up, his back straightening up as he laid his legs out in front of him instead of hugging them to his chest.

"Nothing," He instantly answered me, once again, pretending as if everything wasn't as it seemed.

Instead of saying anything more, I let the boldness I had as an eight-year-old takeover and pulled him into my arms, his figure becoming even tenser. Although, he didn't pull away, and instead, just stayed in that position until I spoke up.

"The kids are mean to me too," I told him, his breath catching in his throat. "And they shouldn't be because you seem pretty cool," I explained with a smile as he turned his eyes up to look at me again. "No one else here has wings, and they're really pretty."

From then on, we were practically inseparable. We weren't seen without each other, and despite bullies picking on us, we didn't let their words bother us. Even as we got older, nothing changed, and in spite of living in an expensive house with nearly triple the amount of space that my house was, Warren chose to stay at my place most nights. His parents didn't care about what he did, and my parents were more than happy to have him over.

When we reached high school, our friendship turned into an actual relationship between two lovebirds (no pun intended). Now we really were inseparable.

However, this changed one night when he went out to grab something from the store. I was sick, and needed medicine; so, being the thoughtful boyfriend he was, he decided he would go out and get some. I guess we underestimated how much mutants were hated in the area as Warren never came back.

Now it's been three months since he disappeared.

Every night since, I went searching for him, only to return to some hotel or hostel without him. I don't know what came over me tonight though. For all my life, I've always been told to avoid putting myself in dangerous settings, and yet, all of those lessons were cast away as I heard people screaming and hollering down an empty and dark alleyway while in Munich. My searching had taken me far away from home, but I wasn't going to stop until I found Warren.

Following the sounds of excitement and fury, I found a hidden door that led to what seemed to be a fighting ring. People surround the caged area, but I push through them, ignoring their waving arms with money held high. I stop at the metal fence separating the people from the ring, only to gasp in horror as my eyes fall over the white, fluffy wings I've loved for many years.

"Warren..." I hear his name being whispered through my lips, tears forming in my eyes as I look at his hurt and pained figure. Fighting for his life against another mutant, he spits blood from his mouth as he wipes away the blood forming on the cut across his cheek. The tattered t-shirt he wears, the same thing he wore the night he disappeared, barely hangs onto his shoulders by a few strips of fabric, the band emblem on the front no longer being recognizable. His arms have fresh bruises forming all along the skin while fading bruises covers the visible parts of torso. How the hell did he get here?

Too shocked to move, I watch as Warren throws a punch at the other mutant, only to hit the fence in front of him, the silver eliciting sparks as soon as Warren touches it. "Shit!" He yells while the blue mutant seemingly teleports to different parts of the cage, only to receive the same treatment as Warren did. Hearing his voice after so long makes me nearly choke on the air in my throat, the tears now falling freely. Seeing Warren makes me want to rip through the fence and save him, but seeing that the metal fence is electric, I can't simply do that.

Blinking the oncoming tears away, I glance in every corner of the underground hideaway and try to find something that might resemble a control panel. It isn't until I see a switch box on what seems to be a surveying floor that I begin running to it, successfully climbing up the steps to the higher level and stopping in front of it. Gazing back to the fighting ring, I see Warren shouting at the dodging mutant while people standing around the cage yell out vile words of hate and absolute greed.

"Warren!" I shout his name as loud as I can, placing my hand on the handle to the electrical switch. Instantly, his head darts toward the voice calling his name, every inch of his being relaxing once he sees me. I smile at him before nodding, his eyes following my hand as it begins pushing the handle downward. Just before the electricity goes out, I see Warren's dirty wings perk up just as the entire underground arena goes pitch black.

In the darkness, the people's screams die down while the clinging sound of the fence being ripped apart follows it. Mere seconds pass before I familiar arms wrap around me and tug me close to their body, Warren's wings flapping rapidly as he lifts us into the air and to the hidden door I entered through. Once we're outside, we quickly run as far as we can before stopping in another alley, far away from the other one.

As soon as we stop, Warren wraps his arms around me and pulls me close to him, his lips immediately attaching to mine in a fervent and much-needed kiss. His hand on my waist never falters in its hold on me, and instead, it squeezes the flesh there as if he were testing if I was real or not.

"I'm here," I tell him, sliding my hands down his face as endless tears fall from his cheeks and onto my hands. Staring into his tear-filled eyes, I can't help but cry tears of happiness as well. "I'm right here."

Nodding, Warren folds his wings behind him, slightly wincing at the pain of them conforming against his back. "Fucking hell," He mutters, placing his forehead against mine, his eyes closed. A few seconds pass of him just holding me before he kisses me once more. "I've missed you so fucking much."

Our sweet reunion is cut short by a black vehicle slamming on their brakes at the end of the alleyway. "Warren," I say his name, concerned at the sight in front of us. Warren turns around, only for his wings to burst out again, shielding me from seeing anything. Peeking under one of the long feathers, I see two men leave the vehicle before one of them points at Warren.

"That's him!" The man yells, "Get him!"

In an instant, Warren swings around and wraps his arms and wings around me, protecting me from the flurry of oncoming bullets. What appears to be eight shots sounds throughout the alley before the same car speeds off again as Warren begins to topple over. Was he shot?

Trying to catch him before he falls on his face, I wrap my arms around Warren and hold him up for a few seconds, only for his size to take over mine and fall to the side. Landing on his back with me on top of him, Warren waves his hand at me while shaking his head, his eyes shut. "I'm fine," He mutters, his voice now suddenly tired and drained.

Eyes wide and concerned, I turn him onto his side and look over him to see blood pouring from his wings. Between the layers of feathers, I find what seems to be four bullet wounds, causing me to practically lose it as the crimson liquid touches my hands. "No, no, no, no, no," I mutter uncontrollably as I place him onto his back. "Warren, Warren," I repeat his name, running my hand against the side of his face, his own blood smearing across his flawless cheek. "Warren, don't go to sleep!"

At my heartbroken plea, Warren opens his eyes, frowning at the sight of tears pouring from my eyes. "Don't cry, my love," He begs, his voice even weaker than before. He lifts a hand to my face, doing the same to me just as I had done to him. I quickly place my hand over his, holding it there as I feel the warmth in his skin begin slowly leaving it. "I... I love you..." He whispers, his eyes closing once again.

Just like a few seconds ago, I feel every ounce of sanity leave me as I watch the love of life wither away in front of me. "Warren, don't do this to me!" I shout, the tears now falling like a waterfall. I could barely manage not seeing him for the three hellish months when he was missing - I can't live the rest of my life without him.

"Warren!" I scream his name again, utter desperation being the only recognizable thing in my voice. Releasing a sob, I push my head against his chest and hear his still-beating heart. However, I know that if I don't get him to a hospital within the next few seconds, his heart won't continue beating like that. But what hospital will even help us?

"Ma'am?" I hear a woman's soft voice coming from the end of the alley, causing me to jerk my head up and see a blonde woman standing twenty feet away. Concerned, she walks closer to me before kneeling beside Warren and me, the knees of her pants becoming stained with his spilled blood on the alley ground. His wings are the first things that catch her focus, making me want to hold him closer.

"Please, don't hurt him," I beg her, my hand holding his hand a bit tighter. "He-he's a-" The woman cuts me off.

"He's a mutant," She points out, looking over at me. Still crying, I nod once, watching as a small smile appears on her face. Within a short second, the fair skin she once had transforms into blue flesh with darker blue scales, her eyes turning yellow and green while her hair changes into a much brighter orange/red.

"It's okay," She assures me, placing a hand on my shoulder. "I am too, and I can help."

Her words, not to mention her sudden change of looks, shock me, but I nod at her, ready to do anything this woman says if it means saving Warren.

"Where's his family?" She asks me, her hand remaining on my shoulder as she kneels on the ground beside me.

"Me," I quickly answer her, tears still falling from my eyes. "I am his family."

"You're not a mutant," She points out, shaking her head with squinted eyes as she looks at me a bit confused. "And you care for him?"

"He's my best friend, the love of my life..." I answer her, my heart clenching as the words leave my lips. "Please, you have to help us!"

The woman nods, giving me a small, encouraging smile. "Kurt!" She abruptly yells, a teenage boy with blue skin and carvings appearing behind her with a blue puff of smoke following. I instantly recognize him as the other mutant in the pin with Warren earlier, and in spite of this, he doesn't try to get back at Warren while he's down.

Pulling his hand to get closer, she makes him get on our level before wrapping his arm around her and me. The stranger, Kurt, then wraps his other arm around Warren's almost lifeless body and tugs him a bit closer as well. "Get us all to the mansion nurse's ward - now!"

With the woman's last words, Kurt somehow does so, causing us to suddenly be in a nurse's station only a second later. This all confuses the living hell out of me, but with Kurt having a tail and red eyes, and not to mention blue skin like the lady, I don't know if I should be questioning the normalcy of anything at the moment.

Immediately, three scrubbed nurses rush up to where we are and pick Warren up from the ground. "He was shot, multiple times," The blue woman quickly explains, standing up from the ground. "He'll need blood, and you need to act quick."

Listening to her, the three nurses nod before taking an unconscious Warren back to what I could guess is surgery. Numb, I sit on the cold tile floor as I reach my blood-covered hands up to cross my arms and hold myself, my eyes stuck on the swinging doors that Warren was just carried through. Beside me is Kurt as he places a consoling hand on my shoulder, giving me a small smile.

"He vill be alright," Kurt assures me, his words helping me out a little. Giving him a small nod of my head, I take his held-out hand and stand up with him. "That is Raven, by the way," He adds as the woman from before moves to stand in front of me, taking my hand in hers despite it stained crimson.

"This is the Xavier mansion," She explains to me, "You're safe; we won't hurt you."

At her words, I nod. "I know," I tell her, giving her a small smile. "I trust you."

Smiling back at me, Mystique's eyes flicker behind me before her mouth slightly parts, her hand holding mine slightly faltering. "Who is this, Raven?" I hear a soft British voice speak up, causing me to slowly turn around and see a man in a wheelchair now in front of me. His eyes quickly catch my blood-covered hands and arms, shock taking over him. "Dear heavens, what happened to you, dear?"

I go to answer him, but my voice defeats me in doing so. Instead, Mystique speaks for me. "Charles, her and a fellow mutant were shot at in an alleyway when Kurt and I were passing by. He has wings, that's where most of the bullets hit him," She explains to him, "She has no ill will toward any of us - she just wants her boyfriend to survive."

A few seconds pass before the man, Charles, nods, staring at me with a frown. "I'm sorry to hear that, love," He tells me, giving me a single nod. "Raven, help her get cleaned up and fetch some fresh clothes for her as well," With that, Charles wheels himself out of the room and into the hallway where he enters the room at the end.

In a puff of blue smoke, Kurt leaves Mystique and me, letting us head to what I presume is her room where she wets a washcloth and begins rubbing the drying blood from my arms. "He will be alright," She tells me, saying Kurt's exact words from moments ago. "Trust me."

I nod at her words, but I can't believe them myself. What if Warren isn't okay? What if one of the bullets when through his spine and he's now paralyzed? I couldn't see all of his wounds so I don't know where they all hit him, minus the few I could see in his wings. What if the nurses and doctors can't do anything and he dies on the table? I can't bear to lose him - not again.

With my arms their original (s/c) color, I change into a pair of pajama pants and matching top with a school emblem given to me by Raven before walking with her to Charles' office. Stopping in front of his desk, Mystique and I watch as the man from earlier sits at his desk with his attention stuck on the novel stuck in his hands. However, it doesn't take long for him to notice our presence and put the book down with his glasses following.

"(Y/n), is it?" Charles asks me, turning his attention up to me. Surprised, I hesitantly nod as he speaks up once more. "No need to worry, dear," He assures me with a smile despite my caution. "I'm able to read minds and communicate through them as well," Charles further explains. "Raven and I were talking while she helped you with your arms and hands,"

"I understand you've been through a lot in the past hour, so I won't force you to talk about it," Charles tells me, making me let out a small sigh of relief. "But I am a bit concerned over the fact that you were in such a predicament that your partner was shot," Holding his hand out, Charles waits for me to place my hand in his. "I won't scour through your brain and look at everything you've ever seen or done - I just want to see what all transpired tonight."

Hesitating, I bite my lip in thought before shakily putting my hand in Charles, his touch being warm and welcoming. I feel as Charles does what he told me he would do, the images of the past month flashing before my eyes. Warren's disappearance, me finding him, and helping him get out are all shown before me like a home movie shot from my perspective. Because of this, I gasp a little, shocked at Charles' ability to do such a thing.

Slowly slipping his hand from mine, Charles' eyebrows furrow in thought before flashing his eyes up to mine, confusion written all over them. "You're a human with no powers or anything," He points out, slightly pausing in his words. "And yet, you've always loved a mutant?"

His words come out as a question, but to me, they're a true statement. I love Warren - I always have - and nothing about him will ever change that. "He's human just as I am," I tell Charles, giving him a small smile. "but, with wings," I further add, my smile growing sad as I lightly shrug. "How could I not love my angel?"

My words washing over him, Charles smiles back. "I like you," He tells me, Raven putting a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Your friend, I think he'll pull through. After all, he has a great incentive."

Because of Charles' words, I smile and give him a nod of thanks just as a question rises to my mind. "What... what is this place?" I ask, gesturing to the overall building. I know it has to be an establishment of some sort going by the built-in medical wing and wide hallways.

"This," Charles states, pointing his finger to the ceiling while his eyes remain on mine. "Is Xavier's a school for gifted youngsters," He informs me before nodding his head once. "This is a school specialized for children with mutations such as Warren, or Kurt, whom you met earlier."

Furrowing my eyebrows together, another question comes to mind. "Why have I never heard of this place before?" I ask, receiving a small smile.

"We're a relatively small school," Charles simply explains, "Ultimately, if your boyfriend would want to join, he could - now, you're not a mutant, but the unique and understanding attitude you give off, I'm sure we could work something out for you too."

His words make my cheeks turn pink in response to the compliment as I thank him, turning my eyes toward the ground as I try to fight the ever-growing smile on my lips. Just as I do this, I see Charles put a hand to his forehead as his eyebrows furrow before looking over at Mystique with a smile. "Raven, take her back to the medical ward," he tells the fiery-haired woman. "It seems that her friend was easily operable and now they're just waiting for him to wake up."

Almost immediately, I turn and follow Mystique out of the room with my pace just a little faster than hers. Soon enough, we walk through the doors and directly to the beds where only one of them is occupied, and the sleeping body in it is Warren's. The window behind him shines down on him with the bright and early morning sun highlighting his now washed and pure white wings that lie behind him. The sight is a complete contrast to what I saw only an hour ago with the almost black sky darkening everything around us and only emphasizing the dirt and grime that covered Warren's perfect wings.

"We told you he'd be okay," I hear Mystique's gentle voice beside me say, causing me to nod with an onrush of tears rising in my eyes. They were right, and my Warren is okay.

Moving closer to him, I sit beside Warren on the bed and take his hand in mine, his unconscious body unresponsive toward my touch and his perfect face never changing. "I'll let you two be alone," Mystique speaks up before doing as she says and walking back toward the door. Once I hear the swinging door shut, the tears residing in my eyes quickly fall over the barrier and down my face as I try to hold in my sobs.

When you love someone, you never want to see them in pain or hurting, and when they're laid up in a hospital bed with consciousness being a waiting game, it hurts you. It physically hurts you to the point where your chest feels heavy with dread, and your stomach feels sick with worry. It's terrible, and I wish there was something I could've done to protect Warren from getting shot.

"I'm so sorry," I sob, turning my eyes away from him and toward the floor. Raising my free hand to cover my mouth as the sobs tumble out, I don't notice Warren's hand gently squeezing mine until I feel the bed beneath me slightly moves.

Immediately looking back over to him, I see his eyes flutter open and quickly dart to me, confusion taking over his tired face as soon as he sees my crying form. "Why..." Warren slowly starts speaking, his voice raspy and scratchy with sleep. "Why are you crying, love?" He finishes his question, now trying to sit up.

"No, no, baby," I usher him to continue lying flat, moving to stand on my knee on the side of his bed before pushing his shoulders back down onto the mattress. Despite this, he still doesn't listen and moves to wrap his arms around me before pulling me fully onto the bed and holding me to his chest. Finally, Warren does lie back down, but in a matter of seconds, his wings are fluttering around me like any other time I'd be on top of him. My eyes quickly catch sight of the now bandaged wounds, and now that I get a better look, I see that there was one more bullet-wound than I initially thought. "Warren, your stitches!"

"It's okay, love," He sleepily responds, leaning his head back to look up at me with a happy face. "I'm so damn happy to see you," Warren confesses, his eyes gazing over me as if I were a precious gem.

If it weren't for the nurses cleaning the dirt from his face and body, I wouldn't have been able to assess the full damage the fighting ring did to him. Above his left eye is a healing bruise that covers a majority of the side of his forehead, and his bottom lip is split, making it swollen. On top of all of that, his green eyes are sunken in and practically taken over by dark circles.

Still, he continues staring at me, acting as if nothing is bothering him until a look of confusion fall over his face. "Now, are you going to tell me why you were crying?" Warren repeats his question from earlier, making me shake my head as more tears rise to my eyes.

"You almost died, Warren," I inform him, his face still unchanging. "I've been without you for three damn months, and the night I get you back, I almost lost you again - for good!" I add on, raising a hand to wipe away my fast-falling tears.

However, Warren beats me to it and places his hands against my cheeks where he gently holds me, his face now soft. I guess he hasn't assessed the severity of the situation. That, or he hasn't taken the time to fully realize that he has stitched-up bullet wounds adorning his wings.

"I'm sorry," Warren apologizes after a few seconds of silence. Despite expecting those two words, it still doesn't hit me any easier as I'm sobbing once again, this time, into Warren's chest.

Holding me close, Warren waits a few moments before moving his hands back to my face and turning me to look at him directly. As soon as he gets the chance, Warren places his rough lips on top of mine, the skin chapped from the harsh things he's been put through. Despite crying moments ago, my tears ultimately stop as I come to the realization of how much I've missed the feeling of Warren's lips on mine. Chapped or not, his lips are the pure definition of Heaven, and when they're on top of mine, it's like pure ecstasy.

Pulling away for air, I pant above Warren as he does the same, his hands now sliding down to grip my waist once again. "I love you," He tells me, "And I've missed you- God, how I've missed you," Warren adds, shaking his head as a small, almost unnoticeable tear falls down his cheek. "Each day was hell without you, and I can't be without you, not again."

Smiling at him, I lean down once more and peck his soft cheek before nuzzling my head next to his on the pillow, his hold on me never changing in the slightest. "You won't have to, Angel," I tell him, watching his lips quirk up in a smile at my nickname for him. Deciding on leaving the explanation of where we're at for later, I close my eyes alongside Warren and fall asleep, finally able to relax knowing he and I can be together with no one to stop or hurt us.

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