#I actually want to write a longer fic with this prompt | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

witchywithwhiskey · 4 months ago

Text

first and last

pairing: childhood best friend!steve rogers x female reader

summary: after more than a decade away from your home town—and your childhood best friend—you return. everything is exactly the same, but also, entirely different.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), fluff, angst, smut, drunken antics, some arguing, drunk masturbation (f) with an audience, semi-public, choking, dirty talk, praise kink, begging, boundaries, very light bdsm vibes, references to past sexual intimacy (piv sex, oral sex [f receiving]), nicknames (buttercup, baby), aftercare

word count: 8.8k

a/n: this is my entry in @the-slumberparty's Sundae Bar Challenge, and i've been working on it since june so i'm very excited to post it!!! i wanted to make a sundae i'd actually eat so i used the prompts Butterscotch (childhood friends) and Caramel (drunk/delirious/not in their right mind). it also might be a bit literal to have Steve working at an ice cream shop but whatever!!

i mentioned when i teased this fic that i'd thought about turning it into a much longer story/potentially saving it for a novel, but honestly i just don't know when or if i'll ever have time to do that. but these scenes don't necessarily follow right after each other, so if they feel disconnected, that's why. they're just the ones i wanted to write 😅

The sidewalk of Brambleberry Cove was warm from a full day under the August sun, the concrete gritty with sand beneath your bare feet as you walked the rest of the short distance to Seaside Scoops from your rental house a few blocks away.

The sun dipped low on the western horizon, casting long shadows over the coastal town like stretching fingers reaching for the Atlantic Ocean. You could hear the steady sound of the crashing waves over the near distant sand dunes, their rhythm a background to your walk.

It could’ve been a peaceful moment—you were back in your home town, surrounded by familiar sights and sounds and smells. But you were in a wretched mood, and all you could focus on was everything wrong with the world and your current place in it.

There was, of course, the throbbing pain in your big toe from when you’d stubbed it moments ago on the cursed, charming sidewalk, as well as the slight sting on the sides of your foot where your flip flop straps had torn. Your ruined shoes dangled from your fingers because Brambleberry Cove didn’t have a trash can on every street corner like the city you were accustomed to living in.

In addition to those grievances, the straps of your bathing suit—which you hadn’t worn in far too long and hadn’t realized had become too small—were digging into your shoulders and hips uncomfortably. And, though you’d only been walking for five minutes from the little bungalow you were renting, your thighs were already beginning to chafe beneath the simple dress you’d thrown on.

All told, you were not in the mood to appreciate the simple beauty of Brambleberry Cove. Instead of admiring the sun-bleached cottages that gave way to the small coastal shops lining main street, and letting yourself sink into the comfort of being back in your tiny beachside home town, you were fixated on everything wrong in your life—both in that moment and the larger scheme of things.

In your defense, though, there was a lot wrong in your life. There’d had to be to get you back to your home town after so long away.

There was the dream job you’d lost, the ex who’d left you for someone else, and the friends who’d all promised to be there for you, but then vanished when you actually needed help. The only people who’d come through for you were your parents, who’d had a friend willing to rent a little Brambleberry Cove bungalow to you for a fraction of its normal summer price since it was already August and they weren’t going to make much more money anyway.

You’d had to pack up and leave the city where you’d built your life for 15 years, and move back to your home town, which you hadn’t seen in nearly that long since your parents had moved out west shortly after you’d graduated high school. Being back home made you feel like you weren’t only taking a single step backward, but moving leaps and bounds in the wrong direction. It made you feel like a failure.

But you tried not to think about all that on your short walk to Seaside Scoops, instead focusing on the pain in your toe and the digging ache of your bathing suit.

By the time you saw the familiar neon sign for the ice cream shop, it felt like finding an oasis in the desert. You picked up your pace, ignoring the way your body protested, the soles of your feet no longer used to walking on the sandy sidewalk like you’d done countless times growing up in Brambleberry Cove.

You could see through the window that there was a short line in Seaside Scoops, and you hurriedly pushed through the door of the shop. Once inside, you breathed in the familiar scent of sugar and hot fudge and reveled in the feel of the air conditioner ghosting over your sun-warmed shoulders.

Surreptitiously, you shoved your ruined flip flops into the garbage just inside the door and got in line behind the couple with their two small children. You glanced around the shop, not really taking it in, and hoped whoever was working behind the counter was still lax on the ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service’ rule that had theoretically been in place since before you were born—but had never been enforced in practice.

Finally looking to the counter, wondering idly if you’d recognize who was working or if it’d be some local teen that had been a baby the last time you’d been to Brambleberry Cove, you were shocked to see who was working at Seaside Scoops. Your belly swooped like you were standing on a boat on the choppy sea, your heart racing when you recognized the man behind the counter. At one time, he’d been the boy you’d shared so much of your childhood with, so many of your summers with.

When you got a good look at him, you were almost surprised you recognized him so fast. He was no longer the scrawny teenager you’d left behind when you’d gone off to college and never looked back. He looked so different from the boy you’d known well enough you could recall his face in perfect detail, but, in so many ways, exactly the same.

On the whole, it was a shock to see the man Steve Rogers had become.

Sandy brown hair fell on either side of his handsome, suntanned face, swept back like he had a habit of running his hands through it countless times a day. A short, well-kept beard decorated his strong jaw, bracketing a set of soft pink lips that were curved in a devastating grin. His bright blue eyes sparkled beneath the fluorescent lights of the shop, and when he spoke to the family in front of you in line, his voice rumbled like the distant roar of the ocean.

Seeing Steve Rogers for the first time in over 15 years made something loosen in your chest, anxiety uncoiling from around your heart and shaking free for the first time in a long time. A sense of safety and comfort washed over you, and you had the sudden thought that this was how you were supposed to feel about coming home.

But you shoved that thought aside and continued your perusal of your childhood best friend, making note of all the ways he’d changed from the boy you’d known.

Thick, golden biceps were bare and bulging beneath the edge of his white t-shirt, and dense, brown hair covered corded forearms as Steve folded his arms on top of the ice cream case. He was tall—tall enough to lean over the case to talk to the kids with the couple in front of you, asking them about their favorite ice cream flavors and if they’d like to try anything new.

The kids, a boy and a girl, both stared up at him with wide eyes, shyness and wonder clear in their twin expressions. They looked to their parents for permission before shyly revealing what flavors they’d like to try. Steve gave a deep, hearty chuckle at their timidness, and complimented them on their choices, which seemed to make them both loosen up a bit.

Inexplicable heat flushed through your body at the sound of Steve’s deep laughter, and the easiness with which he interacted with the kids. You’d never been particularly good with children, mainly because you’d never had much of a chance to interact with any, and you’d never felt any particular desire to be around them. But seeing Steve looking like he did talking to those kids made your belly swoop again and something inside you pulse with a need you didn’t want to fully unpack.

Shoving those thoughts into a box in the back corner of your mind, you forced yourself to look away from your childhood friend and up at the menu that listed all the ice cream flavors. You’d been to Seaside Scoops hundreds of times in your life, if not thousands, and, at one time, you’d had the list memorized.

Hopefully you still had that knowledge tucked away somewhere in your brain, because you weren’t taking in anything you were reading as you not-so-patiently waited for Steve to finish up with the customers in front of you.

It felt like forever, and by the time the family took their cups and cones of ice cream toward the side door that opened up into an outdoor seating area, you’d already cycled through three rounds of the same argument with yourself about why you should leave Seaside Scoops without talking to Steve. You couldn’t imagine your first conversation in 15 years going well.

But you couldn’t leave without talking to him. Not when he was right there and it had been so long and you were dying to know everything that he’d done in the last 15 years since you saw him last.

Still, it took you a few extra seconds to gather the courage to lower your eyes from the menu board and finally look at your childhood friend. When you did, your gaze caught immediately on Steve’s, and your heart gave a little flip at the devastatingly charming smile on his impossibly handsome face.

“Hey there, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, his tone as friendly and familiar as it had always been. All of a sudden, it felt like no time had passed at all.

“Hi, Steve,” you said, trying for the same casualness he’d achieved, but your voice sounded faint and faraway in your ears. The corners of your mouth flickered in a tremulous smile.

You couldn’t understand the surge of emotion filling your chest and rising in your throat, pricking at the backs of your eyes like you wanted to throw yourself into your oldest friend’s arms and sob about everything wrong in your life.

The same deluge of emotion had hit you when you’d stubbed your toe on your walk to Seaside Scoops and you’d had to stand there by yourself, sucking in deep breaths of salty Brambleberry Cove air, nails biting into the flesh of your palms to keep yourself from breaking down.

Just as you’d done then, you beat back the emotion, blinking your eyes rapidly to rid them of tears. Still, a thought needled you as you stood across the counter from Steve—the knowledge that if you did let yourself break down and cry, he wouldn’t hesitate to fold you into that broad chest of his, wrapping you up in his thick arms and holding you so securely, the world might not seem so grim anymore.

You chalked it up to nostalgia and the rough time you were having, forcing yourself to take a deep breath and paste on a bright smile. Casting your eyes around Seaside Scoops, you pretended to give the place a real look, though you didn’t really notice much as you continued to blink back tears.

“You work here now?” you asked lightly, looking at the new standee in the corner.

It was a cartoon shark holding up a sign advertising Seaside Scoops and their many ice cream flavors. But what caught your eye was that it looked a bit like the shark Steve had drawn for you when you’d gotten a bad grade sophomore year and wanted to cheer you up. It even had the same little sailor hat sitting perched on top of his head—which only made sense because sharks didn’t have blowholes, he’d told you at the time.

You’d smiled then, and you smiled again remembering it.

“Uhh,” Steve started, and you turned tear-free eyes back on your old friend, your gaze drawn to the way his bicep bulged against the sleeve of his t-shirt as he scuffed the back of his neck. There was a little bit of a sheepish tinge to his smile. “I actually own Scoops now,” he said in a rush, like he was confessing to something, though you couldn’t imagine what. “I bought it when Mr. Wallace retired down to Florida.”

“Oh,” was all you could think to say, glancing around the ice cream shop with a keener eye.

The shark standee wasn’t the only new thing in the place. Everything, from the tables and chairs to the menu board and counter, looked slightly newer than you remembered. Nothing was wildly different, which was why you hadn’t noticed it when you first looked around. Everything just looked better than it should if it had aged a decade since you’d last stepped into the shop.

Something about it made you think Seaside Scoops looked exactly like your memory of it—but the polished, perfect version in your head, instead of the place as it had been. Yellowed with age and a lack of upkeep. It was genuinely astounding what Steve had done with the place and it took you a few moments to find the right words, though they still felt pale in comparison to the bittersweet nostalgia in your heart.

“The place looks great,” you said with a half smile as you turned back to Steve. A small thread of pride wormed through your heart at seeing what your oldest friend had accomplished and your smile widened when he brightened under your praise. “I like the shark,” you said, hooking a thumb over your shoulder at the standee.

A bit of pink tinted Steve’s cheeks above his beard, and he cleared his throat.

“Is a dipped twist still your favorite?” he asked, clearly trying to change the subject and your smile dimmed just a little. The Steve you’d known had been shy about showing his art to anyone but you, and it seemed that you’d been gone long enough to be lumped in with everyone else.

You swallowed back a lump in your throat and nodded. “Yeah, that’s still my favorite,” you answered, more than a little surprised Steve remembered your order.

Sure, you’d gone to Seaside Scoops together countless times as kids. It had been your hangout spot for most of your childhood, and even into your teen years. You’d study together over a cup of cookie dough with sprinkles for Steve and a cone of vanilla and chocolate softserve dipped in chocolate sauce for you. But that was more than a decade ago.

Your heart gave a heavy squeeze when you remembered the night before you’d left Brambleberry Cove, the way Steve reminded you of the promise you’d made as children—that you’d always be friends. Your stomach twisted into knots as you were confronted with the reality that you hadn’t kept up your end of the deal. You’d left, and you’d allowed your oldest friend to become a stranger.

You wondered if Steve remembered the promise you’d made, the reminder he’d given you as a parting gift, or if he’d forgotten. You wondered if he’d ever want to be friends again.

Steve’s back was to you, his wrist flicking expertly beneath the softserve machine as he filled up a sugar cone with the twist of chocolate and vanilla. You forced yourself to push aside the memories of the past, blinking back more tears before Steve could catch them in your eyes.

You and Steve weren’t friends anymore, and you needed to accept that. It was unreasonable to hold him to a promise he’d made more than two decades ago, especially when you were the one who’d left and had barely tried to stay in touch between college classes and exploring your new city.

With a great amount of effort, you kept your mind blissfully blank as you let your gaze trail idly over Steve’s broad back, unable to stop yourself from noticing just how wide his shoulders were, or the way they moved beneath the soft, worn cotton of his t-shirt. He really did fill out the shirt well, his sides tapering down to a thin waist. And his ass looked particularly good in the curve-hugging denim of his jeans.

As Steve turned around, you raised your eyes quickly and arranged your expression into one of innocence. Steve paused, giving you a shrewd look like he would’ve done when you were teenagers and you were hiding something from him, but then he just shook his head and laughed under his breath, turning to the chocolate sauce where he’d dip your ice cream cone.

“So, what brings you back to Brambleberry Cove, buttercup?” Steve asked, his gaze focusing on dipping your ice cream just right, a look of determination on his face that was endlessly endearing.

You grimaced at the exact moment he glanced up at you, and he chuckled at the face you made. The sound was smooth as warm caramel and sent a new wave of heat rolling down your spine.

“That bad, huh?” he asked, genuine interest in his tone.

Although there was a point in your life when you could’ve told Steve anything, and the urge to do so still lingered deep in your bones, you knew your relationship was different. You couldn’t dump all your problems on your childhood friend after not talking to him for 15 years. You didn’t even know if you were still friends anymore.

Plus, there was a small crowd gathering behind you as the late dinner rush started to filter into Seaside Scoops. Even if you’d wanted to tell Steve everything that had happened to you in the 15 years since you’d last seen him, it wasn’t the time.

So you just gave him a sad smile and accepted the ice cream cone from Steve’s hand, ignoring the butterflies and ticklish warmth that fluttered through your body at his touch. You gripped the sugar cone tight—but not too tight—so you didn’t fumble it.

“Yeah,” you whispered in answer to his question, leaving it at that. There was an awkward beat, and your eyes dropped to the ice cream that was already beginning to melt despite the air conditioning in the shop. Thankfully, you had an easy way to move past Steve’s questions.

You pulled some cash from the wristlet where you’d also stashed your phone and I.D., asking, “What do I owe you?” because you figured it must’ve been more expensive than what you remembered. And you didn’t want to risk looking up at the menu and catching Steve’s eye, not wanting any of the emotions or heat that seemed to flood you whenever you looked at him.

But a large, warm, golden hand closed over your fumbling fingers, startling you enough to look up into the sky blue eyes of your childhood friend. Your lips fell open in surprise as tingling warmth worked its way up your arm from your hand, wrapping around your heart and making it beat harder.

For a long moment, you simply stared at each other. Steve really had grown up and changed so much, the evidence in the weathered grooves of his forehead and the lines between his brows, but his eyes still looked the same—soft as clouds, warm as the summer sun.

“It’s on the house,” he murmured, his voice low and earnest, the thrum of some emotion you couldn’t identify laced through his words. “It was nice to see an old friend,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze before he pulled his away.

It wasn’t until Steve straightened up to his full height that you realized he’d been leaning over the counter, and your faces had been very close together. Heat crept into your cheeks at the realization that Steve had been in your personal space, and all you’d thought about was his eyes.

Shoving all the money in your hand into the tip jar, you muttered, “Thanks, Steve.” As you zipped up your wristlet, you noticed that some of your ice cream was in danger of dripping onto your hand.

Without thinking, you licked quickly around the edge of the sugar cone, a soft moan slipping free when the cool sweetness of the ice cream hit your brain.

Steve made a strangled sound that dragged your attention away from your treat, finding your childhood best friend looking away and coughing into his fist, a deeper pink flushing his cheeks. You quirked your eyebrow in confusion when he looked back at you, but his expression gave nothing away and you had to wonder if you’d imagined the noise. It had almost sounded…aroused.

Shaking that thought clear from your mind, you gave Steve a smile and began to step away from the counter so he could help the next customer.

Steve’s eyes lingered on you, and he offered you one last charming, friendly smile, raising his hand in a wave. “Don’t be a stranger, buttercup,” he rumbled, his low words managing to reach your ears over the chatter in the shop. He gave you a long look, emotion swirling in those familiar eyes of his, and your breath caught in your throat.

The intensity of his gaze and the warmth in his parting words hit you straight in the gut, and you stood stunned in front of the register while Steve turned and walked to the other end of the ice cream case to help the next people in line.

For a long moment, you couldn’t get over the way Steve had been able to read your mind, to pluck the thought that you were strangers to each other out of your brain and then tell you he didn’t want that to be the case. Your mind raced with questions. Did he still think of you as friends? Did he remember the promise you’d made all those years ago to always be friends? How did he know the exact right thing to say?

But then the rational side of your brain resurfaced from wherever your heart had momentarily buried it, and you remembered his farewell was a normal thing for people to say to each other. Especially people who hadn’t seen each other in a while and likely would again because they both lived in a very small town. That’s all it was, just a normal goodbye.

Not Steve Rogers somehow reading your mind because he knew you so well.

With those rationalities ringing in your head, you dashed out of Seaside Scoops and it wasn’t until your feet had carried you to the next block that you remembered your broken shoes and stubbed toe and chafed thighs.

But those problems didn’t seem quite so bad anymore. Not with the delicious ice cream cone in your hand, and the sunset casting Brambleberry Cove in gorgeous, golden light—and especially not with Steve’s warm, honeyed voice ringing in your head, calling you buttercup.

It had felt so normal to hear the nickname roll off Steve’s tongue that you hadn’t even thought about it, hadn’t realized how long it had been since you’d last heard it. But, just as it had when you were younger, it filled your chest with a bright, golden warmth. You grinned to yourself as you strolled back to your little bungalow, licking up the melting ice cream as fast as you could.

Your mood was decidedly better, and you enjoyed the walk home, refusing to think too much about why exactly you felt lighter and happier and less miserable about being home in Brambleberry Cove than you had before going to Seaside Scoops. It was just the ice cream, obviously. There was no other reason.

“You’re staring.” Steve’s voice was low, the undercurrent of laughter in it almost mixing with the sounds of the distant waves. You could hear them through the open windows of his truck as he eased the vehicle down the winding road leading away from the docks on the north side of Brambleberry Cove.

His comment dragged you out of your drunken haze, and you took a deep breath to get your bearings. Your lungs filled with the salty nighttime air of the sea and the earthy leather interior of your childhood best friend’s truck, a small smile curling the corners of your lips and your eyes sliding closed. When you forced them back open, you realized he was right.

Huh, you really were staring at Steve.

Your head was swiveled to the side, your cheek pressed to the brown leather of the seat back, your eyes fixed on the profile of his face that was highlighted in the glossy silver of the moon and warmed by the golden light of the town’s street lamps.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to feel embarrassed or ashamed for staring at Steve, though. And it was at that moment you realized you were drunk.

It didn’t surprise you. After all, you were the one who’d thrown on some jean shorts and a cute top and then took yourself to Shanty’s, the only place in Brambleberry Cove to go if you were a local looking to avoid tourists.

You’d been happy to see Bucky Barnes, your other oldest friend after Steve, manning the bar. But you’d been much less happy with him when he’d insisted on calling Steve to take you home after you’d downed more than your fair share of liquor.

It was probably for the best, though. You were drunk and horny and if you weren’t careful, you would’ve gone home with Brock Rumlow. Just thinking about it made you grimace at yourself and your poor almost-decisions.

Focusing back on Steve, you couldn’t fault Bucky too much for calling your old friend to pick you up—not when it had ended with you able to watch his side profile while he kept his eyes on the road. It felt practically shameful to indulge yourself so much. That is, if you’d had any shame left, but you’d drowned it all in alcohol.

“You’re still staring, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, the humor clearer in his tone. The edges of his mouth were flickering beneath the silvery golden light of Brambleberry Cove at night and you knew he was trying to suppress a smile. It was fascinating to watch, but then Steve rubbed his hand across his mouth, scrubbing through his beard, and it broke you free of your drunken trance.

“I just can’t get over how different you look,” you huffed, raising your arms and flopping them back against the seat in your best approximation of a shrug. “And how exactly the same.”

Steve barked a laugh, the sharp sound bringing a smile instantly to your face. You’d never heard him laugh like that, and you couldn’t help but love that you were still discovering new things about him, even after knowing him all your life.

He glanced over at you, his expression bemused like he was sure you were drunker than he’d thought. You probably were, but that didn’t stop you from being right, and you tried to convey that in the brief moment he looked at you.

Steve’s gaze slid quickly down your body, not like he was checking you out—more like he was checking to make sure your seatbelt was still buckled and you weren’t in danger of doing anything ridiculous. You were only in danger of saying ridiculous things, at least, according to him apparently. He shook his head after he’d turned back to watching the road.

“You’re gonna have to explain that one to me, buttercup,” Steve said, a little bit of gruffness in his tone. He cleared his throat before he went on. “Usually when someone we went to high school with comes back, they tell me they never woulda recognized me.”

You gave an unladylike snort, drawing another surprised laugh out of Steve before he bit off the sound to let you speak.

“Well those people should have their eyes checked,” you muttered scornfully, pushing yourself up from where you’d been slumped against the warm leather seat. You twisted your body in your seat so you were facing Steve, your eyes tracing the lines of his face from across the cab. “You still have the same eyes,” you pointed out vehemently, as if Steve was arguing with you, even though he wasn’t. “And your nose still has that little bump in it, and your lips are still so soft and full…”

You trailed off, realizing far too late that you were saying your inside thoughts out loud. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you watched Steve as he processed what you’d said—the way his fingers scratched a little nervously at his beard, those twin lines forming between his brows. Your gazed traced every curve and line and divot in his face, examining his expression, wanting to memorize it and save it for the rest of your life.

“I don’t think any of those people noticed those things,” Steve murmured, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it over the slight breeze drifting through the windows while he drove through town.

Your heart lurched at the implication of Steve’s words, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take them back, even if they were dangerously close to revealing something you hadn’t even had the courage to admit to yourself yet.

Instead, you focused on your anger at the hypothetical people who weren’t recognizing Steve just because he’d grown up, gotten tall, gotten buff, grown out his hair and his beard and looked altogether very different to the skinny teenager he’d been.

“If they didn’t see those things, they didn’t really see you,” you muttered to yourself, indignant on Steve’s behalf, but trying to keep it to yourself. Apparently, you weren’t good at moderating the volume of your voice, because Steve snorted at your remark.

“No, no one ever saw me as well as you did, buttercup,” Steve said, his voice low and warm, and your heart promptly rioted in your chest.

There was something so dizzyingly wonderful about hearing Steve say such intimate words to you in that deep, caramel voice of his, genuine affection shining through his tone. It took your breath away for a moment, and your brain short-circuited.

It was on the tip of your tongue to tell him…something. The thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself yet. But you were still you, and your brain tripped at the last moment, and instead you blurted, “Do you ever think about our first time?”

Steve choked on a snort, his eyes darting to you with honest surprise. You couldn’t blame him. You’d had no idea those words were gonna spill from your mouth until they were out, but you supposed they weren’t as bad as what you’d almost confessed, so you didn’t try to take them back or change the topic of conversation. You waited with bated breath for Steve’s response, and whether he remembered your night together when you were both 18.

When he saw you were anticipating his answer, he spluttered, “You mean when I came three seconds after getting inside you?”

You began to smile, because he remembered, but then Steve continued talking.

“Y’know, I told Bucky about that once,” he said, his eyes fixed so fully on the road that you got the impression he didn’t want to meet your gaze and your stomach plummeted. “I was drunk, and didn’t know if it really counted as sex. Bucky was no help, of course—he said he didn’t know either since it was so quick.”

Something new was swirling in your gut, and for long moments you could only sit there on the warm leather of the truck and stew in that hot, feral feeling. It must’ve showed on your face because, when Steve finally looked over at you after you’d been quiet for so long, the truck lurched forward, his foot pressing too hard to the gas.

“Don’t worry,” he rushed to say, guessing at what was upsetting you and guessing wrong. “I didn’t tell him it was with you.”

“Don’t you dare,” you snarled, the words bursting out of you with a ferocity you’d never used in your life, let alone when talking to Steve. But you were furious all of a sudden, and it wasn’t until the words were spilling from your mouth that you understood why you were so angry. “Don’t you dare try to take this away from me, Steven Grant Rogers.” Your voice was seething and barely recognizable, but you couldn’t stop. “You were my first, and it was perfect—because it was you.”

Steve glanced over at you, something like shock written across his face, but when he looked back at the road, his brows settled low over his eyes. The muscle in his jaw popped and you knew he was grinding his teeth together, taking his time to gather his thoughts before he spoke. It took him a long moment to respond.

“You deserved better.”

The noise of your scoff was loud, even to your ears, and you strained against the seatbelt still buckling you into the passenger seat as you leaned toward your childhood friend.

“You ate me out until I came three times, Steve!” you cried, holding up three fingers as if the adult man your friend had grown into somehow didn’t know how many three was. “No man has ever made me come so many times in one night as you did then.”

When Steve still didn’t look at you, just kept driving with his hands gripping the wheel and the muscle in his jaw popping, you huffed an exasperated sound and flopped back into your seat. Your back was to the leather as you crossed your arms over your chest and stared out at Brambleberry Cove through the open passenger side window.

The silence grew until it was suffocating, and you needed to break it. So you said the first thing that came to mind. Again.

“You’re who I think about when I touch myself, Steve.” Your words drifted from your side of the truck to the other, carried on the light breeze floating through the cab. “I think about you and that night, and it gets me off every single time.”

Steve made a strangled kind of sound, like a growl that was torn free from his throat against his will. Then he was quiet, and he was quiet for so long, you thought that was the only reaction you’d get to admitting the truth. Until…

“I think about you, too, buttercup.”

The confession hung in the air between you, settling heavily onto the leather bench seat in Steve’s truck, the air rushing in through the open windows buffetting around it.

You didn’t feel Steve’s admission sink into you. There was simply a before and an after. And in the after, you were moving. You were unbuckling your seatbelt and scooting across the seat toward Steve until your bare knee brushed against the denim of his jeans.

He shot a startled look in your direction—which, in a distant part of your brain, you registered as completely adorable—before quickly pulling over to the side of the road. He was just throwing the truck into park when you slid into his lap, straddling his thighs and pressing your chest to his.

“We should do it again,” you purred, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and leaning close. When Steve didn’t respond right away, just kept giving you that surprised look, you thought he might not have understood you, so you explained, “Have sex.”

Steve closed his eyes and a light tremor shuddered through his body as his hands settled respectfully on your waist, a few of his fingers brushing the skin where the edge of your tank top didn’t quite meet the waist of your shorts. Then, it was your turn to shudder, the feeling of his warm, calloused hands against your bare skin making heat flood between your thighs, your core warming and your body melting into your old friend’s hands.

“Please, Steve,” you whispered, tipping your head forward until your lips were a hairsbreadth from his, so close you could taste mint chocolate chip ice cream on his tongue and it took everything in you not to lick into his mouth desperately. Your voice was practically a whine as you went on, “Let’s see if we can do better this time.”

Steve’s hands shifted to your hips, his fingers digging into your soft flesh hard enough to almost hurt, and you thought he was going to give in. But then he swallowed audibly, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and he pushed you gently away, his head tilting back against the leather seat so your lips no longer teased him with an almost-kiss.

“You’re drunk, buttercup.”

Steve’s voice was a delicious rasp, and you couldn’t help but shiver at the sound of it even as the meaning of his words settled into your drunken mind. You pouted at your childhood friend, hoping the fact that he hadn’t pushed you off his lap entirely meant he wasn’t saying no.

“And horny,” you said, the words slipping from your lips on another whine. Of their own volition, your hips squirmed on your oldest friend’s lap, trying to get closer, trying to find some kind of friction to work against the aching heat pulsing between your thighs. But Steve’s firm grip held you in place. “Stevie.” His name was nothing but a pathetic whimper.

A low growl rumbled in Steve’s chest, and then one of his hands was abandoning your hip to cup your face, tilting it up so he could loom over you. The lines of his face were hard, stubborn, and the look in his eyes left no room for argument.

“You know I won’t touch you when you’re drunk,” he bit out, his voice soft, but as firm as his hold on your body.

A memory slammed into you—you and Steve planning your first time together. You’d made a deal at the start of high school that if neither of you lost your virginity through all four years, then before going off to college, you’d lose it together.

When the time came, you’d been a little nervous, even though it was Steve, and you’d joked that you could take some wine coolers to the beach and get it over with, just like all the other kids in your school. Even then, Steve had looked at you stubbornly, and said, without a shred of willingness to waver, that he wouldn’t touch you if you were drunk.

Back then, it had sent a shiver down your spine, and it had much the same effect more than a decade later in his truck. Your body trembled with arousal, and you pushed feebly against Steve’s hold—not really trying to break it, just enjoying the feeling that came from realizing how strong he was. Those biceps and corded forearms of his weren’t just for show.

“What about just the tip?” you murmured, the words tumbling past your lips before you could think better of them, knowing there was no use trying to argue with Steve when he’d made a decision. But you were clearly thinking with something other than your brain, because the words kept coming. “That’s not sex, just the tip—please, Steve.” You were begging shamelessly, but your shame and embarrassment were still nowhere to be found since you were still definitely drunk.

Steve’s jaw ticked so hard, you could’ve sworn you heard the muscle pop in the quiet of his truck as he ground his teeth together.

“Buttercup,” he growled, a warning in his tone. “That’s not happening.”

Your fists gathered in the front of Steve’s t-shirt and you yanked on it restlessly, not trying to do anything more than annoy him. “Whyyy,” you whined, drawing out the word until it was nearly a wail. Unslaked heat burned in your blood and, while you knew why he was refusing to have sex with you, in the moment, you couldn’t understand why your oldest friend was torturing you.

Steve’s hand slid down from your cheek to wrap around the front of your throat, and you stilled immediately, something about the possessive, dominant gesture making you calm. That was new, Steve hadn’t done anything like that when you’d first been together, but you liked it more than you would’ve expected. Your lips were still parted, your panting breaths gusting out of them, your heart racing, and you were finally calm and quiet.

Your oldest friend’s eyes roamed over you, taking in your reaction. At first he seemed surprised, but then a glint of something you’d never seen before sparked to life in the depths of his blue eyes. You watched his gaze drop to your mouth, and nearly whimpered at the way the corner of his lips flickered in the ghost of a smirk. But then he fixed his gaze back on yours, pinning you in place with that stubborn look in his eye, though it was slightly dimmed in favor of that new, hungry glimmer.

“I won’t fuck you only to wake up tomorrow and find out you regret it,” Steve said, enunciating all his words clearly despite the fact that his teeth were grinding together “That you only wanted it because you needed to scratch an itch.”

Your lungs dragged in a soundless gasp and you finally understood his reticence, even if you couldn’t imagine ever regretting doing anything with Steve. But when you opened your mouth to protest, Steve’s fingers squeezed the sides of your throat.

Your words died on your tongue, and your mouth went slack, your eyes going hazy with pleasure. You couldn’t have been more obvious that you liked the way Steve choked you if you tried. And he read your enjoyment easily from the expression on your face, that look of hunger sparking brighter in Steve’s eyes before he went on.

“When I fuck you again,” he growled, his words a promise. “I don’t want you drunk on anything but my cock.”

“Stevie,” you whined his nickname again, the name only you were allowed to call him, your lips forming into a pout. It hadn’t escaped your notice that he’d said ‘when’, and not ‘if’, about having sex with you again, but you didn’t want to push your luck. And besides, unslaked need was still burning brightly through your body, consuming most of your focus. “I need…something, please.” You let out a little whimper and squirmed in his lap again, unable to stop yourself.

Steve huffed a laugh, his thumb stroking down the side of your neck, over your thrumming pulsepoint, while the fingers of his other hand slipped half an inch into the waist of your shorts, only far enough to dig harder into your soft curves.

“I’m not going to touch you more than this, buttercup,” Steve began, his voice a low, delicious rumble that you swore you could feel in the clenching of your core. “But I didn’t say anything about stopping you from touching yourself.”

Your eyes widened in excitement, and you wasted no time in acting on the implication in Steve’s words. Holding his gaze, one of your hands slipped free from his shirt and trailed down your body. When you reached between your thighs, the backs of your fingers brushed against a thick bulge in the front of Steve’s jeans.

It twitched against your soft touch, and you gasped in delight, loving the proof that Steve’s body recognized you just as much as his mind.

But when you twisted your hand, intent on giving Steve’s bulge a friendly squeeze, his hand darted down from your hips to your wrist, his fingers circling around you and stilling your hand. “Buttercup,” he rumbled, another warning.

A shiver raced down your spine and you reveled in the way it made you feel to hear Steve say your nickname like that. It occurred to you that it was new—you’d never heard him say it quite like that before, with frustration and arousal flooding his tone.

You wanted to hear every flavor of your nickname on Steve’s tongue. You wanted to hear him whisper it like a prayer, and groan it into your lips while he kissed you. You wanted to hear Steve shout your nickname while he came with you.

But the look in Steve’s eyes was stubborn again, and you knew you’d have to wait to hear all the ways he could say your nickname.

“OK, Steve, ‘m sorry,” you mumbled, twisting your hand in his hold and pressing the tips of your fingers to the seam of your shorts, your hips jerking forward to seek more of the friction you offered yourself.

Steve’s hold loosened, but he didn’t let go of you entirely, like he didn’t trust you just yet. But you didn’t care, your fingers were pressing into your clit through the thin denim of your shorts, and you were rocking your hips to grind against them, your wetness soaking through your panties almost immediately.

The moment when your fingers found just the right spot, you sucked in a sharp breath, your spine arching and your hips pressing down hard against your hand. Your head tipped back, your eyes narrowing into slits as you held Steve’s gaze. You moaned while you rubbed tight circles against your clit through your shorts.

“I’m going to come embarrassingly fast,” you huffed in warning, your chest heaving already with labored breaths.

But Steve only smirked, a touch of smugness in the curve of his lips.

“Don’t worry, buttercup, I remember exactly how sensitive your sweet little clit is,” he rumbled, and you moaned loudly. His fingers flexed against your throat, digging in enough to quiet your sounds and making your eyes widen as your hips lurched in their rhythm. He chuckled at your reaction before continuing on.

“I remember sucking on your puffy little pearl, your thighs squeezing my head, my fingers buried deep in your tight, warm hole,” Steve purred, seemingly knowing exactly what to say to drive your pleasure higher. “I remember the exact way your pussy gripped my fingers when you came, like you wanted me deeper—deep enough that you could feel me in your belly.”

“God, Steve,” you groaned, your head falling back listlessly on your shoulders, too heavy to keep it up. But Steve’s fingers dug into the back of your neck, and you understood the wordless command immediately. You lifted your head and caught your oldest friend’s eye while you kept rubbing your clit, pushing yourself closer to coming apart in his lap.

“I remember how big your cock felt inside me,” you confessed, spurred on by Steve’s own filthy words. “I remember how long it took for you to sink your thick, fat cock into my tight pussy.” You paused only to take a quick, hitching breath. “I was already so close when you came, and I remember, I thought, maybe if you hadn’t been wearing a condom, maybe I would’ve come, too.”

The lines of Steve’s face shifted, hardening, his jaw ticking wildly and his eyes going molten fierce, like the blue at the center a campfire that burns too hot to sit near.

“Don’t fucking say that, buttercup,” Steve growled, his voice gravelly like he was chewing on seashells. “If I hadn’t been wearing a condom, I would’ve come so much faster—I never woulda made it all the way inside you. Woulda been coming with just my tip inside your warm, wet pussy, baby—woulda been too risky, buttercup.”

Your eyes wanted to fall closed as you moaned, but you didn’t let them. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from Steve, not with that furious and ferocious hunger in his eyes, his desire for you etched into every single line and curve of his face.

You were so close. You just needed a little more to push you over the edge.

“Fuck, Steve, I know I shouldn’t, but I love the thought of you coming inside me, filling me up, making me yours,” you confessed, the words bubbling up from the very depths of your soul. It was on the tip of your tongue again, that thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself. Instead of letting it free, you moaned, long and loud, your fingers rubbing faster against your clit and your hips grinding against your hand.

“Christ, baby,” Steve gritted through tightly clenched teeth. His fingers were digging into your hip again, diving further beneath the waist of your shorts, nearly skimming the edge of your panties. His other hand tightened around your throat and dragged you into him, until your face was right in front of his and he could watch every twitch and change in your expression as you pleasured yourself.

“Come on, baby,” he said, his voice urgent with need. “Come before I do something we’ll both regret.”

The hand that wasn’t wedged between your thighs pressed to the center of Steve’s chest, just above his heart, and a moment later, you felt his warm palm cover it. He was still holding your throat, his fingers digging into the sides hard enough that you knew he could feel your fluttering pulse beneath his touch. And you could feel his heart pounding beneath your palm, the rapid pace nearly matching the frantic one in your chest.

“Come, buttercup, come for me,” Steve commanded, his eyes holding yours. For a moment, it felt like he could see straight into your soul. It was a scorching intimacy you hadn’t felt since that night you’d first been with Steve, and you were helpless to it.

“Stevie,” you cried his name as your pleasure rose up and consumed you, sending you over the edge into a earth-quaking orgasm. Your body writhed in Steve’s lap, your hips grinding gracelessly against your hand as you collapsed forward, leaning into the grip of his hand around your throat. You sobbed your pleasure, the waves of your release wracking your body for long moments.

Eventually, the final swell ebbed and the last of your energy receded with it. Your damp forehead fell against Steve’s cool, dry one and you struggled to catch your breath. His hand slipped from the front of your throat around to the back of your neck and he smoothed it down your spine.

He held you close, whispering in your ear, “Such a good girl, buttercup, you did so good.”

Once you finally settled, Steve shifted, his beard grazing your lips as he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“Can I take you home now?” he asked.

You huffed a laugh and slumped against his chest, laying your head sleepily on his shoulder. “I don’t think I can move yet,” you said, slurring your words with tiredness. And drunkenness.

Steve chuckled, but made no attempt to move you. You only felt him lifting his arms around you, though his hands didn’t settle on your body.

“If you see Sam while you’re back in town, don’t tell him I did this,” Steve murmured in your ear. Then you felt the truck rumbling to life and getting back onto the road and you realized where your oldest friend’s hands were. He was driving you home, with you still sitting boneless in his lap.

When Steve arrived at your rental house, not too long after, he helped you down from his truck and looped an arm around your waist, getting you into the bungalow. Thankfully, you were sated from your release in his truck so you didn’t try to proposition him again, just dutifully did as he said, changing into your pajamas in your bedroom while he waited outside the closed door.

Then he let you lean against his broad chest while you brushed your teeth and washed your face, before guiding you back to your room and tucking you into bed. Last, he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead that was so comforting, and made you feel so safe, your eyes fluttered closed and a soft smile curled your lips.

Before he could leave, your hand darted out and grabbed Steve’s wrist with surprising precision given your state and the fact that your eyes were closed. You dragged them open again, blinking away the bleariness until your childhood friend’s face came into focus.

“I don’t regret anything we’ve done together, Stevie,” you mumbled, the side of your mouth hitching up in a lopsided smile. “I’m glad you were my first.” You lost the battle with your eyes and they fell closed. You also, apparently, lost the fight against biting back your feelings, murmuring sleepily, “I want you to be my last.”

For a long moment, Steve was quiet. He seemed to wait until you were just on the edge of sleep before responding to your drunken confession.

“Tell me that again when you’re not drunk, and I’ll believe you, buttercup,” Steve murmured, ducking down to press a kiss to your hand, still wrapped loosely around his wrist, before carefully extricating himself.

You were snoring before Steve closed and locked the front door of your bungalow behind him. He walked down the short path to his truck, which sat at the curb, a subtle smile on his lips and a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

#steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic #friends to lovers #steve rogers au #childhood best friend steve rogers #childhood best friend #chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans smut #chris evans characters #witchywithwhiskeywork

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tonystarkfucksaround · 2 years ago

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*slams head on the table* I’m so tired of having a million ideas and never finishing them, how do I get over this curse, I feel if I don’t finish a fic soon I’m gonna explode >:(

#honestly at this point I'd take an ability to write smaller fics if it means I GET TO FINISH THEM #I thought by now I'd have completed at least a few squares on my bingo card #but noooo #12k words and I'm still working on the first one #and it's not like that's much??#but it's taking me fucking forever #not to mention that the longer I write it the more anxious I feel about the result #I'm afraid that when I actually finish it I wouldn't want to post it at all #I want to take prompts and write a few small drabbles a day #instead I overthink everything #sometimes to the point I convince myself that there's no point to start at all #like it's too complex an idea for me to write #or like it'll have to be too big and surely I'd never finish #*bonks self* you'd never finish if you never START yeah some solid logic right there #I'm just so tired

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starwrighter · 1 year ago

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1/?? Halloween prompt

I’ve got brain rot for creepy Deadserious content but only when it’s only seen as creepy by outsiders. (I know I’m writing a fic with a similar plot but it’s different I swear! Also my grammar is shit because I’m getting dental work done tomorrow and I’m nervous) Tw for stalker behavior

So Damian has a crush on Danny and immediately goes about acting on these feelings much to onlookers horror. Danny is swooning because someone made the effort to do a background check on him. Danny thinks Damian doing this is really smart because, he could be a serial killer for ancients sake why would you risk that? Others say this is a horrible invasion of privacy.

Damian not realizing he's being creepy (being liminal and being an ex assassin, turned vigilante wasn't doing him any favors) Plus Danny also not realizing it's creepy unless you relay Damian behavior towards him with different names.

Damian's just being a textbook stalker, breaking into his house and shit and Danny's all like "awwww he likes me" because this is just normal ghostly courting rituals! His dormroom isn't his lair so Damian breaking in doesn't feel like he's violating any sort of boundary. To him it's like a friend showing up at the coffee shop you work at to say hi.

Danny's had stalkers before, he's very cautious of his behavior to insure he never stalked anyone. Being stalked back in Amity was a horrific experience for him. From cameras in the locker rooms at school (wes) to cameras in his bathroom and bedroom at home (Vlad)! He couldn't feel safe anywhere! To Danny Damian's not a stalker, he's his protector. Nobody seems to understand when he tries to explain this though they just look at him like he's lost his mind.

Damian’s not subtle at all and Danny’s kicking his feet like a lovesick school girl who found out her crush likes her back. Overall it’s super cute from their points of view Damian’s planning an official confession to ask him on a date while Danny’s trying to figure out if Damian actually likes him or is just being nice. They’re just doing normal couple things but people just jump and attack Damian’s character while painting Danny as some kind of brainwashed victim.

The thing is… Danny’s become very good at appearing normal while Damian refuses to pretend to be a bumbling idiot like the rest of his family. He also refuses to dull down his personality for anything other than secret identity reasons. For these reasons since their relationship had become public, Damian had been painted by the media as a creepy possessive boyfriend who threatened Danny into a relationship. This infuriates Danny, the only one doing any kind of possession is him god damn it!

They want to be around each other all the time and that’s normal behavior for ghost/liminal couples! They live much longer than regular humans do they’re like elves, their perceptions of time are messed up. They still spend time apart they still have hobbies and an independent life, people just get hung up on the amount of time they do spend together. It’s normal behavior for them to know mountains of information about each others interests to the point they almost know more than each other. It’s normal to know each other’s schedules and background check the people they associate with. (The realms are very dangerous with shapeshifters and manipulators like spectra and Desiree who can ruin your afterlife in a matter of minutes) Their relationship is creepy to those who haven’t gone to extremes to survive.

Damian has taken to ignoring the reputation press has given him. He’s dealt with paparazzi and tabloids before it’s just frustrating to deal with. It’s when people start accusing him of hurting his beloved that really pisses him off.

(Bonus if Danny’s the one frothing at the mouth to maul a reporter while they try to paint him as a poor innocent victim)

I’mma end the prompt with this so everyone understands why Damian specifically being targeted by press. The more liminal you are the more creepy/uncanny you appear to other people and the more effort you have to put in to hide it. It’s why the bats are more believed to be Eldritch creatures than actual humans in suits. Surprisingly becoming a Halfa completely changes this effect to do the complete opposite. It’s easier for the human brain to look at a halfa and think “Innocent or normal,” Vlad and Danny were morons when it came to actually hiding their identity’s it was only their statuses as halfa’s that prevented people from comprehending them being anything other than normal.

In short Damian’s too dead to be perceived as normal while Danny’s too alive to be perceived as anything other than normal.

#I’m using the more extreme characterizations of Wes and Vlad for this #just so you guys know #when you think of Wes and Vlad think federal prison #tw creepy #tw stalker #this prompt is mostly word vomit #dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #deadserious #dead serious

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jinxs-gf · 4 months ago

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Can I? (kiss the hurt away)

YJ!Conner Kent x Spider!Reader

summary: you get hurt during a mission and Conner just wants to help. this finally brings you two together.

content/warnings: set in s1, lots of wounds, blood mentioned, awkward flirting…this was a shared prompt w my two besties, here’s my version! (I switched it up a bit), funny writing bc it’s from spider!reader’s perspective (mostly)

word count: 2.1k

a/n: FIRST CONNER FIC YAYAYYAYAYAY I hope people actually read for him lmaooo…enjoy!

There's a ringing in your ear for a while, your vision blurred. Just as you come out of it there's a voice—

"You okay?"

One you're very familiar with.

You slowly blink your eyes open. You're not sure what the hell your enemy just blasted you with, but it was enough to knock you out and make everything hurt. A lot.

"Uhh I think so?" Conner watched the white eyes of your mask blink, he could tell you were in fact, not okay.

He could see it from a distance, the distance he unknowingly made while fighting. He promised himself he'd stay close at all times when the team was in danger, when you could potentially get hurt. And look at you now. His ignorance to what was going on around him got you hurt.

At least that's what he told himself.

You swat his hands as he starts fussing over you, too disoriented to think about the action. Until you see his hurt face. He was only trying to help.

But Conner thinks, you were pushing him away, and rightfully so when he's the reason you're hurt in the first place.

"No no it's-" you heave a rugged sigh, your lungs feeling heavy. "I'm just out of it. Sorry. What was that guy packing in his gun anyways?"

Conner's reluctant in his assistance to you now, but you encourage him with a smile. He lifts you to your feet, securing an arm around your waist to ensure you wouldn't fall back down. You definitely weren't in a state to be walking and that's proven when your legs wobble and all your weight falls onto him. Something he doesn't mind and in a different situation would smile at.

But you hiss as his pulls you up, and he's brought back to reality.

"Thanks Con-man." Another smile for him and his shoulders relax.

"I have no idea what that man was packing in his gun. All I know is it hurt you...really badly. You were out the rest of the fight."

"I was?" A quick look around and sure enough, you were. The quietness of the area should've been a clear sign there was no longer a battle going on.

"Looks like I was." And suddenly the team is behind you. It's a miracle the rest of them avoided getting hurt the way you did (which was a little embarrassing considering your spider senses).

"You alright, Spidey?" Wally and Artemis ask at the same time, they glare at each other for it.

"Jinx. Artemis, you owe me a soda."

"I do not-" you cut them off, ending the argument before it could start.

"Yeah I'm alright." But the way you leaned heavily onto the SuperBoy and breathed unevenly told a different story. Although that was nothing new, was it? You somehow were constantly hanging off the boy one way or another (not literally...though you wish it was).

"Are you sure? We'll have you get checked back at headquarters," Kaldur speaks. You simply nod, too weak to really do much else.

Robin was looking worriedly, trying to hide it but you could see right through him. You shot him a smile.

While the team discussed what to do with the bad guy, you stayed with Conner. There was an awkward silence until he spoke up, having enough of your small hisses and puffs at his side.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know, everything? I'm hurting everywhere," you were practically mumbling, fatigue evident with every word you spoke.

He huffs and places you on the floor again, carefully avoiding any rubble from the fight. Another pained hiss from you.

"Sorry sorry, I know," he's trying to figure out his next move. "I don't know how to make it better."

You shake your head, "that's alright Conner. You don't need to, you're not a doctor or anything."

And yet he looks guilty, like your wounds and the fact that he hasn't already done something to ease the pain was his fault. He eyed the arm you've been holding around your abdomen this whole time.

"You being here right now is enough. I promise. And this," you lift your arm finally, making a soft noise of pain in between, "it'll go down by tomorrow-"

"Shit! When did that happen?" His voice startles you, the sudden noise rattling your probably concussed brain. You finally look down to see blood dripping from a scratch in your suit.

"Shit. When did that happen? How..."

"I didn't realize it was that bad. I'm sorry."

"No Conner, it's okay-"

"Can I?"

"Huh?" And Conner is gesturing to your mask, your eyes widen.

"You're breathing too heavily for it to be comfortable. Please?" He wouldn't say part of it was because he needed to see your face to comfort him.

You nod.

He doesn't freak out when he takes it off, so that's a good sign.

"How do I look?" he doesn't answer for a few seconds, he's carefully observing your face it seems. You can't help but smile.

And he smiles back, "still beautiful as ever."

"Okay lover boy," you desperately wish the mask was on, if only to hide your timid expression. "You don't need to flatter me."

Conner clears his throat quickly, awkwardly. As if he didn't realize he said it out loud.

He really didn't mean to. But seeing how shy and...dare he say happy you looked after he said it, he thinks it wasn't such a bad thing.

"You have a few scratches. But you're still-"

"Beautiful as ever, yeah yeah I heard you," maybe he wasn't going to say it again, but you weren't going to risk it. You don't think you could take it if he said it. You'd probably do something stupid like kiss him—

He swallows thickly, still embarrassed. "We need to get you back," he goes to pick you up, only this time it's not so you can stand upright. No. He's preparing to carry you bridal style. Oh no. Now you really might kiss him (that is if you don't pass out within the next few seconds). "Can I carry you? I don't think you're in good enough shape to walk right now."

"Rude."

"No I didn't mean-"

You laugh, maybe a little meanly, you knew he wasn't good on certain social cues yet, making teasing him easy, "sorry- I know what you mean. Yeah it's...alright. You can totally carry me." Now you were beginning to feel awkward.

He picks you up easily. And you're starting to agree with him, you definitely weren't in any shape to walk if him lifting you was enough to make you dizzy.

You weren't kidding yourself when you said you'd pass out before you could kiss him.

Your head lays comfortably on his chest...right over his heart which happened to be beating like crazy.

Was that your doing? You really hope so.

He carries you a little behind the rest of the team, murmuring reassurances and praise. 'You did good back there.' 'You're gonna be okay, I'll make sure of it.' 'Stay close to me okay? I'll make it better.'

Bioship took you all back to Mount Justice, M'gann talking your ear off the whole time. Starting with worried rambles about how hurt you looked and fading into a new tv show she got into. One she wished her people on Mars could enjoy.

Usually you wouldn't mind it, but you could feel an oncoming headache the whole ride. You didn't have the heart to tell her to stop nor that you weren't really listening. Not feeling bad only because Wally seemed enthralled with her storytelling (suck up) and flirted here and there.

You were too busy focusing on your shadow anyways. Aka the SuperBoy who refused to leave your side and was quite literally on you the whole way. Between him, M'gann, and Wally's flirting with her (and Robin's occasional butting in to tease) you were surprised you didn't go insane on the ride back.

When you did get back, they told you it was bad (fatal for a normal person) but nothing you couldn't handle. Just a broken rib (unfortunately common for you) and a slight concussion. Great. Accompanied with bruises and the big gash on your abdomen. That weapon really did a number on you. Conner went off on the adults for saying it was "nothing you couldn't handle" because you were "on the brink of dying". Which is a bit dramatic, but having him be so protective over you was kind of nice...or whatever.

They suggested you took a break for a week and a half (a conclusion you came to after you'd negotiated with them for a good 5 minutes. because who do they think they were benching you—for good reason—for 2 weeks?!) should a mission come up within that time.

You sighed on the couch, everyone was either in their rooms or went home for the day. They said their goodbyes and wished you well, to which you replied 'pfft I'll be better by tomorrow. just watch.' It would be really embarrassing if you weren't better by tomorrow...you unfortunately bet money on it. Stupid.

"You okay?"

"A little better now. Thanks for taking care of me."

"I wish I could've done more...I said I would but all I did was sit back and watch everyone else take care of you." This was clearly eating at him, although it's a wonder why.

Nothing about the situation was his fault nor should he feel guilty about "not doing enough."

"Conner, I told you it's alright and that you being there for me was enough. And I meant every word."

He sits with you, thigh to thigh with his head in his hands.

You pat his shoulder, "it's alright big guy. I'm okay, I'll be fully recovered soon."

"Not soon enough."

You sigh, he could be really stubborn sometimes. Frustratingly so.

"Con, please. Look at me?" He listens. And you regret asking him. You hate the look in his eyes, or rather you hate the way it makes you feel. Another case of you're going to kiss him if he keeps this up.

How could such a big, stubborn, and (apparently) non-affectionate guy have the biggest puppy eyes? Ones that have you melting.

His face is now in your palms. With the way he's looking at you, surely he wouldn't mind if you gave in and...kissed him, right?

"Can I kiss you?"

He's stunned for a moment before finally speaking up, "isn't it obvious that I want you to?"

You both share shy smiles thinking, finally.

You lean in, hands still cupping his face, his now doing the same.

Although the kiss was a little awkward, the two of you not exactly experienced in that department (him coming out of a literal tube only months ago), as well as a little...messy—it was everything you could've wanted in your first kiss with him. A kiss that was going to be the start of the two of you. SuperBoy and the Spider. You hated how warm the thought made you.

You were practically radiating giddiness, Conner could feel it. He pulled away still smiling, "I've wanted to do that for a really long time now."

"Me too. You know what also was great about that? You kissed my ouchies away. I'm all better now."

"Ouchies? What are we, five?"

There's silence, not of awkwardness, but from two of you reeling from the kiss, processing the fact that it was real.

"I don't want to be the one to break this up but...we should really get to bed. With your concussion and training being early tomorrow..."

"Yeah, of course," the giddiness hasn't left, "would you uh...want to come? With me? To bed."

"Gee Spider, at least take me to dinner first."

"Oh, so he's got jokes now?"

"Only for you, babe."

"Ew, you sound like Wally."

"Ouch? Don't insult me like that," but he doesn't look offended in the slightest. There's probably the biggest smile you've seen on his face, ever.

Safe to say it was not fun explaining why Conner was in your bed the next morning, trying to convince everyone it was purely innocent.

Batman was disappointed, reminding you that you needed to wait until you were healed before you did anything physical. Haha. Very funny.

And the team snapped pictures that they would definitely use against Conner (seeing as he was the more...emotionally constipated and reluctantly affectionate one).

But you honestly couldn't be happier. And neither could he.

does it seem a bit rushed at the end? unfortunately

do I have the patience to fix it? no

hope you enjoyed :D

#conner kent x reader #superboy x reader #young justice x reader #young justice Conner Kent #conner kent imagine #Conner Kent fanfic #kon el x reader #Conner Kent x male reader #Conner Kent x female reader #Conner Kent x gender neutral reader #Conner Kent x you #superboy x you #dc x reader #dc x you #dc x male reader #dc x female reader #spider!reader

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sandwhitches · 4 months ago

Note

hii! can i have a cherry popsicle abt suna confessing to the reader but he’s super nervous?? thanks so much! feel free to request smth from me if you’d like to do a little exchange:)

a/n: u must be a mind reader because i’ve LITERALLY been working on this exact prompt omg!!! it’s longer than a drabble (lowkey really long so i just formatted it like a fic☠️) because i already had most of it written when u requested so enjoy :3!! also u BET im gonna send u a request yay!!!

𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 (𝐟𝐭. 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨)

desc: suna is an idiot and seeks the help of an unlikely (and annoying, in his humble opinion) ally to help him confess to you

content: fem. reader, language, suna’s little sister guest star!!!!! (i love that he canonically has a little sister; she’s like middle school age in this ughhhh suna as a big brother makes me want to combust), suna pining for you like a big stupid idiot

wc: 1.5k

this is a part of my summer writing event!!! please feel free to send some requests my way :3

Suna Rintaro knows two things for certain: firstly, he’s absolutely in love with you, and secondly, he hasn’t a clue what to do about it. It was easier for him to come to terms with the latter, seeing as he’d spent most of his teenage years rolling his eyes at mushy displays of affection and taking the piss out of his friends who seemed to have traded all necessary brain function in exchange for falling in love.

To him, falling in love this early on in life was as worthless and cheap as the chocolate he watched be gifted every Valentines Day; eventually, they’ll eat what they like and throw what they don’t in the trash, he’s seen it done countless times before, and he’d be stupid to let something like that happen to him.

Still, here he is, knee-deep and sinking even deeper as the moments go by, he thinks falling in love might be like being pushed into quicksand. As odd as it is for him to admit it to himself, he doesn’t mind it at all.

There’s a certain giddiness that can’t be awarded any time other than when you talk to him. He spends the rest of the afternoon and evening thinking about your conversations, wondering if he said something wrong, thinking of all the ways he could have prolonged the exchange, and smiling fondly when he remembers he managed to make you laugh three times (a new record for him).

“What’s with that face?” Atsumu had interrupted Suna during one of the breaks at volleyball practice, his idiotic grin on full display in Rintaro’s face. Had he really been smiling just from thinking about you?

Suna had mumbled something that sounded like an awkward mixture of shut up and fuck off, quick to storm away in hopes that Atsumu didn’t catch the violent reddening of his cheeks. This is not good, he thinks, love can’t really be this hard to ignore, can it?

He’s put up a hard battle against this exact scenario, and he’s afraid you might have unknowingly thrown a wrench right into his fine tuned machine of a brain. If this really was a battle, he’s fine raising a white flag in order to get to make you laugh more often, for the slight possibility of getting to know if your lips really feel as soft as they appear, and the hope that one day he might forget all about what it was like not to be entirely in love with you.

This is the nail in the coffin, his final surrender. Being in love really must make people stupid, because he’s nervously tugging his collar as he knocks on his younger sister's door. She chirps a surprised “Come in!” and Rintaro struggles to actually reach for the door, consumed with the reality of the fact that this really is where he’s ended up in his life. Great.

His sister gives him an incredulous look when she realizes it had been him who knocked, eyeing him suspiciously, “What do you want?” She mumbles in confusion, setting her pencil down. Suna parts his lips, mouth running dry, then sighs loudly, shaking his head.

“What is it?” She inquires, sudden agitation laced in her tone. Rintaro looks at the ground, too embarrassed to see the inevitable shift in her expression when he asks, “What’s the right way to ask out a girl?”

A silence follows that isn’t long enough in Suna’s opinion, quickly cut off by a loud bark of laughter, “No way! You’re asking me for advice?”

Here’s another thing Suna Rintaro knew for certain, there’s no word that describes the extent in which his younger sister is the bane of his existence.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Suna mutters self-consciously. This probably was a bad idea in theory, but as much as it pains him to admit it, this is his last resort. He knows next to nothing about how to be normal about talking to you, let alone confess; something is better than nothing in this situation, and he swears to himself that he will make sure he never has to ask his sister for advice like this again.

Love, when it comes to you, has to be a one and done thing. He’s sincerely praying to whoever is watching over him that he never has to feel the terror of confessing to anyone else again. It just has to be you.

That’s why he’s here, standing about as stiff as a marble statue as he pushes a shaky finger to your doorbell, drawing his hand back swiftly as if it burned him. In a spurt of unexplainable confidence, Suna had asked if you wanted to hang out on Saturday, conveniently leaving out the part where he desperately wished for it to be more than just a hang out.

Earlier that morning, he’d been so close to chickening out that his sister, of all people, angrily dragged him to the nearest grocery store with a scowl.

“Don’t get her roses, it’s way too soon for that kind of flower!” She snapped, swatting Suna’s hand away from the bouquet.

“Daisies? Seriously? Are you a serious?”

It would be an utter lie if Suna did not admit that he had no idea what his sister was talking about. If love really is this complex, maybe he’s not the right person for it. Still, he finds himself lingering on the face you make when you laugh, the way you’re the first person that he never got sick of texting into the early hours of the morning, and how you’re the only person that could ever make him reconsider that puppy love and crushes might mean something more than he’d given them credit for.

After all, the way he felt for you is what people call love, isn’t it?

Suna grips the assorted bouquet of colorful flowers that his sister had deemed good enough, listening to the sound of your front door clicking open. He’s doomed, this is a bad idea, and yet it’s the only thing he wants to do.

How’d you get to be so beautiful? Suna wonders that a lot, in fact, it makes him angry that you’d just waltzed into his life like you did. It’s absolutely unfair, he was a dead man before he could even put up a fight. Falling in love with you was unavoidable from the beginning, but he seems to be just okay with that.

“Oh!” Your eyes go wide, nonplussed by the bouquet in his hands, “Flowers for me?” You snicker, your laughter is probably the worst thing that could possibly happen right now, it makes everything ten times harder to do.

“Yeah, um-” Rintaro sputters, nervously darting his eyes around for the answer to your question. He knew the answer. You knew the answer.

Hastily, he holds it out for you to take, which you do without hesitation, “What’s the occasion?”

Suna Rintaro knows two more things for certain: firstly, he’ll die if he doesn’t tell you how he feels, and secondly, you’re smart enough to have already surmised exactly what the occasion is.

Everything his sister told him, advisories of “That’s too creepy!” and “Don’t be so blunt about it!” all fly to the back of his mind in exchange for the only things he can really manage to say.

“Well,” Suna starts, cringing at the way his voice cracks, he knows this is about to be the world’s worst confession.

“I, um, I got these for you because I think you’re really pretty,” you watch in bewilderment as his cheeks gradually saturate into a bright red, “but, that’s not just it!” Suna blurts, “You’re also really smart, and funny, and you’re probably the only person I could sit and talk to for hours without getting annoyed by-” Now, Suna is blatantly breaking the third piece of advice his sister had given him, don’t ramble.

“And, I really look forward to talking to you, even if it’s about boring stuff, I still want to hear you talk all day. Which, saying that out loud is really embarrassing for me, but, not because I’m embarrassed of you, I’m just embarrassed that I’m so-”

“Suna-” you interrupt, the cellophane wrap of the bouquet you held crackles as you lower it to see him better. You watch, partially in amusement, while the boy across from you struggles to comprehend everything he just said.

Suna is done for when it comes to you, this was priorly understood, so why is it so hard to put it into words if it’s all he ever thinks about? “I like you a lot…is that okay?” He finally sighs, pale green eyes flickering up to search for a silent answer in the faltering of your expression.

“That’s okay.” You nod, dumbfounded by the sudden declaration, each word was spoken with more confidence than anything you’ve ever heard him say before.

“Cool.” Suna nods dumbly.

“Cool.”

#suna x reader #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintaro #suna haikyuu #suna rintarou #haikyuu x reader #suna fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu #suna rintaro haikyuu #☀️.summer event 2k24 #🍓.suna

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runnning-outof-time · 6 months ago

Text

Up Until You | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: yes by anonymous

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: In which Tommy Shelby realizes that he might just have someone he wants to live for.

Warnings: smoking, slight season 2 spoilers

Word Count: 3698

A/N: boy does it feel good to post a story again! I hope there won’t be as big a gap between this and my next one … I promise I’m getting these requests written! Anon, I hope this is as angsty as you were hoping….the prompt you sent is bolded. Enjoy! :)

A/N 2: I almost forgot! I wanted to give a shoutout to the lovely Mars @toms-cherry-trees for helping me so much in the planning process of this fic…I don’t think it would have gotten finished if it weren’t for you!

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! — COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Comment/Message Me if you’d like to be tagged!

(Y/N) sent Ada Shelby a look that asked 'where is he?' the second the latter opened the door. Ada answered with a head nod to the left, which conveyed the answer of 'he's in there'. A glance over the Shelby woman's shoulder confirmed it - Tommy was sitting at the table in the front room. His back was to the door, so he hadn't noticed that she arrived...yet.

She sent Ada an appreciative smile before she quietly walked into the room, hoping that Tommy wouldn't hear her footsteps. He seemed to be too engrossed in his writing for that to happen though. She stood there for a few moments, carefully peering over his shoulder as he finished the sentence he was writing.

He paused then, and it gave (Y/N) the ability to read the sentence he'd just written:

In the event of my own death, I want the following facts to be known...

Reading those words made her mind go blank. "You're actually going through with it?" she asked without thinking.

The sudden sound of someone's voice made Tommy quickly turn in his chair. He was already on edge with the day's events taking up his mind, so this unexpected visitor had caught him completely off guard. It took a few moments for it to register that (Y/N) was standing in front of him. When it did, he cursed under his breath before letting out a huff.

"When'd you get here, eh?" he asked, his eyebrows raised as he placed his hands on his thighs.

"Just now. I couldn't find you at home. The guys hadn't left for the derby though, so I figured you'd be here," she explained her reasoning. "You don't have to go through with this, Tommy," she then circled back, not letting him switch topics.

"I have to," his response cut right to the point. He didn't have time to get into a discussion about it.

"What about the other options you've shared with me? The options that don't include you having to come face to face with this man in order to get the job done," she reminded him of the talks they've had in the past, hoping that doing so would get him to change his mind.

"There's no time for those other options, (Y/N). The derby's today. The plan's been laid out," he wasn't biting.

Silence hung in the air as they stared at each other. (Y/N) was hoping that he'd change his mind. She waited on bated breath, waiting for him to announce that to her. But he stayed silent.

She couldn't wait any longer. "So that's it then?" she asked, incredulousness present in her voice. The fact that he wasn't even trying to entertain a conversation about this was breaking her heart. "You're just going to write your note and practically seal your death with it? And what'll that mean for me?" she was unable to stop herself from getting choked up as she uttered her final question. She didn't want to think about her life without him, but it was staring her dead in the face at the moment.

"The note's just precautionary, love," he attempted to assure her. Her expression didn't change, her brow was now furrowed and it was noticeable that she was biting on her bottom lip; most likely to stop her tears. Tommy finally stood then, coming face to face with her in hopes that his proximity would wash some of her worry away. "I'll be fine," he added in a low voice, blindly searching for her hands so that he could hold them.

"You can't promise that," she responded, her voice coming out as a shaky whisper. It was taking everything she had not to burst out into tears in this moment. She'd always associated his closeness with safety...whenever Tommy was close, (Y/N) knew she could never get hurt. But now his closeness was making her hurt even more.

"It'll be fine," he repeated, squeezing her hands.

"It's really been decided?" she still couldn't accept it.

"It has," he nodded.

(Y/N) sighed at his confirmation. Her gaze dropped to the floor as she pulled her hands from his grasp. She then wrapped her arms tightly around her frame as she turned and took a few steps towards the windows.

"(Y/N)." Her name left Tommy's lips as a breath. He knew he was fighting a losing battle here. "Come on, love. Look at me," he gently coaxed her. She stood still. "It'll be fine," he tried once more to assure her.

That set her off. She whipped around within a second of hearing his statement. There was now a fire burning in her watery eyes. "Do not say those three words again," she snapped at him, "do not continue to try and reassure me with things that you cannot guarantee will happen. You know how dangerous this plan is, Thomas. Please don't try and act like It isn't. You wouldn't be sat here writing a note for someone to find in the event of your death if you didn't think that there was a possibility of it happening," she spoke her mind, letting her emotions go free as all of the pent up worry flowed out.

"(Y/N)," he spoke her name again, in a different tone this time. He didn't need this lecture. Not right now. "This is what needs to be done," he continued in a low voice, staying stoic in hopes that it would alleviate the situation quicker.

But (Y/N) no longer cared about what he did or didn't need at that moment, and if anything, his statement just made her even more upset.

"It doesn't need to be done like this," she insisted, "you don't need to sign your life away for a contract...for a man who doesn't give a single care about the stakes that have been raised here so long as he isn't the one carrying out the deed. Any other person would be trying to find a way to take themselves out of the equation but you've decided to put yourself in the driver's seat."

(Y/N) felt like she was talking in circles. Hell, she probably was, but she was doing so in hopes that something would be set off inside of him. She wanted him to realize that there was still time to think up another plan; one that didn't include him being placed in harm's way.

"What is it that you want from all of this?" he asked her, his brows furrowed together.

"You, Tommy!" she exclaimed, her frustration shining clear through her words. "I want you to fight! I want you to realize that things don't need to play out this way; that you can still put another plan into play!" she paused, taking a deep breath as she swiped at the tears that had escaped her eyes. "I want you to come home when all of this is finished," her voice was level again as she spoke the final sentence. Her eyes were locked onto his, hoping that he'd realize how much this was affecting her.

Their eyes stayed locked and a few moments passed before Tommy looked down at the ground. He exhaled a sigh as he brought his hand up to the back of his neck. "It's already done," he said, his voice void of any tone.

"Then I guess I'm done," the words left (Y/N)'s mouth before she could stop them. She didn't take them back though. She was tired of fighting in a one-sided fight. It was so obvious that Tommy had his mind made up. Nothing was going to change it at this point. But yet she still held onto that sliver of hope. She hoped that her showing up today and speaking her piece would get him to change his mind.

"(Y/N)..." Tommy looked up again as her name fell from his lips, shock now present in his expression.

"I can't be here a moment longer. I can't stand in front of a man who is acting as if he's already dead. I need to leave."

Her words were spoken softly, but Tommy heard them loud and clear. He said nothing as she moved to the archway, expecting her to leave without another word. To his surprise, she turned around just before she was about to exit the room.

"I didn't believe that love existed until you came along, Tommy. But you showed me how wrong I was for thinking that way; for thinking that I'd never experience something like that. And now you've just decided not only your future, but mine as well. I can't stay here and watch it play out. I'm not sure if I'll be home when you return. I just..." (Y/N) stopped speaking as the words got caught in her throat. She let out a shaky breath, tears welling up in her eyes once more.

All words escaped her at that moment, and she shook her head instead, deciding that finishing her declaration would be a lost cause anyway. She couldn't even bear to look at him again, too afraid that she'd actually break down. So instead she turned and made her way to the door of the home, opening it and leaving without looking back.

The sun was now shining down on her. It was an absolutely lovely day in London, but yet she was having one of the worst in her life. She decided to go for a walk, revisiting the streets that still felt like home even though she'd made the move to Birmingham several months ago.

(Y/N) knew Ada Shelby before she knew Tommy. She'd met her when Ada had moved into the next door apartment with her adorable son, Karl. The two women quickly became friends, spending a lot of time together right up until the day Ada had been found and hurt for being a Shelby.

Contact stopped briefly as Ada had moved out of the apartment, but things continued like nothing had even happened when Ada sent (Y/N) a letter that contained her new address. The two frequently spent time together in the front room of the lovely new home, sipping tea and talking about the day's events in front of the fire.

Ada's house was where (Y/N) first met Tommy. Surprise riddled their first encounter. Ada had stepped away to tend to Karl when Tommy came knocking on the door. (Y/N), being the friend that she was, didn't hesitate in opening it. The sight she was greeted with took her breath away. Thankfully Ada had returned from Karl's room, or who knows how long the two would have been standing in the doorway, staring at each other. She even joked about the fact that they couldn't seem to keep their eyes off of each other. Of course it didn't help that Tommy had forgotten what it was he was even there for for the first few minutes of his visit.

That wasn't the last time (Y/N) saw Tommy. The two became very close very quickly. It was like they had known each other forever; like there was this pull present between them that neither could ignore. Things also got serious pretty quickly. So serious that (Y/N) was packing up her things and leaving her London apartment for Small Heath after only six months of knowing Tommy.

Some might think it was crazy; that things were moving much too fast. But (Y/N) had never felt so sure of doing something in her life.

Which made what was happening now hurt so much more. But she needed to keep walking. She'd done the right thing.

Tommy placed a cigarette between his lips and lit it with a match before taking a deep drag from it and exhaling slowly. The sealed letter sat on the table in front of him. He stared at it for a few moments before pressing the thumb and index fingers of his free hand against his eyelids, hoping it would alleviate some of the pressure he'd been feeling.

"I made you up some tea," Ada's voice broke through the silence, and the sound of glass being set on the table he was working at made Tommy lift his head again.

He nodded as a thank you before bringing the cigarette back up to his lips again. He then stamped it out in the ashtray while exhaling the smoke slowly.

"I heard everything that was said, you know," she said then, moving over to one of the chairs so that she could sit. "What were you thinking, Tommy?" she asked with raised eyebrows, her eyes zeroed in on her brother.

Tommy sighed, rolling his eyes as he looked off to the far wall. He didn't need anymore of this right now.

"She was my friend first. She was the only person who cared about me when I moved here. She helped me through a lot. I'm not going to let you ruin her for your stupid ambitions," Ada had no problem speaking her mind and letting him know how wrong he was for responding to (Y/N) the way he did.

Tommy pulled the timepiece from his pocket and checked it before letting out a sigh and returning it back to its place. "I need to leave," he told Ada before lifting the cup and downing the beverage in one go. In hindsight he was thankful that it wasn’t scorching hot. "Thanks for the tea," he said to her as he set the empty cup back down.

Nothing more was said as Tommy stood from the chair he was sitting on. He looked to Ada as he pulled the jacket he'd been wearing back on over his shoulders. She was glaring at him, hoping that he'd have something - anything - more to add to the conversation.

It became apparent that he didn't when he started for the archway. So Ada left him with one last statement: "please don't let her go, Tommy. We all need her." There was a quiet desperation now present in her eyes, one Tommy wasn't sure what to say in response to.

So he nodded and turned to exit the home, heading right to the car he parked a few streets down.

Truthfully what he wanted to do right now was head back to Birmingham and stop (Y/N) from leaving, to tell her that she was more important than any plan he could ever put into place. He knew she was justified in saying everything that she had.

But it was too late to do that now. Tommy knew that there'd be men searching for him by the end of the day if he stepped away from the plan this late into it. At least now he had some sort of control over the outcome of his life. And he was going to try like hell to stay alive...because now he had someone to stay alive for.

The house on Watery Lane was quiet when Tommy stepped into it later that evening. The fire in the main room was still lit, but he couldn't quite remember if they'd put enough wood on to keep it going prior to leaving that morning. So judging (Y/N)'s presence based on that could have surely given false hope.

He took his overcoat off and hung it on one of the hooks by the door. The suit jacket followed after, and he draped that over one of the chairs in the sitting room as he walked through it.

No one was downstairs, but he hadn't expected anyone to be at this time of night.

He quietly walked up the steps and down the hall to the bedroom that he and (Y/N) shared. He paused at the closed door, taking a moment both to steady himself; to regroup from the day's events, and to prepare himself for the possibility that he may be opening the door to an empty room.

After inhaling and exhaling deeply, he turned the knob and opened the door. The first thing he noticed was the lit candle on the bedside table. Seeing it made all of his worries dissipate. (Y/N) had a habit of lighting them and then falling asleep.

Looking slightly to the right, he found the woman that hadn't left his mind since she left him in Ada's sitting room. She was laying on her side, facing the wall, telling him that she was sleeping.

Slowly, quietly he began ridding himself of his outer layers. It wasn't until he moved over to the dresser that he noticed the bags sitting on the floor. They were packed. It was easy to see that, even in the candlelight. He looked back to (Y/N) then, putting the pieces together in his mind. She was going to leave...but something made her stay.

Now only wearing his undergarments, he made his way over to the bed. Hesitation overcame him again. Should he lay with her? Should he go back downstairs? She was in her spot, tucked up against the wall so that enough room was present for him on the small bed they shared.

A few moments passed before he made his decision, lifting the covers and slowly slipping underneath them. He laid on his back for a short time before turning onto his side so that he was facing her sleeping frame. Another bout of hesitation filled him, but he didn't let it stick for too long as he gently draped his arm over her midsection.

That was when (Y/N) let out the shaky breath she'd been holding in from the moment she heard the door open. She was awake the entire time.

"Are you still awake, love?" Tommy asked in a whisper.

"Yes," she breathed out, her voice wavering.

"You've been crying," he pointed out, able to read her like an open book.

"I didn't know if I'd see you again," she answered him, choking up as she spoke.

"I'm here," he assured her, his arm wrapping tighter around her body.

(Y/N) didn't say anything in response. Instead tears fell from her eyes as she held her breath, trying not to make it noticeable that she was crying. But Tommy was able to feel how her body was shaking.

"Turn and look at me," he said quietly, a soft demand that took her a few moments to comply with. Her tear-stained face became visible in the candlelight when she did, and seeing it broke Tommy's heart. "C'mere," he breathed, allowing her to move even closer to him so that he could engulf her in his embrace.

"No one knew where you were, Tommy," she whispered once she was finally able to get words out again. "I thought..." she paused, not even wanting to say what she was thinking, "I thought the worst."

"I'm sorry you had to think that way, darlin'," he murmured, stroking the back of her head slowly. He held her close until her body stopped shaking, giving her the time she needed. He didn't speak until she lifted her head from the crook of his neck. "Better?" he asked in a whisper, peering down to see that her eyes were still closed.

"Slightly," she breathed out a response. "I'm relieved that you're home. Is..." she paused, seeming like she was looking for the words to say next, "is it finished?"

"It's finished," he answered in a definitive tone, nodding his head as best he could.

(Y/N) let out a shaky breath upon hearing his response, feeling as if the rest of the weight had lifted from her chest. She slowly opened her eyes and looked right into his. "I was going to leave," she started, watching Tommy's brows furrow together in the candlelight, "but I realized that this is part of the life I chose with you. That this is the type of work you carry out, and that I can either fight you on it or support you the best that I could. I also realized that my desire to be with you is so much greater than the worry that your work creates." Her eyes didn't stray from his as she spoke. Watching his hardened blue irises soften as he took in her words was enough to fill her heart to the brim with love.

Tommy took a moment to soak in her words. He moved his hand from behind her head so that he could gently trace the line of her jaw with his thumb. Taking in a deep breath, he knew what he had to do. Searching her eyes for a few seconds longer, he thought of the words he wanted to say.

"I thought I could lose everything and be totally fine with it," he began, clearing his throat in hopes that she wouldn't notice the fact that his voice was breaking. She noticed. "But then you came along...and now I see how wrong I was."

"Tommy," she breathed, taken back by his admission.

"I had nothing to live for up until you, (Y/N)," he admitted, not holding anything back now, "and I promise you now that things will change... that there’ll be no more of these plans. I don't want to have the possibility of an outcome that doesn't include you in it."

(Y/N)'s mind was swirling. It had been a rollercoaster of a day, she still couldn't quite believe the change of events that had happened. But she was so very thankful that things had ended up with Tommy by her side again.

"I love you, Tommy," she whispered, a smile tugging the corners of her lips upwards.

"I love you, (Y/N)," he repeated the phrase, his expression mirroring hers as he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers in a passionate kiss.

Now that he had her again, he knew that he could never let her go. What he'd told Michael earlier in the evening would soon be true: he was going to ask (Y/N) to marry him.

MASTERLIST

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21

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winterrrnight · 5 months ago

Text

mystery of love

PAIRING: husband!soft!rafe cameron x wife!fem!reader

SUMMARY: rafe started to get more busy with his business, and you couldn’t help but start to feel neglected by him.

WARNINGS: soft soft SOFT rafe, he's so lovesick for his wife it is crazy (no it isn’t that’s practically canon), slightly suggestive content but it’s written with a fluffy intent, usage of nicknames like goddess & baby, and just loads of sweetness over all, very very slight angst (?) and intentional use of lower case

EDITH SPEAKS: this fic is more on this, you can’t look at that picture and not think that’s rafe, cause it is! thank you so so much to @glimodejun who commented their idea which prompted me to write this 🫶🏼 i was supposed to write a blurb but I got carried away, clearly, and this is pushing 2k words 😁

anyways, please please reblog if you liked this and feedback is always appreciated! thank you so much for reading 🫧

navigation || join my taglist || requests || series masterlist

oh will wonders ever cease? blessed be the mystery of love

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

it was starting to get a little out of hand.

you always knew how important rafe’s business was to him, especially after he inherited it all from his father. the burgeoning fire in him to make the business bigger and better than it had ever been and be so much more powerful than his father, who couldn’t give him an ounce of attention or praise his entire childhood was one of the biggest things fueling his motivation.

that, and wanting to give you everything you could possibly need in great abundance so that you never felt you were at a loss of anything under his roof.

so you knew he tended to sometimes spend longer hours at the office, to get everything done, to not let a single mistake fall into place in front of his eyes, everything perfectly coordinated and right up to his standards.

he always made sure to call you or send you a text if he was going to be late, informing you why he was going to be late, the tentative time he should be back home, with a small ‘i love you’ and ‘i miss you’ accompanied with the occasional red heart he only ever used for you.

since the past few days, unfortunately you hadn’t been receiving the texts you always did. if you did, it was short, something along the lines of ‘i’ll be late’. but no explanation as to exactly what had been keeping him busy, and no words of endearment at all. he started coming home really late, most of the times when you had tried your best to stay up till he comes home, but the exhaustion would always defeat him in the race and you’d be out like a light.

and the next morning wasn’t close to being better than the night. if you were lucky, you would catch him getting ready for work, and you would always prompt him to stay for at least breakfast. but he would be in a hurry and shake his head no, saying something like ‘i have to leave, it’s important’ and leaving you with a chaste kiss to your lips.

whatever you’d ask, his answers to you would be short, concise and quick, and you felt as if you’re catching the subtle drift of vexation and annoyance in his tone. was it actually there or were you just imagining it? you didn’t know.

and if you weren’t lucky, you wouldn’t even get to see him leave. by the time you would be up, you would only feel the cold wrinkled sheets next to you, the faint scent of him lingering in the air as a burning memory of the love of your life.

this specific night, exactly one week after since the first day this peculiar behavior of his started, you were seated on the edge of the bed after a shower, applying your lotion on your arms as you prepared yourself for another night of waiting for rafe, falling asleep in the process, and letting it be a mystery solved only by some higher power if you would see him in the morning or not.

as you were rubbing the lotion into your skin, you couldn’t help your wandering mind. how were you supposed to deal with this situation? were you supposed to confront him and demand answers? or were you supposed to tread slowly? you knew you were nearing the end of the american fiscal year; 30th of september being right around the corner. it involved loads of financial and accounting work, preparing end-of-year accounts and statements, and what not. so him being busy felt justified. but he should be able to spare a moment to at least send you a proper text, shouldn’t he?

no, you shake your head. you’re his wife, for god’s sake. you shouldn’t be reducing your worth down to some text. heck, you should be getting proper calls from him. you’ve been so wonderfully patient, not complaining for a second for the past week. the least you can get is a proper conversation with him.

as you made up your mind firmly, your thoughts were cut through firmly when the door to your bedroom opened. you looked up to see rafe entering inside the room, his blazer off and resting on his shoulder, and his sleeves messily rolled up to his elbows.

“hey,” he muttered as he closed the door behind him, keeping his bag on the side and disappearing behind the washroom door.

“hey,” you said quietly, your gaze fixed on the floor as you heard the washroom door close. you remained seated on the edge of the bed, clad in a satin black robe which he swore made you look even more of a goddess than you already did as you waited for him to come out.

you heard the shower run inside for some time, after which the door opened and you were greeted with rafe sporting a pair of grey sweatpants, his upper body bare with some water droplets still trickling down his skin.

as he came out, he saw you in the same position at the edge of the bed as before. “hey why aren’t you going to sleep hm?” he asked as he busied himself with applying his moisturizer to his face.

“no reason,” you muttered, your back to him as you kept your gaze down at your feet.

rafe was very quick to catch the dejection in your voice, and before you knew it, he was making his way around the bed to you, standing right in front of you as he looked down at you.

“baby, look up please,” he murmured softly, one of his hand coming to rest on your cheek.

you lifted your head up to meet his gaze, your eyelids heavy as you look up at him through your lashes. “yeah?” you mumbled.

rafe exhaled softly at your bleak tone. he sank down on his knees in front of you, his gaze coming to your level.

“listen baby,” he sighed softly, placing both his hands on your thighs right below the hem of the robe. “I… I haven’t been the best husband the past week and I’m… so so sorry about that,”

his heartfelt words reached your ears and caused your eyes to widen, your mind started to work away the gears to process his words.

“I haven’t been giving you the attention and love I vowed to give you on day one,” he whispered looking deep in your eyes, his own eyes softened to such an extent it had you melting completely. “I haven’t been communicating well with you I…” he muttered, running one hand over his prickly buzzed hair, “I didn’t mean to do that baby I’m so sorry…”

you wanted to say something, anything, for that matter, but you were rendered completely speechless when you started feeling him press kisses over your thighs.

“I hope you can forgive me,” he whispered into your skin, “I hope you can forgive me for everything I did… I’ll make it up to you I promise…”

your lips parted to let out shuddering gasps as you felt him slowly move the satin of your robe up to reveal more of your thighs, his lips pressing kisses against your inner thighs and trailing over your outer thighs.

“I’m so sorry… so sorry, my goddess…” he whispered. “i won’t ever do this again… you’re my top priority, always, and there will never be a second where you don’t feel that way…”

his words left a searing mark on your skin, his lips trailing up to your left hip bone. one of his hands came to rest on your right hip, rubbing gentle circles onto your hip bone through the satin of your robe, and his other hand shifted your robe even higher to grant him more access to your skin. his lips landed on your hip bone and he pressed the most tender kisses along the bone, a soft gasp escaping your lips at his actions. your hand came to rest on the side of his face, your head leaning back as you felt the sensations of his lips on your sensitive hip bone thrum all throughout your body, lighting up each and every nerve that constituted you.

“I love you so much…” he whispered against your skin, starting to gently suck on your skin, his eyes fluttering shut. a hum of pleasure tumbled past your lips, your own eyelids getting heavier. “I love you so so much darling and I’m…” his lips started to trail over your lower abdomen, pressing kisses through the soft satin of your robe that still covered your upper half, “I’m never making this mistake ever again I promise... please forgive me…” he pleaded, his lips making over to your other hip bone and kissing on it, before gently sucking on it the same way he did earlier.

“you only deserve the best…” he murmured, lips trailing a path down to your inner thigh again. “just the best… cause you are so amazing…” he whispered, nipping on the soft skin of your inner thigh. your fingers curled over the nape of his neck to give you some leverage, soft gasps leaving your lips, your eyelashes fluttering, and your chest starting to heave from every kiss and nip of his lips and teeth.

his both hands now rested on the sides of your thighs as they gently kneaded into the flesh and his lips peppered insistent kisses all over your inner thighs. he looked up from your thighs up to you, a pleading expression in his eyes, his lips slightly parted as breaths escaped them.

“please forgive me, my beautiful goddess…” he implored, his voice a mere whisper. “please please forgive me, I’ll never do the same I promise…”

you looked down at him, your fingers trailing to the side of his face to gently cup his cheek. he snuggled into the warmth of your hand almost immediately, his eyes closing for a moment as he let out a soft sigh, letting his lips press a chaste kiss to your palm.

“I forgive you, rafe…” you whispered.

that made him look up at you, his eyes widened and the pleading expression draining out to be replaced with a hopeful one.

“yeah? you do?” he asked, squeezing your thighs in return.

“yeah,” you whispered back, giving him a small smile as you trailed your fingers to the side of his neck, gently scratching your nails against it. he let out a soft exhale at the sensation, letting his head drop to your thighs as your fingers made their way to the back of his neck, continuing the scratching motion. he almost purred in your lap at the feeling, nestling his face into your thighs.

“thank you…” he whispered against your skin. “I won’t disappoint you again, I promise,”

you let out a gentle sigh as you looked at his buried face in your thighs, your expression softening more.

“I know you won’t,” you mumbled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his head.

that night, he held you in his arms and kept you pressed against him, his warmth lulling you in the most beautiful slumber you had experienced in that past week. he made sure you fell asleep comfortably, his lips always pressing random kisses to whatever part of your skin he could succumb to, whispered sweet nothings stumbling past his lips to your ears to alleviate you to great heights.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

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blkkizzat · 1 year ago

Text

ღ𝐖𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟!𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢 ღ

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏 𝐨𝐟 𝟐

18+ONLY MDNI

kizzatober series: Thrilling Ghouls

Kinktober Prompts: Breeding, Dacryphilia, Aphrodisiac Synopsis: Catching him in a lie, you suspect your boyfriend Toji is cheating on you. Where does he keep disappearing to once a month that keeps him away for often days at a time. You're fed up. You've made up your mind this time to follow him but are you ready for what you discover? CW: AU. Most warnings for P2 really. Slightly dubcon-y. Bully/mean/teasing Toji. Bratty/crazy gf reader. Rough sex. Drug ref. Werewolf transformation but this isn't that furry shit lol. Omegaverse themes I borrow heavily from but I'm not following the rules of it faithfully (I don't even know them myself lol) WC: 4k of 10.4k Lightly black fem coded but no descriptors.

A/N: This one took a bit longer expected as I recently caught a cold, boooo! But I'm realizing even in my fics I intend to be PWPs I still need to set the mood and a plot springs forth lmfao. Plus I had fun actually trying to write a bit of horror in too! I decided to split into 2 parts because of the delay already.

Big shout out to an irl bestie @sairotonin for drawing a sketch of Werewolf!Toji for her inktober for me to use in my gfx. TY sis you a real one!!

Enjoy!

“In the next 500ft, turn left.”

This was going to be the third goddamn left the car navigation told you to take in the last 20 minutes. You were ninety-nine percent sure you had been going in circles and were now lost as shit at night in the middle of nowhere.

You glance at your phone sitting in the dash-caddy.

One measly bar.

The further you traveled, the more the service bars were dwindling as well.

Shit, you had 3 full bars last time you looked.

Opting to keep ahead straight instead of turning, you cross-check your destination via the spy monitoring app you had shamelessly downloaded on your boyfriend Toji’s phone.

Toji’s current location was 45 miles outside of the city and it had been a good 10 miles since you last saw any kind of highway. The area you were in was a mix between nature reserve and private property so not even GPS could pin down the exact directions to his whereabouts.

Sigh.

You had never wanted to be That Girl™.

You know, the ones who would sneak peaks at their boyfriend’s phones, were super insecure about any interaction their man had with the opposite sex and ran down on them while they were out to catch them in the act of cheating.

But you were a woman at the end of her rope.

What else could you do?

For a few days every month Toji would simply disappear.

The various excuses he gave usually centered around his work. You didn’t know exactly what he did, but you knew enough to know most of it was dangerous and wasn’t what good society would consider legal.

Toji had scolded you before for asking too many details.

For your own safety.

He would say with an arrogant smirk.

But even when working you had always been able to get a hold of him after a few hours. It was just this one particular job he would completely drop off the face of the earth for. It annoyed you, sure, but Toij’s work never followed him home so you didn't have complaints.

That is, until you had finally moved-in with him and Megumi.

Truly, you were already like a little family.

Megumi, who had just recently started preschool, had been quick to warm up to you ever since you and Toji first introduced you to him a few months prior to that.

But living together pushed things to a whole other level. Megumi would follow you around like a lost pup and often opted to sit in your lap rather than Toji’s.

Not to mention throw a near fit if you weren’t the one to tuck him in goodnight. (Toji would never admit he was a bit jealous and would only grumble slightly that it was less of a hassle for him if you did it so you should just do it from now on).

You never even realized you had such a mothering instinct, being on the same page as Toji about no more kids, until you looked into those little emerald eyes of Gumi’s and absolutely melted.

You had grown so close that the little boy unknowingly let it slip once while Toji was MIA on that job, that he was glad Daddy went on his daddy breaks once a month so you both could have fun together by yourselves.

You tried to keep your reactions in check for Megumi but that revelation completely shook you.

A “daddy break” didn’t sound much like a work trip to you which spiked your anxiety and caused you to spiral into overthinking.

Did he need a break from you too as well?

You couldn't very well grill a 4-year old and you didn’t have the nerve to just ask Toji straight out.

So you did the only thing you could think of at the time and that was to complain to your good friend Tsukumo over drinks a few days later after Toji returned.

Tsukumo, who always seemed to have the wrong answer for everything, simply told you to do the ‘smart’ thing and download a monitoring app on his phone that would log is calls, texts and whereabouts.

You initially balked at her.

Tracking Toji had never crossed your mind.

Outside of this, Toji had never given you a reason to doubt him and you wanted to respect his privacy and trust, especially trust as you knew he didn’t let many people get close to him at all.

True, he wasn’t exactly the most forthcoming man you ever dated. You were well aware he had his many skeletons as well as ex-hookups. But Toji for the most part had been content with his gambling then coming home to you and Megumi.

He wasn’t the type to ‘run the streets with the boys (he had no boys tbh), you had only ever known him to have the occasional drink with Shiu when he wasn’t out gambling.

You had almost refused to do such a thing… That is until Tsukumo posed the question:

What’s more important Y/N– your peace of mind or his trust?

And Y/N, is trust really what’s important here at all if he is in fact already taking advantage of yours?

Touché.

Tsukumo had you there.

“Besides, you think that old dinosaur is even going to notice an extra app on his phone in the first place?”

Tsukumo quipped, throwing back a shot of sake and jiggling the empty container at the bartender for more.

“You just got rid of his old flip phone last year. I’m surprised he can even use a touchscreen without punching a hole through it. Just delete the app once you’ve seen what you needed to see.”

Tsukumo gave you this advice like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Ignoring her digs at Toji’s age, and maybe it was the 3 bottles of sake the both of you had blown through in the last hour, but you were starting to think she might be onto something.

“Mmm, on second thought, might as well keep it on there. Men like Fushiguro are dogs that need to be kept on tight leashes.”

Tsukumo grinned at you with a wink before turning her attention back to the bartender.

You still didn’t know then if you would actually go through with it.

Nevertheless, here you are now at 11:15 PM at night about to pull up on your boyfriend thanks to Tsukumo’s advice to find out once and for all if Toji was cheating on you.

You had dropped Megumi off at his best friend Yuji’s for the night, thanking Yuji’s parents for watching him and feeling guilty for lying to them that you and Toji had a date night.

Almost there.

You are within 2 miles of arriving at the vicinity of where the monitoring app says Toji is.

However, your anxieties were getting the best of you as you drove in near tears.

You turn up your music louder, the booming bass distracting you from how much darker and creepier it gets the further you drive into the wooded area.

Sighing again, you had no idea how this would turn out but you knew the result would determine whether you would be listening to Positions by Ariana Grande or Playing Games by Summer Walker on repeat during the drive back.

☠

Barely a half mile later, you see the engine light of your car flash. The pungent odor of burning oil fills the car as a plume of smoke escapes out from under the hood.

Goddamn it, Toji.

“Y/N, make sure to go get ‘er an oil change while I’m gone. Ya got like 15 good miles left on ‘er.” Toji’s voice rang in your mind.

Well the big lunk he was wrong.

You had driven at least 33 miles so far.

You mentally cussed him again.

Toji was the one who was supposed to change your oil, he used your car more than you did. Only opting to use his own blacked out unplated and unlicensed car for jobs like he was on now.

You wouldn’t have even left the house if it wasn’t for his sketchy cheating headass.

Okay, so you hadn’t exactly confirmed that just yet, but you were pissed and until you confirmed otherwise, right now he was a cheater and everything about this situation was his fault.

Pulling over to the side of the dirt road before you caused further damage to your car, you weighed your options.

Option 1: Call AAA

You had zero bars though.

Fuck.

Option 2: Wait here in the safety of the car until morning.

You would still have zero bars and you might miss Toji, making this whole trip fruitless.

If he beat you home in the morning and found you gone with Megumi at Yuji’s with the sad excuse for a 'date night' lie you gave, you would never hear the end of it.

He would taunt you into oblivion that your silly ass drove all the way up here unto the woods for your car to break down cause you were too busy being a psycho bitch to remember to get an oil change.

Option 3: Walk on foot the rest of the way to Toji.

Really the only viable option you had.

It was a good 12 miles or so back to the highway, you didn’t know how many turns you had made since then and you doubt you could make it back on foot anyway. If you were going to walk a few miles to get service again you might as well walk to where Toji was.

Sure if he wasn’t cheating you would still get ridiculed, but at least you could get a ride home.

And if he was cheating, you would hot wire his car (one of the few useful things he did teach you) and that motherfucker and his whore could find their own way home.

Resolving yourself to walk, you put on Toji's hoodie that fortunately was still in the backseat from him last using your car to go to the gym.

You really should have put more thought into planning this before you left. Besides Toji’s oversized worn hoodie that reached your mid-thighs all you were wearing was a thin white shirt and black spandex shorts.

You didn’t even have sneakers or boots, as you looked down at your fuzzy black slippers you mostly only wore outside to run short errands like dropping off Megumi at preschool or picking up groceries.

Thankfully, you did have a small flashlight in the glove compartment though in case of emergencies like this.

Flashlight in tow, you step outside of your stalled car and immediately suck in a worried breath as the weight of the chilly night settles over you like a heavy cloak.

You only have a mile and a half trek but the dirt road that stretches out before you looks endless as it disappears into the obscurity of the thick shroud of fog surrounding you.

The flashlight doesn’t do much to cut through the intense density of condensation. You had only made it a mere 20 feet from your car but you can just barely make out its faint outline.

Swallowing, you put on your bravest face and fix your gaze forward.

The reflections of your flashlight casts shifty patterns on the mist in your peripheral vision and you do your best to ignore the chill that creeps up your shoulders.

“Fuck you, Toji.”

You mumble half-heartedly, pulling the hood over head.

You didn’t really mean it though. Would-be-cheater or not more than anything you wished he was here with you now.

You were freezing, tired and all you could think about was how warm and safe you would feel in Toji’s arms. Even if you were mad at him.

You pick up the pace, wanting to get to him sooner.

Almost more unnerving than the fog itself, the forest around you is as quiet as a grave.

There are no chirps of crickets, nor hoots of owls.

Not even in the crisp cold of fall does the wind rustle through the trees, everything is silent.

The haunting nature around you seems to hold its breath as if it knows you're an unwelcome intruder who has trespassed too far.

You don’t dare peer into the trees which look taller in the darkness, closing in tightly on the dirt road. They are ghastly silhouettes of their former selves blocking any moonlight to help guide your way.

You shiver as you feel as if you are being watched from a distance.

The only noise you hear is the soft crunching of rocks and leaves beneath your feet with every unsure step you take forward.

You can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of dread as a stray tear runs down your cheek.

You couldn’t get to Toji soon enough.

Though you still didn’t have any service the GPS updated as much as it could in roaming, you were so close.

As you continue forward a shadow on the path catches your eye in the foggy distance.

Your heart quickens as you inch closer, your anticipation mingling with fear.

Shapes soon begin to take form and the harsh reality dawns upon you.

A pack of wolves.

Their shadowy figures coalesce before you through the fog as they take stock of you.

You start to feel queasy as you see their red-stained muzzles dripping with the blood of their latest kill. The grotesque carcass of a deer practically stripped to the bone lay lifeless under their enormous paws.

Their eyes, fierce and predatory, meet yours with a chilling intensity as the feeble beam of your flashlight washes over them. The deer, although large, you know is not enough to quell hunger from beasts of their size.

With a shaky breath you slowly retreat, not wanting to further agitate their already aggravated predatory senses.

Then you hear it.

From what seems to be the darkest reaches of the night, a sound reverberates from the trees, through the forest and beyond that's unlike anything you've ever heard before.

The howl that tears through the stillness is so chilling you instantly feel the lamentation that carries the weight of centuries of primal power down in the very marrow of your bones.

Even the wolves snap their heads to attention and bow their heads as if the sound announced the presence of a creature much higher on the food chain... something more ancient and malevolent…

...something terrifyingly unhuman.

The body racking shiver you experience is so intense it has you sprinting at full speed before your mind, frozen from fear, can even process you are moving.

You burst through the dense trees, leaving the road as your heart pounds like a drum in your chest and tears stream freely down your cheeks to soak the edge of Toji’s sweatshirt.

The tangled underbrush of the forest whips the soft skin of your legs and the forest itself seems to conspire against you as you navigate the obstacle course of branches, logs and large rocks all seemingly with a mission to slow you down.

You can hear the chilling howls of the wolves you saw on the road call out behind you, giving chase.

The sounds of their footfalls grow closer with every passing second.

Terrifying as they are, they hold no candle against the howl that sent you running and your body continues to propel you forward.

Panic frazzles your senses and you make the tragic error of trying to steal a glance back behind you before directly colliding with a large cedar.

Groaning from the impact you reel as you try to gather yourself, clinging to the tree for support.

You hear a twig snap behind you and you whirl around as you are faced with a largest gray wolf out of the pack who had been chasing you.

The alpha wolf’s teeth glint menacingly as their breath escapes in visible puffs in the frigid night air.

Too late to try to make a run for it again, you whimper as you resign yourself to your fate. You slid down the large tree to bury your face in your knees.

Was this it?

Was this how you died?

You weren’t even able to see Toji after coming all this way.

You also wanted to be able to hug Megumi one last time and maybe knock the daylights out of Tsukumo for her horrible ass idea.

But ultimately this was all your fault.

You could be snuggled up with Gumi on the sofa with snacks watching Anpanman but your dumbass had to go galavanting off into the middle of the woods like a fucking lunatic and now you’re about to be eaten by a wolf.

You could feel the wolf’s overbearing presence as it approached you but you couldn’t bear to look up. You’d rather spend your final moments thinking of Toji and Megumi.

Yet despite your impending doom, your head did snap up once you felt a rough tongue gently lick your ankles and curiously sniff at the ends of Toji's hoodie covering your legs.

The wolf was more than intimidating up close as its giant muzzle was the size of your entire head.

However the wolf regarded you cautiously like it almost recognized you before releasing its own chillingly deep howl and promptly running off.

Wait– T-The hell?!

You sat there at the trunk of the tree trying to process the interaction that just took place but you didn’t have much time to ponder as you heard something else approaching you rapidly.

The sound of snapping twigs and heavy, uneven footfalls don’t seem to be that of a wolf, renewing the sensation of dread through your body.

Your heart races in your chest as the ominous sounds of the being looming evermore closer become more pronounced.

From the shadows emerges a monstrous figure.

The fog doesn’t reach this deep into the forest and the moonlight that peeks between the trees glimmers on its enlarged taut muscles.

Its eyes, red, burn like fiery amber.

Fierce and resolute you can see them pierce through the darkness long before you can make out any features of the creature's face.

What you think upon first glance must be a demonic apparition from your worst nightmares ends up being–

Toji?!

As he steps into a beam of moonlight, the transformation before you is complete.

Toji’s once-human and feet hands have become formidable claws with nails like blades, his face remains mostly unchanged with the exception of his mouth which in his snarl reveals rows of gleaming, razor-sharp teeth.

He is still mostly human in appearance but you can tell he stands taller, nearly 8 feet.

The thicker body hair on his forearms bristles with raw power.

He was completely bare save for the tattered jeans barely hanging on his body that had torn from the sheer size of his enormous muscularity in this form.

Each step he takes towards you makes your heart skip a beat yet you stare transfixed, unable to look away and your tears increase.

Was this terrifying otherworldly apparition the boyfriend you had been searching for?

Time stands still in that haunting moment as Toji’s eyes bore into your soul with a predatory intensity.

His hunger and primal instincts radiates off of him like a palpable force.

“T-T-Toji?”

You cautiously inquire through your quiet sobs.

“Y/N?! What the fuck do you think y’er doing out here?”

Toji snarls back at you. His growl seems to cause the very atmosphere to vibrate and the earth beneath you quakes as your body involuntarily quivered with fear.

Toji thought he must have been losing his goddamn mind when he caught onto your scent earlier but here you were like a lost little lamb to the slaughter before him.

He came out onto the woods to be alone, away from civilization and away from you and Megumi during his monthly transformations.

It was safer that way, for all of you.

You had been fortunate the local wolf pack had acknowledged him as their Alpha and recognized his scent on you.

But there were far worse dangers in the forest besides them.

Toji wouldn’t be able to protect you like he was now.

Not with you needing protection from him too.

Protection from him as not only was it a full moon, it was a harvest moon, a mating moon.

The primal urge to rip you apart was only truncated by the more intense carnal urge to mate with you. Toji wanted to claim you as his and fuck you so hard into the girthy cedar behind you the entire tree would topple over by its roots.

He had wanted to claim you as his mate for a while now.

Even moved you in with him and Megumi as the final step but you couldn’t wait for that, could you?

You had managed to track him somehow all the way out here and throw his whole plan into the shitter.

He could barely control himself in this form as it is and now your scent, blubbering cries and the fucking harvest moon were sending him with full force into a fierce rut.

“T-Toji w-what is this!? W-what’s happened to you!? W-what are you doing out here?!”

Worry saturates your voice as you choke out your questions in rapid fire cries not giving him time to even respond.

Toji fights the predatory instinct in him who sees you as his prey and if your gaze wasn’t so focused on trying to read his face for answers you surely would have noticed him fully bricked near bursting out of his worn jeans.

You looked so appetizing.

He needed you.

However, Toji could tell your nerves were completely shot and the slightest twitch of his muscles toward you had you almost jumping out of your skin like a little bunny rabbit.

“Y-Y/N…”

His voice strained itself into a murmur as he attempted to do his best to lull you into some sort of security so he could explain things calmly to you.

Yet the way he was near salivating, drool dripping from his canines as he panted and towered over you did anything but make you feel secure.

You mistook his lust for bloodthirstiness.

“Just calm down. It’s OK.”

Toji needed you to be calm like he needed you to take steadier breaths if he was going to successfully win the tumultuous war he was fighting against his instincts to pounce on you.

There is an oppressive tension between the two of you and he can tell you are also fighting against your fight or flight reflexes.

Good girl.

It would be disastrous if you did something foolish, no telling what might happen then.

But unfortunately for the both of you, your fits of emotion and impulses are what had your crazy ass out here in the first place.

The pressure had officially gotten to you.

Toji’s lies, your car, the woods, the wolves, everything leading up to this point bubbled over because the last thing you wanted to be told right now was to ‘just calm down’.

You snapped.

“Ok? OK?! OKAY?!...TOJI WHAT THE FUCK ABOUT THIS IS O.K. RIGHT NOW!?”

You were practically hysterical as you yelled at him, momentarily forgetting your fears of Toji’s new form.

The trigger of being told to 'calm down' in a situation where you clearly had every right to feel every fucking emotion you wanted won out over everything else.

“MY CAR BROKE DOWN BECAUSE OF YOU DOING GOD KNOWS WHAT WITH WHOEVER THE FUCK OUT HERE, I LITERALLY WAS JUST CHASED BY WOLVES, ALMOST EATEN, AND Y-YOU… Y-YOU-”

A crackling snap came from above you and you realized Toji’s claws had completely ripped a large chunk out of the tree right above your head.

Your tantrum had in turn pushed him over the edge as well.

His irises flared intensely at you as you quivered under his gaze in fear.

He would have you but first, he would play with you a bit.

Things never happened the easy way with you.

Yet, that’s also exactly the way Toji liked it too. That's why he'd put up with you thus far.

A malevolent smirk dons Toji's features as his simple command issues an unsettling tremor running down into the depths of your being.

“Run.”

P2 HERE!

© ʙʟᴋᴋɪᴢᴢᴀᴛ 2023. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ, ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴏʀ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇꜱ ꜰɪᴄꜱ, ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇꜱ, & ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ. ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ ᴜɴʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀᴡɪꜱᴇ ꜱᴛᴀᴛᴇᴅ. ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ

A/N: Count on Tsukumo to always given the wrong fuckin’ advice. Lmfao! Or was it the right advice in this case? Hmm we will see what happens next!

Smutty goodness in the next part. This part was just to set the horror mood!

I promise this fic isn't as nearly as long as Ghostface!Choso. It's looking to be about 8k total and I have 3.5k of P2 finished lol.

Reblog if you are both submissive and breedable for Werewolf!Toji, but likes and comments are appreciated all the same!

ღTaglistღ:

@callm3senpaii @arxliana @jujutsualy @luxiethefairy @fredswh0re @missphanosaur18 @moon-esque @briefrebelfanalmond @nikkitc0703 & @dancingwithdeities (prone bone coming in p2 just for u sweets!) LMK below if you would like to be tagged in P2. For all kizzatober fic tags comment on m.list.

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luvrxbunny · 1 year ago

Text

black oak

Pairing: Perv?BSF!Eddie Munson x Innocent!Fem!Reader

Prompt: Voyeurism

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smoking (weed ofc),m! masturbation, f! masturbation, pillow humping, cum in pants (lmk if I forgot anything)

WC: 1.6k

A/N: im cutting it so close w these fics (i made this literally yesterday)

This started happening more recently now that you’re hanging out with Eddie more. You hang out with him after school and he walks you home, but whenever he leaves there's a consuming heat between your legs. It’s more tame when you’re with him, like a subtle hum in the back of your mind but once he leaves you; your mind hyper-fixates on him.

You’re trying to sleep but Eddie is in your head. You writhe around in your bed as you think about everything he is; brave, kind, caring, and sweet. You think about his hands, his hair, his rings, and his voice. You wiggle around in bed until your pillow makes its way between your thighs. Your hips stutter against it and you freeze, looking around the room as if someone may be watching you before letting yourself succumb to the pleasure of the fabric against your slit.

You tighten your thighs around the pillow, tilting your hips up to press your most sensitive spot against the pillow. You mutter timid curses under your breath, hugging your teddy bear to your chest with your eyes shut tight as you picture his face reluctantly. You always feel so dirty picturing him like this, thinking of him in this way. You can’t help but replay all the times you’ve seen him lick his lips, his pink, wet, tongue peeking from between them, the way he bites into the bottom one when trying to nail a certain chord. You can feel yourself getting even wetter between your legs, whining as you soak your pillow. It’s not enough.

You whine as you push yourself into a sitting position, straddling the pillow with a curve in your back to press yourself perfectly into it. Your head falls back at the stimulation and your eyelids flutter, you slowly roll your head forward and notice your drapes and window slightly open. You consider closing them, not wanting anyone to see, to hear but you feel a certain rush in your stomach at the exposure and shyly decide to leave them be.

Outside your window, is Eddie. He does this almost every night, this is the first time he’s seen this though. He walks you home after you hang out with him, and if the hangout has left something to be desired he simply climbs into his tree and watches you. There is this beautiful black oak tree that sits outside your window. If Eddie wanted more of you, but couldn’t hang out with you more- due to your very strict parent’s ruling- he suffered silently. He asked you if you could stay longer one time; the sad look in your eyes as you explained how upset your parents would be, broke his heart, so he never asked again.

However, when you showed him the pretty tree beside your bedroom, right outside your bedroom window- there was only one thought in his head. So it became a routine, if he didn’t have plans, and remembered to bring a lighter with his joint. He’ll light up and just sit on his branch outside your window. He usually witnesses you doing your school work, writing in your diary, and talking with your stuffed animals. If he’s lucky you’ll change your clothes there, although the way you change actually lets him see nothing. Tonight? He can’t believe his eyes.

His joint has long gone out, still in between his fingers as the bulge grows in his pants and his eyes bulge out at you. He’s fighting an internal battle, his hands are twitching to touch himself but he feels guilty intruding on such a private moment. He’s thought about you in this way before- he tries not to but mostly just cannot help himself. You’re so sweet, so caring toward him, so loving that he can’t help but feel this way for you. When you sit on his bed in your skirt, forgetting to tuck it under your butt- your panties pressed right into his bed… he’s hard in an instant. He’s thought of you while jerking off more times than he could count but in all his creativity he could’ve never imagined himself in a scenario as lucky as this.

He quickly puts the joint in his pocket and fumbles with his pants. He’s whining to no one as he undoes his belt. “Keep goin’, sweetheart. Ooh, so good, baby.” He shoves his hand into his underwear, quickly wrapping his fingers around his cock, pretending that it’s you. He’s already thrusting his hips into his fist as he watches you reach blindly for something to hug into your chest as your hips speed up. Eddie’s hand kicks up to match your pace and a moan rips itself from his throat. He watches you bite into your lip and your eyebrows twitch before you mutter something he wishes he could hear.

He zeros in on your hips, the way they move over your pillow, how desperately he wishes that was him. He pulls his hand away from his cock with a groan and rubs himself through his jeans. It’s less stimulating but it lets him pretend that it’s you and that makes it feel better than his hands ever could. His eyes roll back into his head as his hands find the same rhythm as your hips and he moans your name into the night air. He’s not worried about being caught, he can only think of you. He forces his eyes open to watch as your hips begin to stutter in their pace. He lets out a pained moan, wishing he could help you keep it steady, help you cum as fast, and as hard as you could.

You’re muttering something again, your volume climbing as you near your peak. Eddie’s legs are shaking as he holds off for you, wanting to cum at the same time. He watches you drop your teddy and place your hands on the pillow, holding it in place as you furrow your brows and grind harder, humping your pillow as your lips part into an ‘O’ shape. His stomach tenses painfully as he moans your name to no one, under his breath, just for him as he imagines you above him. The utterance of your name from his lips just brings him closer to the edge as he begins to hear a muffled translation of what your moans sound like. He shuffles himself a bit closer to your window, trying to hear as much of you as he can. He hears you saying something, a name, one he prays is his because he couldn’t handle the heartbreak of hearing someone else’s fall from your lips at a time like this.

He thinks about what you’d sound like saying his name as a moan, a groan, or even a whine or whimper if he’s lucky. He tries to fit his name into the blurry shape of whatever sound is falling from your mouth and it fits brutally well. He has to take his hands away, thrusting up into the air blindly, eyes rolled back and shut as your noises assault his senses. He can’t believe how well his name fits in your mouth, like your lips were made to form around it. “Eddie.” He can hear it, you’d say it high and breathy, on the cusp of cumming all over him, all around him, however you want. “Ed- Eddie” His eyes snap open to watch your lips as they form over his name again, “Eddie, please!” Your voice kicks up into a whine and your hips stutter to a stop as you fold over, shaking as you cum all over your pillow.

Eddie is painting the inside of his jeans, his hips thrusting erratically into his hand as he bites his lip so hard he’s scared he’ll take a chunk out of it. Your name and images of you are racing through his head, they do every time he cums, he just can’t help it anymore. He thinks about how you said his name, how it sounded from your lips… the fact that you’re thinking of him when you hump your pillow at night.

A strangled groan-whimper shoves its way from his chest as his balls tighten even more, producing as much cum as they can for you. His head slams back against the tree painfully and his eyes cross as he worships you in his mind, thanking you for making him cum, for letting him touch himself for you. His eyes open back up slowly, his hand overstimulating himself gently as you slowly overstimulate yourself, rocking your hips lazily over the pillow, your thighs twitching every so often. He watches you topple over onto your bed, leaving the pillow between your legs as you reach out for a different teddy, a smile spreading over your face when you find what you’re looking for.

He’s watching you through lidded eyes, his hips still twitching slightly. His brows furrow until he sees what you’re after, his heart swells and warms his chest. It’s a teddy bear he won for you at a fair, he’s wearing a leather jacket and sunglasses, you said he reminded you of Eddie.

He feels that little tingle he gets in his nose he gets when he’s about to cry and he tries his best to hold back as he starts climbing out of the tree, he always turns into a sap when he cums for you. He’s always wishing you loved him the way he loves you but for the first time, these tears are more positive. He peeks up at you one more time before dropping out of the tree and he gets to see you kiss ‘little Eddie’ on his head and snuggle him to your chest. He’s starting to actually think he may have a chance with you, and it’s the best feeling in the world.

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed it, here's the rest of my Kinktober Works, and be sure to check out my Main Masterlist!!

#eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #perv!eddie x reader #perv!eddie munson

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withleeknow · 7 months ago

Note

i think you'll do well with requests bc they seem to be popular in the fanfic side of tumblr! but even if it doesn't take off that quick, at least that'll be less overwhelming bc some ppl can be so demanding....anyways, i hope the best for you in this new journey haha 💝

me personally, i'm not very creative so i'll leave the details to the professionals (aka you) but i'd like to req something from minho's pov. i think those type of stories are SEVERELY lacking in the lee know fics department lol 🥲 it could be a childhood friends to lovers where he is pining for oc but he has a lot of self esteem issues and thinks she's not interested in him. also a big softie and just all around head over heels for her. you can add your magic! (if this is even remotely interesting enough to write lol i just want a minho pov tbh shsjjfjdjdj 😭)

light years.

summary: three times minho bites his tongue, and one time you don't let him.

pairing: minho x f!reader genre/warnings: childhood friends to lovers, fluff, angst; kissing, cursing, so much pining i could hurl. could this have been more edited? oh absolutely lmao but i actually don't hate it sooo this is what we're going with :p word count: 4.2k note: to the first anon, thank you so much for your kind words! :') and i'm sorry that this took me longer than expected. i was trying to figure out what i wanted to write for your prompt but then i got the second request with the song and i thought they would go nicely together hehehehe i hope the both of you enjoy thissss

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / request masterlist / ko-fi

I'm not sure what it means to love But I blink kind of slow around you I'm not sure what it means to love But I'll grow wherever you do What that means, I don't have a clue

I'm Not Sure - Margeaux Beylier

One.

Minho is 18 years old, and he doesn't know what love is, doesn't really care for it at all.

While his friends are out there wrapped in the clutches of young love - the kind that blooms with stolen glances in classrooms and sticky notes passed in secrecy, Minho finds it simply unnecessary. He doesn't understand it whenever Hyunjin whines about not having a girlfriend because they're still young, they've got all the time in the world for romance later down the line. It's not the end of the world like Hyunjin laments it is.

Minho has his own life to prioritize. College is starting after the summer and he still needs to figure out how he's going to cope with the absence of his cats once he moves away. He's got dancing and he's got his other hobbies to keep him fulfilled and occupied.

And above all, he's got you.

You're getting ready for your sister's wedding when it happens for the first time. Or rather, when it doesn't happen.

You step back into the room where Minho is waiting for you on the sofa, his gaze resting idly on the screen of his phone, scrolling absentmindedly through his friends' group chat even though he has no interest in whatever they're talking about. You cough lightly to indicate your return after disappearing into the bathroom minutes prior to change into your dress. He looks up upon your soft announcement, and when his eyes settle on you, he swears it feels like an invisible force has collided with his chest and knocked all of the air from his lungs.

Throughout all his years of knowing you, inseparable from childhood until now, Minho has never seen you like this - all dolled up with your hair falling over your collarbones, cascading over your shoulders in soft waves that beckons him to run his fingers through. The light blue dress hugs you beautifully, the silky material catching the light from outside the window every time you shift on your feet under his steady gaze.

"So...?" you ask, moving your arms awkwardly behind your back like you're not sure what to do with them. "What do you think?"

What does he think?

Minho thinks you might just be the prettiest girl in the world. He thinks he must have been an idiot his whole life, to have spent most of his waking hours beside you and not once has he noticed how truly breathtaking you are. He thinks about the feeling that spreads in the pit of his stomach, sends warmth throughout his body and makes his heartbeat race a million miles an hours.

Your best friend blinks slowly as he savors the warmth that he's never experienced before. It's similar to the feeling you get when you're sitting under the shade of a big tree on a summer's day. It's comparable to the satisfied tranquility you get after you've just finished a hearty meal. A little hazy in your contentment.

It's not until you probe with a pointed Well? that Minho realizes he's been staring at you in silence for a few minutes now. He swallows thickly, willing away the words that he wants to say but they get lodged in his throat. He reckons it's weird to verbalize them, because it's not how the two of you function. You don't often utter that kind of sentiment out loud and he doesn't either. Never have and likely never will.

In the end, he bites his tongue. "You look presentable," is what he settles on.

You roll your eyes, then reward him with a laugh.

Minho doesn't care about love. He only cares about you.

Two.

Minho is 21 years old, and he's gotten used to his heart beating erratically whenever he's in your presence.

Three years flew by in the blink of an eye, and graduation is just around the corner. You've always done well in school, straight A student with a track record that most could only dream to have. You put in the hours, you do the work. You deserve everything that you've achieved.

But it's been a challenging few months for you both, being seniors and all. He's had to watch you struggle to stay on top of your classes while also having to slave over a thesis 24/7 until you were sure it was perfect. It reduced you to tears a few times, and Minho was there to hold your hand through it all.

He held you in his comforting embrace when you wanted to give up. He made you dinner when you were too immersed in your schoolwork to notice that you'd forgotten to eat. He was your biggest support system; if it weren't for him, you don't know if you would've made it through.

It's hot outside today, a little unbearable but not uncharacteristic for June. Minho waits in a familiar hallway, the same hall that he's walked past for hundreds of times over the past few years, the same hall that he won't see again once he holds a degree in his hands in only a few weeks' time.

As he sits on an old wooden bench, he bounces his leg as if he's one of the people in the classrooms that line the hall. He doesn't have to be on campus today, but here he is regardless because you're scheduled for your thesis defense this morning. You're in one of those rooms, probably also bouncing your leg from the overwhelming nerves. Minutes feel like hours; you went in there a while ago after he had sent you off with a pat on the head and an encouraging Godspeed.

He's nervous for you, but he's sure that you'll do great. Years of hard work accumulating in what must be the most important moment of your academic journey. You even stayed up all night last night, refusing to sleep a wink just to revise your arguments and talking points.

Minho's head snaps up instantly as he hears a door creak open, the sound of it reverberating throughout the empty hallway like a gong announcing your return from battle. It takes you a few seconds to step out of the room and into his line of sight. He can't see you very well with all this distance between you, but he can still make out the way your frame is visibly shaking with every step you take. He rises to his feet, and you break into a sprint.

He opens his arms wide - a hug of consolation or congratulations, he doesn't know yet - but he still can't seem to brace himself for the collision. You run straight into his embrace, your warms wounding around his middle tightly. Minho feels your tremors, hears your sniffles from where you're pressing your cheek against his shoulder.

"How did it go?" he asks gently.

You start crying then, and he doesn't know if the tears that his shirt is soaking up are those of joy or of grief, but he holds you through it anyway. He swears he can feel every single beat of your heart, hammering so wildly as you're pressed against him like you could sink into him if only you'd push just a little bit more.

"I passed," you say in between sobs. "I got an A."

Minho heaves out the breath that he's been holding ever since you entered that classroom, but it's not like he had any doubt about it to begin with. He hugs you tighter than he's ever had before, and he loves you just the same.

You two must look so dramatic, all wrapped up together in your own little bubble, but who the fuck cares? Although, when another student passes by and coughs, you do break away from him, a little embarrassed for a second.

Even with your hair all mussed up and your flushed cheeks stained with tears, he still thinks you look the same as you did when you were 18 at your sister's wedding. The prettiest girl in the world.

Minho wipes away the wetness on your face with his sleeves, then swipes with gentle thumbs at the moisture that's gathered along your lash lines.

"Holy fucking shit," you breathe out, your shoulders sagging with evident relief, so much more relaxed now that you've done it. "I can't believe it's finally over."

Your best friend can't entirely agree, because he's always believed in you. He's had faith in you since the beginning, since you were mere children laughing and crying together on the playground. You were meant to do great things, this was always crystal clear to Minho.

I love you, he thinks as he smooths a hand over your hair, his chest swelling with nothing but pride and fondness for you. You did so well.

But it's not what he ends up telling you. He swallows it down, washes it away with a dose of regret and longing. He's still not the type to express sappy sentiments, and he's grown accustomed to adoring you only in secret.

"Let's go," he says softly. "I'll buy you dinner."

Minho is still young, he's still got his whole life ahead of him, but he knows what love is now. He knows that it's you.

Three.

Minho is 24 years old, and he finds it hard to make peace with the fact that you're starting to get out there, that you're finally going on dates now that academics aren't taking up most of your time anymore.

To be fair, none of the guys you've seen have been graced with a second date, and Minho thanks his lucky stars whenever you return from a night out and text him a simple Not it. He knows that it wasn't your decision in the first place, that your mom and your sister have been setting you up on blind dates because they want to see you bring a boyfriend home.

You complain about it all the time, whining about how you're not interested but your family is adamant on it. Minho is well aware, and yet, there's a part of him that's a little shaken, because what if? What if the universe miscalculates and the stars misalign just enough in his misfortune for you to cross paths with someone who's absolutely perfect for you? Someone who's a good man that can give you what you've always deserved to have.

He really doesn't know what he would do if that happens. When it happens?

He doesn't know why you're here tonight either, sitting on a chair on the other side of his kitchen island in a pretty dress when you're supposed to be going on a date in half an hour. The guy apparently works for a big record label, some producer that your sister knows through a friend of a friend.

You look indifferent, kind of bored, as you watch Minho makes dinner for himself. "You seem miserable," he comments, taking a quick break from chopping vegetables to glance up at you. You do look a bit miserable, but you're still the most beautiful in his eyes.

You throw your head back and groan loudly, "Because I am. God, I don't know why they keep making me do this. These guys always give nothing."

"Please elaborate."

"They're all boring suits with tedious routines." you say, and as absentminded as your tone is, it sounds a little pointed to Minho's ears. "They don't make me laugh."

Do they not make you laugh, or do they not make you laugh more than I can?

"Then don't go," he snickers, though there's no humor in his voice at all. "These guys sound like duds. Just tell your sister to fuck off."

"Do you mean that? Do you really think I shouldn't go?"

And there's something in your gaze, something so suddenly expectant in the way you're looking at him that makes Minho wonder. If he says yes, would you listen? Would you stay here with him? Would you stay here for him?

I'm serious. Don't go. You can have this and I'll make myself ramyeon. Just be here with me.

You both stare at each other on either side of his kitchen island for an infinite stretch of time. He feels like your eyes are trying to tell him something that he can't decipher, as if they're sending him signals in a language that he never learned how to read.

For a second there, he indulges himself. He pretends that you're only asking because you want to hear him say it. That you want him to put up a fight and not let you go.

But he bites his tongue because it's become a bad habit. A habit that he can't shake because he simply doesn't have the courage to do so. Because if you stay here tonight, looking like that under the cozy lighting of his living room, he might just spill his secrets and he wouldn't be able to take it when reality comes crashing down and you end up telling him that you've never felt the same way.

"I'm kidding," he musters up the words, and tries to plaster on a smile for your sake, even though he's not sure if you really believe it. "You're dressed up anyway. Go and get a free fancy dinner, if anything."

Minho knows what love is, but his love has always lived in the shadows, his longing has only existed in the dark that it terrifies him just thinking about it meeting the light.

Four.

Minho is 26 years old, and he's been a coward for the better part of a decade.

Maybe he's loved you for even longer, but he has spent the past eight years head over heels in love with you, and not once has he done anything about it. Never been able to gather enough courage to ask you out, never even hinted at his feelings for you. He loves you from his place by your side and yet, you've never known.

He loves you the most, but he loves you in the worst way that a person can love another - he loves you in silence.

You're the prettiest girl in the world, and Lee Minho is a pathetic coward.

All these years, he's kept quiet and for what? There's always a spot reserved for him right next to you and yet, it feels like he can only watch you from the sidelines, far away from where it really matters, because he doesn't think he can fit into your life the way he truly wants. You taught him what love was, and love, to Minho, is unattainable. Something he can spend the rest of his life yearning for but won't ever have.

Love hurts. Sometimes, all love does is hurt.

"I would've taken you to a nice restaurant if you asked, you know," he says, putting a chocolate cupcake on the coffee table in front of you before he sits down next to you on the fluffy carpet of your living room. He pulls out a candle next, placing it right in the center of the sweet treat.

Your gaze follows his hand has he lights the candle, your eyes glinting with excitement as though you're a child again and your favorite day of the year is still your birthday. The tiny flame curves and bends, dancing to a rhythm that looks like only you can hear. You watch the candle like it's magic, while Minho just watches you, thinking the same thing.

He watches as you close your eyes and clasp your hands together for the theatrics, then you blow out the flame seconds later with a swift breath.

You turn to him with a smile, "I don't need a nice restaurant. This is perfect."

He blinks, and there's that warmth simmering in his belly again. He first felt it when he was 18, and he feels it now. He feels it almost every moment that he spends with you, and he reckons it's only reasonable, because you're his home personified and love can still be beautiful even when it hurts. There's his heart racing again, but that's nothing new to Minho.

He muses over your words. Perfect. Just one simple word is enough to get his hopes up in a way that it really shouldn't.

Your definition of a birthday well spent is in your cozy apartment, eating takeout pizza with your best friend. Perfect, to you, is him baking you a singular chocolate cupcake upon your request and being with him within these four walls, where his fingers occasionally brush yours when you sit next to each other.

Oh, Minho would follow you to the ends of the earth if you asked him to.

He clears his throat lightly, breaking away from your gaze that's full of gratitude and childlike wonder. "What did you wish for?"

"I'm not gonna tell you. It won't come true then."

Wishes don't come true anyway, he thinks, but obviously he won't say it out loud to you, and on your birthday no less. Instead, he diverts his attention to the cupcake, subconsciously tonguing his cheek as he takes a small chunk of the sweet and offers it to you.

You let him feed you even though your eyes are narrowed. "What was that look?" you ask.

"What look?"

"You had a look."

"No, I didn't," Minho insists.

"Yes, you did. You wanted to say something, didn't you?"

He shrugs, popping a piece of cupcake into his own mouth. The answer is yes, he did want to say something, but if you want to get technical about it, then he's wanted to say something for years now. He asks you the same thing every birthday, What did you wish for?, and you would refuse to tell him every time.

"Wishes don't come true," he verbalizes it this time, with a voice that's lighthearted on purpose despite knowing that you wouldn't take it that seriously either way.

You roll your eyes. "Now you're just being pessimistic."

"What? I'm speaking from experience."

"You've never had a birthday wish come true?"

"My birthday wishes haven't come true since I was 18."

Minho feels your eyes on the side of his face, and when you remain quiet for a beat too long, he turns his attention back to you. "What?"

"How do you know they didn't come true?"

"Because..."

Because you've been my wish for almost a decade now. I didn't use to believe in wishes but I always believed in you. Every year, I wish for you to look at me the way I look at you, but it never comes true. Every year, I wish that you would love me back, not just as a friend, but you never do. You are my wish, but you're also the very reason why I know wishes don't come true.

Then he's laughing, but nothing is remotely funny about this. It's your birthday and suddenly all he can think about is how much it stings to be reminded that you're the only thing he'll ever wish for, and still, maybe this simple wish is absurd enough that the universe will never grant him what he truly wants.

"Never mind," he says. "This whole thing is silly."

There he goes, biting his tongue again. Coward.

"No, what were you going to say?"

"You're so bossy today," Minho pretends to complain.

"It's my birthday. Tell me," you press on, and suddenly he can't find any appreciation for your stubbornness that he's adored all his life. You keep your eyes fixed on him when all he wants to do is hide from you.

What is he supposed to say to you? What can he even say? That he's spent more than a third of his life hopelessly enamored with you? That the second he utters any of this out loud, he knows it will be the end of your friendship?

And Minho can't afford to lose you. Even if it hurts, he would rather let love hurt than live in the absence of you.

"Eat your cupcake," he says instead. "I'll get some ice cream."

He makes a move to get up, and the bad habit further cements its place in his subconscious. He's always running away from you when you're supposed to be the person he can be the most open with. This is how he knows he doesn't deserve you.

But you reach for his wrist and it makes him still, the feeling of your hand sliding downward to hold onto his fingers. He's used to the feeling of your smaller hand in his, used to how he can hear his heartbeat in his ears whenever you lace your fingers together.

What he isn't accustomed to, is the look on your face this very second, akin to the one you wore two years ago as you sat on the other side of his kitchen island, asking him if you should go.

Expectant and hopeful; you're holding something back too.

The words that slip from your lips are ones that he never imagined you would say to him.

"I've waited for you long enough."

His poor excuse of retrieving ice cream is all but forgotten as he stares at you, doe-eyed and despairingly confused. "What is that supposed to mean?"

You take a breath, and Minho wonders if this is how he looked every time he wanted to say something only to back down in the end.

Then it all comes rushing out.

"For a while, I thought there might've been something between us, something more than just friendship. I don't know why I thought that, I just had a feeling. On the day of our graduation, I thought you would finally kiss me or at least say something, but you didn't. Whenever I went on dates, I wanted you to tell me not to go, that I was wasting my time with those guys that couldn't make me laugh because they weren't you. You never said anything, you never did anything. I waited every birthday just like I waited tonight. You're still holding it over me and I'm starting to wonder if you really love me too or if I imagined everything this whole time."

Your voice gets smaller toward the end, almost as if the uncertainty takes over you the longer he remains silent. He doesn't have the words for it, doesn't really have the mental capacity to process all of what you just professed. Years and years of longing, of hoping that you would come running into his arms the same way you did on the morning of your thesis defense, and it turns out that you were always the one waiting for him to reach you.

If you really love me too.

Your fingers start to loosen around his but Minho doesn't let you get away, not now and not ever again. Not when he finally knows that he's burnt up enough of your time just because he was too stuck in his head to see that you were holding a hand out for him all along.

He pulls you into his orbit and he likes to imagine that somewhere out there in the infinite universe, two stars collide when he kisses you for the first time, long overdue but still heavenly nonetheless.

He's crying but you don't seem to mind the tears. You're kissing him back and it's really all that matters. He can't think straight but he adores you to the point that his lungs ache.

"I love you," he mumbles against your lips. The sentiment comes out clumsy, half coherent but wholeheartedly sincere. "I'm sorry. I love you, I love you, fuck, I love you."

You're the one who breaks the kiss first, with your hand on his chest gently pushing him away. Panic instantly shoots through him like a lightning strike. These are the words he's been holding back for years, did he not even say them right? Did he fuck things up yet again?

You brush the tears from his cheeks, your voice so impossibly soft when you ask, "Do you mean it?"

Minho splinters into a million pieces, of course he does.

Your name falls from his lips, sounding like a prayer, like the most tender plea that's ever been uttered, "I love you the most. I'm so in love with you that it hurts. I've been yours for so long and I never said anything. Fuck, I-I'm sorry. I love you so much. I'm sorry. I-"

You bring his face to yours once more, shushing him with a kiss that makes him putty in your hands. You tell him that it's okay, and you kiss him like you forgive him. The world could be ending right now, and he doesn't think that either of you would even care very much.

Because you're the only wish of his life, and you kiss him as though you want to make up for the lost years. Because Minho feels like he's 18 again and you're the most beautiful girl in the world, wearing a smile that leaves him breathless in the most wonderful way possible.

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