#I can’t even say ‘okay again’ because I never have been. it’s almost like I was born broken | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shanastoryteller · 4 hours ago

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Dean is taking too long in the basement.

He should have been right behind him, but he isn’t. Sam gets the kids out and goes running back downstairs, gun held in front of him, which ends up being pointless. The rawhead is head.

For a moment, he thinks Dean is too.

He’s pale and cold in the water and Sam sees the tazer and knows exactly what happened and if his brother is dead, he doesn’t care about personal gain or consequences or any of that shit, he’s brining him back no matter what.

But his pulse flutters weak and too fast under his fingers and Sam doesn’t even spare a moment for relief before he’s shouting, “CHRIS! CHRIS! I need you!”

Nothing happens.

Fear clogs his throat. “Paige! Wyatt! Leo!”

He never bothers the others. He’s trained with them, even fought with them while he was at Stanford, but at the end of the day he’s just another witch and Chris is his whitelighter. But his brother is dying.

No one comes.

He calls 911 then, because as long as Dean isn’t dead then he can be healed, and he’ll worry about what’s going on with the Halliwells later.

The doctors can’t do anything, Dean’s already resigned himself to death, and no one’s answering his calls.

He’s pacing in the hall outside of his brother’s room, not wanting Dean to see him unraveling but not able to bring himself to go too far away. It’s not like he’s going to drop dead the second Sam looks away, he knows that.

He knows that.

It doesn’t matter if no one’s answering his calls. He knows other witches, he can track down another whitelighter if he has to. Even then, whitelighter healing is the best solution, but not the only one. He’s loathe to attempt a healing spell on his brother, just in case it goes wrong, but he knows the stasis ones well enough. Dean won’t like being put in a glass case like Snow White, but it’ll keep him alive while Sam finds a solution.

“Sam!”

He turns to see Chris striding toward him and he should be relieved, he is relieved, but the terror and stress he’s been managing since yesterday all course through him at once and come out as rage. He grabs the front of Chris’s shirt and slams him into the wall, thankful there’s no one around. “Where the hell have you been?”

Chris doesn’t fight him, not that it would do him much good to try. Chris may be the stronger witch, but Sam can hand him his ass easily. “Sam-”

“Dean electrocuted himself saving children,” he says, “He almost died! He – they said – his heart–” It’s almost too much for him all over again, but then he notices the blood down Chris’s neck, the smell of smoke clinging to his clothes, the bone deep exhaustion that Chris is so good at hiding from everyone except for him and Wyatt and occasionally Phoebe. “Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry,” he says, and Sam wonders if his grip is pressing him down or holding him up. “There was a demon attack, we were in the underworld. They had Peyton, we didn’t,” he shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m your whitelighter, I should have–”

“Shut up,” Sam says gently. He pushes Chris’s hair aside, but whatever wound left the blood is long gone. “You’re not just my whitelighter. You’re my friend. I know you wouldn’t not answer for no reason, sorry, I just. It’s Dean.”

He offers him a weak grin. “Yeah, I know. Older brothers, right? Always causing problems.”

Chris knows that better than most.

“Sam, I can’t heal him here,” he says quietly.

“I know,” Sam says. “Secrecy, mortals, I get it. I’ll get him out of here and to the motel, then I’ll call you, alright?"

“Alright,” Chris says, then frowns. “What are you going to tell him? He’s going to have questions.”

“He’ll get over it,” Sam says firmly. “I wouldn’t expose you guys like that.”

Chris shrugs. “I mean, I get why you don’t want to tell him, with your dad and everything, but he does have a right to know. Just because his powers are bound doesn’t mean he’s not a witch too.”

Sam stares.

He frowns. “What?”

“You,” he starts, then changes tracks. “Dean’s a witch?”

Now Chris is the one staring. “Of course he is. It runs in families. If you’re a witch, Dean’s a witch. He’s just had his powers bound and you haven’t.”

“But,” he starts. “Why?”

He shrugs. “You were too young. Doing it before the child’s first birthday can lead to, uh, some strange results.”

Sam understands that him being a witch descended from Melinda Warren means his mother was a witch, but he’d never really thought about it before. She knew what he was, what Dean was, and had planned to keep it from them forever. If she hadn’t died when he was six months old, she would have bound his powers too.

He doesn’t know how to feel about that. He doesn’t have the space to figure it out now. “Okay. Well, that’s probably a conversation more appropriate for when he doesn’t have a heart condition. Go, clean up, I’ll call you when we’re ready.” Chris nods, but before he goes Sam grabs his wrist. “Hey. Peyton’s okay, right?”

He grins. “She’s good. And maybe next time she won’t think it’s a good idea to sneak to the underworld alone.”

Knowing Peyton, it probably won’t be much of a deterrent.

Dean isn’t afraid of dying.

It’s just that this is a really bad time.

Dad’s missing, the demon that killed their mother is after Sam’s girlfriend, never mind what the hell is going on with Sam and the weirdo vision he’d had about their house. Vision. It’s enough for sweat to prick out over his skin in worry.

And now this, him frying his heart and leaving Sam on his own, the one thing he never wanted to do.

“Hey.”

He looks up, trying to force a smirk, but it falls off and he’s just left blinking. Sam’s lost the stubborn fragility he had before, smiling at him like everything’s going to be fine. Maybe it will be. There’s a jump in his chest that he thinks might be hope and not his heart giving out on him.

“We’re getting out of here,” Sam says, slapping his leg. “AMA, come on, you know the drill.”

“Alright,” he says, bemused. If he’s going to die, he hadn’t been all that keen to do it in a hospital bed anyway.

The doctor is less than impressed. Dean lets do Sam do all the talking and eventually the doctor rounds on him and demands, “Why are you doing this? It makes no sense!”

He actually has no idea why he’s doing this, so he just shrugs. “If my brother says we’re going, then we’re going.”

Which is apparently not the right answer by the way he goes white to the lips, but Sam smiles at him, so he really can’t bring himself to care.

They eventually get out there, Sam helping him from the wheelchair to the Impala, and being back in his baby, even in the passenger side, is another hit of relief. Of course they reach a second problem when they get to the motel and Dean realizes he’s not certain he can make it to the door.

Sam rolls his eyes, parking the car as close to the room as they can get, and says, “Don’t be a baby. I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.”

He considers arguing against it, but he’s exhausted, there’s no one around, and he’s already lost a significant amount of big brother credibility by getting fried in the first place.

“Shut up,” he mutters, but only rolls his eyes before looping an arm around Sam’s neck. He grimaces when Sam gets an arm under his knees, lifting him up with at least a grunt of effort. He’s kind of irritated that his baby brother can lift him this easily at all, even though it’s not exactly a surprise. Sam’s grown up a lot since he left for Stanford, adding inches of height and muscle, and it’s not exactly like he was a weakling when he left. Still, being carried by his little brother like a princess is almost as bad for his ego as nearly dying in the first place.

Sam doesn’t comment on it, however, easing him down on the bed closest to the door, even though he’d be a speed bump at best to anything coming after them. It sends a well of fondness through him that he expresses through a scowl.

“Lay down and keep your eyes shut, okay?” Sam says. “No matter what you hear or feel.”

Dean blinks at him. He figured Sam had a plan, but he hadn’t expected it to be so immediate. “Why? What are you doing?”

“Not letting you die,” he answers promptly. “Don’t argue with me. It’s not going to hurt. Just trust me for five minutes, okay?”

He’s been trusting Sam for a lot longer than five minutes. “Fine, whatever.”

He lays down on his own, because he can at least do that, and Sam doesn’t look nervous or worried or guilty, so whatever thing he’s about to try is probably fine. Although he really has no idea what the hell Sam thinks he’s going to pull out that can fix his heart, but he closes his eyes and waits.

There’s the sound of the door opening and closing, which he hadn’t expected. A moment later it opens again, but there are two sets of footsteps. He tenses. “Sam?”

“It’s alright,” Sam says, his large hand settling warm and comfortable on Dean’s shoulder. “Just relax.”

Relax? How the hell does Sam expect him to relax when –

There’s a hand on his chest, one he doesn’t recognize, and he barely keeps from leaping off the bed. Then there’s a warmth, something comforting, like being held by his mother or his dad’s proud look or how it feels every time Sam reaches for him. Then he’s breathing in, chest expanding comfortably in a way it hasn’t since he was electrocuted. He’s not cold anymore, not exhausted, the creeping feeling of death chasing him whisked away in a matter of seconds.

It leaves him terrified.

“Sam?” he says, and it takes everything to keep his eyes squeezed shut.

There’s the sound of the door opening and closing again and Sam says, “It’s okay, you’re okay,” and Dean’s eyes pop open and he’s shoving himself onto his feet.

It’s nothing, it’s easy, just like it was a day ago. Sam is smiling, relieved and okay, and Dean grabs onto his shoulders and shakes him. “What was that? Who was that? What did you do, Sammy?”

“A friend,” Sam says. “Dean, don’t worry, it didn’t cost me anything.”

He scoffs. “Right, because what – hoodoo priests and witches or whatever the hell that was just help out hunters from the goodness of their hearts? What did you do?”

Sam presses a hand to his chest, where his heart is now beating strong and sure in his chest, none of that stuttery crap of before. “I didn’t give anything. It’s okay. Sometimes people just help each other out because they’re good people, Dean. Like you do, when you saved those kids last night.”

“We saved those kids,” he corrects, because he wouldn’t have been able to both fight the rawhead and get the kids out on his own. He and Sam did it together.

“Right,” Sam says, mouth tugged up in the corner. “There’s no trick, no price. They’re someone I know that was willing to help, that’s all.”

Dean presses for more information, but Sam refuses to give it, and eventually he has to give it up. At least for now.

He’s glad he’s alive. He’s glad he won’t be leaving Sam alone.

And most of all, he’s glad he’s going to be around to pry out of Sam whatever secrets he’s keeping from him.

let the beltane fires burn

The Halliwells are descended from Melinda Warren, are the branch in which the greatest power resides, the line that would birth the most powerful witches to walk the earth.

It's not the only line.

Deanna knows about hunters, knows what they don’t know and don’t understand and that they killed her family. But Samuel didn’t kill her family. Samuel’s a good man who saves innocents, the same way she was raised to, if not how she was raised to do it.

She’s all alone. It’s not safe to be a witch.

The day before her wedding, she binds her powers.

When Mary is a year and a day, she does the same to her. It’s safer this way. Better. The world is so unkind to witches, even ones like them, born into it, with their power baked into their blood. Better to fight evil with bullets and knives than the strange terrible thing she’s destined to give her daughter, that her daughter is destined to pass along to her own daughters.

She never tells Samuel. There’s no reason to.

When Mary is old enough, when she’s talking of running and rebelling and all those things Samuel thinks will never come to pass and Deanna knows almost certainly will – running and rebelling is in her blood as surely as the magic, but there’s no binding potion for that – she tells her daughter what they are. What she’ll have to do to keep her future daughters safe, if she has them. It’s the only potion she ever teaches Mary how to brew, the only one she’ll ever need.

The day after Dean’s first birthday, Marry brews the potion and feeds it to him. He cries more after, doesn’t settle as quickly, and John worries and Mary reassures him and tells herself she’s done the right thing. Whatever it is that Dean feels he’s lost, he’s better off without it. She’s going to be normal. Her children are going to be normal.

She intends to do the same for Sammy, but she burns above his crib when he’s six months old.

John sees Sammy levitate a toy towards him when he’s two years old and shouts so loudly that he drops it, tears running down his face and wailing in the face of his father’s anger. Dean comes running from the other room and reaches for Sammy, letting his brother’s chubby fingers tangle in his shirt. “What’s wrong?” he asks, eyes wide.

He doesn’t answer, rubbing his hand over his face and heart pounding in his chest.

What did that demon do to his son?

What did it turn him into?

Is Sammy even human anymore?

He doesn’t react to salt, to holy water, to silver. John loses his temper every time something moves inexplicably and eventually it stops, by the time Sam’s in kindergarten he’s just like all the other kids.

John watches, fear and suspicion and something uglier caught up inside of him.

What is his son?

Sam figures out young that he’s a freak.

Dad and Dean just think he’s weak, just think he has nightmares, and he lets them. He only practices the telekinesis when he’s alone and every time he almost gathers the courage to tell his brother or father about it, to finally come clean, he’s viciously reminded how much they hate the things they hunt, how they’d never accept it, accept him, and as soon as he tells them what he is, he’ll lose them.

He doesn’t know what he is, really. Only that he’s not normal.

Eventually he stops seeing things in his sleep, instead getting them when he’s awake, more vivid and real than the monsters that plague his dreams. He sees people being hurt, people who need help, and it goes against everything he’s been taught to leave them to their fate.

But how can he explain it to his family? He can’t.

He’s thirteen the first time he sneaks out and saves a woman from one of his visions, finding her in the dark alley he’d seen her die in. He puts a bullet in the man’s chest, but it barely stops him, and then she and him both are getting a fireball thrown at them.

Sam shoves his hand in front of him, pushing back against the heat, refusing to die the same way his mother died.

The fireball returns to the man, catching him in the chest and he screams, disappearing into the fire until he’s nothing more than a smudge on the ground.

“Wow,” the woman breathes. Sam turns to her, trying to come up with some sort of explanation, when she continues, “I’ve never met a witch with active powers before.”

“I’m not a witch,” he says automatically, thinking of bargains made with demons, of hex bags and rotting meat and blood sacrificed.

She looks between him and the smudge on the ground incredulously. “Are you sure about that?”

Yes. No.

He doesn’t know what he is.

She leads him back to her apartment, stacks books into hix arms, and then makes him a sandwich when his stomach rumbles. His age worries her, his ignorance worries her even more, and everything she’s saying sounds like kooky new age bullshit except for the way that it explains everything he’s never been able to.

There are witches and demons and monsters nothing like anything his father’s ever talked about.

It’s easy to research, at least, because his dad thinks there’s a kernel of truth in every piece of supernatural bullshit. Dean makes fun of him for digging into girly, feel-good crap rather than the harder stuff, but his dad just seems relieved he’s taking an interest all. Sam starts taking notes, keeps them all in a folder until Dad buys him a journal, patting his back when he hands it over like it’s a rite of passage.

To Dad, it’s his first hunting journal.

Sam runs his hand down the soft leather spine and knows he’s starting his book of shadows.

The visions don’t stop. He saves more innocents, some witches and some mortal, and keeps the record of all the creatures he’s killed in Latin to discourage Dad and Dean from snooping. He uses his telekinesis on hunts only when there’s no other option, only when there’s someone’s life on the line, and he’s as careful as he can be not to get caught.

It should be a relief, to find out there are other people like him, to know that he’s a force for good in the world.

There’s no way he can explain the existence of a different type of witches to his father without putting a target on their backs.

Some witches have been targeted by hunters, ones who were trying to help but got caught in the crossfire, ones that had turned evil and needed to be stopped, but it’s not often he finds a witch that regards hunters with anything but fear. At least when his family are the ones sniffing around, he can give them a heads up, can tell them how to avoid their attention.

He’s had a lot of practice, after all.

Sam is sixteen when he’s a little too slow.

The innocent is safe and the demon is killed, but his chest is torn open and he’s bleeding out on the pavement.

“Oh no, oh no,” the woman he’d saved chants, pressing her hands against him, even though it’s pointless, even though it just sends a bolt of pain through him. Fuck. He doesn’t want to die. Dean is going to devastated. “Paige! Help me! Paige!”

There’s a bright light in the corner of his eyes and an woman around his dad’s age with bright hair red hair is leaning over him.

Then she touches him, but her touch doesn’t hurt.

He looks down and the wound on his chest closes, skin clear and unharmed, pain retreating to only a memory.

“He saved me,” the woman says. “He can move things!”

The redhead’s eyebrows rise. “You have active powers?”

They’re always so surprised by that. Sam’s more impressed with the fact that she just healed him. “I get premonitions too. What are you?”

“You get,” she starts then cuts herself off. “Where’s your whitelighter?”

He stares. “My what?”

She raises a hand to her head and groans. “Oh, someone’s really messed up somewhere. Leo!”

Guardian angels are real, called whitelighters, and apparently witches with active powers who go around saving innocents are supposed to have them to help keep them from getting themselves killed in the process.

Leo, who’s something called an elder with a kind face, says an unconventional witch deserves an unconventional whitelighter.

Chris Halliwell is his age, half witch, and also has telekinesis.

Oh, and he’s apparently his cousin. His very, very, very distant cousin.

“Are all witches related?” he asks incredulously.

“No,” Chris says, long dark hair and hazel eyes doing more to aid his claim of family than the spell his mother had cast. He and Chris look more related than him and Dean do. “We’d thought all the other branches of the Warren line had died out. You’re a surprise.”

Great. He’s a freak even among witches.

It’s so much easier now that he’s not desperately trying to piece together everything on his own, with only the occasional help from the innocents he saves. Chris is sarcastic and annoying and funny and more than having a guardian angel, Sam’s relieved to just have a friend he doesn’t have to lie to for once.

The Halliwell house, with its potion ingredients and powerful witches and home cooking, is only an orb away. He mostly hangs out with Chris, of course, but Piper always invites him to stay for dinner and Paige checks in on him, feeling somewhat responsible for him since she met him first, and Wyatt’s friendly enough but Chris sends him packing whenever Sam’s there.

He’s pulling doubletime when it comes to saving innocents, doing it as a witch and as a hunter, and he’s still maintaining straight As on top of it all while lying about half his life to his father and brother. It’s a stack of cards that’s bound to fall apart.

Going to Stanford is about more than just escaping his father.

It gets him close enough to San Francisco that he won’t need to be orbed to the Halliwells. It’s supposed to give him some breathing room, to let him focus on being a witch, to let him get his education. He does more good as a witch than as a hunter, but it’s not like that’s something he can explain to his family.

He’d wanted out, needed out, before he gets himself or someone else killed trying to balance it all. But he hadn’t thought his father would kick him out. He hadn’t thought Dean would let him.

He goes to the bus station but doesn’t buy a ticket. He calls Chris and spends the rest of the summer at Halliwell manor, burying all his hurt under training with Chris and saving people and getting ready to start college in September.

Jess wears a pentacle around her neck and keeps salt in small bowls in each of the cardinal directions and Sam doesn’t intend to tell her that he’s a witch, but when he ends up saving her from a darklighter attack, that decision is taken out of his hands. Coming clean about the hunter part takes longer, but it’s a bit of an easier sell once the knowledge of the supernatural is already out there. The thing that surprised her most of all is that things like bullets and steel can be used successfully against monsters, rather than the existence of monsters themselves.

Three years later when Dean shows up at their door, Sam can’t bring himself to deny him. It’s one weekend. He’d never wanted to lose his family in the first place.

When he returns home to Jessica pinned to the ceiling, he doesn’t even have to think.

He yanks her down, catching her in his arms just as fire effulges the place she’d been. He pushes the fire away from them, but it fights him harder than demonic fire usually does and leaves his hands burned and blistering. He doesn’t care. Jess is bleeding and in shock but still alive, breath rattling against him. “CHRIS!”

Dean’s yelling for him, but Sam can’t let him in. He throws his hand out, keeping his bedroom door closed even as his brother throws his body against it, still screaming his name.

Chris orbs in, eyes going huge. “Sam, what-”

“Heal her then go,” he snaps, the smoke already hurting his throat. “I’ll explain later.”

He puts his glowing hands over her bleeding stomach and the wound closes, her body going slack and her breathing easing even as her eyes roll back.

Sam tenses. “Is she-”

“Fine, let’s go, your hands,” Chris says, hands already glowing as he reaches for him.

“SAM!” Dean shouts, sounding like he’s about two seconds away from trying to shoot through the door.

“You can heal me later,” he says. “Thank you. Go.”

Chris shoots him a bitchy look that Paige says they share and then he orbs away. The fire’s covered almost the entire room now and Sam finally lets go of the door.

Dean stumbles in, pale, already reaching for him.

Sam stands and finds his knees buckling, gritting his teeth to keep himself upright. “Take her,” he says urgently, pressing Jess into his brother’s arms. “We have to go.”

“You think?” he snaps, but he’s gentle with Jess. Sam shoves him towards the door, slamming it behind him just as it surges after them. Keeping the flames from killing them is one of the hardest things he’s ever done. No wonder he’s exhausted.

They stumble downstairs, away from the fire, and someone’s already called the ambulance.

The story’s an easy sell because it’s not like anyone would believe the truth. They say Jess took sleeping pills and Sam came home to flames. He pulled Jess out and has the burns to prove it. Dean saw the flames in the window and went up, helping to get them both out.

It’s almost true.

“He had yellow eyes,” Jess tells him after. “He was – Sam, I’ve seen demons, I’ve fought demons. He’s something else.”

“Different kind of demons,” Sam says. There’s the underworld, and there’s hell. Underworld demons go after witches mostly. Hell demons go after mortals and are a lot harder to kill, ironically. “It’s the same demon that killed my mother, Jess, and now it’s after you. I have to take care of this.”

Dean’s too relieved about Sam’s determination to rejoin the hunt to question him too closely about all this. He knows better than to think that will last for very long.

Chris agrees to watch over Jess for him even though she’s not technically one of his charges. They layer protection spells on her, including one cast by the power of three, and even this yellow eyed demon will be hard pressed to break through that.

Hell demons are tricky. They’re not as susceptible to witch magic. But Sam’s not just a witch.

He’s a hunter too.

#offers this up to whatever gods are trying to ruin my vacation #please let me live #jk #supernatural #charmed

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movingmusically · 2 days ago

Note

can u pls austin x wife!reader or pregnant!reader?

Word Count: 7,237

Masterlist

All of Us

Married life with Austin had been a dream—mostly. Sure, there were the occasional quirks to adjust to, like his habit of leaving guitar picks everywhere or the way he somehow managed to steal half your blanket in the middle of the night. But those small annoyances were overshadowed by the warmth of being with someone who loved you deeply and made you laugh every single day.

Still, life hadn’t slowed down after the wedding. If anything, it had sped up. Austin’s career was booming, and your own schedule wasn’t far behind. Between your work commitments and his time spent on set or promoting his projects, your days felt like a never-ending whirlwind. Yet, even with the chaos, there’d been moments of quiet clarity—conversations about your future, about the family you both dreamed of having one day.

The decision to stop using contraception had been an easy one, even if it felt a little surreal at first. You weren’t actively trying for a baby, but you were open to the idea. “If it happens, it happens,” Austin had said with that easy smile of his, his hand warm and reassuring on yours. “And if it doesn’t right away, that’s okay too. We’ve got time.”

You’d carried those words with you ever since, a quiet reassurance whenever the thought of parenthood felt overwhelming. But in the back of your mind, you’d assumed it would take time—months, maybe even a year or two. Enough time to keep the idea comfortably abstract.

At least, that’s what you thought.

Lately, though, something felt… off. It wasn’t anything obvious, just a subtle shift you couldn’t quite put your finger on. You felt unusually tired, dragging yourself out of bed each morning despite a full night’s sleep. Your appetite was off too—some mornings you couldn’t stomach breakfast, while other days you found yourself craving the strangest combinations of food. And then there was coffee. The thought of it made your stomach turn, which was almost laughable considering how much you normally relied on it to function.

You brushed it off at first, blaming it on stress or a passing bug. But it was hard to ignore the way you felt during brunch with a close friend one weekend. As you sat across from her, pushing a perfectly good cappuccino to the side, she gave you a curious look.

“You okay?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. “You’ve been looking a little pale lately. And I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I’ve seen you skip coffee twice now.”

You waved her off, trying to muster a casual smile. “I’m fine. Just tired, I think.”

Her brows knit together, her concern evident. “Tired, queasy, and avoiding coffee? Those are classic signs of pregnancy, you know.”

You froze, her words landing with an unexpected weight. “I—what?”

She shrugged, clearly not thinking much of her comment. “I’m just saying, maybe you should check. Stranger things have happened.”

The idea hung in the air between you, filling the silence that followed. She moved on to another topic, chatting away about her plans for the week, but you barely heard her. Your mind was racing, replaying her words over and over.

Could I be?

The thought unsettled you, not because it was unwelcome but because it hadn’t even crossed your mind until now. You and Austin had been so focused on life as it was—work, travel, settling into your marriage—that the possibility of pregnancy felt like a distant concept. And yet, as you sat there, your hand resting absently on your stomach, you realised it wasn’t as impossible as you’d thought.

Your thoughts drifted back to when Austin had come home for a whirlwind weekend visit about a month ago. It had been one of those rare breaks in his filming schedule, and the two of you had made the most of every second. You’d spent lazy mornings in bed, stolen kisses in the kitchen, and tangled limbs in the quiet intimacy of nights that felt too short.

You’d even joked as he packed to leave again, “Don’t get too comfortable on set. I’ll need you to come home and warm up my side of the bed soon.” He’d grinned, pulling you close and murmuring something cheeky about how he’d done more than warm the bed. The memory made your cheeks flush now, the timing suddenly clicking into place in your mind. Could it really have happened then?

By the time brunch ended, you couldn’t shake the idea. As much as you wanted to dismiss it, the possibility lingered, growing stronger with every passing moment.

The idea of being pregnant was impossible to ignore now. The symptoms, your friend’s teasing comment, the gnawing curiosity—it all pointed to one possibility. But even as the thought settled in your mind, you felt a flicker of doubt. It could be nothing. Just stress. Or something I ate. It doesn’t have to mean…

Still, the thought lingered. By the time you got home that evening, the nagging question had grown too loud to ignore. You paced around the living room, chewing your bottom lip as your mind raced. Part of you wanted to wait—wait until Austin was home so you could do this together. You’d always pictured it that way, the two of you holding hands and staring at the little test stick together, waiting for the result.

But he wasn’t here. He was halfway across the country on set, wrapping up the last few days of a gruelling shoot. And though you knew he’d want to be part of this moment, you couldn’t wait any longer. You needed to know.

Your heart thudded in your chest as you grabbed your keys and headed to the nearest pharmacy. The fluorescent lights felt harsher than usual as you scanned the shelves, your eyes darting between the rows of pregnancy tests. There were so many options—some promising fast results, others boasting extra accuracy. You grabbed a box at random, barely reading the label, and hurried to the counter.

The drive home felt surreal, the little box on the passenger seat seeming heavier than it should. You couldn’t believe this was happening. Just a few days ago, pregnancy hadn’t even crossed your mind, and now you were about to find out if your entire world was about to change.

Back at home, you set the test on the bathroom counter and stared at it for what felt like an eternity. The instructions were simple enough—pee on the stick, wait three minutes—but the weight of what those three minutes might reveal made your hands tremble. What if it’s positive? What if it’s negative? What if this is all a big mistake and I’m just overthinking everything?

You exhaled shakily and opened the box, your fingers fumbling slightly with the wrapper. “Okay,” you murmured to yourself, trying to steady your nerves. “It’s just a test. You can do this.”

The seconds that followed felt both rushed and agonisingly slow. You did what the instructions said, placed the test stick on the counter, and set a timer on your phone. Then you sat down on the edge of the bathtub, hands clasped tightly in your lap as you stared at the little white stick.

Your mind raced with a thousand thoughts at once. You thought about Austin’s easy smile and the way he always reassured you whenever life felt overwhelming. You thought about the quiet conversations you’d had late at night, whispering about what the future might hold. You thought about how surreal it all felt—this tiny piece of plastic holding the answer to a question that could change everything.

The timer buzzed, jolting you out of your thoughts. Your heart felt like it might beat out of your chest as you stood up and reached for the test. For a moment, you hesitated, your hand hovering just above it. This is it, you thought. Whatever happens, everything changes now.

With a deep breath, you picked it up and looked at the result.

Two lines. Positive.

You stared at it, your breath catching in your throat. A wave of emotions crashed over you all at once—disbelief, excitement, nervousness, and something you could only describe as pure joy. “Oh my god,” you whispered, the words trembling on your lips. “Oh my god.”

You sank onto the floor, the test still clutched in your hand as tears pricked your eyes. It felt surreal, like a dream you hadn’t fully allowed yourself to imagine yet. You were going to have a baby. You and Austin were going to have a baby.

For a moment, you let yourself sit there, basking in the quiet wonder of it all. Then the realisation hit you: Austin didn’t know yet. The thought made your heart race all over again, but this time, it was with excitement. He’d be home in just a few days, and you wanted to tell him in person. This wasn’t something you could share over the phone, not when it was this important.

You stood up, your mind already racing with ideas. If there was one thing you knew, it was that Austin deserved to find out in a way that was as special as the moment itself. Something meaningful, something that would capture just how much this moment meant to you both.

The day Austin was due home, you could barely contain your anticipation. You had cleaned the house twice, set the table for his favourite dinner, and even spent longer than usual deciding what to wear. The news you carried felt like a treasure burning a hole in your pocket, and you wanted everything to be perfect.

When you heard the familiar rumble of his car pulling into the driveway, your heart jumped into your throat. You hurried to the door, your hands trembling slightly as you opened it just in time to see him stepping out of the car, his bag slung over one shoulder. He looked tired but still so impossibly handsome, his broad shoulders and easy smile lighting up the fading daylight. The sight of him made you realise just how much you’d missed him.

“Hey, baby,” he called out, his voice warm and familiar, the sound washing over you like a balm.

You didn’t even wait for him to close the car door. You rushed down the porch steps and into his arms, wrapping yourself around him tightly. He dropped his bag to the ground, laughing softly as he pulled you close, burying his face in your hair.

“God, I missed you,” he murmured, his voice low and full of emotion. His arms tightened around you, one hand stroking your back as if to reassure himself you were really there.

“I missed you too,” you said, your voice muffled against his shoulder. You felt his lips press against your temple, soft and lingering, before he pulled back just enough to look at you.

“You’re even more beautiful than I remembered,” he said, his voice a little hoarse as his fingers brushed a strand of hair from your face.

You laughed lightly, your heart fluttering under the weight of his gaze. “You’re just exhausted,” you teased. “Come inside—I made your favourite.”

His eyes lit up, and he kissed your forehead before grabbing his bag. “You didn’t have to do all that,” he said, following you into the house. “But I’m not complaining.”

Inside, the warm, familiar scent of home surrounded you both. The table was set, soft music played from the speaker in the corner, and the faint glow of candles gave the room an inviting warmth. He paused to take it all in, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’ve outdone yourself,” he said, his voice tinged with gratitude.

You shrugged, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement bubbling in your chest. “You deserve it. It was a long shoot.”

“The longest,” He set his bag down and turned to you, his hands sliding around your waist as he pulled you close. His lips were warm and familiar, the kind of kiss that made the rest of the world fade away. You melted into him, your hands curling around the back of his neck, your fingers threading into his hair.

When you finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his eyes half-lidded as he smiled softly. “I still can’t believe I’m home,” he murmured, his voice like a warm embrace. “Being away from you… I hated it.”

Your heart pounded as you smiled up at him, your hands resting on his chest. It was now or never. “We hated it too,” you said, your voice soft but deliberate.

His brow furrowed slightly, the words taking a moment to register. “We?” he repeated, tilting his head as he looked at you.

You bit your lip, a nervous laugh escaping as you stepped back and reached into your pocket. “We,” you echoed, holding up the pregnancy test.

The moment the test came into view, his eyes widened. He blinked, as if unsure whether he was seeing things correctly, before slowly reaching out to take it from your hand. He stared at the little screen, his breath catching audibly, before looking back at you.

“Are you…” he started, his voice trembling. “Are we…”

You nodded, tears springing to your eyes. “We’re having a baby,” you said, your voice breaking with emotion.

He stared at you for a beat longer, the weight of your words sinking in. Then, without warning, a brilliant smile broke across his face, and a shaky laugh escaped his lips. “Oh my god,” he breathed, running a hand through his hair. “This is real?”

“Yes,” you said, laughing through your tears. “It’s real.”

He let out a breathless laugh, dropping the test on the counter as he swept you into his arms. “I can’t believe it,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “We’re going to have a baby.”

You held onto him tightly, feeling the warmth of his embrace as his body trembled slightly. He buried his face in your neck, and you could feel the dampness of his tears against your skin. “I love you so much,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “You’ve just made me the happiest man in the world.”

“I love you too,” you said, pulling back just enough to look at him. His cheeks were wet with tears, his eyes bright with a mix of disbelief and joy.

“We’re going to be parents,” he said, his hands moving to frame your face as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, then your cheeks, then your lips. “This is everything I ever wanted.”

You laughed softly, sliding your hands into his hair as you kissed him back. “It’s everything I ever wanted too.”

For the rest of the evening, you stayed close to him, basking in the joy of the moment. Dinner was an afterthought; you spent most of the time on the couch, his arms wrapped securely around you as he asked a million questions about how you’d been feeling, how long you’d known, and what the next steps were.

As the night wore on, you felt a sense of calm settle over you. The secret you’d been carrying was now shared, and seeing Austin’s reaction had eased every worry you’d had. This was the beginning of something new, something beautiful, and you were ready to face it together.

The first ultrasound appointment marked the next big milestone, one that felt surreal even as you sat in the clinic waiting room. Austin had cleared his schedule the moment the date was confirmed, insisting that no rehearsal or meeting could be more important.

The two of you were seated side by side, his knee bouncing slightly as he held your hand. “You nervous?” you asked softly, glancing at him.

He looked at you with a small, sheepish smile. “A little. It’s just… we’re going to see them,” he said, his voice catching slightly. “I still can’t wrap my head around it.”

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Me neither,” you admitted, your own nerves bubbling under the surface. “But it’s exciting too, right?”

“Exciting doesn’t even cover it,” he said, leaning over to kiss the top of your head.

When your name was called, Austin stood so quickly that he knocked over the magazine he’d been pretending to read. You giggled as he sheepishly bent to pick it up, his hand finding yours again as you walked together toward the exam room.

The technician greeted you warmly, explaining each step of the process as you got situated. Austin stood next to you, his hand never leaving yours, his eyes flicking between you and the screen with equal parts anticipation and awe.

When the image finally appeared on the monitor and the sound of the heartbeat filled the room, the air seemed to shift. It was a sound so steady, so alive, that it sent a shiver down your spine.

“That’s your baby,” the technician said with a kind smile, pointing to the tiny figure on the screen.

Austin let out a shaky breath, his grip on your hand tightening. “That’s… that’s them,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. His free hand came up to wipe at his eyes, and when he turned to look at you, his face was lit with a mix of wonder and joy. “That’s our baby,” he said, his voice cracking slightly.

You nodded, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. Instead, you squeezed his hand, letting your tears fall freely as you both stared at the screen, watching the tiny heartbeat that had changed everything.

That evening, as you sat curled up together on the couch, Austin couldn’t stop looking at the ultrasound photos. He held one up, studying it intently before glancing at you. “Okay, we need a nickname,” he announced suddenly.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “A nickname?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding firmly. “We can’t just keep saying ‘the baby.’ They need something special, something that fits.”

You tilted your head, considering his words. “Alright, Mr. Creative. What do you suggest?”

He grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Bean,” he said, holding up the photo again. “They’re tiny, they’re cute, and it just… feels right.”

You laughed, shaking your head but secretly loving the name. “Bean,” you repeated, testing it out. “Alright. Bean it is.”

From that night on, Bean became a part of your everyday vocabulary. Austin greeted your belly every morning with a soft “Good morning, Bean,” and every evening, he read stories or played music to your growing bump. His guitar, his piano, even his voice—all of it became a nightly ritual, his way of connecting with the little life you were creating together.

One evening, as you both lay on the couch watching a film, you felt it—a small but unmistakable flutter low in your belly. You froze, your hand instinctively pressing to the spot.

“What’s wrong?” Austin asked, immediately alert.

You grabbed his hand, your heart racing as you placed it where you’d felt the movement. “Just… wait,” you whispered.

A few seconds passed. Then it happened again—a tiny kick, soft but distinct. Austin’s eyes widened, his jaw dropping slightly. “Was that…” he started, his voice barely above a whisper. “Was that a kick?”

You nodded, tears springing to your eyes. “Yeah. That was them.”

He let out a breathless laugh, his hand pressing gently against your belly. “Hi, Bean,” he murmured, his voice filled with wonder. “It’s me. Your dad. I can’t wait to meet you.”

The kicks became more frequent after that, each one a little reminder of the life growing inside you. Austin couldn’t get enough of them, often resting his hand on your belly whenever he was near, his face lighting up every time he felt a movement.

When a brief press tour took him away for a few weeks, the separation was harder than either of you anticipated. But even from afar, he found ways to stay connected. Every night, without fail, he FaceTimed you, his guitar in hand as he sang softly or read aloud.

"It’s Dad," he’d say, his voice warm even through the screen." Just checking in to see how you’re doing.”

You’d laugh, your hand resting on your belly as you said, “I think they’re listening. They always move when they hear your voice.”

By the time he returned, you were both ready to tackle the next big project: the nursery. The two of you spent hours picking out decorations, arguing over paint colours, and laughing as you assembled tiny pieces of furniture.

“You know,” Austin said one evening as he struggled to attach a crib railing, “I’m starting to think Bean might just have to sleep in a cardboard box.”

You laughed, leaning against the doorframe as you watched him. “Don’t give up now. You’re doing great, Dad.”

He looked up at you, his expression softening as he smiled. “I still can’t believe this is happening,” he said, his voice quiet. “We’re going to be parents.”

You walked over, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We are,” you said softly. “And I think we’re going to be pretty good at it.”

As the nursery slowly came together, it became more than just a room—it was a symbol of the life you were building together. Every little detail, from the fairy lights strung along the ceiling to the shelves filled with tiny books, was a labour of love.

Standing together in the finished room, your hand resting on your belly and Austin’s arm around your shoulders, you felt a deep sense of peace. “It’s perfect,” you whispered, leaning into him.

He pressed a kiss to your temple, his other hand covering yours. “It’ll be even more perfect when Bean’s here,” he said, his voice filled with quiet wonder.

And in that moment, as you stood there dreaming about the future, you knew he was right.

Still, no amount of Austin’s sweetness could stop the physical toll of late pregnancy from getting to you. One evening, as you were getting ready for bed, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and stopped, groaning audibly.

“I feel huge,” you groaned, turning sideways to examine yourself. “I look like I swallowed a beach ball.”

From the bed, Austin looked up from his book, his gaze softening as he took you in. He set the book aside and got up, crossing the room to stand behind you. His hands slid around your waist—well, as much as they could with the bump in the way—and he rested his chin on your shoulder.

“You’re not huge,” he said, his tone playful as his eyes danced with mischief. “You’re radiant.”

You rolled your eyes, still frowning at the mirror. “Radiant? Austin, I look like a science experiment gone wrong. My ankles are swollen, my back is killing me, and I haven’t seen my feet in weeks.”

He smirked, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “You’re carrying our baby,” he murmured, his hands dropping to cradle your bump. “That’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You snorted. “Sexy? I’m wearing mismatched pyjamas and haven’t shaved my legs in days.”

He turned you gently to face him, his eyes twinkling with a mix of affection and mischief. “Still sexy,” he said, trailing kisses from your jaw to your collarbone. “And for the record, I don’t think Bean cares about your legs.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound turning into a soft sigh as his hands moved to rub your lower back. “Fine,” you said, leaning into him. “You win this round.”

That wasn’t the only way Austin had been taking care of you. On nights when sleep felt impossible—when the baby seemed to think your bladder was a trampoline or your hips ached from the weight of it all—he’d do everything in his power to make you comfortable. One night, after watching you fidget and sigh for the fifth time in an hour, he rolled out of bed and disappeared into the bathroom. When he came back, steam followed him.

“Bath’s ready,” he announced, holding out his hand. “Come on.”

You let him guide you into the bathroom, the warm scent of lavender filling the air. The tub was filled just enough for you to soak without feeling like a beached whale. As you eased in, Austin climbed in behind you, his legs bracketing yours as his hands moved to rub your shoulders.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you murmured, leaning back against his chest.

“Of course I did,” he said, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “You’re growing a whole human. The least I can do is help you take a load off.”

“Besides, I like taking care of you,” he replied simply, his hands moving to your bump as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

As his hands traced soothing circles over your belly, the two of you fell into an easy conversation about names. It had become a favourite topic of late, though you hadn’t settled on anything yet.

“What about Lori?” you suggested softly, tilting your head back to look at him. “If it’s a girl.”

Austin stilled for a moment, his eyes glistening as he met your gaze. “After my mom?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, your hand covering his where it rested on your bump. “She meant so much to you. And I know she’d be proud of you, of us. It feels right.”

His throat worked as he swallowed hard, clearly trying to keep his emotions in check. “I think she’d love that,” he said finally, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you.”

The moment stretched between you, warm and tender, until Bean decided to interrupt with a particularly enthusiastic kick. You both froze before bursting into laughter.

“Guess they like the name,” Austin said, grinning as he pressed his palm against the spot where the baby had kicked. “Hey, Bean. You’ve got good taste.”

As the weeks passed, the anticipation grew, but so did the love and humour that kept you both grounded.

The due date came and went without so much as a twinge of labour pains. You’d counted down the days on your calendar, convinced that by now you’d be holding your baby, but Bean had other plans. The doctor reassured you that everything looked fine and that it was perfectly normal for first babies to take their time—though they did mention that if nothing happened in another two weeks, they’d induce labour.

It wasn’t exactly the news you wanted to hear, especially since patience wasn’t exactly your strong suit. “Two weeks?” you groaned on the drive home, slumped in the passenger seat. “That feels like a lifetime.”

Austin, ever the optimist, glanced over with a calm smile. “Hey, your mom said she always went past her due date with you and your brothers. Maybe Bean’s just taking after you.”

You gave a dramatic sigh, though his hand finding yours on the armrest softened your mood. “If that’s the case, Bean owes me a big apology for making me this uncomfortable.”

“I’ll make sure they’re on their best behaviour when they get here,” Austin said with a wink, bringing your hand to his lips for a kiss. “But for now, you’re stuck with me.”

As the days passed the news of your overdue baby had spread among your family and friends, and with it came an avalanche of unsolicited advice on how to speed things along. Your phone pinged with messages every few minutes, each suggestion more bizarre than the last.

“Your sister says I should try eating spicy food,” you told Austin one evening, scrolling through yet another message as you sat with your swollen feet propped up on the coffee table. “And my cousin swears by bouncing on a yoga ball.”

Austin, seated beside you with his guitar in hand, raised an eyebrow. “What about the one from your aunt? Didn’t she say something about pineapple?”

“Pineapple, acupuncture, castor oil... oh, and Claire suggested a long walk and warm baths.” You let out an exasperated sigh.

Austin chuckled, setting down his guitar and shifting closer. “Anything else?”

You hesitated, biting your lip as you scrolled through one particularly cheeky message. “Well, uh… Ashley had a suggestion that worked when she was pregnant with with Jupiter.”

“Oh, this should be good. What is it?” He grinned, giving you a playful nudge.

“She said… sex might help.” You glanced at him from under your lashes, feeling a blush creep up your neck. “Something about the hormones and stimulating labour.”

Austin’s grin turned downright devilish. “Now that’s advice I can get behind.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help but smile at the way his hand slid to your belly, his thumb brushing slow, soothing circles. “It’s science,” you teased, leaning into his touch.

“Science, huh?” His voice dropped, the playful glint in his eyes turning into something softer. “Well, far be it from me to argue with science.”

Before you could reply, his lips were on yours—soft, warm, and filled with all the love and anticipation that had been building over the past nine months. He kissed you like you were the most precious thing in the world, and for a moment, you forgot all about your swollen ankles and aching back.

You melted into the kiss, your fingers curling into his shirt as his hand slid around your back, pulling you closer. The warmth of his touch, the way his lips moved with yours—it was enough to make you forget, if only for a little while, the discomfort and impatience of these last few days.

When he pulled back, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath was warm against your lips. “You know,” he murmured, his voice a low hum, “I think science might be onto something.”

You laughed softly, the sound turning into a sigh as his hands traced gentle, soothing circles on your lower back. “You’re impossible,” you teased, though the fond smile on your face gave you away. “But fine. If you’re so dedicated to the cause, who am I to argue?”

His grin widened, and he leaned in to kiss you again, slower this time, his hands sliding to cradle your belly. “You and Bean,” he whispered, his voice thick with affection. “My whole world.”

Your heart swelled, and you reached up to cup his face, brushing your thumb along the curve of his cheek. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you replied, your voice soft and full of emotion.

For a while, the two of you stayed like that—wrapped up in each other, the world outside forgotten. The discomfort and impatience of waiting melted away in the warmth of his embrace, replaced by a sense of peace and quiet joy. In moments like this, it was easy to remember why you’d fallen in love with him in the first place: his unshakable optimism, his unwavering support, and the way he always managed to make you feel like the most important person in the room.

When you finally pulled away, your hands still resting on his shoulders, you couldn’t help but smile. “So, Mr Butler,” you said, your tone light but teasing, “what’s your next plan to convince Bean to make their grand entrance?”

He chuckled, his hands still cradling your belly. “Oh, I’ve got plenty of tricks up my sleeve,” he said with a wink. “But first, I think we should start with a good night’s sleep. You need your rest, mama.”

You rolled your eyes but allowed him to help you up from the couch, his hands steady and sure as he guided you toward the bedroom. As much as you hated to admit it, he was right—you needed all the rest you could get. After all, Bean could decide to arrive at any moment, and you wanted to be ready.

As he tucked you into bed, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope. Maybe tonight would be the night. Or maybe not. Either way, you knew you were in good hands—with Austin by your side, there was nothing you couldn’t handle together.

It was the middle of the night, two days before your scheduled induction, when you woke up feeling... off. At first, you thought it was just another bout of pregnancy discomfort—the kind you’d grown used to over the past few weeks. You shifted in bed, trying to find a position that didn’t make your back ache, but something was different this time. A dull, rhythmic sensation began to spread from your lower back to your belly, each wave stronger and sharper than the last.

“Austin,” you whispered, reaching over to shake his shoulder gently. “I think…”

He stirred with a soft groan, his hair a dishevelled mess as he blinked up at you, still caught in the haze of sleep. “What’s wrong?” His voice was thick with concern. “You okay?”

You nodded, though your breath hitched as another wave rolled through you, stealing your focus for a moment. “I think it’s starting,” you managed, your voice trembling.

It took him a moment to process your words, but when it clicked, he shot out of bed like someone had lit a fire under him. “It’s happening?” he asked, his voice pitching higher. “Like… happening happening?”

You nodded again, gripping his hand as the contraction gripped you. “Definitely happening.”

His reaction was instant and chaotic, a blur of nervous energy as he darted around the room. “Okay, hospital bag—where’s the hospital bag? Car seat’s in, phone’s charged—oh, wait, I need to call the doctor—”

“Aus.” Your voice was steady despite the pain, a small smile tugging at your lips as you watched his frantic motions. “Breathe.”

He stopped mid-step, running a hand through his hair as he looked at you with a sheepish grin. “Right. Breathing. Got it.”

The contractions were coming steadily now, but still far enough apart that the doctor advised waiting at home a little longer before heading to the hospital. Austin stayed glued to your side, his energy shifting from panicked to determined as he settled into a rhythm of supporting you. Every contraction was met with his steady voice, his warm hands on your back, and the constant reassurance that you were doing amazing.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, his tone low and soothing as he rubbed circles over your lower back during another wave. “I’m so proud of you.”

You leaned into him, his presence a grounding force as the hours stretched on and the contractions grew stronger. He timed each one with the kind of precision that would’ve been comical if you weren’t so focused on riding out the pain. At one point, you caught him muttering countdowns under his breath, and you couldn’t help but crack a small smile.

“Relax, Coach Butler,” you teased faintly when the contraction passed, your voice breathless but fond. “I’m not running a marathon.”

He grinned, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You’re doing something way more badass than that.”

When the time finally came to leave for the hospital, Austin was at your side in an instant, helping you into the car as though you were made of glass. “You know I’m not going to break, right?” you teased, though your voice hitched as another contraction tightened your belly.

His gaze softened, his hand brushing your cheek as he murmured, “You’re carrying my whole world. I’m not taking any chances.”

The drive to the hospital was a blur of flashing streetlights and the steady pressure of his hand holding yours. He murmured soft words of encouragement every time a contraction hit, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over your skin. The excitement and nerves hung in the air between you, tangible and electric, but through it all, his love and steady presence anchored you.

By the time you arrived, you were ready—ready to meet the little person who had turned your world upside down in the most wonderful way.

The hospital was a flurry of activity as soon as you arrived, the nurses greeting you warmly as they guided you to a room. Austin stayed glued to your side, his hand firmly in yours as they asked you questions and hooked you up to monitors. The rhythmic sound of Bean’s heartbeat filled the room, steady and strong, and it was enough to ease some of your nerves.

“You’re doing great,” Austin murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from your forehead. His voice was calm, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw tightened every time you grimaced through a contraction.

Labour was a whirlwind—hours that felt both endless and fleeting, a blur of pain, anticipation, and the steady presence of Austin by your side. He held your hand through every contraction, his voice calm and reassuring as he reminded you to breathe, even when you were ready to throw the ice chips at him.

“Doing great, baby,” he said, his hand brushing damp hair from your forehead. “Almost there.”

You gave him a look that could’ve melted steel, the pain sharp and unrelenting. “You say that one more time…” you panted, gripping his hand hard enough to make him wince.

“Noted,” he replied with a lopsided grin, "I’ll file that under ‘things not to say to a woman in labour.’" Though he didn’t flinch as your grip tightened again with the next contraction.

Hours later, when the time finally came to push, everything else faded into the background. The world outside the room ceased to exist, and all you could focus on was the determination to meet the tiny person who had been growing inside you for the past nine months. Austin’s voice was a constant, grounding you when the pain threatened to overwhelm.

It was his strength, his unwavering presence, that carried you through the final moments. “You’re so close,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can see the head.”

With one final, all-consuming effort, a sharp cry filled the room, cutting through the haze of pain and exhaustion. The world seemed to stop for a moment as the doctor lifted a tiny, wriggling figure into view.

“It’s a girl,” the doctor announced, their voice warm with joy as they placed her on your chest.

Time seemed to slow, her cries quieting the moment she felt your warmth. She was perfect—tiny fingers, a button nose, and a head full of fair hair that reminded you so much of Austin. Your heart swelled to the point of bursting as you traced her features with trembling fingers.

“Hi, Bean,” you whispered, tears spilling freely now. “Hi, baby girl.”

Austin leaned over, pressing a kiss to your temple as his hand rested gently on hers. You both sat there for a moment, the world fading away as you took in the miracle between you. It was Austin who broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper. “Lori,” he said, his eyes meeting yours. “If you’re still okay with it… I think it’s perfect.”

You nodded, your voice too thick with emotion to speak. You glanced down at her, stroking her soft cheek. “Hi, Lori,” you whispered. “Welcome to the world.”

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. The love in his gaze was enough to undo you all over again. “She’s so tiny,” you said, your voice breaking. “And she’s ours.”

“She’s ours,” he echoed, his voice no more than a whisper.

The minutes that followed were a haze of firsts: the weight of her in your arms, her tiny hand curling instinctively around Austin’s finger, the soft, exhausted smiles you exchanged as the world outside the delivery room faded away.

When the nurse came to take Lori for her first check-up, Austin hesitated, his hand lingering protectively on her tiny head. “You’ll bring her right back, right?” he asked, his voice laced with both awe and worry.

The nurse smiled. “We won’t be far, Dad. She’s perfect, by the way.”

As Lori was carried out of the room, Austin sank into the chair beside your bed, his head falling into his hands. You reached for him, your fingers brushing his wrist. “Hey,” you said softly. “You okay?”

He looked up, his eyes red-rimmed but filled with a quiet, overwhelming joy. “I just… I can’t believe she’s here,” he said, his voice trembling. “She’s real. And she’s ours.”

You smiled, your own exhaustion forgotten as you reached for his hand. “She’s everything, isn’t she?”

He nodded, leaning in to kiss you, his lips lingering on yours for a moment that felt like it could stretch forever. “You’re the strongest person I know,” he murmured against your skin, his forehead resting against yours. “Thank you for her.”

You looked up at him, your chest tight with love and exhaustion. “We made her together,” you murmured, your fingers lacing with his. “She’s all of us.”

When they returned with Lori swaddled in a soft blanket, Austin reached out, his hands trembling slightly as he cradled her for the first time. The way he looked at her—his gaze full of wonder and tenderness—made your breath catch.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over her tiny hand. “I’m your dad.”

You couldn’t look away. Seeing Austin holding Lori—his large hands supporting her tiny body as he murmured soft, loving words—solidified everything you’d been through together. It wasn’t just love; it was the kind of connection that grounded you, that made everything you’d ever dreamed of feel possible. This was your family, built on a foundation of unwavering devotion and joy.

“She looks so much like you already,” Austin said, glancing up at you with a watery smile. “Same little nose, same pout. She’s beautiful.”

“She already has you wrapped around her finger,” you teased softly, though your voice was thick with emotion.

Austin looked up, his expression unapologetic. “Completely,” he admitted with a small, wobbly smile. “She’s got me for life.”

The rest of the night passed in a blur of exhaustion and wonder. You eventually dozed off for a little while, but when you woke, the sight before you took your breath away: Austin was still cradling Lori in his arms, his head bent as he whispered to her.

“I can’t wait to show you the world,” he murmured, his voice low and full of promise. “We’re going to have so many adventures, baby girl.”

You blinked back tears as you watched him, the love in his voice resonating deeply within you. If you had any doubts before, they were gone now. This was everything you had ever wanted, everything you had dreamed of, and so much more.

Austin glanced up and caught your gaze, his lips curving into the softest smile. He came over, settling beside you on the bed, and placed Lori gently in your arms. Together, you stared down at her, drinking in every tiny detail as the weight of the moment settled over you. It was a beginning—a brand-new chapter, a fresh adventure. And you couldn’t wait to live it.

#austin butler #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler fic #austin butler imagine #austin butler x reader #austin butler x y/n #austin butler x you #fan fiction #fanfic #imagine #fiction

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wildfluer · 1 day ago

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⚘( ၴႅၴ DISTANCE ( jj maybank )

— summary after weeks of being distant, jj shows up at your door late at night. something’s wrong, but he won’t let you in.

— content warnings angst, mentions of abuse/implied abuse ( jj )

— a/n first post on here!! i felt like writing gut wrenching angst but i’m not sure if i like it

it started with distance. the missed calls, the unread texts. the way jj avoided your gaze, eyes darting away quickly. at first, you ignored it. it was normal for him to act distant sometimes. it was just his natural response to everything. he was always dealing with shit, and that was how he coped. you respected that—but this time, it felt different.

even as you were trying to ignore it, you couldn’t. the bruises on his knuckles never seem to fade. pope tells you he’s been picking fights at the wreck, at parties, anywhere someone is dumb enough to take the bait. kie says he’s been drinking too much, disappearing for hours, coming back and barely being able to stand. her voice is full of worry as she tells you, “he won’t even talk to any of us”.

he won’t talk to you either. you wait, hoping he’ll come to you for help. but jj maybank doesn’t ask for help. he never does—he spirals. and right now, he’s spiraling hard.

. . .

it’s past midnight when you hear a hesitant knock on your door. you almost didn’t catch it over the sound of the rain hammering against your window. when you open the door, jj is standing there, soaked head to toe from the rain. his hoodie clings to his body, hair dripping into his eyes.

when he looks up at you, you feel your heart throb. he looks miserable. “i had nowhere else to go,” he mumbles. his voice is raw, like he’s been screaming or crying—probably both. you quickly urge him to come inside. he doesn’t meet your eyes as he steps in, dripping water onto the floor. you grab a towel and hand it to him, but he just stares at it like it’s some foreign object. “jj,” you murmur, your voice quiet as if you don’t wanna scare him off.

he blinks, finally taking the towel but barely using it. instead, he runs a hand through his soaking wet hair, exhaling shakily. “i can’t—i don’t wanna talk, okay?” he rubs his eyes, sighing. “i already know you’re gonna offer to help me or some bullshit, but i don’t need help, alright? i just needed somewhere to go.” he’s rambling, and as you go to place a hand on his shoulder, you see him flinch. you quickly retract your hand. it’s a subtle movement, but you saw it. and it made your stomach drop, because it confirmed your suspicions.

“jj,” you start, voice soft and careful. “what happened?”

he exhales sharply, shaking his head. “that dosen’t matter.”

“it does,” you say.

he lets out a bitter laugh, running a hand down his face. “no, it really doesn’t.” you want to argue and tell him that it does matter—but you know jj. you know that pushing too hard will only make him pull away faster. you don’t know what to do. “hey, it’s okay. you don’t have to tell me what happened. but you also don’t have to act like whatever you’re going through doesn’t hurt either.”

his jaw clenches, eyes flickering to the floor. “i don’t feel anything.”

you frown at his words, “i don’t believe that.” jj scoffs in response, but there’s no real fight in it. just exhaustion. you watch his shoulders tense, his hands balling into fists at his sides. he’s struggling, and you can see it. you watch as his eyes dart toward the door like he’s already planning his escape.

but then, something cracks. he speaks, his voice wavering this time. “i’m so fuckin’ tired of this shit,” he exhales, “i’m so tired.” he sounds so defeated that it breaks you.

“let me help you,” you whisper. “please, jj.” he looks at you, and for a moment, you think he might let you in. but the moment is brief, and poofs into thin air in a second. you speak up again, this time begging him to not leave. but he doesn’t budge. instead he turns toward the door, his fingers hovering over the knob. for a second you thought he might change his mind. he doesn’t. with an exhale he mutters, “thanks for letting me stay for a bit.”

and just like that, he’s gone.

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tunastime · 1 day ago

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47 and ethubs?

OOOH anon, you know I always want to write Ethubs :3 lets see what song it is!

OOOOOH. Man oh man. This was SUCH a fun song for them, and I really had to listen to it a few times to get the feeling that I wanted to convey. This was a top song of mine either last year or the year before, and my band of ALL TIME. I'm so glad I got my friends into them <33 anyway, here's ethubs! (595 words)

Bdubs has kept a very close eye on Etho. It's hard not to—he. He has to keep himself on a very short leash around Etho right now because/ Well. He's red. Etho is being nice, but he's Etho, and there's something just under the halting laugh of his tone when he tells him he has to stay on one side of the base that threatens as much as it does soothe.

He's Etho.

What does Bdubs mean by that?

The obvious answer would be that Bdubs loves him, much too much and much too easily at that. He has loved Etho for a long time, much longer than Etho has loved him. Much longer than the clouds continue to grey and much longer than the mushy snow walls they've encased themselves in will last. Whether or not Etho knows that is not the focal point of this discussion—it's almost irrelevant, actually, to the weight of his decisions.

Bdubs is spinning in his mind all the possibilities of his survival. Less so than, he thinks, Etho is. Etho’s survival hinges on Bdubs’ death—or it at least hinges on Bdub leaving him to his own devices. Bdubs’ survival hinges on keeping himself alive, obviously, and in the arms of someone who’s safe. For that reason, Bdubs keeps his eyes on Etho. He can’t help but wonder though.

It would be so easy for Etho, to press the sharp tip of his sword into his chest and split the skin. Would he let him? Would he even yell? He'd have to draw the sword against him. Bdubs knows he won’t. He can't kill the thing he loves even if it bites him. And Bdubs bites him, even when he doesn't mean to.

Maybe he does mean to.

Bdubs presses his forehead against the lip of the small window in the closed room he’s been telling all these secrets to. The stone is cold under his skin, but he can’t tell if it’s the abnormal heat of him or the weather outside that makes it feel so icey. Does it really matter?

Right—where was he again?

He has to keep an eye on Etho. Half because he loves him far too much, and half because Etho might kill him just to save himself. He’s still trying to figure out if he’s okay with that.

(When it comes down to it, Bdubs will still be upset. Because as much as Etho promised him that he would live, he never got anything out of it in the end. Etho plays a game that keeps people at arm's length. Or maybe they’re not playing the same game at all.

That’s what Bdubs will learn, but not today.)

Bdubs steps out of the room that feels more like a confessional feeling significantly more thirsty for blood. Etho turns as he notices him from the corner of his eye. His eyes crinkle playfully.

Jumpy.

“What were you doin’ in there?” He asks, tilting his head. Still Etho, afterall.

“Schemin’,” Bdubs grins, shaking off his anxiety. “What’s it to you?”

Etho snorts.

“Nothin’,” he says lightly, turning back to the fire he’s building. The sky is getting orange around the edges. If Bdubs squints, he thinks he might be able to see stars. Beside Etho’s foot rests a battered metal teapot with a short piece of rope tied through the handle. “I was just curious.”

“Right,” Bdubs says. He tugs his cloak a little closer to him. “Aren’t you always?”

Etho laughs.

Bdubs pretends like it doesn’t make the words clam up in his throat.

(send me a number from 1-100 and I'll try to write a fic!)

#ethubs #hermitshipping #ethoslab #bdoubleo100 #last life smp #llsmp #life series #fics #text #last life fic #asks #spotify wrapped asks 2024 #UGHHH they make me sick #back on my ll ethubs bullshit #i hope you allll enjoyyyyy <333 #finally posting this!!!!#anon #mcyt #mcyt fic

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whoblewboobear · 9 months ago

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Knowing that I have to go home after an 8-hour shift at the job I hate to force myself to deep clean the depression nest my room has become while neck deep in the same depressive episode for the past 3 months on top of chronic pain makes me wanna scream like can I just smoke weed and sleep on the couch instead pls?

#tw mental health #personal #idk how to tag this #I’m doin BAD #like- I think I’ve run into that gifted kid thing where it’s like yeah I was told I was good at this and then growing up and realizing I #never developed the skill beyond childhood but instead of gifted kid syndrome it’s high functioning depression #like I hit my 20s and I can’t high function my way through this shit anymore #I don’t know how and that makes it worse bc I’m looking back on teen me who could pretend for days and power through #now I’m just- a depressive episode hits and I just.. everything stops y’know?#im so tired and overwhelmed and I just don’t know where to start to even dig myself out of it #I’m self soothing to the point of it being harmful #if I don’t think about how bad it is and instead focus on whatever interest it feels better #my therapist has been out sick for almost 2 months now and I’m worried about her but we work so well together that I don’t wanna find #someone new and start all over again #I just..#I tried telling my family I’m struggling and my mom told me to pray about it so it’s like okay I’m just alone to deal with this like I #always do but I’m just.. I’m not doing well enough to be able to handle this on my own and no one is listening when I say that #I’m not going to do anything but I can’t pretend the s*ic*d*l thought aren’t at the front of my mind #every single problem I have would disappear for me if I wasn’t here and that’s bitter sweet because I want to see this life through #depression #mental health #struggling with depression #major depressive disorder

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luveline · 3 months ago

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𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Spencer gets a bad bout of amnesia. Or, your boyfriend forgets he’s your boyfriend, but he still has a crush on you. [3k]

c: fem, bombshell!reader, head injury, hospitals, amnesia, fluff, spencer can’t believe he bagged you, requested here

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

Spencer wakes to an empty room.

He lays on a pillow too flat, neck twinging, the back of his eyes throbbing when he moves.

He struggles to breathe through his nose and lets his mouth open for a few achy breaths, his mouth dry like he’s been sucking on cotton balls.

Spencer’s alarmed, without a clue what it is he’s done. He wonders where Gideon is, if the older man has come to see him yet. He hopes somebody told his mom he’s okay.

Maybe Hotch will come. He and Hotch have grown closer while Gideon was on his mandated recovery time; Gideon spends far less time in the office, sticking to lectures, seminars and consults, while Hotch, Morgan and Spencer handle the away cases. Spencer might go as far as to say Hotch likes him. And Morgan can tolerate him now, less grudging when Spencer offers a random fact or statistic to further the case.

A stab of pain at the back of his head makes itself known sharply.

Spencer doesn’t want to move, but he needs to assess things. He frowns at his arms, naked as they are. His silver watch is missing. A t-shirt that he doesn’t remember buying stretches over his chest. What state are they in, and who dressed him?

He’s scowling at the window with it’s wide-open blinds and all the sun when the door opens.

You’re looking at the bags on your arm as you come in. Spencer startles in his blankets —what are you doing here? Agent L/N, Morgan’s friend and a candidate for the open position on the BAU team. You’re from the Sex Crimes Unit, like Greenaway.

Spencer flusters every time he sees you, not just because of how kind you’d been the first time you met, or even the easy flirtation you send his way when you cross paths. It’s because you’re the prettiest woman he’s ever seen. He’s not talking about the golden ratio or statistical beauty, you’re just stunning. You stop him in his tracks whenever you steal into the office. It’s better when you notice he’s awake and light up like he’s the winning numbers for tonight’s lottery pull. Everything about you illuminates.

“Hey, babe!” you say, not not yelling as you drop your bags in the seat by the bed and reach for him.

He doesn’t think to move away as you take his face into your hands.

“I’m so glad you’re finally awake, you almost slept for the full twenty four hours.” Your hands are soft. They smell like neroli. When you stroke his cheek and lean down to give him a chaste peck, he almost passes out there and then. “It's a good thing, obviously,” you say, and then kiss him again distractedly. Spencer squeezes his eyes closed. “You heal more when you’re asleep. Or so I’ve heard.”

You pull away, Spencer blinking for his life. You have such a nice mouth, but Spencer’s never thought about what it might feel like on his. He doesn’t have the audacity: in what world would you ever kiss him? That’s the joke, right, when you flirt with him in the office?

“How are you feeling?” you ask, losing some of your pep. “How’s your head, handsome? You know, there are easier ways to get a haircut.”

“They cut my hair?” he croaks.

“Shaved it at the back to stitch you up. Not much, don’t worry. They were pushing for a buzz cut but I put my foot down on that one,” you joke. You nudge his legs aside without worrying about sitting on him as you get comfortable. “It’s not much. You can’t tell.”

“I…”

“You feeling okay?” you ask softly. Your nice mouth purses. Your eyebrows pinch. They’re cute eyebrows.

“You look different than the last time I saw you.”

He doesn’t mean to say it aloud. He’s noticing things now. You’re wearing less powder under your eyes than you used to. You seem to have gained a little weight, and you look good. You didn’t look bad before, but this is different. Your hair isn’t too different, nor your brows, but you’ve begun lining your lips in a new way. Your blush is a subtler hue. Spencer doesn’t claim to know everything about you, but he can say that you look neatly the same each time you visit. Why the sudden change?

“It’s hard to sleep when your favourite person in the world gets his head cut open,” you say, taking his hand where he’d left it loose in the blankets.

Your fingers slip into his with ease.

“Can I tell you something?” he asks, attempting to swallow his nerves.

“Of course you can.”

He licks his lips. “Uh, I think I’m confused. I don’t– I don’t remember what happened, and…”

“Oh, right. They told me this might happen.” You draw yourself up with a breath. He’s fascinated by the movement, an air of heat around him as you begin rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb. “You got hit in the back of the head with a cinder block, honey. Went down like a lead balloon.” You turn your face to show your cheek. “We’re even now on good scares, yeah?”

You have a scar on your face he’d missed, carefully concealed but yet not invisible. Your hand in his feels so alien he holds it wrong, fingers twined but palms apart.

“What happened to you?” he asks.

Your brow crinkles. You go very still. “My cheek?” you ask.

“What…”

“Spencer, what’s the last thing you can remember, honey?” you ask, all the horror in the world to be found in your eyes.

“Uh…” He feels sick to his stomach.

“Spencer?”

Without having to be told, you slip off of the bed with two taps of your shoes and reach for the bedpan, thrusting it into his lap.

His mouth fills with spit. “I’m fine,” he says.

“No, I don’t think so. Let me get a doctor.”

“Wait,” he says, clutching the bedpan and pushing his wave of nausea as far down as he can. “Please don’t go.”

“My face was months ago, honey. I got hit in the face with a hammer by a UnSub, you don’t remember?” you ask incredulously.

“Why do you keep calling me honey?” he asks. He knows the answer, but it’s not computing.

Your face drains of any happiness. “I’m going to get a doctor,” you say, shoulders rigidly tight as you exit the room, leaving Spencer in your wake wishing he’d just pretended he knew who you were, just until you kissed him again.

—

“And he really can’t remember you at all?” Morgan asks.

You’re a little less startled than you had been, and you’re trying not to punish poor Spencer, but realising your boyfriend forgot years of flirting, and yearning, and friendship —years of kissing in secret and otherwise, years of holding hands, and staying at each other’s places to get that extra time together, even if it was just getting to sleep in the same bed between cases— was a slap.

“He remembers me,” you say, leg crossed over the other, arm over the railing of Spencer’s bed to hold his hand. “He just doesn’t remember a thing after Gideon came back, after Boston.”

“I remember when you had hair,” Spencer says to Derek.

Derek glares at him, “This Spencer doesn’t get to sass me.”

“But I do eventually?”

“How come you’re holding hands if he doesn’t know who you are?” Derek asks pointedly.

You shrug. “We talked about it, didn’t we?” you ask Spencer, who perks up every time you talk, which isn’t unlike your usual Spencer. Whenever he catches himself doing it he flusters. Every time you call him baby he loses his mind. “He doesn’t remember me, but he wants to. And I remember him.”

“This must be pretty weird for you, kid,” Derek says.

“Sort of,” Spencer says.

It’s funny. Now you know Spencer thinks he’s twenty three again, you can’t not notice his shyness and his awkward tries at casualness. You’d forgotten what he was like back then.

“Wait, does that mean you don’t remember Emily?” Derek asks.

Spencer frowns. “Uh, no?”

You sit up in your chair. “Emily’s one of your best friends, honey. She joined the BAU when Greenaway left.”

“Not you?” he asks.

You dramatise your pain as Derek laughs. “Not me. I didn’t transfer for a long time, unfairly. It’s okay, though, you’ll remember Emily eventually.”

When you realised Spencer wasn’t as okay as you’d thought, you gathered a gaggle of agitated doctors to assess him. He knew his name and birthday. He was wrong about the date, the president, and the state. You’re in Arizona where he’d thought Indiana. Your bag talks to the heat: Spencer’s fan, his sunblock, his antihistamines. He couldn’t believe it when he asked where his stuff was and you passed him your handbag.

You’re trying to drive home to him that you’re not just dating, you're common-law partners, Spence. He adores you. You’d spend life in his lap if you could afford it.

“How’d she get you to believe her?” Derek asks Spencer.

“Uh.”

“I kissed him a couple of times before he came clean about the amnesia,” you say. “So I didn’t have to explain.”

“I didn’t mean to lie,” Spencer says.

He’s looking less haggard now you’ve brushed his hair. It was sweet to watch his shoulders relax. He shuddered when you tucked a strand behind his ears, and didn’t flinch when you asked if you could kiss his cheek. It’s hard to have him vulnerable here and not be allowed to lick his wounds for him. You feel better the better he feels. You’ve fluffed his pillow, wrapped him tighter in blankets. When he got up to pee and you offered to help, he gave a resolute No Thank You, which in hindsight is hilarious but at the time made you wanna squeeze your eyes out.

“It’s okay,” you say softly, “I don’t mind kissing him, even if he doesn’t remember me. Just so long as he doesn’t mind it back.”

Spencer manages to squeeze your hand. It’s a soft one, but it’s real. “I don’t mind.”

“You dog,” Derek says.

“Stop, stop. He’s not doing anything wrong, is he?” you ask. “I’m the evil one, forcing kisses on him when he doesn’t know me.”

“I do know you,” Spencer says.

“What’s it like to have a crush on your own girlfriend?” Derek asks, unwilling to quit his teasing where he’s crossing his arms in the chair opposite, his cup of coffee drained on the side table.

Spencer swallows. “Uh, nerve-wracking.”

“Believe it or not, that’s not so different to now,” Derek says.

Spencer looks to you for confirmation, which you love. You slide your chair closer to him and clasp his wrist with your free hand. “Sometimes you're still a little shy, but it’s not so bad. Full of myself I may be, Spencer Reid, but you do love me. It’s easy with us.”

“Do we really live together?” he asks. “You said common-law.”

“Not technically. I stay at your place four nights a week. You stay with me for the weekends.”

“Every week?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“We’re never apart?” he asks.

His face is turning pink. You could kiss every bit of colour on his cheeks.

“Derek, would you get Spencer something to eat from the cafeteria? Please?” you ask, levelling your friend with a pleading gaze.

Derek gathers himself up. “Sure. We gotta feed the string bean something, don’t we?” he asks.

Alone again, you draw lines up and down Spencer’s arm with your nails. You’re going to be indulgent in yourself, and ask him everything you’d ever wanted to know. And then a little extra, too.

“You’re not as skinny anymore, have you noticed? You’re quite lean.” You stand to sit where you’d put yourself before he confessed. Your hand falls to his knee. “Solid, sometimes. You and Derek go for walks occasionally.”

“We do?”

“Mm-hm. And me and you do yoga in the living room when we can summon the energy. We tried couples Pilates, but Pilates is hard.”

“We did?”

You smile warmly. “It’s nice to be in love with someone who loves in the same way.”

“How do you love?”

His ears are bitten-red. “Oh, you know. I’m too affectionate. It’s hard not to be with you. Everyone used to think we were… I don’t know, playing a game.” You slide your hand up his thigh, leaning on him to watch his pupils blow. “But I love you for far more than your constant propensity to blush. You get me flowers every time you see my favourites, and you never let me go to sleep without a kiss. Usually here.” You poke the skin beside your eye. “But sometimes you’ll surprise me and kiss my nose.” You're going lax with love, remembering things he’s done, and does every day. “On a Saturday morning we make tea and I put my hands in your t-shirt. You do the crosswords for fun. Sometimes we time them.”

“That’s not how you love, that’s what you love,” Spencer says.

“Oh, you want a play by play of things?” He ducks his chin, but he smiles when you laugh.

“I just can’t believe this is happening.”

You try to think of things you don’t think about anymore. “You love my sugar lip gloss, so I always wear it.”

He reaches out tentatively. Shy as a wren in a hedgerow. You let him curl a hand over your elbow, feel the crook of it with his index finger.

“I buy you stamps, and t-shirts for bed, and stupid stuff you wouldn’t get yourself. We’re… it’s like, it doesn’t feel like gift giving anymore because we’re always getting stuff for each other. You’re just as sweet, you know? When I first started sleeping over you bought me this huge pack of socks ‘cos yours are all odd,” you laugh. “I knew I loved you already, but…”

It’s a little sad, actually. He can’t remember all the stuff that makes you the couple you are. It’s not what you’d meant to get into.

“Can I ask you something?” you ask.

“Anything.”

He’s slept-in and breathless, like he ran laps in his dreams.

“What do you think of me now? I always wondered if you liked me back then, or if I just caught you off guard.”

“Who wouldn’t like you?”

“But did you?”

He looks away hurriedly, his hand dropping from your elbow. “I guess so. But it’s not– not real. I have a crush on you.” His mumbling is sweet. “I have no idea why I’m telling you that.”

“I had a crush on you, too, back then. It wasn’t anything serious, but it wasn’t a joke. And the more time we spent together, the more I thought we could fall in love,” —you take his hand and put it back on your arm— “and we did.”

You toy with his fingers. Without looking, ashamed of your own self-indulgence, you ask another question. “What do you think of me now?”

“I can’t remember,” he says sorrily.

“What do you think?”

“You feel like a dream.” He shakes his head. “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world. I don’t really get how this is real.”

You shouldn’t be surprised that he’d say it, you practically begged for it, but you can’t stop yourself from sitting up to kiss his forehead gently. “It’s real. Promise. And for the record, you’re handsome. They stopped saying ‘aged like fine wine’ a while ago. Now they just say ‘aged like Spencer Reid’.”

He gives a choky laugh.

The door opens again. You lift your head expecting Derek and find a weather worm Hotch in the doorway. “Reid, you’re awake,” he says, not bothering with a smile. “Morgan said you have amnesia?” He directs it at both of you.

Spencer’s looking at Hotch in clear shock.

“He hasn’t aged that badly,” you chastise teasingly.

“Hotch, you’re– I thought you would’ve– You’re still–?”

Hotch squints. “You didn’t think I had the stamina for it?”

Spencer squirms under his gaze. “No, sir, it’s not that–”

“Sir,” Hotch says, and then he smiles. “I forgot when you both used to respect me.”

“I have the utmost respect for you, sir,” you say through your own smile.

“Has she been kind to you, Reid?”

“Uh, yes? Is she not usually?”

Hotch presses his lips together rather than answer. There’s a sympathy in his expression you resent.

—

It’s a thankfully quick bout of amnesia. The memories start to draw in like a dusting of powdered sugar, his head finely silted, one particle at a time. He finds that the more you talk, the quicker his memory is jogged. You tell him about your first kiss —I tried to kiss your cheek but you moved, it was the funniest thing— and your second. You spin stories of cases, the worst ones and the best, all the times you held hands without people knowing, the times you’d been caught. He can’t imagine it, goes hot with the memory, picturing kissing you as you’d described and the mortification of being walked in on.

You tell him about your vacation to Nevada a few months ago and he thinks about how you’d fallen asleep on the plane. Your nose in his arm, your unhappy sigh at the tight leg space.

Remembering you is more than half of remembering himself.

Your hands —his hands. Your smile —his laugh. The way you fold his hands in your lap —the urge to catch your chin for a kiss.

He doesn’t know how to deal with it, and then suddenly he feels like Spencer. Your partner, your love, his proudest title for years. You’re standing at the end of the hospital bed in pajamas folding your clothes, allowed to stay the night while he’s so urgently confused and upset, you can’t make him stay here alone, please, I know you guys have those little cots for the kids ward, and he just knows you completely.

Hours of diligent if embezzled storytelling gives it all back to him.

“I like the lipgloss because you used to wear that perfume that smelled like sugar donuts,” he says, scratching a hand through limp hair. “And every time I crossed the square by the station–”

You let out a surprising squeal of joy. “Spencer!” you say, racing to take his hands, “Yes! The donut truck!”

You go in for a kiss he gladly returns. “Oh, you remember,” you say, softening as he takes your neck into his hand. “I was getting worried.”

“Some of it’s still hazy, but not so much you.”

You wrap your arms around him for a hug, careful of his sore head. “I missed you, Spencer. I still loved you when you couldn’t remember me, but I missed you. Do you remember you?”

He traces the scar on your lower cheek with his thumb. He’s genuinely relieved to be able to say he does. He’s not scared of what you think of him anymore, ‘cos he knows that everything he feels for you is mutual. “I remember you telling me my bad feeling was just a case of the heebies.”

You bend into his touch. “Honey, I’m sorry. How was I supposed to know you’d get your skull whacked with a cinder block? It was a bakery. I thought the worst that could happen was getting a face full of red velvet or something.” You kiss his nose quickly. “I’m so glad you’re you. Now I can sleep in the bed with you, and not that collapsible camping cot.”

He shushes you. “Don’t give us away. They’re not gonna let you stay if they think I’m fine.”

You giggle excitedly, arms around him again for another squeeze. “I missed you so much. You’re so devious now.”

He rubs your back. “I missed you too. And I still have a crush on you, I swear.”

“Thank you, honey, that means a lot to me.”

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

thanks for reading!

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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feyburner · 5 months ago

Text

I ??? woke up at 3am with this scene fully written in my mind palace and quickly jotted it down in the Notes app

Clark’s shaking his head before he realizes he’s doing it, and feels a twinge of embarrassment at his own bad manners when Bruce stops mid-word to look at him, brows raised.

“No?” he says.

“No,” Clark says, again without thinking, and again with the reflexive urge to apologize. Somewhere his mother is tutting without knowing why. But he doesn’t apologize, because he’s already saying, “No, it can’t—it can’t be that.”

“Okay,” Bruce says slowly. “Can you elaborate?”

He is, honestly, having trouble taking his eyes off the screen. The mockup design of his new suit is there, dark and sleek, ridged like tactical gear. The blue is like the last shade of evening before you can’t call it evening anymore, the color of nine PM in Kansas in July, so exact there’s a strong chance Bruce color-picked it from a photo. The yellow accents are the cool fluorescent yellow-green of lightning bugs. The red is dark as arterial blood. Every aspect of the suit has been updated—the colors deeper, the angles sharper, the S extending to the corners of its frame—but Bruce has done it without changing the fundamentals. It’s immediately recognizable as the Superman suit, just… well, a little cooler, maybe. A little more of the times. Even the tailoring is modernized. The neckline. The shape of the boots. Where the belt hits at the waist. Clark can tell just by looking that Bruce has not only spent a lot of time on this in general, he’s spent a lot of time designing it specifically with Clark in mind, Clark’s needs and preferences and the small discomforts of his current suit, things he might have mentioned offhand after a mission but never with the assumption that Bruce was listening or filing it away. No doubt the next slides of this presentation will detail all the hidden features of the new suit, and they’ll all be incredibly thoughtful if not slightly overkill, and Bruce will pretend his sole motive here was practicality and risk reduction and respond to any thanks with a curt nod.

And Clark wants to thank him. He will. It’s just.

“It can’t be… cool,” he says, inane. Bruce is watching him with that steady look that used to feel clinical, piercing, and now mostly reads as attentive. “It can’t be—like yours. Tactical, military-grade.”

“Lightyears beyond, actually.”

“It has to—Ma said once, a kid should be able to draw it with crayons. You know? I can’t look like a weapon. I have to—I want to look like a friend.”

He can feel himself flushing. It’s rare that he speaks like this, and rarer still that he does so while being stared at intently. Bruce may think of himself as the darkness, but his gaze is a spotlight: unwavering and revealing and more a little sweat-inducing, for one reason or another.

“Sometimes, when I show up, people laugh,” Clark says. “If it’s somewhere out of the way, where they haven’t seen me before. I show up and I look like a festival performer. It’ll be the worst day of their lives, and they’ve got no reason to trust my face, but when they see what I’m wearing—it goes from ‘Who are you?’ to ‘Who is this guy?’ And that’s a good thing.”

“Hard to be afraid of a man dressed in primary colors,” Bruce says, almost to himself.

“Exactly.”

“I see. Thank you,” he says, “for explaining.”

Clark tries not to show how surprised he is to hear that. Judging by the crook of Bruce’s mouth, his success is negligible. “Of course. Sorry I didn’t—I mean, thank you, obviously, for going to such trouble. I didn’t mean to come in here and—I really do appreciate it, I can tell you put a lot of work in—”

Bruce’s eyes cut away. “No. No need. I didn’t ask, before I…. It was only a first draft. If you’re amenable, I’ll incorporate your feedback into the second one.”

“Oh! Yeah. Yes, of course, but you really don’t have to—”

“If you have any further notes, I would like to hear them.”

There’s something determined in the lines of his face. Clark has the sense that this moment is important, that it’s a turning point, even if he’s not sure why. It feels like striking out into a sea of ice, a blank white expanse under which something precious and vital is hidden, has been hidden all along, just waiting for him to find it. To want to.

“Sure,” he says. He looks back at the suit and swallows, and knows Bruce will see the flicker of his throat and take some meaning from it, and wishes he knew what the meaning was. Or maybe Bruce won’t notice or read into it at all. Maybe Clark needs to calm down, in fact. “Um. I don’t want to assume, but does it… do things?”

“It does things,” Bruce confirms, after the barest pause. “Let me show you the next slide.”

#superbat #my writing #i was genuinely surprised to wake up and discover i hadn’t just dreamed the whole thing

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malachitezmeyka · 1 year ago

Text

Just cried for two hours straight. It seems that no good mood of mine can last for too long.

#what has it been. a day?#one good day was enough to convince me that maybe not all hope is lost. maybe I can still feel happy #and what a day it was. I’m not surprised I let myself believe that I will be okay. who wouldn’t #I’d give anything to feel like that again. to feel like that all the time #it feels like a glimpse of a parallel universe #one where I’m happy. where I find joy in what I create. but it’s not real. none of it is #it’s a passing feeling. it envelopes me whole until I feel all warm and fuzzy and then douses me in freezing water #it never lasts more than a day or two. then I’m right back to who I really am #a miserable wreck who’d rather die than face what the future might bring #because the future feels both unbearable and nonexistent #I tend to say that the happy and creative girl who finishes art pieces in a matter of hours and types up thousands of word of fic #who rambles on and on without stopping. spurred on by nothing but her imagination #is my real self. that I feel like I’m becoming myself again when I get like that #but that’s just not true. that’s not who I am. not someone I ever was #I never had a pre traumatised self. maybe that is who I would have grown up to be if the circumstances were different #but this is the way things are. the way I am. that girl doesn’t truly exist #if she did she’d be here more often than once in a blue moon #may I should have let go of those stupid dreams of one day being okay long ago #I can’t even say ‘okay again’ because I never have been. it’s almost like I was born broken #maybe then I wouldn’t cry my eyes out every time I’m so harshly reminded of it #no matter how many times this happens I fall for it over and over again. time to accept that none of it is real #nothing makes me happy. not really. it just distract me from my mind long enough for me to catch a tiny break from all the misery #then it call comes rushing back. I don’t even like astraphobia anymore. and I was so so excited when I wrote it and didn’t hate myself #everything fades. everything disappears. all that’s left are the ruins of the girl I never got to be #I keep sobbing my heart out all alone. practically begging for someone to notice and care and tell #me all the pretty lies I’m so desperate to hear and will believe without a doubt. I keep getting excited about something only to #lose my spark within days if not hours. I can barely even look at myself. I make myself sick #I hate myself and everything I’ve ever created #I don’t even know if I’ll make it to my 18th birthday. I can’t promise that I will. I can’t find a single reason to #there’s nothing to look forward to. no future ahead of me. no beautiful afar like in that old song. there’s no point

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augustinewrites · 9 months ago

Text

yesterday afternoon - after an unsuccessful coffee shop date - you’d decided that dating sucked. it was much too awkward and formal and not at all like it was in the movies, putting too much pressure on the people involved.

last night - after watching shoko flirt her way into free drinks - you’d been tipsy enough to take her advice.

casual sex! it doesn't have to be with a stranger, just pick someone you know. someone you’re sure you won't fall in love with.

this morning you’d woken up to find gojo laying in bed next to you.

you lay shoulder to shoulder with the one person you should not have picked, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for the other person to speak.

“did we really–”

“three times,” satoru confirms happily, rolling onto his side to grin down at you. “i'm surprised we didn't do this sooner, really. our sexual tension has always been off the charts.”

when he leans in to kiss you, his lips meet your palm as your expression wrinkles. “don’t get familiar.”

“we’re naked together in bed– we slept together in more than the literal sense. can’t get more familiar than that.”

“and this never happen again,” you promise, refusing to look at him.

“why? because you’re afraid you’ll fall in love with me? it’s okay to admit it. i'm extremely lovable.”

you’ve seen the way girls fawn over him. how they swoon over his pretty eyes and confident smile. he’s satoru gojo. a legend amongst jujutsu society. you’re no one in comparison, not a user of an otherworldly cursed technique, not from a major clan.

people like him don’t fall for people like you. you’re afraid of rejection, afraid of being hurt.

“we’re friends,” you tell him honestly. “i don’t want to risk ruining our friendship over something like this.”

he tilts his head as your look at him. “shoko told you to try casual sex, didn't she? why not with me?”

“she told you?” you groan, dragging a hand down your face and making a mental note to never ask your roommate for advice for anything ever again.

“hey, look at me,” he urges, grasping your hand. you do as he says, meeting his earnest gaze. “i can be casual and chill, it’s not like i have a huge crush on you or anything.”

it’s so hard to say no to him. you really wish you could.

“i’ll think about it,” you tell him, rolling your eyes when he fist pumps. “but you need to go home before shoko sees you.”

but you’re dealing with satoru gojo, who almost never does what he’s told. “you’re not getting rid of me that easily. come here.”

he winds an arm around you, pulli my you in so you’re snug against his chest. explicit memories of last night flash through your mind, sending heat through your veins.

“i can’t.” you tell him (though you’re mostly reminding yourself.) this is insane— satoru, what are you—”

you’re cut off when he shushes you, whispering let’s sleep in for a little while longer.

he starts to drift off again as you struggle to escape his grasp, but your efforts are futile. even on the throes of sleep, satoru is stronger than you.

so you give up, resigning yourself to a few more minutes of…cuddling. shoko isn’t a morning person anyways.

after a minute, you find it's not entirely awful. it’s a purely physical reaction. gojo is good looking, even with his hair mussed with sleep and his mouth hanging open. because you know that under the softness of his skin lays defined muscle, and spending the morning in his nicely toned arms isn’t the worst thing in the world.

(it’s purely physical, is what your head tries to convince your heart, which is beating a little faster than usual.)

a very soft, content sigh slips past your lips.

then, shoko knocks on your door.

“hey! don’t tell me you’re too hungover for grocery shopping.”

“shit!” you whisper harshly, shoving him away from you. “she cannot see you in here.”

“afraid you’ll have to share?” he teases, narrowly avoiding being hit with a pillow. “okay, okay! where do you want me?”

“closet!” you instruct, scrambling my around the room to make sure none of his clothes are lying around. you thrust them into his hands, pushing him into your closet.

he catches the door before you can close it, smiling down at you. “aren’t you glad we’re doing this?”

you shove him inside, slamming the door shut just ask shoko bursts into the room.

“hey,” you greet, trying your best to appear casual as you lean against the door. your heart beats in your throat, as she squints at you, then lets her gaze sweep across the room.

“did you bring someone home last night?”

“no.”

she looks at you. really looks at you, you think.

“okay,” she finally says, though you can’t tell if she believes you. “i just– i thought i saw you leave with gojo. suguru said you two were flirting all night.”

“gojo and i?” you try to laugh, but it comes out a little strained. “never in a million years.”

shoko only shrugs, and you let yourself relax when she turns to leave…

…only for her to turn around once more, leaning the the doorframe. “well if you really don't like him, just let him down easy, alright? suguru told me he has a huge crush on you.”

wait–

“gojo?”

you hear a sharp inhale through the door.

“yeah,” she nods. “you really couldn't tell?”

gojo…has a crush on you. it takes a few seconds to truly sink in. “i had no idea.”

“of course you didn't. he’s definitely got a really weird way of showing it.”

she turns to leave for real this time, but you wait a couple extra seconds before opening your closet, finding a wide eyed, blushing satoru staring at you.

you can't help but laugh. at his expression, at shoko’s revelation, at this entire situation.

dating sucks, but maybe it won’t be that bad if it’s with him.

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #gojo fluff

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tojisun · 8 months ago

Note

found you today through your plumber simon story and hngggg how can you take a concept that's so overdone and still nail it??? THE TALENT

(I need more of those plss)

aww im glad u liked the lil drabble teehee and thank you so much!!

(idk if this will serve the way the first past did but—)

just. blue collar simon makes me shrivel up in need. he’s just so…capable. so competent. he’s suave and ruggedly charismatic. he sees what he wants and knows how to take it; how to coax it out of you.

simon sees how wide-eyed you are when you look up at him, sees the shyness in the way you give him that drink he asked for, sees the way you curl into yourself while you explain to him the problem you’re having with your kitchen sink, and he physically has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from preening.

you stuttered out your concerns, ducking your head down when you noticed how much eye contact he’s keeping, only for your lungs to constrict when all what your quiet murmur did was make him lean ever so closer to you.

“sorry, miss,” he drawled, shuffling to rest his hand on the counter. “just can’t hear y’well, s’all.”

“oh, okay,” you replied, voice all sticky because what else could you say?

and simon just watched with narrowed eyes and pinched lips because darlin’, you didn’t even know what you do to him.

simon didn’t really fuck you then, not with how you laid there on your kitchen table, loopy and twitching, eyes faraway while your body came down from the intensity of your orgasms.

little lady, you fuckin’ squirted. you drenched his mouth and made his fingers all pruny with your slick.

god, doll, you were so pretty, all sweaty and drooling, unable to even properly kiss him back when he leant down to nab a taste of those spit-slicked lips. all you could do was whine, your body locked while your cunt spurted uselessly, still so overstimulated by the way he stuffed you.

you pawed at the tent in his jeans when you finally came back to, and who was simon to deny you of his cock?

you sucked him messily, but simon’s never been so horny until then. you couldn’t even swallow his prick properly, your mouth tired and your body still putty, but simon came the fastest he’s remembered, shooting his spunk all over your sweaty face.

simon would’ve snagged a photo of how you looked but the pipes really needed some fixing. so he tucked himself back in his jeans, then slapped the inside of your thigh softly, his eyes still on your puffy cunt.

“a’right. this bloke need t’work again, is that not right miss?” simon crooned, dragging his hand along your leg, watching your skin dimple with the weight of his hold.

you warbled a response.

simon chuckled and pressed forward to brush a kiss on your forehead before forcing himself to walk away because he’s still on the clock.

not like he’d even charge you after all of that.

it’s two weeks later when you finally called the plumber again. sure, you had to slam the hilt of your knife on your pipe until it finally dented, but it’s not like the plumber—mr. simon—would need to know.

your call gets picked up after the second ring but before you could even offer any greetings, all of which you’ve rehearsed in front of the mirror over and over again, he says, “well, that sure took y’while, didn’t it doll? almost had me worried that you wouldn’t call.”

you breathe in sharply, your pussy tingling already. he chuckles.

“same address?”

“yes, please,” you rasp out before licking at your chapped lips. then, “can i request for an asap service? it’s…leaking right now.”

mr. simon laughs loudly this time. you end the call before he can say anything more, dutifully ignoring the way your cheeks thrum with feverish heat.

because you’re sure that this time…

#simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #f!reader #suns #anon #ask #blue collar simon

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kingdomvel · 27 days ago

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Steddie | 3.4k | ao3

five times people don't believe Steve and Eddie are dating + one time they have to

Made the silly post, decided to actually write it

Eddie stops his van in front of Dustin’s house. His was the last stop of the drop off after the dnd session at Gareth’s house. Dustin turns towards Eddie. He is drumming his fingers on the wheel to the beat of the DIO song playing, never still. When Dustin doesn’t move, he turns to look at him with his eyebrows raised.

“Anything wrong, Henderson?”

He is looking at him with his big eyes and Dustin gulps. Even after everything they have been through, Dustin can’t help but feel nervous. There is still this feeling that tells him he has to try to impress Eddie, to be cool enough to be his friend.

“Will you teach me how to play guitar?” Dustin blurts before he chickens out.

Eddie looks at him with surprise, blinking a few times. He was clearly not expecting that question.

“Sure.”

“Wait- really?” Dustin is genuinely surprised. A part of him knew that Eddie wouldn’t say no, but he fully expected some teasing, some ‘what, Henderson, you wanna be like me?’ which. Yes. But he didn’t want Eddie to say it.

“Yeah dude, why not?”

Dustin lets out a delighted laugh and slaps the dashboard. “Yes! Thank you! When are we starting? Any time is good for me-“

“Calm down,” Eddie says with a chuckle.

“What about tomorrow? I can do tomorrow. I will bike to your house after school and you can teach me the basics or-“

“Calm down Henderson,” Eddie repeats louder. Dustin shuts up. “I can’t do tomorrow.”

Dustin’s heart breaks a little. “Why?”

“Because this humble bard has a date with Steve Harrington.” He has a stupid smile on his face when he says it.

There are a couple of seconds of silence and Dustin knows that he is pulling a face.

“Dude, don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?” Eddie looks baffled, almost offended, but there is a shiver going down Dustin’s spine.

“Like that! A date? Just say you are hanging out like a normal person.”

He is used to Eddie’s way of saying things, rarely in a normal way, but that was weird. Don’t get him wrong, he is very happy that Steve and Eddie have stopped acting like idiots every time Dustin mentioned the other and that they are hanging out now. But it’s still strange, seeing them actually getting along so well.

“If I’m going to have the King all to myself I am calling it a date.”

“STOOOP! It’s weird.”

“What is it Henderson?” Eddie says in a teasing tone as he leans towards Dustin. “Jealous that me and Steve are giving each other a bit of love?”

“Stop saying it like that!” Dustin screams. This would be so much weirder if Dustin didn’t know he is just teasing him. Maybe it was better when they were not friends.

The front door to his house opens, and Dustin scrambles to get out of the van before his mother can come and embarrass him more. The last thing he hears is Eddie’s crackling laugh.

“Okay, what is happening?” Robin asks as soon as the door closes after the girl that had just rented Back to the Future.

“Something’s happening?” Steve sends a brief look around with a confused frown on his face before he looks at Robin.

“That girl.” Robin gestures to the door for emphasis.

Steve snorts, “yeah. Back to the Future? That’s funny.” He says as he crosses his arms in front of himself.

“That is not what this is about.”

“It’s not?”

“No! She was a babe!”

“Was she?” Steve looks at the door again, like he had not even seen the girl, like it had not even occurred to him to look at the girl. Robin could kill him.

“Yes! She was!”

“Did you want me to set you up with her? Because I will, you know that. Maybe we can have a code for that, you say- I don’t know- ‘have you watched Fast Times?’ and I will put my best wingman skills to use. I will get you a date in no time.”

Steve is the best friend Robin could ask for. He is also incredibly dumb and she is going to strangle him.

“I didn’t want you to set me up with her.”

“What’s the problem then?”

“The problem is that you are Steve Harrington and you didn’t even try to flirt with her! You should have been all over her, trying to get a date or her number. You haven’t been on a date in weeks! And it’s not even that you are striking out like in scoops, you are not even trying Steve. What is wrong with you?”

“What do you mean I haven’t been on a date in weeks, I was with Eddie just yesterday, I told you.” He has this confused frown on his face, like he seriously doesn’t understand where Robin is coming from.

“Steve, hanging out with Eddie doesn’t count as a date. Also, ew, don’t put that image in my head, I know he is our friend now or whatever and that you like hanging out with him but I would hope for you to have better taste than that.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that Eddie? Seriously? Did you see the stains on his mattress?”

Steve pulls a face, like had not thought about it before. “We’ll buy a new mattress.”

Robin looks at him, trying her best to communicate how gross she finds Eddie with her mind. Steve looks back at her with his eyebrows raised, daring her to say something else about Eddie.

The bell at the door interrupts them. It’s not a babe this time, just a normal guy, returning a tape. They act like the professionals they are until he is out of the door again.

“Aren’t you going to ask me why I didn’t flirt with him?” Steve asks, his hand gesturing to the door in that annoying way of his.

“No,” Robin says, but Steve doesn’t really wait for her answer before he continues talking.

“I didn’t because I am dating Eddie!”

“No you are not,” Robin answers with a snort.

“Yes I am.” Steve looks completely betrayed. “I am with him almost every day.”

“Oh, I know what is happening.” It’s so clear, so easy to understand now that Steve has said that. She puts her hands on Steve’s shoulders. He looks at her with a frown, a tilt of his head as he uncrosses his arms in confusion. “Steve.” She tries to convey as much seriousness as she can, just so Steve understands what is happening too. “Just because you have realised you like boys and he is gay and you two are hanging out, it doesn’t mean you two are dating.”

“Oh fu-“ he tries to move away from her but she clutches his shoulders tightly.

“You have to learn how to have friends your age, Steve. Remember when you though you liked me? I got away because I don’t like boys, and Eddie does! But that doesn’t mean he is into you!”

Steve rolls her eyes at her. The audacity. He bats her arms away with more easiness than Robin would like to admit. “Whatever.” He just says.

“Steve”

“Mike” Steve answers in the same serious tone. If not a bit confused. Mike had followed him inside when he had come to get some drinks. He can still hear the others in the pool outside.

“I saw you speaking with Nancy.” Mike states. They had been speaking, close, too close. “And Dustin told me you were making eyes at her during the Vecna thing.”

“What?” Steve whispers as he shakes his head while he takes the drinks out of the fridge.

“Anything to say to defend yourself?” Mike asks him. He crosses his arms, tries to put on a serious pose. Intimidating, as much as he can.

“Listen,” Steve starts, he turns towards Mike him and leans back on the counter. He crosses his arms, and it makes Mike shift, conscious of his own crossed arms. He doesn’t like his tone, as if he is talking to a kid. “I know you are still pissy about me dating your sister, for some reason,” he uncrosses one of his arms to say it. “But she is with Jonathan now and I am totally over her.” Mike just squints at him. He doesn’t believe him. Everyone knows that Steve is not over Nancy. “Totally! I mean it. I’m dating Eddie now.” He says it like it’s a question.

Mike snorts. That is the stupidest lie Steve could have come up with to try to get out of this. “As if.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Eddie is too cool to date you.”

“He is too- I’ve saved your life,” he points to Mike.

“Eddie is still cooler.”

Steve takes a deep breath and Mike doesn’t really want to hear what Steve is going to say to defend himself. Thankfully he doesn’t say anything, his mouth closing as his eyes drift someplace behind Mike.

“I was promised beer,” Eddie’s voice comes from behind Mike.

“You’d have it if Mike here hadn’t decided to give me shit,” Steve answers as he moves to open a can of beer and hands it to Eddie when he gets to him.

“Just-“ Mike huffs. “Don’t get any ideas with my sister.” He says it as he points to Steve while he walks back outside.

Mike doesn’t stay to see Steve’s reaction, but he hears Eddie say “anything I should be worried about?” before the noise of the others drowns everything else.

Max and Eleven giggle as the stand outside of the window to Eddie’s room. He is inside, they can see the lump inside the sheets and the mess of curls on the pillow. They look at each other and nod with a grin before they start banging on the window and shouting his name.

Eddie starts on the bed, Max could swear he lifts a few centimetres from the bed she can hear him scream ‘jesus christ’ through the window before he turns towards them with a squint. He sits up on the bed and reaches across to open the window, he is not wearing a shirt, so they have a full view of all his tattoos. It’s not like Max ever wants to see them so close, but she knows El likes them.

“What the FUCK Mayfield,” he asks, but it doesn’t sound like a question. Then, after a second of him squinting and them more. “Mini Hopper.”

Max doesn’t answer, because behind Eddie another lump is raising from the bed and looking at them with a squint. “Max? Is anything wrong?” Steve asks as he rubs his face and hair with the hand that is not currently propping him up.

“I…” Max starts, but she doesn’t continue. Sure, she had seen Steve shirtless at the boat that one time when they were going after Vecna, but it was nighttime and she had to look through some shitty binoculars.

Eddie reaches a hand back to try to push Steve back down, but it doesn’t really work. He just pushes his face, and Steve lets himself be pushed, just for a bit, before he is straightening again.

“Hey, hey,” Eddie says as he snaps his fingers in front of Max. It works on bringing her attention back to him. “Anything wrong?”

Max shakes her head.

“Are you having a sleepover? I also sleep with Max when we have a sleepover,” El asks.

Eddie looks between them for a couple of seconds before he says, “sure we are.”

It just sounds like he just wants to get rid of them.

“You boys are gross, can’t you put a shirt on?” Max asks. Billy was always walking around shirtless too.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Eddie just replies.

“Did anything happen?” Steve insists.

“We had a sleepover,” El says.

“Yeah, gathered that,” Eddie deadpans.

“We came so you will take us out for pancakes.”

Eddie groans as he lets himself fall back on the bed and looks up at Steve.

“I totally blame you for this being my life now, just so you know.”

Steve just laughs and pushes his face to the side. Max pulls a face, their friendship must be one of the weirdest things that has come out of the whole Vecna thing. Steve turns towards them with a stupid smile on his face.

“Go get your things, we will be out in ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes?!” Eddie protests, but Max and El don’t pay attention to him, already celebrating and running back to Max’s.

The last thing she sees is Steve leaning down towards Eddie with a hand on his face out of the corner of her eye, but she doesn’t really put much thought to it.

Lucas loves having Steve to play with. After all the Vecna stuff, he didn’t really want to hang out with the guys from basketball all that much, so Steve had stepped up. He had bought a hoop for his big driveway for them to practise and everything.

The day is hot, and they have been going at it for hours, so they are both sweaty and tired. They are at Steve’s driveway. It’s just them, sweaty under the sun, and Eddie sitting on a folding chair on the side, for some reason. He was already here when Lucas had arrived, and he had refused to leave. He is on the shade, reading a book, looking way more comfortable than them.

“Pause for drinks?” Steve asks, and Lucas is very happy to agree with him. “Hey!” he yells towards Eddie, he jumps as he looks up. “Don’t think I don’t see you looking at me like a creep. You should be getting us drinks.”

“Sorry sweetheart.” Eddie shouts back as he waves his book.

“Drinks, now.” Steve says with a jerk of his head towards the house.

Eddie drops the book in his haste to stand up and follow Steve inside. They are weird, they act so weird all the time. They should get girlfriends, that way they would maybe stop being weird with each other.

“You want anything, Lucas?” Steve asks as he walks away.

“Just a soda!” Lucas calls out after them.

Steve gives him a thumbs up as he goes through the door.

It’s ten minutes later that Lucas starts to wonder what’s taking them so long. He got tired of practising shoots, and also of sitting down on the grass waiting for them.

The house is blessedly chilly and dark when he comes in.

“Steve?” he calls out.

He walks towards the kitchen. There is sound coming from it, shuffling. When he gets close enough to the kitchen he hears Eddie speak quietly.

“Were you afraid your neighbours might see, big boy?”

“Shut up,” Steve answers. Then there are some wet sounds and when Lucas comes into the kitchen Steve is all over Eddie and-

“DUDE!” Lucas screams. Steve jumps away from Eddie. “What are you doing? What if Robin had seen you?”

Steve looks around. “What?”

“Dustin said you like Robin, what if she was here and she saw you…” he can’t even describe what they were doing, he just knows that if some girl saw that, she would never consider dating Steve.

“I don’t want to date Robin, why does everyone think I want to date Robin?” Steve says.

Lucas doesn’t answer. He just looks at Steve. If it’s not Robin, it’s Nancy, for sure. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell her, or anyone.”

Eddie laughs like a maniac, Lucas just squints at him and goes to grab his soda.

Robin is not sure how they have ended up here. At the Hideout. On a Tuesday. With all the kids and Eddie’s band helping them get ready before even the freaking owner has arrived. She doesn’t know what about Eddie he thought was reliable enough to give him the keys to the bar, but she guesses it’s ‘I don’t want to go work early because some teenagers want to set up their instruments to play their shitty music’. It works for them though, because the kids had been saying how much they wanted to see them play, but they are not allowed to come into the bar when it’s open, so they have come extra early so they can listen to a couple of songs before people start arriving.

“Hey lovebirds!” A voice shouts. It’s one of Eddie’s bandmates. Gareth, Robin thinks he is called. “Stop being disgusting and come here so we can start?”

Robin turns to look for who he could be calling out for. Nancy and Jonathan have not come today, and everyone is in the stage area, everyone except…

“Did you just call Steve and Eddie lovebirds?”

“Yeah, since they started dating they’ve been unbearable.”

“DATING?” Dustin shrieks beside them.

“Shit, sorry, was that supposed to be a secret?” Gareth asks, and he sounds genuinely scared. Robin would normally appreciate it but-

“Oh, you think they are actually dating?” Dustin asks, but it doesn’t sound like a question, more like a realisation.

“Aren’t they?” Jeff asks.

“No, no, it’s just Eddie saying weird things.” Dustin dismisses, but Robin is frozen in place, the cogs in her mind turning.

“You are not dating?” Gareth asks to the side and yep, there Eddie and Steve are, now close to them. Eddie has his arm around Steve’s shoulder and they are leaning against each other.

Shit.

“We are,” Steve says easily. “They just don’t believe us.” Eddie bumps his head against Steve’s and he moves his head slightly away with an annoyed look that looks more fond than anything else.

Robin and Dustin are gaping at them and, from the sudden quiet around them she guesses the rest are too.

“Wait you two are actually dating?!” Lucas voice comes from behind them. “But Dustin said you weren’t going out with anyone because you liked Robin?”

That shakes Robin out of it, if only to turn around and say, “Ew, no.” Doesn’t matter who he is talking to.

“And I told Mike and Robin I was dating Eddie,” Steve says. “And you saw us kissing.”

“Yeah but- I don’t know.”

Eddie’s bandmates are now dying of laughter, Robin can’t even blame them.

“How was I supposed to believe you were telling the truth!” Robin exclaims. That provokes more laughs.

“Wait,” Max intervenes. “So that day you were sleeping together without a shirt…” She trails off, but they all see in her face what she just realised. “Gross!”

“Oh shut up Mayfield,” Eddie says. “I saw you looking at my boyfriend’s tits.”

That shuts Max up.

“You really are dating Steve?” Mike asks.

“Yes, and no stupid comments or your character is dead Wheeler.” Eddie states, pointing to Mike with the arm that is not around Steve.

And that shuts Mike up with a huff and a shake of his head.

“So you two are boyfriends?” El asks. “I think that’s cute.”

“Thanks El,” Steve says.

“I can’t believe you got with a boy before I got with a girl!” Robin exclaims. “And I didn’t know!”

“You would have known if you had believed me!” Steve exclaims back.

“Well sorry for thinking about your dating record and drawing conclusions.”

“Okay, okay,” Gareth interrupts them. “As funny as this is, we need to start now if we want to play anything before the owner arrives.”

“Let’s get this party going,” Eddie exclaims. He moves away from Steve to grab his guitar, and then goes back to Steve and kisses him on the lips. Actually kisses him on the lips in front of everyone, and Steve doesn’t really react except from a smile because why would he? They have been boyfriends for weeks apparently. “Be back in a minute sweetheart.”

Robin fake gags.

Steve moves to stand next to Robin. He has this shit eating grin on his face that Robin can’t stand.

“Shut up,” she says.

Eddie is on the stage now, looking at them with a stupid smile on his face. She should have known they were dating.

“Told you so,” Steve just says.

#i... i fuvken forgot about will i'm so sorry #i'm not used to writing so many characters #anyway #maybe i'll fix that in teh future with now i cant think of where to introduce him #steddie #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #my writings #my steddie

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florestalio · 7 days ago

Text

INSATIABLE NEEDS — p.sh

you had always found your best friend attractive, who wouldn't? but perhaps, him being so close to you when you were ovulating... wasn't the best idea. after all, a harmless crush can lead to being dangerously close to toeing the line of friendship.

GENRE— porn with little plot, friends to ???

WARNINGS— unprotected sex (don't!), reader is extremely horny, reader is so down bad for sunghoon it's almost embarrassing, reader isn't as subtle as she thinks, sunghoon is a cocky little shit, fingering, mirror sex (?), pussy slapping, cum eating, missionary, bondage, let me know if i missed any!

WORDCOUNT— 3.6k

NOTE— this is a REVAMP of this bnd fic. since i'm on hiatus, and probs won't be able to publish anything else for two months...

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

a soft groan fell from sunghoon’s lips, as you continued to read your book, despite him being literally two feet away from you — that too on the same bed. what could that stupid book possibly contain, that you were completely ignoring his presence?

he groaned again. “can you please put that damn book aside and pay attention to me instead? we were supposed to hang out, not be busy reading stupid books–”

you rolled your eyes. “we weren’t ‘supposed’ to do anything. you came to my apartment of your own accord, went straight to my bedroom, and plopped down on my bed, expecting me to entertain you — it’s not my fault that you can’t find the entertainment you wanted from me.”

yes, maybe you were being a little harsh. but then again, he deserved it. you were ovulating — really bad at that — and were peacefully watching certain… videos on twitter, when he suddenly rang the bell to your apartment. of course you were gonna be mad at him. guaranteed, he had no idea. but that can’t stop you from being petty, can it? not to mention that the book you were reading was one of the best smut books ever, so you had at least had something to distract yourself from the current dilemma with — but he was hellbent on trying to get you to ditch that as well, just to make you pay attention to him.

distract yourself from what, exactly? why, it’s your best friend, of course.

you had always found him attractive, who wouldn’t? but now that you were ovulating… the images in your head starring him were… unholy in the least.

you needed the distraction. everyone knows that a girl ovulating, while being in the presence of a guy who she is even slightly attracted to, can be very, very dangerous. especially if said guy is a good friend. toeing the line of friendship is never a good idea, especially with sunghoon. you weren't willing to lose him forever, just to satisfy your temporary needs… even if he was making it really difficult for you to not pounce on him.

you never thought a band aid on someone's cheek could be that attractive, combined with his all black outfit and the lollipop in his mouth. the way he kept swirling his tongue over the candy? god, you were definitely going to hell from the thoughts you were having about him.

a scoff from your best friend snapped you out of your daydreams. “okay, maybe i came uninvited. but isn't it common courtesy for you to not blatantly ignore someone right in front of you? or is that book of yours so engaging that you forgot basic etiquettes?”

oh, how you wished to yell at him and say that yes, the book really was that engaging. how you wished to recreate the absolutely mouth-watering smut scenes in the book with him–

okay, you really needed to get a grip over yourself.

you cleared your throat. “fine, i'll keep the book down, but i don't know how to entertain you.” true to your word, you kept the book down, the uncomfortable heat that had been long since pooling into your lower stomach, not fading in the slightest. in fact, the more you looked at him, the more the heat intensified.

he rolled his eyes, speaking in an irritated voice. “it’s not like you aren't enjoying yourself right now, is it?”

you couldn't understand if it was because you were ovulating, or if he was doing it purposely — but something about the tone of his voice was so fucking hot — you could feel even more heat starting to pool into your lower stomach, your panties sticking to your folds uncomfortably. you spoke in a slightly shaky voice. “w-what is that supposed to mean?–”

sunghoon took the lollipop out of his mouth with a loud ‘pop’, before speaking with an accusatory tone. “don’t play dumb with me. you know exactly what i’m talking about.”

…there was absolutely no way you were growing wetter at his tone. since when did he sound so… hot while accusing you? and why were you enjoying it?

you didn’t even know what he was accusing you of. all you could concentrate on was his slight smirk and the cocky gleam in his eye. you couldn’t tell why he was looking at you the way he was, but you knew he was up to no good.

but even when you predicted that, his next few words still managed to make your blood run cold. “stop pretending like i can't see you rubbing your cute thighs together. i'm not blind, you know.”

your jaw dropped, staring at him with eyes that were wide open in horror. he noticed?! god, so now he thinks you're a pervert — which, given your behavior, wouldn't be wrong — but still–

you didn't know how you still had the audacity to play dumb, but you did. “i-i don't know what you're talking about–”

you were cut off with a loud scoff from him. he gave you an incredulous look, speaking in a condescending tone, paired with sheer disbelief, letting you know that he didn't buy your bullshit. “you don't know what i'm talking about?”

you gulped, your thighs unintentionally pressing together even harder to prevent a fresh wave of slick from trickling down your hole. “n-no?–”

he let out a disappointed sigh, which seemed to be more of a mocking gesture than a genuine reaction of disappointment. “so you aren't going to admit it on your own. that's okay, i can always make you admit it.”

without a warning, he wrapped a hand around your ankle, yanking you towards him. you screamed out loud from utter shock. before you could say anything, he pulled you up, wrapping a hand around your waist so that you were pressed flush to his chest. he spread his legs, settling you in between them, before turning you, pressing your back to his chest. sunghoon grabbed your chin, pulling it up, so that your eyes stared right into your own in the mirror on the far end of your room.

your eyes trailed to his own in the mirror, shocked to see his expression. his eyes had darkened, slightly hooded eyes staring straight into your soul. you had never seen your best friend like that, but today… safe to say your thighs clenched again, your panties surely drenched by now.

you gulped, noticing a slight smirk on his face. he brought his lips closer to your ear, whispering softly. “tell me princess, are you still not going to admit it?”

his tone sent chills down your spine. you wanted to admit it so badly, wanted to let him know exactly how you needed him to rail you within an inch of your life — but then again, you wanted to find out what he would do if you didn’t give into his demands. what you guys were doing had already crossed all lines of friendship, it didn’t matter now if you guys went all the way anyways.

so you proceeded to lie. again. “i- i seriously don’t know what you’re talking a-about–”

he let out a disappointed sigh, — which sounded really condescending instead — before speaking again. “so you really have no idea, hm? you’re telling me you aren’t wet right now? hm?”

your breath hitched. fuck, this was really happening. “i- i’m not–”

you were cut off with a loud gasp, when he suddenly pressed two fingers right over your clothed cunt, the nearly drenched fabric soaking up more of your wetness. you couldn’t help yourself, letting out a choked moan, when he pressed them in even harder, effectively pushing the fabric deeper inside your puffy lips, even more slick dripping down out of you.

your best friend — could you even call him that anymore? — bit down on the lobe of your ear, before speaking again. “nasty little slut, aren’t you? soaking up your panties right in front of me, and yet you have the gall to lie to my face? acting all innocent too… was this what you actually wanted? for me to force an answer out of you? fuck, look at the way you’re clenching around my fingers, and they aren’t even inside you yet — we’re gonna have so much fun together princess…”

his last few words turned you on even more, — if that was even possible — falling out of his lips like a dark promise, a promise that he intended to keep. you still needed to answer him, so you did — only this time, all hesitation, all the ‘acting dumb’ was gone, replaced by pure, unadulterated, lust. “i’m s-sorry please — please, fuck me hoon–”

you couldn’t even complete your sentence, before he pulled his hand off your pants, opting to push the waistband of your shorts down instead. you didn’t even realize that you were lifting up your hips for him to shove them down your legs, your underwear following suit — only, instead of throwing it far away randomly in the room, he brought them to his nose, screwing his eyes shut and taking a deep inhale.

his action caused your jaw to hang open in pure shock, eyes as wide as saucers — you were so unbelievably horny, all you wanted was to push him down to lie down on your bed, and ride him till the two of you were spent beyond salvation — but you knew he wouldn’t let you do that. he always liked to be assertive, which you were fine with — although right now you were growing impatient. you needed him, did he not understand that? you needed him so fucking bad, you would let him take you raw, breed the fuck out of you, fuck a baby into you–

at this point you didn’t even know if these were your own thoughts, or your ovulation fucking with your head. either way, you were filled with the thought of him, your mind chanting ‘sunghoon, sunghoon, sunghoon’ like a mantra, imprinting his name into the walls of your brain — which was funny, because he hadn’t even done anything to you yet — properly, that is.

speaking of, you just noticed him stuffing your soaked panties into his pocket, his hand coming to grip your chin again. he raised it to make you look into the mirror. you made eye contact with him in it, gulping at the look in his eyes. it was purely predatory, lust swimming in his irises like an insatiable hunger.

if you had any doubts about him not wanting you as much as you wanted him, your doubts were certainly all cleared now.

his hand left your chin, coming down to your impossibly wet cunt instead. he slid a finger over your slit, rubbing it up and down, collecting your abundant amount of slick on it. he watched in the mirror, completely fucking mesmerized by the sight of your pretty little pussy fluttering around his finger. he decided to use another finger, using both of his digits to part your folds, watching even more slick dripping out of your needy cunt. it was truly a sight, causing his bulge to strain against your back, a loud moan escaping you at the feeling. your head fell back on his shoulder, your eyes screwed shut from the feeling of him playing with you so lewdly — it was like a scene straight out of your dirtiest fantasies, one that you never imagined would actually happen in reality — but fuck, you were definitely not complaining.

you suddenly gasped out loud, your head jerking up, staring directly into his eyes in the mirror. your eyes were wide open in shock, from the impact of his slap on your impossibly wet pussy. your breathing had fastened, staring at him in pure shock. he scoffed at your expression, glaring at you through the mirror. “what? surprised? if you want me to continue, you better not remove your gaze — you’re going to watch as i make you fall apart on my fingers. if you avoid eye contact even once, i’m going to edge you the entire day — yes, the entire day. i’m not kidding in the slightest, princess, so you better keep those pretty eyes of yours peeled open if you want to cum at all.”

you swallowed thickly. this, this was what you needed. he was what you needed, he was all you needed. his tone, his words, everything was so fucking hot — you craved everything he could offer, and more.

but, in order to get a little bit of literally anything he had to offer, you needed to obey him. so you decided to comply, not removing your gaze even once from the mirror.

he plunged his fingers inside you without a warning, fucking them into you at a rough pace, drawing out loud squelching noises from your pussy. you let out the loudest moans and whimpers known to mankind at his rough pace, whining slightly, clenching and unclenching around his fingers. you arched your back to the best of your ability, letting out a loud whimper, when the calloused pads of his fingers rubbed oh-so-deliciously against your walls. your breath hitched as he rubbed that spot on your walls, his other hand holding you down tightly to stop you from squirming. he had noticed immediately, making sure to hit that same spot over and over again, using his thumb to rub on your clit simultaneously. you let out a choked gasp, the band in your stomach tightening at alarming rate; a telltale sign of you being brought to your fastest — almost embarrassingly fast — orgasm yet.

sunghoon watched your expressions with his lip pulled between his teeth, his eyes hooded, as you fell apart on his fingers. the little shudders and loud whines were music to his ears.

god, you knew exactly how to drive him crazy.

he kept on thrusting his fingers shallowly, until you were squirming from the overstimulation. he then withdrew his fingers from your soaking cunt, giving your clit a last pinch, eliciting a whimper from you. he brought his fingers to his mouth, maintaining eye contact with you in the mirror, as he licked them clean, a soft groan leaving him as your taste hit him.

he licked off every last drop from his fingers, before harshly grabbing your chin. he turned your face halfway towards him, smashing his lips on yours, for the very first time — which was a little funny to think about, given that he had already made you cum on his fingers; that too at such an embarrassingly fast pace.

the kiss was sloppy and messy, spit mixing and dribbling down your chins, tongues clashing with each other. but neither of you seemed to care, too engrossed in trying to memorize the feel of each other's mouth.

he gripped your waist without breaking the kiss, pulling you backwards, before shoving you down on the bed. you fell on your back with a light ‘oof–’, your head hitting the pillow. you barely had any time to gather yourself, before sunghoon was crashing his lips into yours again.

he kissed you at a feverish pace, one that you could barely keep up with. his hands roamed about your body frantically, desperately trying to memorize every inch of you. he started to fiddle with your clothes, trying to take them off you, almost tearing them off in the process.

you barely processed it when your shirt went flying in some corner of the room, your bra following suit. your nipples harden almost instantly as they come in contact with the cold air, causing him to immediately pinch them, drawing out a loud whine from you. he sucked on one of them harshly, using his hand to pinch and twirl the other nipple. he alternated between both, biting and sucking on the skin around your nipples too, until your entire chest was covered in red hickeys and bite marks.

you were starting to find it a little unfair because of how you were the only one unclothed between the two of you, causing you to take the matter into your own hands. you tugged at his shirt impatiently, causing him to give in and take it off. he tried to immediately kiss you again, but your hands that were tugging at his pants stopped him. he stared at you with a slightly impatient glare, before taking his belt out of the loop.

instead of taking his pants off like you hoped he would, he grabbed both of your hands, before tying them with the belt, attaching them to the headboard. you gasped loudly, trying to free your hands, in vain. he laughed at your state. “patience is key, darling. didn't you know that?”

he pressed another harsh kiss to your lips, swallowing your whines, as he slowly grinded on you. you could feel the outline of his rock hard dick through his boxers, pressing insistently against your clit. you let out sharp gasps and moans at the sensation, but it was quickly ripped away from you.

you were positively drooling when he shoved his boxers down, his cock standing proud and tall. it slapped against his stomach, leaving a trail of precum on it. he grabbed your thighs, shoving them apart, before aligning himself with your eagerly awaiting cunt.

he rubbed his angry red and leaking tip on your clit, before gliding it up and down your slit, collecting your wetness. you arched your back, your eyes rolling into your head, a loud moan practically ripping out of your lips. you looked up at him with teary eyes, silently begging him to hurry up.

he smirked down at you, leaning down to nip at your bottom lip, before finally pushing himself inside. you let out an even louder moan, feeling his bulbous tip stretch you out, before he thrust himself fully inside — earning a choked gasp from you. he groaned, barely giving you time to adjust, before pulling himself almost completely out, leaving only the tip in, before thrusting back in.

he set a brutally fast pace, the continuous ‘fap-fap-fap’ sounds ringing loudly in your ears. the squelching sounds from your pussy were almost equally as loud, as more and more of your wetness trickled down his length. your bottom lip was pulled in between your teeth, eyes screwed shut. you subtly bucked your hips up, trying to match his pace.

he noticed it quickly enough, grabbing your hips to still you, before stopping as well. he gave you a stern look, before changing his pace. instead of the brutally fast pace he had set earlier, he switched to a slower pace, focusing on hitting every single spot perfectly.

you clenched around him tightly, a breathy moan of his name leaving your lips. his pace stuttered, before he grabbed both of your legs, folding them to your chest. the new position helped him pound into you even deeper, reaching places you never could on your own. his mushroom tip collided with your cervix every time, making you see stars.

he was deep, so so deep. he felt so fucking good, like you were in cloud nine. by the looks of it, he thought the same.

he let out a deep groan, breathy whispers leaving his lips. “p-pussy feels s-so — fuck — s’fucking good — fits like a glove–” he cut himself off with a moan, feeling you clench around him harder. “keep s-squeezing me like that i'll cum.”

you could barely hear him, your brain completely fogged up. you could barely formulate a single coherent thought, the completely unadulterated pleasure leaving you dizzy. you let out a soft gasp as you felt him sucking on your neck, just above your jugular. it felt good, too good.

you could feel the band in your stomach start to tighten, signalling your impending climax. he could tell it was close too, by the change of pitch in your moans. he focused on hitting your g-spot with every thrust, bringing his hand down to rub circles around your clit, coaxing your orgasm out of you.

the added stimulation was all it took for the band in your stomach to finally snap, your cunt clenching impossibly tight around him.your eyes rolled back, mouth open in a silent scream. your orgasm washed over you, coating his dick in a layer of white.

your orgasm triggered his own, causing his hips to stutter. he tried to pull out, but your pussy was clenching so tightly around him, he simply couldn't. he grabbed your hips, pushing himself even deeper. his eyes rolled back, a groan escaping him, as he came in you.

spurts of cum erupted from him, shooting deep inside, your pretty cunt clenching around him even harder, milking him for all he was worth. he came and came, till he physically couldn't anymore. he pulled his softening length out of your spent hole.

your ruined pussy clenched around nothing, globs of cum dripping down your thighs. sunghoon scooped them up with his fingers, pushing them right back into your sensitive folds. he pressed a kiss to your forehead, pushing your hair out of your face. “you're still with me?”

you nodded tiredly, too spent to speak. you were still in disbelief of the entire situation, but it was as real as real could get. you felt him untie your hands, before scooping you up in his arms, carrying you bridal style, carrying you to what you could only hope was the bathroom — before you passed out in his arms.

#park sunghoon smut #sunghoon smut #enhypen smut #enha smut

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pedroscurls · 5 months ago

Text

in every lifetime

summary: you lost logan in this universe. logan lost you in his. what happens when you both see each other again, but realize that you're both from different worlds? pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader warnings: post deadpool & wolverine ("worst" logan!variant), angst (mentions of death, loss from both reader and logan), no use of y/n. word count: 2.1k a/n: this is my first logan fic, so if anything is ooc, i'm sorry in advanced! just like everyone else, i've been obsessed with hugh jackman / logan after watching deadpool & wolverine (if it isn't obvious lol)... i had the song 'unchained melody' in mind when writing this story because whenever i hear it, i think of logan for some reason lol (tried to embed it but it didn't work, but i'd highly recommend listening to the song while reading this!) anyway, hope you enjoy! next part.

“I’ll be back.”

“But what if–”

“I always come back, bub.” Logan’s looking down at you, hand cupping your cheek. In moments like this, you can see the age in his features. The crows feet at the corners of his eyes. The gray in his hair and beard.

“Logan…” Tears sting your eyes. You know he has to leave, has to go help Charles, but there’s a feeling deep in your gut that knows that if he goes, he isn't coming back.

“Wait for me, then.” He says, dipping down to gently peck your lips. “Okay? Wait for me.”

“Logan,” you repeat. “What do I do if I– if I lose you?”

There’s a feeling in the pit of Logan’s stomach, a sense of dread and fear that he’s only ever felt when you were concerned. This feels a lot like a goodbye… That maybe if he does go, he won’t come back. And the thought alone scares him. He never used to have to think about the possibility of dying, his regenerative powers always healing him in record time, but he knows that he doesn’t heal as quickly as before. He feels more pain now than he ever had. And he knows he’s sick, knows that the adamantium that once gave him strength is now slowly making him weaker.

But now, the thought of dying… It fucking scared him. It scared him to think that he’d leave you here, all alone, grieving him. He had never thought he’d be deserving of someone like you, to be loved and taken care of so gently, so sweetly, so patiently. Even with all of the baggage he carried, you never pushed. He knew, right off the bat, that you deserved someone so much better than him, but you stayed.

Through it all, you stayed.

And Logan would forever be grateful. After everything he’s been through, the things he’s seen, the things he had to do, the people he’s lost, you gave him a life that was finally worth living.

“Then, you move on, darlin’.” Logan finally answers.

“And if I can’t?”

“You’ll have to.”

“I don’t… I don’t want you to go, but I know that you have to. Charles needs you and–”

“I love you with every fiber of my being, baby,” Logan interjects. “And I will love you in every lifetime.”

And that was almost a year ago. The moment he stopped calling, you knew that was it. That he either got into some real trouble or… Or that he was no longer here. It wasn’t until a young girl named Laura showed up on your doorstep, holding his dog tags that your assumptions were correct.

You had fallen to your knees, a sob escaping your lips, as you felt your world come crashing down. Logan’s death had left a gaping hole in your heart, in your life, and everywhere you looked and everywhere you went, all you could see was him.

You learned from Laura that during his last moments, he had told her to come and find you, that you would take care of her and give her a good life. Whenever you were around her, you tried to be strong, tried to put on a brave front, but behind closed doors, you were a complete mess. There were days where you didn’t want to get out of bed, didn’t want to eat; you just wanted the pain to stop. Every night, whenever you closed your eyes, you forced yourself to sleep because that was the only place where you could be with him.

In your dreams, he was alive.

In your dreams, he had made it back home.

In your dreams, he was here with you, helping raise Laura.

And every time you woke up, you were welcomed with the sudden reality that he wasn’t alive. He wasn’t coming back home. He wasn’t ever going to be here with you to help raise Laura.

Logan was dead and now, you had to try and learn how to move on.

For yourself.

For Laura.

For Logan.

—

He didn’t know what he was doing here, why he agreed to stay with Wade because it was driving him crazy. This wasn’t even his timeline; he wasn’t even meant to be here. Despite saving Wade’s timeline, Logan still found it hard to fit in. He tried to keep Wade and every single one of his friends at an arm's distance because he knows what happens to people he cares about.

But the more time he spent around them, the more he felt at ease. Logan would be lying if he said he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, but when Laura mentioned your name at one of Wade’s family dinners, his heart skipped a beat. When he realized he would be able to stay in this timeline, you were all he could think about.

Logan wondered if you existed in this world and what he would do if you did. So, when Laura casually said your name, his head turned around so quickly that he felt dizzy. There were so many things he regretted in his own timeline, but you were his biggest regret.

Just like he failed the other X-men, Logan had failed you too. You had been there with the other X-men, trying to warn them of a planned attack and ended up getting caught in the crossfire. You had called out for him, just like Scott, like Charles, like Storm.

He managed to get to you before you had taken your last breath, holding you in his arms. Logan begged and begged for you to fight, that he’d do things right from now on as long as you just held on, but you were losing so much blood and Logan couldn’t stop it.

Even then, when you had every right to be angry with him, you gazed up at him with an understanding look on your face. You had always been so patient and kind, so sweet and considerate. You had made him so happy and it scared him, which ultimately ended in pushing you away because he didn’t think he was deserving of it. Of you.

“I love you, Logan,” you had said, wincing at the pain.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m–” Logan felt a sob catch in his throat, tears stinging his eyes as he looked down at you. “Please, baby, please please please, don’t–”

“I–” you coughed, eyes fluttering as you felt the pain overcome your entire body. “I will love you in every lifetime, Logan.” And then, you took your last breath, eyes falling shut and body falling limp in his arms.

Since then, Logan drank himself day after day, from dawn to dusk. The alcohol never truly helped, his regenerative powers sobering him so fast, but with every swig of liquor, it burned. And he spent years bringing pain unto others, including himself.

That was, until he met Wade who had given him a chance, a reason to fight for something… To not turn his back on someone who relied on him. A chance for redemption, to finally make things right.

“So, will you meet her?” Laura asks, holding Dogpool in her arms as she gazes up at Logan. “She– She used to be with this universe’s Logan and…”

“No chance, kid.” Logan interrupts, shaking his head. “I’m not him.”

“Did you have someone like her in yours?” she asks. “She’s always put me first, always made sure I was taken care of even when she didn’t have to, when she was grieving. And I think–” Laura sighs. “I think if she knows that some version of you is alive, it would make her real happy.”

“I’m not him,” Logan growls, feeling his irritation spike. “‘Sides, she’s better off without me.” He stands from the table and walks out into Wade’s balcony to get some fresh air, shutting the door behind him as he leans against the railing.

“But she’s coming tonight,” Laura finally says, long after Logan’s walked away.

Throughout the rest of the dinner, Logan remains outside. He can hear the muffled laughter coming from inside and it only angered him because it was just another confirmation that he didn’t belong here. He’s already on his fourth bottle of beer when he hears a familiar voice, smells a recognizable scent. He turns slightly and catches you stepping into Wade’s apartment, an arm slinging over Laura’s shoulders so casually, so maternally.

He feels his heart rate pick up. Your smile still lights up a room and he can’t help but his lips turning upwards at the sight. With his enhanced hearing, Logan can hear your voice and he shuts his eyes for a moment, tuning all of his attention on you until you’re the only one he hears.

Then, he hears your laugh and he lets out a sigh. He never thought he’d be able to hear that again, but his eyes shoot open when he hears you say his name. There’s a shocked tone in your voice, laced with sadness and hope. It all but crushes him because he knows that you’re probably expecting someone else, expecting this world’s Logan and he doesn’t want to disappoint you. Not again. He doesn’t think he’d be able to handle it if he were to hurt you again.

But when he looks at you, his breath catches in his throat when your eyes meet his. Logan notices the surprise look on your face, but before he could try and escape, you’re already walking towards him. When you open the door and step out with him, your scent fills his senses and it makes him dizzy, like he can’t fully concentrate.

“You…” he hears you say, voice unsteady. “You’re not… I’m–” you sigh and shake your head.

“I know who you are,” Logan finally says, his own voice shaky.

Your hands reach out for him, but stopping halfway when you realize this isn’t your Logan. This is not the same man who died all those years ago. This is some version of him – much younger, less wrinkles and gray hairs in his hair and beard, but he still has that same look on his face. The scowl.

“From Laura?” you ask hesitantly.

“From my universe,” Logan answers.

“There– There’s a version of me in your universe?”

“There was.”

“And what happened to me?”

Logan’s jaw tightens. “The same thing that happened to your Logan in this universe.”

“Oh.” Your face drops, eyes softening. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

Logan wants to run far from here, far from you because he feels himself yearning for more. He almost forgot how it felt like to be near you, to be inches away that he can just reach out and pull you into his arms. Your eyes captivate him, the kindness it expresses makes him feel like he matters. You had always made him feel that way that even through all of his anger, through all of the walls he put up, you showed him that he was deserving of something good. Even if he didn’t believe it himself.

And you… You were the best thing to ever happen to him.

“Don’t know why you’re apologizin’,” Logan mutters.

There’s an uncomfortable silence that engulfs the both of you. He can see the tears threatening to spill over, can see the way your lower lip is beginning to tremble and he has this sudden urge to console you, to wipe away the tears that have now fallen down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, bringing your hands up to wipe away the tears that seem to be trickling down your face nonstop. “I just– Losing my Logan just crushed me and I don’t think I’ve ever recovered.”

My Logan.

Logan can practically feel his heart beating in his chest. This isn’t a conversation that he thought he would be having and certainly not with someone he loved and died because of him.

“That’s okay,” Logan responds quietly, his tone softening. “I don’t think it’s easy to recover from losing someone you love.”

“Did you– Did you love me in your universe?”

Logan nods slowly, tightening his jaw as he gazes down at you. “With every fiber of my being.”

Your eyes widen and stare up at him. This might be a different Logan, but hearing those words again just brings you back to the moment you last saw your Logan before he left to go take care of Charles.

“Did you love me in yours?” Logan asks hesitantly.

You nod instantly, tears trickling down your cheek as you stare up at him. “I’d love you in every lifetime.”

Logan feels his own set of tears pool at the corners of his eyes and he moves a hand to rest on the railing, fingers lightly brushing against yours as he stares into your eyes.

“I’m not him,” he whispers.

“I know,” you say quietly. “And I’m not her.”

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