#I’m still a bit shaken up if you can’t tell | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

runraerun · 22 days ago

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Steddie Amnesia Ficlet

-> part two

cw: lots of head trauma/brain injury/recovery stuff.

Steve wakes up in the hospital with someone snoring loudly on his leg, mouth open, drool getting soaked up into the scratchy hospital blanket over him.

Steve just stares.

It’s… Freddie? No, that’s not right... Eddie! Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson, known delinquent and drug dealer… resting his head on Steve’s lap.

What the hell…?

Steve reaches up with a wobbly, IV-ridden hand to clumsily pat along his head, but instead of meeting messy hair, he meets a thick wad of bandages. He flinches when he hits an especially tender spot.

It’s not much but it’s enough to wake Eddie Munson up with a jolt, and a random jumble of words that sounded something like, “the dice have spoken!”, but Steve can’t be sure. Not with the sharp ringing still going off inside his skull.

“Steve? Steve! Oh thank fuck, Jesus H. Christ, you scared the ever loving shit out of me.” Eddie stood and grabbed at one of Steve’s shoulders, shaking him enough to elicit another wince.

“Oh, damn, sorry. I’m like a fucking bull in a china shop here, man. There’s way too much expensive, breakable shit here. I’m not used to it. I accidentally ripped your IV out the other day... Fuck. The nurses hate my guts.” Eddie chuckles, eyes wide and solely on Steve, talking like they were old friends or something.

But that can’t be right. Steve doesn’t remember saying more than two words to Eddie Munson during the entire time he knew he even existed, and even then it was just to discuss weed prices.

“For real though, talk to me Harrington, how you feelin’, hm? Loopy? Gonna yak again? Apparently they got you on the good stuff,” Eddie flicks a liquid filled bag hanging above Steve and shakes his head, “but they keep cutting you back. Dicks.”

Steve’s eyes try and follow Eddie’s erratic movements but his eyes ache the more he moves them. He blinks against the harsh fluorescents and tries to open his mouth. And thank God, Eddie Munson seems to take this as a sign and shut up.

“What happened?” Steve finally croaks.

One of Eddie’s brows jumps. “You don’t remember?”

Steve gives his head a small shake. Did Eddie hit him with his car or something? Is that why he’s sleeping at his bedside and talking to him like they’re buddies?

“You fell, Stevie.” Eddie makes a whistling noise and mimicks something falling with his hands, then makes a crashing sound when his hand lands on Steve’s bandaged head. “Like a coconut out of a tree. Landed right on that big ol’ melon of yours. There was blood everywhere. It scared the shit out of me and the kids. Especially when you wouldn’t wake up.”

Steve’s throat feels like sandpaper, but he manages to swallow, his throat clicking as he did, and gets out, “The kids?”

Eddie seems to notice, even before Steve can ask, and reaches for a water bottle with a straw already in it, and half chewed. Eddie’s own, no doubt. Against his better judgment, Steve accepts it when Eddie offers it to him. He was just so goddamn thirsty.

“Don’t worry, they’re all fine. They were just shaken up. I’ll radio the little gremlins and give ‘em the good news in a sec.” Eddie’s smile falters a little, seeming lost for words. Like he wants to say something, but can’t quite get it out.

Steve finishes swallowing his few, meager gulps of water before he asks, “What is it?”

“Don’t freak out—“ Eddie begins.

And, okay, that’s exactly the thing you tell someone before they freak the fuck out. Steve’s stomach is subject to a growing, sluggish panic. “What? Dude, tell me—“

“It’s your hair.” Eddie seems genuinely pained at having to deliver this crushing of a blow to Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington.

Steve can hear the beeping from the monitors he’s hooked up to begin to pick up speed as his heart begins racing. “My hair?”

“It’s okay! It’s okay, it’ll grow back! They just had to take a little bit off where the stitches went, you can hardest notice it—well, that’s a fucking lie, you could spot that landing strip from space—but I think if you part it to the other side it won’t look so… y’know.”

“No, dude, I don’t know.” Steve says, eyes wide, brows pinched.

“Like a drunk toddler took a pair of rusty kitchen shears to your mop.” Eddie says, huffing out a nervous sort of laugh.

Steve groans, half due to the bastardization that’s happened to his favorite feature, and half due to the migraine that’s looming on his horizon.

“You’re still pretty, Stevie, don’t worry.” Eddie grins, eyebrows raised, like he’s trying to be cute or something.

That weirdest part is, it’s kind of working.

Steve must have hit his head really, really hard.

The doctors eventually come in and perform all sorts of tests, and he tries his best to comply with them and jump through whatever hoops they make him jump through. He just wants to get the hell out of this hospital bed.

Unfortunately for him, Steve hadn’t exactly aced any of the tests.

In fact, he had failed most of them pretty fucking dismally. He couldn’t remember the date, who the president was, where he lived, couldn’t say the alphabet backwards… although, who the fuck can do that? He stands by that failing grade.

A couple of CAT scans later and it’s clear that Steve’s brain got smacked around a little more than they had originally thought.

Among a pile of other stuff, the thing that sticks out the most to Steve is his diagnosis of something called short term amnesia. They explain it like the past 2 to 3 years has just been wiped from his brain. The last clear thing he really remembers is getting the shit beat out of him by Billy, and then it all sort of gets jumbled. Fragmented. The doctors explain that this is pretty typical for head trauma patients.

He’s a head trauma patient, now.

It’s normal for memories of trauma to link, creating spiderwebs throughout your brain.

Which, that’s great. So when he gets beat up again, there’s always a chance his brain will try and erase his easy, happy years and revert back to a trauma default. Really helpful brain, thank you.

And the thing that sucks the most is that his years after the Billy beat down sound pretty great. Traumatizing, sure, but great. Once the Upside Down shit was locked up, with every scary nightmare fuel monster inside of it, life in Hawkins didn’t sound all that terrible.

He lived with Robin, who’s his best friend, (his ‘platonic soulmate’ even, as she explains it), he’s working a retail job, (also with Robin), and coaches the high school basketball team during the evenings. He’d even been talking with Hopper about joining the force.

Well, he was. Now he’s more or less useless, working full time at re-learning his life, along with a couple of fine motor skills that got glitchy after the fall.

And then there’s Eddie.

Eddie, who’s apparently also his best friend, only their soulmate link isn’t platonic at all.

The strange and weirdly exciting reality was that Steve Harrington had woken up from his 3-day medically induced coma with not only a full fledged relationship, but a boyfriend.

It’s a lot to digest, and part of him still doesn’t even know how to process it, but hearing the stories being told around him, seeing how Eddie is practically living in his and Robin’s two-bedroom apartment, and just… the way Eddie looks at him?

It’s with love—Steve can see it. Feel it. Eddie’s practically vibrating with it.

What’s even crazier is that when Steve looks at Eddie, he feels the exact same way.

It’s like looking at the stars. Steve’s heart skips a beat when those dark eyes of hit him, and Steve wants nothing more than to make Eddie smile—no, better than that, to make him laugh, just so he can watch Eddie’s adam’s apple bob up and down and hear that manic, unhinged cackle. It’s downright delightful. Steve loves being in relationships like this, where it’s all consuming.

Steve may not have the memories of falling in love with Eddie, but he has all the feelings.

No one talks about it with Steve, of course. Maybe they think it’s going to be too heavy for him to process that he’s into dudes now, but Steve isn’t a big dumb baby. Sure, he’s got a pretty severe brain injury, and yeah, alright, it takes him a minute to remember people’s names sometimes, and he has a harder time controlling his emotions, but he isn’t a complete invalid. Only a little bit of one. He’s working on it, dammit.

And Eddie is so painfully, frustratingly patient with him. He never pushes. He’s clearly letting Steve retrieve his memories before he makes a move, because despite his whole outward appearance, Eddie Munson is a goddamn gentleman. He never so much as reaches for Steve’s hands, but Steve can tell by the way their pinkies graze when they watch movies late at night that he wants to.

Steve can tell by the way Eddie teases him, the way he’s there with him through his recovery, that he doesn’t ever make Steve feel stupid when he asks the same questions over and over again, when he cries at the drop of a hat or when he gets sort of confused about the lay out of his apartment—he doesn’t care about that of that.

Because he’s in love with Steve. It’s so painfully romantic, it brings a painful lump to Steve’s throat every time he thinks too much about it.

The two of them are driving to one of Steve’s therapy sessions, Eddie in the driver's seat, Steve in the passengers, listening to a low racket of some kind of heavy metal music. Eddie always keeps the volume low now, for Steve.

He’s just been so intensely good about everything that Steve needs to try and do something good for Eddie in return. He needs Eddie to know that there’s a light at the end of this tunnel that they’re both currently lost in.

“I’m sorry about this, y’know.” Steve says when they finally pull up the building that has ‘Brain Injury Recover Center’ written on the front. So all the boys and girls with scrambled eggs for brains know where to converge.

“Don’t worry about it, man. I work the evening shifts, remember? My days are free.” Eddie explains, and Steve wonders if he’s had to be told this bit of information a couple of times now. Sometimes it takes a few times before something sticks to his brain now. His short term memory is still majorly flighty. But no, Steve remembers that Eddie bartends at a local bowling alley most evenings. He’s gone a few times. Not to bowl, of course—too much hand eye coordination involved—but just to hang out with Eddie. He’s pretty decent at Ms. Pac-Man though.

Steve shakes his head. He knows his mind must have wandered because there’s been a lull where no one’s spoken. Eddie never seems to care about that though. “I don’t mean about the drive. I was talking about… y’know.”

“Wha’dy’mean?” Eddie mumbles as he backs into his parking space, hand on the back of Steve’s headrest.

Steve sighs and decides to just come out and say it: “I mean having your boyfriend forget everything about you and your relationship. I just… that must be really tough.”

Everything in Eddie Munson comes to a jarring halt, hand frozen over where he’s turned to ignition off.

It’s sort of unnerving—Eddie is always moving, fidgeting. Damn near bouncing off the walls. But now it’s like someone hit the poor guy with a freeze ray gun.

Steve chuckles softly as he reaches out and touches Eddie’s arm, giving him a playful jostle, to loosen him up a little, “it’s okay, Eddie. I know. You don’t have to keep going easy on me. I’m gay! Or, bi-sexual. Whatever.” Steve shrugs, “see? Not falling apart. I can handle being in love with another dude. You don’t need to keep babying me.”

The side of Eddie’s mouth twitches into a downturned smile that he seems to be trying to hide.

“I know, I know. Not just any dude.” Steve rolls his eyes, a smile still firmly on his face. He takes Eddie’s hand from the steering wheel, and Eddie seems to watch it go in a detached sort of awe. Steve wonders if Eddie’s proud of him for being so cool with it all. “In love with you.”

“Steve, I don’t think—

“Wait, just let me finish.” Steve asks, and Eddie blinks and works on closing his mouth. Knows it’s important to let Steve get his thoughts out quickly, lest they be lost to the giant black hole inside of his beat-up brain now. “I know that I don’t remember any of the important stuff with us. Our first date, or our first kiss or, y’know, any of our other first firsts. So maybe it feels like you’re cheating on the old Steve with me? But… Eddie, I know it’s crazy but even though my brain forgot all of the specifics; my heart didn’t. I look at you, and it’s all there. I’m still so into you, dude. I can feel it, even though I don’t remember how I got here. I’m in l—“

“Steve! Stevestevesteve wait, holy shit—!” Eddie’s eyes snap up from his intense stare at the place where their hands are linked. “Steve—”

“Yeah?” Steve prompts when Eddie doesn’t seem to be able to find the words. He runs his thumb gently over Eddie’s knuckles. It feels so nice to finally be able to hold his hand again. They fit together so well, and Steve wonders briefly if it’s some kind of muscle memory.

Eddie opens his mouth a few more times before he remembers how to make the words come out.

“Steve. Buddy. We’re… we’re not dating.”

Steve’s face falls, and he can feel a lump form in his throat, but he keeps a firm hold of Eddie’s warm hand in his own. “Yeah, I know, I know. We haven’t had any time to be a couple. And it’s probably been torture for you, man. You’re so busy taking care of me and making sure I don’t freak out over everything that you’ve clearly been neglecting your own hierarchy of needs.”

Eddie raises a brow.

Steve chuckles, “Shut up. It’s a therapy term.”

Eddie laughs in his throat. “Steve, you gotta slow down and listen to me.”

He turns his shoulders so that he’s fully facing Steve while he reaches his free hand over and tugs at one of his earlobes. “Got your hearing ears on?”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he nods just the same.

“We… we weren’t dating before your accident,” Eddie speaks slowly, his voice warm, gentle. “Hell, I didn’t even know you were, y’know, into dudes like that. Much less me.”

Something throbs dully behind Steve’s eyes. It’s the start of a migraine—the one that makes it hard to process much of anything. Steve squints, trying to make sense of what Eddie’s saying. “…you’re not my boyfriend?”

Eddie shakes his head very, very slowly. “No.”

Steve snatches his hand back like he’s only just now noticed how burning hot Eddie’s hand is.

He settles back in his seat, staring out the front window. The sounds from the outside world are muffled, and everything feels far away and sort of… Made up. Just like everything he’d imagined was going on between him and Eddie. Not real.

He feels painfully detached from reality. Unmoored. Maybe this was the disassociation thing the doctor mentioned might happen…

“Are you sure?” Steve asks, risking another glance over to Eddie, who hasn’t taken his eyes off him for a second.

“Pretty fuckin’ sure.” Eddie snorts.

“Oh, God. This is… I’m—sorry. I’m so stupid. Fuck, I gotta—“ Steve suddenly attacks the door handle with a clumsy fury that has his hand fumbling with the handle for way too long. Fucking busted up, bruised as fuck fucking brain-!

“Steve, it’s okay, dude,” Eddie says from behind Steve, but that’s easy for him to say; he didn’t just humiliate himself in front of his not-boyfriend, definitely-crush, possibly ex-friend—“Steve, wait!”

Steve flees the van on unsteady feet, not daring to look back.

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urhoneycombwitch · 5 months ago

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mean mouth

foreword: and if I said Eddie liked when you talked a lil' mean to him. what then. n e ways. just a little exploration of his early-day sub tendencies. I generally write Eddie as older but since this takes place in some nebulous time before s4 u can think whatever u want +18. ‘unnamed freak’ is Jacob. punk band name was not thought of by me but isn’t it great <3

cw: gn!reader w/breasts + V, oral (R receiving), unprotected PiV, soft!dom(ish) R, Eddie subbing from the top 😎, gotta-be-quiet-when-we-fuck trope my beloved

wc: 3.7k

____

The first time it happens, it’s an accident.

Eddie’s a blur of motion in the little trailer kitchen, knocking against your knees where you’re propped up on the counter (not entirely helpful but, in his words, ‘much-needed eye candy for the chef’), closing cupboards with a bang and talking animatedly over the hiss of onions cooking.

Your boy is loud, always has been, and tonight is no different- he’s crowing and cackling, recounting a particularly genius foible that he’d orchestrated during last night’s campaign, wooden spoon dipping in and out of heated pots over the stove like some crazed frizzy-haired potions master.

“And then.” He punctuates with a jab of the spoon towards you, a long drip of spaghetti sauce narrowly missing your leg- you flinch and squeak in alarm, but Eddie just grins wildly, eager to get to the punchline. “Red rolls a natural. Fucking. Twenty.”

“Holy shit!” Your smile is wide, natural and easy for him- Eddie’s excitement is infectious.

“I know!” Eddie spins back to the stove, plunking the wooden spoon back into the simmering sauce before opening the oven. Heat from the broiler rises in a mouth-watering cloud of herby smell, and Eddie reaches for the metal sheet of garlic bread, still talking. “Couldn’t fuckin’ believe it. And then I- shit!”

You don’t put the pieces together until Eddie’s spinning away from the open oven, whole body moving with the force of his hand being shaken in the air- he’d touched the roiling-hot metal with his bare hand.

“Oh, shit, babe-” Sliding from the counter, you nudge the oven door closed with a foot, reaching out to assess the damage- but Eddie’s a whirlwind, jumping up and down, swinging his injured hand around in jerky movements, howling in pain.

It’s kind of freaking you out, ‘cuz you can’t tell if he’s playing up or if he’s actually got a third-degree burn. The voice that comes out of you is commanding, one that you rarely use, firm and louder than his hollering.

“Eddie, for fuck’s sake- stand up and let me see it.”

That seems to do the trick. Eddie’s eyes snap to you, pausing mid-hop, and you take advantage of his semi-stillness to snatch his wrist and drag him towards the sink. The water runs cool and you turn his palm over in both of yours, breathing a sigh of relief when the pink welt across the bridge of his hand doesn’t have any blisters.

“Under the water,” you instruct, pushing at his silver-link braceleted wrist until he gets the memo, letting the flow from the tap ease the burn.

Eddie hisses through his teeth, and then goes quiet for the first time in ages.

There’s a few moments of this strained silence as you watch his hand carefully, color leaching back into his palm until you notice Eddie’s looking at you sideways.

Your shoulders hunch in a bit, arms crossed over your chest as you take a step back, misinterpreting his look as wounded. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. I just-”

“Hey, whoa, no-” Eddie’s hand automatically reaches for you, dripping water on the floor until he remembers his injury with a wince and plunges it back under the tap. “You don’t have to apologize for that. At all. Um.”

His left hand, the uninjured one, braces against the linoleum, ringed knuckles creaking as he shifts his stance. He sounds uncomfortable, and you’re about to start apologizing again until he lifts his head, eyes twinkling- “You were so bossy. It was totally hot.”

A shocked laugh burbles out of you, unsure if he’s joking or not- when he shifts his weight again, your gaze flickers down to the zipper of his dark jeans- he’s fully hard.

“Oh my god.” Split between amusement and mortification, adrenaline from seeing him get hurt fizzing through your veins, you laugh again- this time, sardonic, into your hands, shaking your head. “Jesus christ, Eddie.”

“Can’t help it.” He’s close to whining, hips pressing flush into the cabinet, partly to relieve the ache in his groin and partly to toy with you. “Goddamn. Sound so sexy when you tell me what to do-”

There’s a teatowel hanging from a nearby rack; you snatch it up and whip it at Eddie’s shoulder, playful and irritated as you snap, “Shut up.”

“Oh, yeah, just like that, baby-” Eddie’s fake sultry voice earns him another towel-whip, this time at his neck- he squawks, ducking to avoid another blow while still keeping his hand under the water.

“Ridiculous. You’re ridiculous,” you announce with finality, slinging the towel over your shoulder and turning on your heel. “I’m gonna get the burn cream. Try not to cum or die while I’m gone.”

His bright laughter follows you all the way down the hall.

___

The next time it happens, it’s sort-of on purpose.

Eddie’s glowing with a post-show rush- a local business convention meant Corroded Coffin got to play for a nearly-packed room. Nevermind the fact that their Bruce Springsteen cover was the one bringing in the most applause; Eddie’s always been able to feed off the energy of a crowd, and tonight was a riotous success.

The Hideout is loud but your boy is louder, as per usual. There’s sweat curling the baby hairs at his temples, bright spots of flushed pink in his cheeks from the round of whiskey you’d bought the band as a congrats.

He’s making a toast to his laughing bandmates, to beautiful you, to any nearby drunk who will listen, proclaiming his lust for life with one boot on the well-worn table in noble pose.

“And to Bev, the best of us-” Eddie tips his half-empty glass towards the nearby bar, shouting over the din of the jukebox and lively chatter, “-may your sharp-tongued wit live on!”

Bev pauses service to flip him off, and Eddie collapses back into the comfort of your arm over the booth’s top, grinning when the band trio of Jeff, Gareth, and Jacob nearly fall out of their chairs with laughter.

It’s always hot to see Eddie in his element, and tonight’s not an exception. He turns to lean into you, looking down the slope of his pretty nose like he knows why you’re staring.

A charming wink precedes, “Come here often?” but his flirting is interrupted when Jeff gets up for another round and bumps the table- whiskey sloshes over the side of Eddie’s cup and coats his hand in stickiness.

He swears viciously, yanking out his bandanna to wipe at the mess while you laugh over the rim of your own glass at him. “Real smooth, babe. Good thing you killed it on stage, otherwise I might not take you home.”

Eddie’s eyes light up, inhaling for another cheesy line to wow you with when his gaze flicks past you and his face falls.

Across the table, Jacob mutters, “Oh, shit,” and Gareth glowers.

Following their eyelines, you look over your shoulder to see Nico Hawley, frontrunner of Hawkin’s own punk band (the Scumshots), enter through the front door in a cloud of cigarette smoke.

When you turn back to Eddie, he’s already twisting the damp bandanna around his rings. The usual softness of his doe-brown eyes are now flint-sharp, and with a rush of panic, you remember the last time Eddie and Nico ran into each other; the night had ended with you back at the trailer, holding a cold pack to Eddie’s split lip, which he’d received from engaging in what he referred to as “friendly fisticuffs”.

There was nothing friendly about the way Eddie stood, then, to his full height, dark and imposing with his big mane of hair and leather jacket. The other Corroded boys won’t start any shit themselves, but will absolutely back Eddie up (fearless leader, resident shit-starter, instigator extraordinaire).

Time’s running out for you to get a handle on the situation, Eddie already moving to slide past you out of the booth when you snag his left jacket sleeve in a tight grip.

The first yank you give stops him in his tracks; the second, more intentional tug gets his face level with yours, Eddie’s hardened stare giving way to confusion as you pull him into your space.

In that same authoritative tone, you pin Eddie in place with a fistful of leather and command, low, right in his ear to be heard above the bar noise, “Don’t. Sit down and be good.”

At first, you’re not sure it worked, because Eddie’s just staring at you- slightly slack-jawed, pretty pink o mouth as his gaze flickers to your lips, back up to lock in your gaze again.

And then, by some miracle, Eddie obeys. Like a well-trained, marvelously-behaved dog. He’s back in his seat with a jolt to the booth, hand curling around his whiskey again.

Curls spill and shift around jacketed shoulders as he shoots the rest of the glass, adam’s apple bobbing, other hand slipping to cup your thigh hidden from view. “It’s not worth it,” he announces to the rest of the group, sounding strained, staring at the bottom of his empty glass, knuckles white with force.

Jake sighs, relieved, but Gareth scoffs, tipping the neck of his beer across the table to point, goading Eddie with “Since when have you been the one to take orders?”

“Shut up,” Eddie shoots back, blood returning and redistributing enough from where it had all rushed south, enough to defend you and himself against his drunk bandmate. “We’re already on Hop’s shit list, asshole, can’t be catching any more charges for stupid fuckin’ bar fights.”

Nico had disappeared into the throng of people at the bar while your group has been arguing- probably for the best that he’s out of eyesight. Unperturbed by Gareth’s comment (he likes you fine, he’s just grumpy from the alcohol and itching for a fight), you sip your drink and give him a shameless wink.

Underneath the tabletop, Eddie’s palm flattens over your jeans, fingers dipping to toy with the denim seam hugging the fatty plush part of your inner thigh. You shift your hips, subtly, feeling flush with heat and power. Just a couple of words and you have him eating out of your goddamn hand.

Jeff returns, setting a handful of beers in the middle of the table. “Saw that shitstain Hawley at the bar. What’d I miss here?”

Gareth swoops in with accusatory explanation, seizing another bottle out of Jeff’s hands. “What you missed is Eddie’s balls on a leash-”

“Jealous you don’t have someone at home to tie you up, Emerson?” Eddie’s dig comes swiftly, lips quirked in a smile around the rim of his drink.

There’s a raucous burst of laughter, Gareth’s curly mop of hair gets ruffled playfully, and everyone eases back into celebration, all while Eddie’s thumb edges closer and closer to the apex of your thighs.

___

The next time, though? Totally on purpose.

There’s a sliver of gold from the hallway light spilling under Eddie’s closed door, left on in case Jeff or Gareth needed to use the bathroom during the night.

And despite the fact that two of his bandmates are passed out on the couch and floor just a short walk away, Eddie’s hands are exploring the length of your body under the sheets like he’s got plans to map you with his tongue.

“We- ah- can’t.” Your whispering scold is interrupted with a sharp gasp when Eddie nips at your neck. “No fooling around. Not when we have guests.”

His left hand drips over the swell of your breast, squeezing and kneading, your nipples perking to attention (traitors) underneath the bra you haven’t yet had the chance to take off.

Eddie adopts your quiet tone as he speaks between kisses that trail further down your body, not outright ignoring your weak protests but not doing much to combat them, either. “Mmm. Got me so worked up. Been driving me crazy since the bar, y’know that? ‘S cruel, baby, can’t just talk mean and expect me not to act on it.”

“Wasn’t mean,” you counter, hands shifting automatically to wind through the soft locks of hair tickling at your stomach as Eddie continues his path downwards. “Didn’t wanna have to patch up a split lip. Had to make you behave somehow.”

The vibrating groan Eddie gives against the soft skin of your stomach tickles; when you squirm, shushing him again, his hands slide to your hips, pinning you in place.

Nose to your navel, warm breath fanning across the strip of skin just above the band of your panties, Eddie sounds strung-out already, close to begging. “Please, baby. I’ll be good. Make it so good for you. I’ll be quiet-”

His head snaps up at your sudden gasping laugh, chin perched on your tummy as he scoffs. “What, you don’t think I can keep quiet?”

“Eddie Munson, you couldn’t be quiet to save your life.” Your hands migrate to his cheeks, squishing them together fondly as he grins around your touch, his thumbs working circles at your bare hips.

“Ye of little faith.” In the dim light of the room, Eddie’s teeth are a flash of white before his mouth dips to press against the wet patch at your underwear.

“Fucking… shit-!” The expletives fly out harshly, only because you weren’t expecting the wet stripe of his tongue against your clothed folds. Head dropping back to the comfort of your pillow, you get one hand in Eddie’s hair again, the other finding its way to twist at the sheets.

You can feel his smile, equal parts smug and sympathetic as he coos saccharine to your inner thigh- “Now, now, angel. Gotta be quiet.”

Not willing to lose the fight, you focus on clamping your mouth shut, eyes closed in concentration- even as Eddie slides your underwear down and off, a quick flash of blue fabric before it’s swallowed by the floor’s darkness. Even as he seals his lips over your clit, sucking hard like he’s been deprived of your taste for too long.

When his tongue breaches your entrance, a soft gasp escapes, one that has your head turning sideways to grab some pillow with your teeth.

Eddie brings the wetness from your entrance up again, spreading it over your pulsing clit, nerve endings fizzing bright and hot in your stomach from the attention.

On instinct, your right leg kicks out, jolting with the spasm of pleasure- Eddie’s quick, though, taking advantage of the movement to find a new hold at the back of your thigh; rings biting cold, he pushes until you bend for him, your knee now pressed towards your chest.

“Gonna make it so good for you.” Eddie’s mumbling pussy-drunk rambles into your cunt that’s now on display, dragging his nose through the slick that weeps out of you, all for him- “So wet for me, angel. Fuck’s sake. This all for me?”

As if he doesn’t know. The hand that isn’t busy holding you open trails up your thigh, middle finger teasing at your entrance before slipping inside, no resistance thanks to the river of slick that rushes to greet it.

There’s a soft squelching noise as Eddie adds a second, curling them up, stroking against that tender gummy spot that always skyrockets your pulse.

The noise is almost enough to give you pause; feeling wild and flush with heat, your hand tightens in the crown of Eddie’s hair, eyes popping open as you prop yourself up on an elbow to give a strangled hiss of warning through your teeth.

Eddie senses your unease, pulls his fingers and mouth out and off (a travesty), softening the blow by giving a placating kiss to the top of your mound. “Shhh, sweetheart. S’okay. You hear that?”

Past the noise of nighttime crickets from the nearby cracked window, past the hum of the kitchen, you hear it as Eddie crawls back up- distant, tandem snores from the boys in the living room.

“They sleep like the dead. Like rocks,” Eddie promises, settling his weight into his hands planted on either side of your head, hair creating a curtain around your faces as he leans in. “So we can get our rocks off.”

“That was awful.” You kiss him anyways. He tastes like you, earthy and warm and wet, saliva mixed with your arousal as the kiss turns sloppy.

Eddie rocks his hips forwards, the friction from the fabric of his boxers making you both gasp into each other’s mouths. He’s achingly hard, cock leaking and smearing precum through the cotton; there’s a hurried, manic shift as you both work to strip the last pieces of clothing from yourselves, his boxers and your bra following your underwear from earlier into the dark of the room.

And then Eddie is sliding his cock through the folds of your pussy, slicking up the sizable length as much as he can before the tip nudges at your entrance; Eddie’s arms tremble with effort as yours wrap around his shoulders, soothing with a kiss to his cheek- “Lotta talk about keeping quiet, Munson. That’s all it was? Just talk?”

Now that his mouth isn’t intent on making you fall apart anymore, you’ve got some breathing room to tease. To be the one to work him up. Tucking a curly lock of hair behind his ear, your fingers trace adoringly over his temple before sliding to grip the back of his neck. “Gonna prove me wrong, hotshot?”

With this new proximity, you can see Eddie’s eyes- fixed intently on yours, black pupils nearly eclipsing the soft amber of his irises. He looks slightly feral, sweat sticking his bangs in place, lips parted, spots of pink staining his cheeks.

As if he doesn’t trust himself to speak, Eddie’s near-silent as he slides himself in to the hilt, jaw dropping as the warmth from your walls encompasses him completely.

The chained guitar pick around his neck tickles between the valley of your breasts. He pants, chest heaving, not daring to move yet; your breath stutters. You can feel him in your throat.

“So big,” you murmur, an honest reaction but one that has Eddie’s brows drawing together, a little whine escaping as his hips jerk forward, reflexive to your words.

“Fuck. Oh, fuck.”

Eddie’s voice, strained though it may be, is on its way to regular volume. At the back of his neck, your hand flexes, a warning as he begins to rock steadily into your tight heat.

“Gotta be good.” Biting back your own groan, you sling your leg over his waist. At this angle, you can press your heel to the dip of his lower back. “Be good and quiet for me and I’ll let you come in my p-”

His hips snap forward, audibly, subsequent wet noise obscene, filling the room. Eddie moans into the curve of your neck before your sentence is even fully formed- “Jesus, baby. Oh my god. Can’t say stuff like that, gonna come too quick-”

His cock fits along the contours of your cunt like you were made for him, ridged tip dragging against that same sensitive spot of your front wall with each pull and thrust.

Eddie’s forehead thunks into yours as he rolls it back and forth, mindlessly. All the tease has melted out of his voice: it’s been replaced with a lust-filled rasp, rock-salt and deep.

Your voice, however, is all tease, still hushed but laced with mischief despite your mounting pleasure. “Yeah? Gonna come in my pussy?”

It’s almost not fair and you almost feel bad, seeing the way Eddie fights to make his gasp silent as the channels of your cunt clench in answer to his fucked-out expression. With his next thrust, Eddie loses the battle- a hoarse, blissful moan much too loud spills over and out into the quiet room.

Moving quick, your hand slips from the back of Eddie’s neck to his mouth, palm flat over the plush of his lips.. The commanding tone comes easy this time (with practice, you’ll surely be a natural).

“Eddie. Be. Quiet.”

Usually, Eddie’s got stamina enough to prioritize your pleasure, making sure you’re taken care of at least twice before he even thinks of himself. Tonight, though, he’s already been straining in his jeans for hours, unbearably turned on from your earlier sharp words, pushing the limits of desperation.

Your words, once again, do the trick. Eddie’s cock pulses, and he comes hard, teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your hand, chorus of whimpers successfully dampened. His dark brows knit together, eyes pinched shut, nostrils flaring with each stilted breath.

He’s so fucking hot when he comes, hair a riot around stormcloud eyes that open to take you in. Even prettier when he’s coming down, leaning into your hand for support before you take it away, guiding and encouraging him to lay down.

Eddie collapses, carefully enough that it doesn’t jostle you, but still with his full weight. The crown of his head radiates heat against your chin.

His arms wrap solidly around your middle as he whispers (he’s learning) in croaky fragments, “Jesus fucking H. I think you just broke my brain. Smashed it into a million little pieces. Never come so hard in my life. I’m in love with you.”

The laugh you give him is quiet but golden, the rise and fall of your chest causing his head to bounce a bit (but Eddie could die happy between your breasts so he doesn’t mind). “See? It’s worth it to listen to me, sometimes.”

“You’re so smart. Gonna do whatever you say, forever and ever. Cart-blank.” And then he’s pushing up onto his elbows, keeping his face level with your left breast so he can suck your nipple into his mouth, gently worrying his teeth over the peaked bud.

Previously tangled in the sheets, your hand flies up to grab his shoulder, nails digging in. “Fuck. Fuck, Eddie. That’s good. And- ah- it’s ‘carte blanche’.”

He leaves the comfort of your breast with a sigh. “Whatever you say, princess. Gonna let me fuck you some more? Your turn to be the loud one.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson smut

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wonderjanga · 27 days ago

Text

Marvel’s Real Name

Now, you know how Freddy’s called Junior? Yeah, let’s take that a little bit further.

Billy and Freddy are bickering in one of the computer rooms of the Watchtower. Of course, they’re in their Marvel forms. Batman’s on one of the nearby computers.

Marvel and Junior: *whisper yelling at each other about god knows what*

Marvel: *louder* “Oh my gods! Freddy shut u-” *cuts himself off with an ‘I fucked up’ face*

Junior: *appalled*

Marvel and Junior: *slowly look over to Batman*

Batman: *staring right at them because he had originally turned around to tell them to quiet down since they were getting louder*

Marvel and Junior: *share a look and walk out of the room and to the zetas in complete silence*

Batman: *immediately pulls up both Marvel and Junior’s files because now he actually has a name for a face, or rather maybe faces?*

Back in Fawcett…

Freddy and Billy: *Both detransformed and now on a bench*

Freddy: “Dude, what is the matter with you?!” *shaking Billy by the shoulders*

Billy: “I said I was sorry!”

Freddy: “Sorry doesn’t cut it! You can’t just name drop me in front of Batman of all people!”

Billy: “I’m sorry!” *says more desperately this time* *still being shaken by Freddy* “Maybe he won’t find out!”

Freddy: “Of course he’ll find out! He’s Batman!”

Freddy then proceeded to continue to shaking Billy until the Batson vomited on the sidewalk after getting too dizzy.

The next day…

Marvel: *doing a jigsaw puzzle in the same rec room as yesterday sitting crisscross applesauce on the floor*

Hal Jordan: *walked into rec room to watch tv. He sees Marvel* “Hey, Fred.”

Marvel: *doesn’t respond, still hyper focused on his puzzle*

Hal Jordan: “Cap? Buddy?” *leans on Marvel, looking at the puzzle*

Marvel: “Yeah?” *looks away from puzzle to Hal*

Hal Jordan: “Huh.”

Marvel: “Huh what?”

Hal Jordan: “You’re good at the whole not responding to your name thing.”

Marvel: “Huh??? What’re you talking about?”

Hal Jordan: “Well, I heard through the grapevine, aka Spooky told Supes, Flash overheard, he told Hawkgirl, she told John, and he told me.”

Marvel: “Oh…!” *now scared cause he thinks they know his name now*

Hal Jordan: “And now that I think about it, your name honestly suits you. You look like a Freddy.”

Marvel: *now dumbfounded* “What? My name isn’t Freddy.”

Hal Jordan: “Uh yeah it is dude. If Junior is a junior, you’re senior. Freddy Senior.”

After that, Marvel just let them call him Fred, and Junior Freddy. He never corrected them which made them assume they were correct, but they didn’t know that Billy was just going with the flow.

Like a week later…

Billy and Freddy: *eating some sandwiches on the curb as their normal forms*

Freddy: “By the way, dude. You totally bogarted my name.”

Billy: “What? No I didn’t. They just assumed it was mine and I just went with it.” *takes another bite of his sandwich*

Freddy: “Still bogarting, bro.”

Billy: “Would you rather they know my name is Billy?”

Freddy: *takes another bite of his sandwich and talks while chewing* “No.”

Billy: “Then zip it, lock it and put it in your pocket, man.”

Freddy: *uses good leg to kick Billy in the shin*

Billy: “Ow!” *rubs the shin that got hit* “What was that for??”

Freddy: “That was me politely telling you to not use the kindergarten way of telling me to shut up.”

#billy batson #captain marvel dc #dc captain marvel #shazam #fawcett #fawcett city #fawcett comics #freddy freeman #captain marvel jr

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cntloup · 6 months ago

Text

Mafia!Simon x Bartender!Reader implied rape, the aftermath

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

“Hey, love. You have to eat something. Please. Just a bit. Try for me, yeah?” he says, sitting beside you on the bed where you’re lying, drowned in your thoughts, you can barely make out what he’s saying.

It's all just a blur, all the sounds and images. The world around you feels all foggy.

“What?” you ask, shaken out of your trance and you begin to come back by the sound of his voice calling out to you.

He raises the bowl in his hand and you get the message, “ ‘m not hungry.” you say in a weak voice and turn your back to him.

“I'll leave it here in case you wanted to eat.” he says, disappointed and heartbroken that you have turned down the food again.

He reluctantly opens the door and takes a last glance at your form before leaving the room.

You haven’t eaten properly for days. You have no appetite. And there’s the gnawing nausea at the pit of your stomach that keeps it churning constantly.

Silent tears cascade down your face as you lay down on the bed for hours, bearing no energy to move a muscle.

He sits on the couch with a half-empty bottle of whiskey, furious at the monsters who did this to you, frustrated at himself for not knowing what to do, how to help you.

His heart shatters into pieces as he sees you slowly wither away right before his eyes.

He's gone through the same horrifying thing long ago and he starts digging in the depths of his mind to find something. Something that would somehow help you.

And it dawns on him that you just need someone by your side, not someone to jump in and ‘fix’ it, but someone who is there to listen and hold your hand as you process the whole thing and move forward at your own pace.

He never had someone like that. And it just now occurs to him how much he needed it. So he decides to be that person for you.

He enters your room once again after a few hours, “Love?”, “Hmm?”, “Do you want to go out? We can get something to eat too.”

You turn to face him from your lying position, “Yeah, I'd like that.” you respond after thinking for a while.

“I need to take a shower.” you say as you struggle to get off the bed. He stretches his arms to help you, but stops and looks into your eyes, waiting for your approval.

You nod and he gently slings an arm around you to help you get on your feet and step into the bathroom.

He starts to leave the room, but stops when you call him, “Yeah?”, “Can you... can you stay by the door until I finish up in here?” you ask sheepishly, “Yeah. Ok. ‘course, love.” he replies and sits outside by the door, his mind racing a million miles an hour.

Until you step out of the bathroom, “Thanks, Si!”, “ ‘s no bother, love.”

He leaves to let you have some privacy and waits for you on the couch to get ready.

You trudge on down the stairs in your oversized hoodie and baggy pants, “Ready?” he asks, “Yeah.” you say with a faint smile, but it doesn’t go unnoticed by him, the simple gesture making his heart flutter.

You drive around the city for some time, the cool breeze caressing your skin and the faint sound of music bring a soft smile to your face.

You stop by your favorite place. Even though you still can barely eat, you try to get some food into your stomach after some coaxing on his part. You know you need nourishment, even the small amount you can stomach right now is better than nothing.

“Good girl!” he praises after you take a few bites, “I can’t anymore though!” you say, almost ashamed to disappoint him, “It’s ok. I'll tell them to wrap it up for you.” he says with a smile that’s only reserved for you.

“I’m proud of you, dove.” he utters when you both walk to his doorstep, “Thank you. Couldn't have done it without you.” you say as you stop to face him by the door, a lovely smile dancing on your lips and your eyes glinting again, not as bright as before, but it’s a step nonetheless.

And you open your arms and step closer to him. He takes you in his arms, nearly shedding tears as he finally embraces you after so long.

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #cod x reader #ghost x reader #cod fanfic #ghost cod #cod ghost #ghost call of duty #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod #mw2 #cod modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty x reader

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hyukalyptus · 1 year ago

Text

is that so bad? — bestie!soobin x chubby!reader. NSFW/MDNI!!!

cw. swearing, chubby!fem!reader, mentions of eating and drinking, soobin loves his best friend's body and can't stop thinking about fucking her, dirty talk, dancing, nipple play, cunnilingus, body worship, pet names (pretty, baby, sexy), low key lovemaking, unprotected sex (wear condoms, y'all), creampie, lots of talk about reader's squishy, jiggly body. notes. reposted from my old account! smut under cut. wc. 2.8K

“You should just ask her out.”

“What?” he’s shaken out of your trance as he watches you from across the room, laughing with your friends, your wide-legged jeans hiding your body from him, but your crop top allowing him to see the tops of your tits jiggle with your laughter. “That’s ridiculous. She’s my best friend.”

“So?” Beomgyu asks. “You obviously like her. Just ask her out.”

“What if she says no? It’s not like we could stay friends after that.” Of course, you’re oblivious to the whole thing. You have no idea that your best friend constantly thinks about you. Thinks about kissing you, squeezing you, jiggling your thighs, fucking you from behind so your ass ripples with his thrusts.

Okay, today's the day, he tells himself in the bathroom mirror. I’m going to ask her out. He’s really tried today—got a bit more dressed up than usual for your typical Sunday morning coffee. Put on a little cologne, slicked his hair back a bit.

Will you go out with me? You wanna get dinner sometime? Can I take you out? He shakes his head with each option. Nothing sounds good—he’ll just wing it in the moment.

“Woah,” Beomgyu says as he walks through the kitchen. “You’re all fancy today. What’s the occasion?” Soobin blushes and scratches the back of his head, avoiding eye contact. “Oh, did she say yes? Is this your first date?” He shakes his shoulders, congratulating him.

“No, no, no,” he says, Beomgyu retreating from him, disappointed. “I’m asking her out today though.”

“Okay, we’ll see.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing, just…I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Sitting across from him, you look absolutely, positively mouth-watering. He’d of course gotten there early and he swears when you walked in the front door, the entire place lit up, rays of sunshine illuminating you. Your cargo pants outline your tummy perfectly, which he thinks is just about the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. But the crop top was another thing—letting him see just a bit of your tummy and the way your top accentuated your chest…just gorgeous.

As you two catch up, he tries maintaining eye contact, he really does. But the way your tits jiggle and bounce with your laughter is too distracting. And if he catches a glimpse of your tummy bouncing, forget it. That’s the only thing that has his attention.

Really, he only has one thing on his mind: asking you out. You’re talking about…something. He doesn’t know—something funny that happened at work, perhaps a new TV show you’re watching?

“And then he—”

“You wanna go out sometime?” He blurts out, his lips rounding into a pout as he realizes what just happened. But you’re still taken aback, practically choking on your laughter from your story.

“Wh-what?” You smile awkwardly. But he can’t answer; he just stares out into space blankly, contemplating whether he should just run out the front door or not.

“Uh, do you,” he swallows hard. “Do you—”

You lean over the table and ask, “Did you just ask me out?”

“Well, yes and no…” he starts. “Except not no. So, yeah, basically,” he nods. “Yes, I did.”

“And you’re serious?” You’re not offended, you’re not quite flattered either; truth be told, you don’t know how you feel about it. You think he’s joking, but when he tells you he’s dead serious, you blink, resting back against your chair.

All he’s thinking is how could he not be? Who wouldn’t be into you? Who wouldn’t admire your amazing, beautiful body and all its glory? And you’re funny, smart, witty, introverted enough for him, just extroverted enough to bring him out of his shell. You’re absolutely perfect. But your body is the cherry on top.

Your curves, your hips, tits, tummy, ass—the way everything jiggles, the dimples at the tops of your thighs that he can only see when you’re in a swimsuit or short shorts. Oh, that time you two went to the beach together, he was speechless. You looked delicious. Skin glistening in the sun, stretch marks at the top of your thighs on full display, asking him to rub sunscreen on your back.

But you had no idea. No idea how he looked at you when you weren’t looking, eyes skating across your body. How much he wanted to bury his face between your thighs, how much he wanted to suck on your nipples.

“I think you’re funny, pretty, hot, smart, so…yeah, I wanna go on a date with you. Is that so bad?” He presses his lips in a smile, his dimples appearing and, well, you had no reason not to. What’s the worst that can happen?

“Hey, sexy,” he says as you open the door wearing a suit and tie holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers. You must admit, he does look rather handsome tonight.

“Sexy?” You chuckle, taking the flowers from him, letting him in your apartment.

“Oh, would you rather I call you something else? Pretty? Beautiful? Gorgeous?” Oh, he’s really being bold tonight, huh?

“Sexy works,” you shrug, stretching on your toes for a vase on top of your fridge, which lets him get a good look at your ass. But you were still oblivious to everything. You thought he was just being cute and charming, not dead-ass serious about thinking you’re sexy. Not that you aren’t sexy. You just didn’t necessarily think Soobin—your best friend—would think that.

“You want me to get it?” He asks, pressing his body to your back to reach over you. Truth be told, that does elicit a flutter in your tummy. Your breath hitched as he pressed up to you, goosebumps popped up as he graced his fingertips over your arm, just how absolutely tall he looked looking down at you.

And he noticed how much of an effect he had on you all of a sudden. “Ready?” Realizing he handed you the vase a while ago, you divert your attention to displaying the flowers before heading out the door.

At dinner, he insists on sitting on the same side of the booth and he just can’t take it anymore. Your thigh smooshed against the booth is just too tempting. Testing the waters, he graces his fingertips over your thigh, moving further and further inward to the squishiest part.

“What are you doing?” You ask, eyeing him through your eyelashes.

“Touching you. Is that okay?” He keeps moving and squeezing and you do enjoy it. Admittedly, it feels good…really good. Your eyes flutter shut as you nod, the tiniest smile on your face. “God,” he sighs. “I can’t wait to get you home.”

“We haven’t even gotten our drinks yet,” you chuckle. “And you promised me dinner and dancing.”

“I know,” he says. “But I’m gonna make you feel so good later.”

“Oh, really?” You smirk up at him and he responds with a cocky nod.

The rest of the dinner is spent eating…at least you tried, but the way he kept whispering in your ear was too distracting.

All I wanna do is rip your dress off and rub all over your beautiful body.

I can’t wait to kiss every inch of you.

You have no idea how many times I’ve undressed you in my mind, do you?

You secretly wanted to hurry this along to get home. At the same time, you’re reminded of how ridiculous that sounds. Soobin fucking you? No, that’s ridiculous. He’s your best friend.

But he promised you a date. And a date you shall get. At the club, you two don’t waste time getting drink and instead head straight for the dance floor. Dancing apart from each other at first, something, although you don’t know what—you didn’t see anything—makes him trip forward into you.

But you really don’t mind. You don’t part, his arm stays wrapped around your waist, yours around his broad shoulders and you can’t help but think wow, he is handsome, isn’t he? Like really handsome. How have you never noticed before?

Pressing you closer, he brings his mouth to your ear and oh god, what’s he gonna say this time to get you all hot and bothered?

“You look so fucking sexy right now,” he whispers. Well, as much as he can whisper in a club. “I can’t wait to get my hands on you later.”

“Soobin…” your ears feel unbelievably hot. You’ve never seen this side of him before and the fact he has it on full display this evening has your mind scrambling. “You can touch me a little now if you want.” His eyebrows raise, his cute smile spreads across his face as he presses to you, sliding his hand from your waist to your ass, squeezing just barely at first, then rough and harsh the second time.

And god does he love what he's feeling. The way your squish perfectly moulds underneath his big hand makes his eyebrows stitch together at just how fucking sexy you are.

The music inevitably turns slow and sensual and you turn around to back into him, your hips rolling over him, his hand resting on your tummy. Your eyes flutter shut and you let your head fall back to his shoulder and he just…looks at you. Your pretty face, cute cheeks, all over your body.

“I would do absolutely anything to fuck you right now,” he says. And you finally give in. Your hand on the back of his neck brings him closer, finally pressing his lips to yours, your first kiss quickly turning hot and heavy. You don’t know where this is coming from. Since when do you want him so badly?

Never breaking the kiss, you turn to face him, arms wrapping around his shoulders, his hands rubbing and squeezing your ass again. You need him. Now.

“Let’s go home,” you say. Grabbing your hand, he heads straight for the front door, so determined. The agency’s black car is already waiting for you around the corner. You hop in, but that doesn’t mean you stop kissing. Lips all over each other, hands everywhere, you’re practically straddling him by the time you reach your apartment.

Pushing you against the door as soon as it’s shut, he—against your own desires—doesn’t rush into anything. His hand cups your face and he taps your thigh signaling you to jump, hoisting you up into his arms, the kiss now sensual and mind-bogglingly slow. Making his way to your bedroom, he lays you down gently and looks over your body while he takes his tie and belt off, like he’s trying to decide exactly what he’s gonna do to you.

He rolls his sleeves up a bit and unbuttons just a few of the top buttons, but you take it upon yourself to pull him to you by the front of his shirt.

“Just take it off,” you say, working at them yourself. When it’s finally off, you’re in awe at how beautiful he is. His shoulders, his chest, his toned abs, everything. You’ve seen him shirtless before, but you’ve never truly looked.

Reaching behind you, he finds the zipper to your dress, tugging on it at an agonizingly slow pace. Pushing the dress off you as he kisses your shoulders. You’re just— “So pretty.”

As he pulls your dress down and off your body, you tug at the top of his trousers before he gets the hint. His lips never leave your mouth, but he swiftly pulls them off, discarding them on the floor.

You wrap your legs around his hips while he’s on top of you, your hips rolling with his. Trailing kisses down your chest, he pulls at your bra straps before you reach behind yourself, throwing it to the floor. His hands immediately—urgently—squeeze them as he buries his face in them, lips all over you.

Sucking your nipples, he groans, finally able to do what he’s been dreaming about for months. Flicking his tongue, you moan, bucking your hips for any kind of friction. Nipples slick and wet and hard, he presses his thumb to one, rubbing gentle circles over it as he moves to your tummy.

“So, so pretty, baby,” he whispers against your skin, kissing and biting you. He’s almost obsessed with your tummy, he spends so much time there, just kissing all over, his hands working your tits, thumbs all over your nipples. “All for me, yeah?” He glances up at you and you nod, eyebrows stitching together at the sight of him. You reach for his hair, begging him to go further.

And he does.

Tugging at your panties with his teeth, he slowly pulls them off you, kissing his way back up to your pussy. You can feel it yourself, “You’re so fucking wet, pretty.” He swipes two fingers over your folds, bringing them to his mouth to taste you for the first time. And you’re absolutely delicious. His eyes roll back, ready to dive in.

Legs falling over his shoulders, he grips your thighs, squeezing and jiggling them to his liking, flicking his tongue over your clit, an obscene moan leaving your mouth. You try not to suffocate him and move your thighs away, but he pulls them right back around his head.

Your fingers tangling in his hair, your skin feels like fire. Reaching up again to squeeze your tit, he rubs circles over your nipple once again.

“Holy fuck, Soobin,” you whine, throwing your head back. “Don’t stop.”

And he doesn’t.

He does exactly what he’s been doing; he can tell you like this pace of flicking, sucking, rubbing. You love it and he does too. Loves to see you, “So pretty for me.” You look down again and goddamn does he look good. Black tufts of hair gracing your thigh, eyes closed, eating you out like you’re the best he’s ever tasted.

Every so often he comes up for air and just looks at you and whispers how pretty you look, almost in disbelief. Like there’s no one in the world that even comes close.

“You’re gonna make me cum,” you choke out and he’s insistent, but consistent at the same time. Not changing a damn thing. Pleasure washes over you as you cum hard into his mouth, legs encasing his head just like he wanted.

Legs trembling through your orgasm, he brings you down from it perfectly, coming up and wiping his chin with the back of his hand, licking his lips, kissing yours. His hands all over you, pressing your bodies together, he whispers, “Wanna be inside you…”

You nod, tugging at his boxers before he takes them off completely. Holding your legs up in his arms, he slides inside you—the first expert roll of his hips sparking electricity at the top of your thighs, shooting out your toes. Unable to hold himself up at how amazing you feel, he falls forward, digging his face in the crook of your neck, marking you in sloppy kisses on his way to your nipples where he simply cannot suck them enough.

Mustering up the strength to sit up on his knees again while he thrusts into you, he squeezes every squishy part on you—your hips, thighs, waist, everything. And he keeps mumbling how amazing you look underneath him. So fucking pretty, taking me so well, am I making you feel good?

And of course he is and you let him know. You moan out and groan, “Fuck, yes. You feel so fucking…so fucking good.” He can’t believe you’re finally under him like this. Legs spread, tits bouncing with his thrusts, eyes rolled back. “You’re fucking heaven.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “I am fucking heaven.”

Your legs tremble, edging close to your second orgasm. Licking his thumb, he rubs your nipple again, pleasure and ecstasy flowing through your body.

Everything is a bit overwhelming—how good he feels, the things he’s whispering in your ear, the way he’s treating you so nicely, but is also fucking you so, so good.

It sends you into euphoria, your second orgasm of the night crashing over you in waves. You moan loud enough for the neighbors to unmistakably hear, squeezing around his cock just perfectly. Finally releasing inside you, his hot cum fills you up and you just feel so warm. That’s all you wanna feel forever.

He stays put for a bit, catching his breath as he kisses all over your cheek and collarbone, peppering you with adoration. Pulling out of you slowly, you wince at the sudden emptiness. But the way he looks at you…

“You’re so beautiful, you know?” He says, kissing your tummy and the sensitive skin under your breasts, running his hands all over you again.

“You must really like my body,” you chuckle.

“What do you mean?” His head shoots up as he looks at you, eyebrows stitched together. “Of course I do. You’re gorgeous. Look at you.”

#hp's writing 🪲#soobin smut #soobin hard thoughts #soobin hard hours #txt smut #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #choi soobin #chubby reader #soobin x reader #soobin ff #soobin fic #soobin fanfic #soobin x chubby reader #kpop ff #kpop fanfic #kpop fic #kpop smut

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ruciel · 3 months ago

Note

For the request can I please have Yandere Topaz, Himeko, Robin, and Jade comforting reader who has nightmare

yandere topaz is somewhat of a heavy sleeper, she works long hours, and rests for very few. but her fifth senses wake her, red alarm bells going off, her first instinct is to feel around for you in the bed. thankfully, you’re still there. but you’re quivering like a leaf. topaz feels around for you, but you don’t respond, completely still and completely silent. what’s wrong? are you okay? you’re hesitant to respond, only quietly murmuring that you had a nightmare. you come off as unbothered but topaz is unconvinced. she wraps her arms around your shoulders and pulls you in for a tight hug, patting your head gently. she’s worried for you, but doesn’t wish to pressure you into saying anything, only offering words of reassurance, i’m here to listen if you’d like. if you don’t say anything that’s fine, she’s holding you too tight to leave her grasp anyway. but if you do tell her, even if it’s just a little about the horrible dream, topaz will be happy you opened up to her. she doesn’t want to be overbearing, nor does she want to overwhelm you. it seems her pets have also sensed your distress, as you feel more and more weight get added to the already over-cushioned bed. they cuddle you, similarly like how they do with topaz, and you can’t help but reach out to feel their fur and pet them. it distracts you. you’re surprised topaz hadn’t pressed further, but realistically, you know she’s very self-aware of when to stop prying and being invasive. her presence alone is very comforting, and it even brings a smile to your face when you feel her hand find yours and give it a small squeeze.

yandere himeko stays up far later than you do. she likes to take time to unwind and relax in the evening. what better way to do that than settle in bed and read while you sleep beside her? himeko’s dim lamplight is on, and she skims the novel in her right hand as she lazily runs her hands through your hair with her left hand. a faint, almost soundless, noise comes from you. she thinks nothing of it until it happens again, this time, you twitch. her eyes drift to your figure, setting her book down, not caring if she loses her place as you stir even more. himeko places a tender hand on your shoulder, shaking you. she frowns after seeing tears already beginning to form in your closed eyes, this time, she calls your name. slowly, you wake up, eyes bleary as you avert your eyes from the light coming from the bedside table. you open your mouth to say something, but she softly shushes you, shh, it’s alright dear. she wipes your tears away, holding the side of your face, all the while she assures you that it was just a dream. that no one, and nothing, will ever come to harm you— that she will make sure of. himeko places a chaste kiss on the top of your forehead. you’re still shaken up, and she offers to brew you a cup of coffee. it will keep you up for awhile, but it may take your mind off things for now… if you agree, she’ll invite you into the kitchenette of the express. himeko will tell you all about the book she’s been reading over a nice cup of coffee. if you disagree, she’ll lay in bed with you for little longer. himeko will let you cry in her arms if you need to, patient as ever, you’ll likely open up to her about the nightmare, and she’ll soothe your nerves while she kisses you more.

yandere robin is very careful with you when you sleep. she spends quite a bit of time outside of the dreamscape, but you do not because you are safe and often enjoy passing time there while waiting for robin to return to penacony. for whatever reason, you seem to always have nightmares after leaving the dreamscape. she’s made her bed especially tailored to your liking, the mattress is the right amount of firm while also being comfortable. it has as many pillows as you want, varying in size, and made with your wants in mind. and the sheets and blankets are a colour chosen by none other than yourself, there are enough he to keep you happy, but not too much that they’re too heavy on you when you sleep. but robin still frets over you when you’re laying down in her bed, trying to get some sleep, and tonight is no different. as she gets into her night attire, she can’t help but noticing you squirm around under the blankets. hurriedly, yet quietly, she makes her way to the side of the bed, sitting down and leaning over your unconscious figure. robin doesn’t want to disturb you, she doesn’t like waking you up because she knows how important rest is. so she sings, chanting a sweet lullaby that she remembers fondly from her childhood. the hymn reaches you, even in your deep sleep. robin observes as your once uncomfortable expression turns calm. she wonders what you’re dreaming of now. what you see when she sings to you in your sleep. robin’s tune fades into quiet humming, and she manoeuvres under the covers to join you. she never does stop singing to you, even if it’s only a mere whisper now. robin won’t bother you about it in the morning, unless you bring it up. even if you do not know it, she still wishes to protect you in your sleep.

yandere jade recognises the sounds of your silent cries and whimpers from anywhere. even if she’s in a deep slumber, jade simply knows when you are so much as slightly unhappy. lifting the sleeping mask off of her eyes, she tilts her head and gets a good look at you. you’re shaken up, she can tell that much in her groggy state. although you don’t make your anxieties known, you’re curled up into yourself, pulled away from her with a distant look on your face. her voice startles you when she suddenly speaks up, you had thought she was still asleep, what’s wrong darling? bad dream? hesitantly nodding, she whispers a few apologies as she leans over to you and pulls you closer to her. you allow her to do as she pleases, sitting upright as she positions you to lean back against her. i have you, you’re okay. focus on your breathing. you do, calming yourself and trying to steady your breaths. what you remember from the nightmare repeats endlessly in your mind, and jade can still sense your discomfort. she asks if you want or need anything, maybe some water? it wouldn’t hurt, and though she’s displeased to be away from you, even for such a short while, jade fetches a glass of water for you, and even some snacks. by now, the two of you are well awake. you’re sorry to have woken her, but jade dismisses it. if you’re ever struggling with anything she wants you to come to her. eventually you tell her about the nightmare, she listens intently and occasionally holds your hand or rubs your arm. by the time you’re finished, you’re fatigued and become drowsy, but still apprehensive about falling back asleep. jade assures you that you will be okay, saying she’ll go back to sleep with you. but she lies, she doesn’t. jade waits for you to fall back asleep, she’s not tired anymore, and will make sure you aren’t plagued by any terrible dreams this time.

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nomazee · 1 year ago

Note

Silly little thing I thought of

Like like imagine dazai and the reader have been friends for years like the reader knew him since his 15 goofer era... and they got used to eachother sm they usually sleep in eachothers beds n stuff :3

LIKE SOMETHING IS GOING ON BUT THEY STILL HAVE THE FRIENDSHIP LABEL.. 🐺🤞

this concept stuck itself in my head like a tapeworm and it has not escaped me for days IM ACTUALLY OBSESSED i wrote SO MUCH for this omfg i had so much fun writing this thank u for this wonderful idea pairing: dazai x gn reader word count: 2.5k content: fluff, vignette-style writing, friends-to-lovers unspoken label type of thing, soft dazai, domestic fluff without the marriage bit, banter, idiots in love im taking requests!

===

Dazai’s toes are still as frigid at night as they were seven years ago. You, of all people, would be the best person to measure this—not in a weird way, but you two have shared a bed at least once a week since your teenage years. You know all of Dazai’s annoying sleeping habits, including his ones of sleeping without socks and digging his feet into your shins for warmth.

Annoying fucker. You sigh, batting his arm away from its loose hold around your waist. “Get your toes off of me,” you croak out, half-conscious and mind still addled with the remains of your once-deep sleep.

“What toes,” Dazai mutters back, smacking your intervening hand away and returning his arm to its rightful place around you. “I don’t have toes. I got rid of them after puberty, ‘member?”

“I’m gonna kill you.” You won’t, not really, and the threats have lost their edge after all these years, but it’s fun to throw at him when he annoys you like this. “I know all your weaknesses, Osamu. One wrong move and you’ll be missing more than just your toes.”

“I’m cold, dear. Would you really let me freeze like this? So mean.”

You try not to choke up at the nickname. He’s been a fan of those recently, at least in the last year. You think it has something to do with your new places at the Agency. New workplace, new life, and new nicknames, apparently. If you overthink it you might puke on him and fall back asleep.

“Not cruel. We have money now, you know. Go buy yourself socks. Wool, or something. Stupid ass cold ass toes.”

He goes quiet. Even in all these years of knowing him, half-living with him, you can’t tell if it’s a normal lull in the conversation or a calculated pause. It doesn’t unnerve you as much as it used to, but there’s still a cold chill at the nape of your neck that springs up at times like these.

“Why would I do that when I have you?”

Dazai has also been a fan of this recently—strange uncharacteristic moments of tenderness. He peels himself back for you and bares himself raw. The implications make you nauseous. Swathed in the darkness of the night, he can’t see your fingers twitch from where they lay next to your head, away from his sight; or the conflicted expression that crosses your face.

Easing your breath out into a steady, deep rhythm, you pretend to be asleep. It’s not like he can’t tell, but the message is there. Let’s not talk about this until the morning. Let’s just sleep for the night. Let’s keep what we have and not change it for the worse.

At age eighteen, shaken with the death of his friend and haunted by blood stains on his fingers, Dazai defects from the mafia.

He doesn’t take you with him—at least, he doesn’t mean to. He expects to leave quietly, or as quietly as blowing up Chuuya’s car can be. He doesn’t expect you to drag yourself along kicking and screaming.

Dazai doesn’t remember much about specifics, but he knows that one day he was alone in his underground apartment and the next day you were there. The kitchen smelled like melted marshmallows and rice krispies and his dingy counter was covered in sprinkles.

“Hi, Dazai,” you’d greeted conversationally. “I’m making your favorite.”

He doesn’t even like rice krispie treats. Hates them, actually.

In truth, your presence is less the result of you “kicking and screaming” and more like an after-effect of your own quiet stubbornness. Your kicking-and-screaming was done in the passive aggressive way that you cleaned his dishes and made his bed and left big trays of rice krispie treats in his fridge for the next week.

Neither of you talked about Chuuya. It was better for you that way.

On the first night, Dazai remembers you holding him from behind, forehead pressed into the stretch of skin between his neck and shoulder. He’s sensitive there despite being wrapped in his stupid scratchy bandaids. His memories for the rest of the night are overrun by a feeling of want, an itch to feel your fingers on his bare skin, a craving for your hand on his stomach to slide beneath the hem of his shirt and press into the tender skin of his abdomen and keep him warm.

===

“Leave me alone,” you grumble from behind the sleeve of your jacket. “I’m napping.”

“It’s not napping if you’re still awake.”

“I wouldn’t be awake if it wasn’t for your annoying ass.” Rotating your body to face the ceiling from your place on the Agency’s couch, you sigh when your view is blocked by Dazai’s ugly stupid face. He’s smiling in that conniving way that he does when he’s about to do something super annoying. Another sigh escapes you when he leans down close enough for the overgrown ends of his hair to brush against your nose. The puff of air from your verbal discontent makes the strands sway slightly. You try not to think about how mesmerizing he looks when he’s this close, with the light from the window casting a golden sheen on the crown of his head.

Since when did you get this sappy? Must be Dazai rubbing off on you, obviously.

“So tired already! It’s barely noon.”

“You came into work an hour ago. I’ve been here since eight. Try being responsible for a change, might exhaust you just as much.”

“Hmm.” He tilts his head, big stupid shiny brown eyes blinking down at you like he’s observing a specimen. “I think I’m more than responsible enough.”

“Sure,” you relent, turning back around to shove your face into the corner of the couch and block out the incoming light. It’s the truth—you’re exhausted. A persistent weariness permeates your bones from how much you’ve been working these last few weeks. It’s not like it’s anyone’s fault in particular, not even Dazai’s despite how much he slacks on paperwork. But looming threats from enemy organizations hang over everyone’s heads and there’s no shortage of uncertainty in the Agency. It’s been mission after mission for you, and you’re taking every break you can get.

Rustling sounds from above you, but you pay it no mind, busying yourself with nestling all of your body into the crevices of the couch and hopefully turning into a piece of furniture yourself. It might be a more peaceful life, really. The calm is short-lived when you feel fingers tap along your cheek—not in a rousing gesture, but something along the lines of placating.

Dazai squeezes a hand beneath your head and cups the side of your face pressed against the couch, tilting it closer to him before you feel a warm press of lips against your cheek. He lingers. He always does. You can feel the gentle inhales and exhales breeze against your face before he breaks his kiss away. Your cheek is warm for more reasons than one.

“Take care of yourself,” and oh, god, you’ll never get used to this, never get used to how tender and soft he’s become with you, never get used to how this Agency has fostered something like kindness in both of you. Your stomach stirs with something unnamed and if you were braver, you’d blink your eyes open and reach up and grab the sides of his face and pull him down to you.

But you’re not brave, and there’s people still behind you in the office, and you wonder what led Dazai to be soft enough to kiss your face like that in front of everyone. You’re sure they’re watching you both. The Agency is full of gossips, whether they admit it or not.

===

“Dazai,” Ango Sakaguchi grits out from behind the crackling reception of a burner phone. “They were not a part of the plan.”

“You think I don’t know that, Ango?” Dazai replies, tone more playful than aggressive. “I know they’re not a part of the plan. They knew they weren’t part of the plan, too. But it’s too late to do anything about it. It’s just a minor change.”

“A minor change?” Ango’s voice is strained with stress, no doubt pulling out strands of his hair as they speak. “I have to deal with not one, but now two members of the mafia defecting. Do you know how much work this was to begin with?”

The thing is—of course Dazai knows. He knows everything. The minute he found you in his kitchen, his stomach dropped with the uncertainty of the future. Going underground with another person was nothing short of a burden, at least on paper. But, he couldn't find it in himself to think of you like that. Like a burden.

“We’ll figure it out, Ango. If you don’t, then we will.”

A gritty sigh sounds from the other side of the phone call. “I’m putting a lot of faith in you, Dazai. Don’t screw this up.”

===

“Made you lunch. Since, obviously, you’re not gonna do that for yourself any time soon.”

A closed plastic container is thrown on the counter in front of Dazai. He looks at it, then up at you, eyebrow raised as if he doesn’t have a clue what this could be about. He’s not that stupid, though. You of all people would know that.

“How nice of you! Too bad I’m not hungry.” His lip juts out in a poor imitation of a pout, and he looks ugly with it. So ugly. Ugly enough to make you feel the need to kiss him all over and then slap him. An incredulous huff escapes you.

“I don’t care if you’re hungry. Eat. It has crab in it, see, your favorite.”

“I thought my favorite was rice krispies?”

You freeze. It hadn’t occurred to you that he might remember that, after all this time. You don’t dwell, because that’s the worst thing to do with Osamu Dazai—dwell.

“Don’t act stupid. Just eat it. Even if it’s not the whole thing, at least some of it. It would do you some good.” Getting serious with Dazai is one of the most awkward, unbearable things you could ever do. He has a way of making you feel stupid for worrying about him, with all his roundabout jokes and skills of evasion built up over years. You’ve found that being straightforward is the best way to avoid all those blank moments of silence.

His fingers curl around the plastic lid and pop it open. The container is still warm, having cooked all its contents just half an hour before showing up at Dazai’s apartment with conviction in your eyes. “Sure,” he says. “I’ll have some.”

You bring out a duplicate container with a serving for you, and treat yourself to a juice box from his fridge. You try not to launch into a lecture at the sight of his barren pantry—that’s best done by Kunikida. The both of you eat in silence, sitting across from each other at Dazai’s dusty kitchen island.

He only gets through a few bites before pushing the container away and complaining about how full he is. You know it’s not the truth, but it’s the mixed-up signals that his body sends him. It’s not that he’s full, but his persistent lack of appetite has caused a lot of troubles for him in the past and you don’t doubt that it’ll keep causing troubles in the future, too.

“Let’s get you to bed, then,” you tell him, dragging him up from his chair despite his whining protests. “I won’t make you shower, but you should probably do that tomorrow, ‘cause your hair’s about to get all greasy and disgusting.”

“So crude.”

“I do my best.”

You let him change on his own, but not before picking out a nice soft set of matching pajamas from deep inside his closet. You grumble a little in annoyance. The set was a birthday gift you got for him a year ago and that asshole pushed it to the back of his wardrobe and never touched it again. What a brat. You throw a pair of fuzzy socks at him to boot.

Once he’s changed into proper sleep clothes, you can tell that the exhaustion is starting to hit him. He sways a little on his feet and his blinks last for a little too long, as if he’s chasing sleep every time his eyes shut. With another begrudging sigh, you set him down on the floor of the bathroom and dollop his toothbrush with fruity kid’s toothpaste—because of course that’s the only toothpaste he owns—and brush his teeth for him.

Dazai dozes off in the middle of it, and you can’t bring yourself to wake him up in the most annoying way possible. You try really, really hard to not think about how soft you’ve gotten. You’re an ex-mafia member, past coated with dark stains and entrails and death, all of those dark things. Your blood is just as black as Dazai’s, if not more. And yet, being a part of this stupid Detective Agency with this stupid man has melted you down into something parallel to good.

Don’t dwell. It’ll do you no good.

You use a gentle grip with the toothbrush, ensuring that his delicate gums don’t tear with the force of the bristles. A warm feeling stirs in your chest. It feels like you’ve proven something, like you’ve proven to the world that your coal-stained hands can be gentle, too. You can kill and you can nurture. You tap Dazai awake with a little more care, now.

“Rinse your mouth,” you tell him in a whisper. “Then you can sleep.” And after a pause, you add, “I promise,” because now you’re in the business of making promises to people.

Dazai rinses his mouth, and you wipe off the remaining droplets of water from his face with a paper towel that you leave on the counter for your future self to throw out. You lace your fingers with his as you walk to his bed. Not that he needs any guiding. Of course he doesn’t. It’s just a little extra insurance, you think.

“Stay with me,” he mumbles out the minute you lay him down on the bed. It’s a sentence, and not a question, because he’d rather die than ask you something so vulnerable. He’s doing it again—peeling himself back and baring himself raw for you. Your head swims and your vision blurs with either a migraine or with tears, you can’t tell. But your lips quirk up into a stupid smile and he sees it despite his half-lidded eyes, and he smiles back like the stupid dope that he is.

“Yeah, of course. I’m right here, Osamu. Go to sleep.”

And he does. Of course, not before he feels you cup the opposite side of his face and plant a warm, lingering kiss on the swell of his cheek just as he did for you weeks before. The faint laugh that he lets out before he falls asleep is enough to tell you that he’ll be making fun of you for it in the morning. For now, though, he’s soft and pliant and warm between your hands, and you sleep.

#dazai osamu x reader #dazai x reader #osamu x reader #bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #osamu dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai osamu x you #dazai osamu fic #bungo stray dogs fic #bsd x you #bungou stray dogs x you #dazai osamu #i forgof how to tag hejkp me #openeing up comissions soon... maybne....#this was so fun to write like it lived in my brain for a week and i wrote a little bit every day #i had DAYDREAMS ABOUT THIS CONCEPT BRO LIKE

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georgiapeach30513 · 3 months ago

Text

Two Good Reasons, Part 3

Summary: Andy wants to know your truth

Pairings: Andy Barber X Reader

Rating: mature

Warnings: mild language, insecurities concerning reproduction, mentions of spousal neglect, mentions of cheating, touching in public, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 6.3K

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

“Grab your things,” Andy says before he’s even fully exited Ransom’s office. Your boss’ face goes slack, and he looks at Andy with disdain. “This isn’t a request. We’re going for coffee.”

Your eyes ping pong from Ransom to Andy, and you politely shake your head no. You need the job, and it didn’t look professional if Andy demands you to leave. Ransom is the boss, “I have to work. This is business hours. And when I’m done I need to go pick up,” you gulp. Your eyes fall on Andy, and you shamefully shake your head.

“I know. I’ll make sure you make it to pick them up on time,” you look towards Ransom again, unsure of why you want to deny an actual conversation with Andy. Shame didn’t feel like the right word. You did nothing wrong. And yet there’s this gut wrenching guilt you feel, and you’re not sure why, “Ransom, she’s taking the rest of the day off.”

“I-I-I ugh,” groaning at the reality you’re in. You were not supposed to be worrying about things like this, “I can’t afford to.”

“He’s giving you paid leave,” Ransom groans behind you, but Andy grabs your coat anyways. “Doe,” there’s something in the tone of his voice, the look in his eyes, and the way his hand slightly flinches towards you. He isn’t angry. He seems caring.

You stand up, leaving Ransom’s mouth slightly gaping at you, but you nod your farewell. It sounds like whatever this coffee conversation is, will take the rest of the day. “Sloane, can you tell Willow to cancel my day,” Sloane answers quickly, looking to you a bit confused, and you walk side by side with Andy Barber. Something you haven’t done in awhile.

“You drink your coffee the same?” You stutter a moment, “Doe, iced shaken latte?”

“Yeah,” how is he remembering this? And why? The answer that you refuse to let pass through your brain. You can’t go there right now. “But with oat milk now,” he gives you a sincere smile, motioning his head in a corner.

“That’s my table. Lots of privacy. I’ll be over there once I have the coffees,” your mind is reeling. Whatever happened in Ransom’s office, Andy’s coldness is now morphed into how he was. Especially that night. The way his hands brushed over every inch of your skin, and made you feel alive for the first time in years.

The ride here was brief, but so quiet. Andy’s fingers drummed on his knee, keeping rhythm to the music, and you hated yourself a bit for being the obedient quiet woman. You want to pick his brain, and ask what changed. He knew about the kids. You’re assuming he knows about Scott. They might not be in the same office, but they could have seen each other around. Been in the courtroom together. Anything.

Andy gives you a warm smile as he hands the cup to you. You take a slow drink, and smile up at him, “You remembered the vanilla bean powder.”

“It’s part of your order. Why the switch to oat milk?”

You take a sip, refusing to meet his eyes. You’re not ashamed you have children, you’re ashamed this is how the conversation is had. He knows, and not from you. “My youngest, Suede, has a lot of allergies and intolerances, and one is lactose. So it was easier for us all to make the switch. Audrey liked the taste of oat milk best. Suede doesn’t care as long as I make him chocolate sauce.”

His eyes light up as he takes a drink from his cup. You wonder if he still drinks his coffee with light cream. Or even if he would use plant based milk. “You make chocolate sauce?”

“When I make it, I don’t have to worry about whether Suede can have it,” so much of the eating habits changed when you learned that he had allergies. It wasn’t a hesitation for you. It wasn’t at first with Scott, until it became an inconvenience.

“How many children do you have?”

“Just the two,” you sigh, looking at his thick fingers. Andy was never shy about wanting a family, and you fear that now that you can’t give him that, things have been ruined before they can begin again. You can sense the question lingering on his tongue, and yet, he’s too nice to say anything. “You can ask.”

“I’d rather you just tell me, this is us as friends catching up,” of course he’d be the gentleman. He’d say the right things. Do the right things. But you aren’t putting yourself into this line of questioning if that isn’t what he wants to know. “It’ll sound insensitive.”

“I just want to make sure we’re going the way I think it is. It doesn’t hurt like it used to,” you had healthy and happy children. What more could a mother ask for? Of course you wanted more, but it wasn’t in the cards, and it just seems so arrogant to think you deserve more when you have two.

“So it wasn’t your decision to not have any more children?” So formal. And yet, it doesn’t sting. No one has ever talked to you about this. It was always about how Scott felt. And you’re the one that did all the work. The one that feels inadequate for not giving your husband what he claimed to desire. You just shake your head no. Only just noticing Andy’s left fingers have been grazing over your knee. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Does any woman want to talk about how she’s not able to have children and it’s taken away from her involuntarily? Too often our bodies and uteruses are discussed with very little regard for us as a human. Our bodies are meant to be incubators for men that want to reproduce. But no one wants to talk about our mental status if that’s striped away from us, do they?”

“While there are people, especially men, who think that way, you know I don’t, Doe. The only thing I’ve ever wanted was you,” instead of the tips of his fingers, his hand flattens, touching you more. He watches your face to see if you protest, but you don’t. Instead you wish he would hold you like he did when you were teenagers. His arms always were the best comfort. “Honey, we don’t have to talk about it.”

“I want to. I never have been able to, passed the too clinical doctors. Even — even Scott,” you should have known the writing was on the wall for your marriage, but at that time you would have done anything to save it. Andy’s posture goes rigid, and his jaw clenches. His anger. Even now, Andy has this innate need to protect you. Still.

“Andy,” his eyes close so slowly. Like he’s trying to absorb your calmness. You’ve had some time to process your marriage, but Andy is just learning about this. You wait until his body relaxes, and proceed, “It’s not impossible. It’s just such a rare chance. We even did a year of IVF. It was miserable and never took. Our next step was surrogacy. Except I guess he was going the old fashioned route.”

You look to the left, trying to hold in your angry tears. Not because you’re sad that your sham of a marriage ended, but because of the lengths you went to preserve it. The constant mental turmoil, but when you caught him with Taylor, it wasn’t blind rage. It was anger for you. For the disrespect to your home and your kids being there. The door was unlocked, and had Audrey walked in — you can’t even think about it.

So many times in the past few months you try and think if there was a time you were truly happy with Scott. Or had you found the replacement to the man in front of you, and you just went through the motions. You look at your two children and how you have this unwavering love you have for them. They were your reasons. Being a mother has been the highlight of your life. You just wish they had a father like Andy to share it with.

“He cheated?” you can’t answer, so you nod. Andy sighs, he is well aware of your no cheating policy. “How did you find out?”

“It’s easy to find out when you find the babysitter bouncing on his cock, while our children were taking their nap,” his Adam’s apple bobs. His body tense and agitated. “I suppose she did me a favor if it wasn’t for her continuing to be in our life because Scott never knows how to be alone. Or for someone to ruin his perfect picture of his life. Of course, he’ll twist it and turn it into being my fault, and that Taylor is his true love. Anything to make the affair not be his fault.”

You see him take a tentative lean forward, but you lean back in your chair, “Andy, don’t get involved. You can’t save me from everything. This is my mess that I chose willingly to get into.”

“He’s trying to take your kids from you, and he can’t even make simple adjustments in his diet to make sure your son is safe?” A tearful laugh pushes past your lips. “This isn’t funny.”

“I don’t think it’s funny. I’m just laughing because you haven’t changed. Why do you always need to protect me?”

“Because you never want to protect yourself,” the two of you stare for too long at each other. The most comfortable silence between you, and you don’t want to break the spell. The one thing you’ve always wanted is right in front of you. He’s close enough to touch, and grab him.

“How come you never got married?”

“Well, I never fell in love again. I tried. A few times, and then I just — you don’t want to hear about that,” you giggle, using your foot to playfully kick at his, and his fingers gently start rubbing on your knee again. “Did you love Scott?”

“Are you asking me a simple question, or is this you asking me if I loved him like I loved you?”

“Touché,” he raises his cup, already knowing your response before you even say it. His mouth turned into a cocky smirk.

“I was married to a lawyer, but was still in love with you, Andy. Maybe I did love him in ways. But maybe it was because he was close to being you. I know how sometimes a simple question can be quite complex,” his hand drifts a bit further up your leg. Still an appropriate amount, but there’s a neediness in it. A want to have things go back to normal. “No. I don’t think I was ever in love with him,” that hand travels up even further, and he smiles when your legs spread just an inch wider.

“What are we doing here, Doe?”

“We’re having coffee because you demanded that I leave my job for the rest of the day. We have less than an hour before I need to pick up two children from the daycare center.”

“I saw Audrey,” he smiles, his hand flattens on your thigh. “She looks beautiful just like her mom. Has your eyes. You wanna talk about them?”

“What’s there to talk about? I’m a mom, a damn good mom if I say so myself. They’re my life. The only reason I hang on to hope with this divorce. The idea of Scott getting full custody is something I can’t even comprehend. He isn’t even potty training Suede. And he’s not even patient with him as he tries to talk. Audrey is my talker. She’s so smart for how little she is. So protective of her brother, and intuitive with him. She even wakes me up and says she’s had a nightmare so I sleep in her bed with her. I think it’s because she doesn’t want me on the couch. But I can’t let my girl be scared. They’re amazing. And I seriously question how I deserved them, but I won’t live without them either. They’re mine.”

it’s a sentiment you know in the depths of your soul. Those babies are yours. You carried them, you birthed them, fed them, changed their diapers, became their everything. Scott might have provided the funds, but he was just that. The money. There were moments, and glimpses of him being a good dad, and enjoying at least Audrey. You wonder if Suede’s allergies, and being a more difficult baby overall, is when he started to check out.

Audrey is the perfect child that was easy to get on a schedule. The pregnancy was easy. She is a fast learner. But Suede, your sweet baby, had so many difficulties since he was conceived. You sometimes wonder if Scott blames the difficult pregnancy and labor on your son, and even your problems with conceiving on Suede. His need to want another child so quickly was possibly a do over. For — the mistake. He called Suede that one time. And you’ll never forgive him.

Your mind easily spirals when it comes to Suede and Scott’s relationship. And you didn't care anymore. You didn’t have to beg for Scott to hold him, while you put Audrey to bed. Or to force him to try and talk to Suede. There’s a disconnect, and you hate him for it. Like any of his allergies were the baby’s fault. Fuck him. Fuck Scott, and his ways to make Suede insecure. Fuck. Him.

“I won’t let that happen,” Andy, sensing your growing anger, interrupts.

“I thought I told you not to get involved?”

His hand drifts up too high for public consumption. His fingers flutter over your covered core, and he smirks as his hand slides back down. Remaining too high, but you don’t care. You’ve not felt this way since Andy. “Doe, I’ve been involved since the moment I came into Ransom’s office and saw you. And since being inside of you, and coming in you, there’s no way that I’m not going to be involved. Even if it’s just to guide you to a better lawyer.”

“That’s who I can afford. And exactly why is Ransom telling you who my lawyer is? Especially considering he’s the one that is talking to Ray Smith for me. That’s who he’s hoping to take over my case,” Andy chuckles. Clearly Ransom left that piece out of what he told him. “He’s willing to set up — payment plans.”

You weren’t supposed to tell anyone about what Ransom was doing. For whatever reason that man wants everyone to think he’s a giant asshole, but you immediately saw right through his facade. Ransom is a good man, even if he didn’t want anyone to know about.

“Fine, I won’t get involved in court proceedings, but I will be involved with you as moral support.”

“Why?”

“You know exactly why,” his tone darkens, and you see lust ping his pupils.

“For unprotected sex, with all the creampies you can imagine?”

His hand shoots all the way to your core, and he flattens it over your covered mound. Giving you a crooked smile when you lean back, spreading your legs even further. “Sex with you is a bonus, not a requirement. But judging on how wet you are right now, means it’s not completely off the table. Now, if you want to act like I’m a sex crazed lunatic because you feel things are going too fast, that’s your prerogative, but don’t insult my intelligence.”

He removes his hand too soon. Lifting it to his mouth where he sucks on a finger. “Did anyone ever tell you that you taste delectable?”

“Yes. You have plenty of times.”

“Because I’m a smart man,” you watch as he puts another finger in his mouth. Can imagine that his tongue is circling the digit before he pulls it out. Smiling as he inserts another one. “Now that we have got your need to make a smart ass comment out of the way. No. I’m not getting involved for sex and creampies. My love for you extends past your cunt. All I have ever wanted was you. We were too young, and here I am as an adult with everything I wanted and I worked hard for, except for you.”

“I can’t have more children, and I don’t want to go through IVF again.”

“I’m not asking. I’m not even asking for us to jump into a relationship together. Us having kids, was just kids dreaming and talking, and thinking we had all our shit figured out. You have children,” you don’t want to say it, but the thought that he didn’t lingers on your mind. Something like that can make or break a relationship, and it’s better to be realistic and honest from the beginning. Scott had ruined you by thinking that your ability to produce him a child or lack thereof is your fault. Andy didn’t care. “Besides thinking about having more children, when you have two perfectly amazing humans already is a bit premature.”

“You’ve never even met them.”

“You already told me they are perfect. I trust you. Are you done with trying to make excuses to not have me in your life? I’m not talking about getting married tomorrow, I’m talking about you having a friend in Newton. Someone to talk to when you’re lonely, or feel you’re at your wits end. Don’t make any more excuses. I get it. You’re legally separated, you have two children, you’re becoming independent. I just want to be a part of that. As a friend.”

Now you’re not exactly an idiot. You and Andy were never able to be just friends. Hell, he’d already fucked you an entire night. But the sincerity in his voice, and the soothing feeling of having his hand on your knee again is comforting. It feels nice to not be alone, to not have to try and figure out how you’re even going to find a friend when your free time is being a mother.

“We should get your kids,” you glance to your phone on the table, seeing the time. “I’m just a friend you met at work,” you gulp. So much change has happened in their life, is Andy being present going to make it even worse? “No touching, no kissing, but I can’t guarantee I won’t smile.”

“Is this why you wanted me to take my car? Did you plan this?”

“This is me planning ahead. I saw the time before we left, and knew this could be awhile. I can get an Uber back to the office if that is what you want,” you want for your children to not be put in adult squabbles. You want them to feel comfortable getting in the car, and there’s a man with you that’s not their daddy. You want them to not think that Scott threw you away for Taylor.

“Do not get too friendly, okay? Suede won’t notice anything, but she will. Andy, I mean it,” your daughter noticed too much. And didn’t have a filter for saying things either. You didn’t want to stifle her voice or for her to think she couldn’t talk to you. Just some things you didn’t want to know. Like how Taylor rubs on her daddy’s belt all the time. Something you can only assume is her hand is too low on Scott.

“Why are you so worried?” Because you’re the weak one here. Andy’s ability to be nonchalant is infuriating. You want him, always have. But it’s time to put your big girl panties on for them, and not be a hormonal teenager.

“I’m not.”

“And you never lie, either,” Andy grins as he stands up from the table. That sly grin that tells you he knows how much you’re worried, and knows that you worry that you can’t be just friends with Andy.

“Shut up.”

“Andy,” you warn as he undoes his seatbelt. Placing his hand on the door handle. “You stay put.”

“Why?”

“Because I can check my kids out of daycare myself,” his fingers tense a moment on the handle, acting like he’s going to open the door. “You can’t just overstep my boundaries before we’ve even established anything. It’s going to be confusing enough for them with you in the car. Stay here,” he places a hand in his lap, smiling as you walk into the center.

Leaving him with his thoughts for too long. How the hell did you end up with someone like Scott? He saw a little glimpse of you just then, demanding he stay put, but there’s still this brokenness inside of you. One he thought you had gotten over. That your parents’ influence still didn’t linger. And yet, you found someone just like your dad.

Andy isn’t certain if he’s good enough for you or your children, but he will try. He will try to be everything that you have ever wanted. To be the man that you believed him to be. You even knew his little ticks, and just how protective he could be of you.

He didn’t have to think about your worry of not being able to have more children the traditional way. It was a non-argument. He didn't care. He could survive without siring a child, but what he couldn’t live without is you. You had children, and while he understands Scott is the unfortunate father, they’re still a part of you. And would be in his life. That would be enough.

How your soon to be ex husband couldn’t see what you had sacrificed for your family is unfathomable. The more he thinks about Scott, the more he hates him, and Andy can’t go down this road logically. He can’t sit and stew about the ways he’d like to destroy Scott, because he is your children’s father. And it sucks that he’s a lawyer, and he’s limited anyways.

Andy could be a hopeless romantic, but only with you. Everything he said he meant. It is silly to say it out loud, but all those women were never you. Even the ones he tried a relationship with. He was a grown adult man, and still longed for you. Not what the two of you dreamed about, but you. Life wasn’t a life without you.

Audrey is the first to notice him. You hold Suede in one arm, while holding her hand with the other. The little boy is very obviously a mama’s boy; his head leans over on your shoulder, while a chubby arm wraps around your neck. Audrey holds onto two lunch boxes, and has a backpack too large for her body, but she points at him in the car. She looks up at you, saying something, and you smile down at her.

Opening up the door on Suede’s side, Audrey crawls in first. Dumping the lunchboxes and backpack on the floor before crawling into her booster seat. “Audrey, Suede, I want you to meet an old friend of mine. This is Andy. Andy, these are my kids Audrey and Suede.”

Suede gives him a wave, bashfully smiling as he looks up at you. But Audrey twists her head like a puppy staring at him. “You came to my house the other day,” you give a quick glance up at Andy. You knew he returned your wallet, and that Audrey had seen her, but you weren’t sure she’d remember.

“I did. I brought back your mom’s wallet. Did you have a good day at school?”

“Mommy already asked me, but yes.”

“Suede, did you have a good day, buddy?”

“Chess,” he answers, looking back up at you with a smile, and you kiss his head. You finish buckling him in, and walk over to Audrey’s side. Strapping her in and look at her. Of course she’d have a ton of questions and no way to focus them into words.

“Baby, you okay?” Maybe if you open the dialogue she could start talking. Vocalize her thoughts, so you understand what’s going on through her mind.

“Why is he here?”

“We had coffee, and lost track of time. So he came with me to get you,” you answer her as you get into the driver’s seat. Turning in your seat, you look at her. She isn’t done with her questions, and you want to allow time her to process everything.

“Do I have to keep this a secret from daddy?”

“No,” you try to remain calm, but your mind wanders to what she’s kept secret from you. “I told you, you tell daddy whatever it is that you want to tell him. We don’t have to have secrets. Secrets destroy relationships. We should be honest with each other.”

Her face scrunches up, trying to think of any question that might further help her figure out who Andy is, and why he’s here with you. “Is he staying for dinner?”

“Would you like him to?” She shrugs. She didn’t know him enough to form an answer. “If Andy would like to come to the house for dinner, he’s more than welcome to. I need to drop him off at the office.”

“Daddy’s office?” You shake your head no. “Is it out of the way like daddy’s office?”

“It kind of is,” Andy pipes in. He looks between the two kids, and Suede still smiles. He’s too sweet. “I bet the two of you are pretty hungry, and need a snack, right?” Suede enthusiastically, and claps his hands. “Audrey, you need a snack, too?”

“Yeah. Mommy and me made scotcharoos last night. I want ants on a log, too.”

“Ants on a log, huh? Your mom used to make that for me.”

Audrey smiles, kicking her little legs around, and you know that Andy has her. “Did she make it with sun butter or plant cheese?”

“She means plant based cream cheese. And I think I made it in all kinds of ways for Andy. Except he liked them with craisins,” Audrey curls her nose as she looks up at him, but Andy shrugs.

“Okay, so it’s settled, we’ll get a snack, and I can call an Uber. That way you and Suede don’t starve to death,” Audrey gives a giggle, and looks over at Suede who laughs with her. The two of them are in a fit of laughter, and you relax. You hadn’t realized how much you wanted them to like Andy. Even if he is just your friend.

Anything with Andy would rely heavily on them. If they didn’t like him — it would hurt. If they were influenced not to like him — you try to center yourself. You have no doubt that any man coming into your life Scott will try to influence their hatred. Even if you didn’t talk bad about Taylor in front of them.

If Taylor took a four year old to get a mani/pedi you smile, and thank her. Making sure to tell Audrey how pretty it looks, and hope she had a good time. When Taylor took Suede to get his haircut, you swallowed your pride, thanked her, and told Scott to next time ask, and make sure that he’s properly in his seat. If Taylor lets them swim at the pool without floaties, you try to remain calm, and wait for the kids to fall asleep, before going in on Scott. ‘It was a kiddie pool.’

You tried to remain neutral with Taylor, even though she’s part of the reason your marriage failed. But having the kids hate her isn’t going to solve anything. Especially since she’s in his life. Her bringing her cat around Suede is a different thing. You didn’t think you’d ever get the air purified for him. It’s bad enough when he’s around a space that the cat has been in. But bringing the cat here, and letting him hold her is different.

You didn’t hate the cat, but you want this space to be cat free since Suede lives with you. His home should be his sanctuary. “Hey,” Andy says beside you, “Get out of your head, and enjoy this moment,” he doesn’t touch you, even though he struggles not to. He smiles, and you look in the back at the giggling duo.

“Give me a good reason to continue this,” you look up at him, hoping that he remembers the thing. If one person is having second thoughts about something the other has to give one good reason and it makes things less scary. You’re terrified. This is early, but it is easy. Too easy.

“Andy, I need a good reason because,” you look back at them again, still laughing, and talking between themselves. “I’m scared.”

“This is just a friendship,” you roll your eyes, but continue to look at him. “And I’m scared, too. We’re in it together.”

You exhale slowly before putting the car in reverse. That was one good reason. You and him are scared. But the kids are happy. And you are. Yeah. You’re happier. You didn’t have to do this alone. You’re just friends. And even telling yourself that you know you’re a liar. You were never just friends with Andy Barber.

You try not to get attached to the sound. You try with all your might to not fall in love with this feeling. This is the first time he’s met them, of course it’s going to be easy. This is the easy stuff. Popping a tab in the dishwasher you start the contraption, and look around the kitchen. It took no time to clean up. Andy had offered to help, but instead the kids wanted to play with him.

And now all you hear is giggles, and the pitter patter of feet. They are playing chase or something, and it warms your heart that for at least today they enjoy him, and he is them. That takes away some of your jitters and concerns.

Andy comes running into the kitchen first. Darting behind you, and wrapping an arm around your waist, shielding himself from the two kids who giggle in front of you. “That’s cheating! Release the mommy!”

“Chess!” Suede nods pointing at Andy.

He leans forward, his chin resting on your shoulder. While it isn’t the most loving thing, it is a playful way for him to be close to you. His beard tickles your neck, “I’ll take Suede, you take Audrey.”

“Suedey! They’re planning something.”

“On the count of three. One.”

“Oh no!” Suede pretends to shiver in place.

“Two.”

“We won’t get out of this!”

“Three!” Everyone scatters. The kids bolt back into the living room, and you and Andy chase after them. The loudest screaming giggles reverberate around the house and back into your soul. You haven’t heard them so happy in so long. Hadn’t felt comfortable enjoying your home since that day.

Catching up to them would be easy, and shorten this moment. It would take away all the love and joy you feel, and also how thankful you are for Andy because he reminded you that life isn’t over, and it’s worth living. And even these small moments make it all the better. It doesn’t matter that the fort in the living room created a huge mess and is left abandoned. What matters is the almost musical noise your children make for this day.

This will be the last day that they’re this old. Tomorrow they’ll be a day older, but right now this is your slice of heaven for the day. Everyone ends up in a pile in the living room on top of the discarded couch cushions. Breathless and still laughing. “Can Andy have dinner with us every night?”

“Chess!” Andy shrugs, smiling over at you.

“It is kinda lonely in my condo. It’s hard to cook for one. But…if it is a hassle, maybe we can just do it twice a week,” Audrey and Suede protest. Practically begging you to say yes to every night. There’s a lot to think about. Scott got them every other Friday until Sunday afternoon.

“I’m — yeah, w-w-we can figure this out. And now! It’s time to wash up for quiet time,” there’s a soft objection, but you straighten up. “And we’ve got to put the cushions back. Come on. It’ll be bedtime before we know it, and you guys have school tomorrow.”

—

Walking down the hallway, you smile, still seeing Andy sitting on the couch. He scrolls through his phone, until your figure blocks out the light, he glances up. Putting down his phone, he gives the couch a few taps with his hand. Smiling, you saunter towards him.

Sitting too far away for his liking, so he pulls you closer to him. Those deep blue eyes staring right into the depths of your soul. Beating down the walls that you swore you had painstakingly built up. Telling yourself it would just be you and them. “They’re great.”

“It’s because it was a good night.”

“With a happy mama,” bashfully you look away from him, but he pulls your chin up, making you look at him. “I don’t want to insert myself where I’m not wanted. You hesitated with me being here every night. So be honest, do you not want me here or is it your fear?”

“My fear,” he solemnly nods. “And Scott.”

“I don’t care about him.”

“I can tell. You get all tense when he’s brought up,” the fist his hand is making relaxes. “He’ll always be a part of my life. Those babies are half of him. And while I don’t like him, I won’t bad mouth him, not to them. You neither.”

He exhales. It’s long and drawn out. Too dramatic to be real, but he pulls you even closer. Your legs that were curled into your body, he brings over his lap, and he smooths his hand over your thigh. “I won’t bad mouth him to them. But you also need to vent sometimes. I don’t want a relationship where we talk about him nonstop. I don’t want him in our relationship, unless necessary. Tonight was nice. It was us. All of us. And he was a non-factor.”

“So what is happening between us?” Picking up your hand, he compares sizes. Ghosting his finger over yours before he circles your ring finger. And you stutter. That fear creeping back up because there’s no way he is meaning what you think he is, “Andy?”

“I’m going to marry you. I told you then, and I’m telling you now. Maybe not in a month or a year. But I will marry you. I meant what I said earlier. This is your pace. I’ve waited and waited, and I have you back, and I’ll wait more if I have to. But, I really should call an Uber.”

“You should,” you lean in closer. So close there’s only whispers between you. “Dinner tomorrow?” Moving your lips causes them to brush against his.

“Yeah,” he answers, and you can’t respond as the gap completely closes. These kisses aren’t needy, they’re so sweet. Gentle pecks that turn more lingering, and you pull away. “One more, and I’ll have a car pick me up.”

“Okay,” you make this kiss deeper. Pulling him into you by his shirt, and his strong arms wrap you up even tighter. Holding you like you are going to escape him again. Life has taken you a different path than you thought, and yet you still hold all this love for him. Things are different, they’re adult now with adult problems. But in his arms feels right. You don’t want to fight it. You want to embrace it through the fear.

His arms always give you so much comfort. Like the way he holds you can stop the world from spinning and you can live in a moment of no noise, no movement, just peace. Being in a bubble with him has always felt so right. “Andy,” you breathlessly say, pulling apart.

Literally having to push on his chest to get air. “I’m sorry,” his head tilts to the side, giving you an inquisitive look. “You waited, and I didn’t.”

“If you didn’t wait, you wouldn’t have Audrey and Suede. I’m not sorry,” smiling, he picks up his phone. Scheduling a pick up before returning to look at you. “You’re a package deal. And I like it all. This life is what I wanted with you, and I’ll have it.”

“You’ve always been so cock sure.”

He hisses, leaning back into the couch as he clicks on the tv, “With a cock like mine, and being able to pull those sounds out of your body, yeah.”

“Oh, stop it,” you playfully smack at him, before laying your head on his shoulder, and just basque in his warmth. Settling on him like he belongs here with you. Getting in one sitcom episode before turning in for the night. Having him here to help with the kids, the household chores, but to have him as your best friend. And your constant.

“You know, you don’t have to be so calm and controlled with me, right?” His hand rubs over your ass, almost trying to push you into his lap instead of just leaning on him. “I can be your calm, too.”

“I know, Doe,” and you know he really means, but I’m the protector. That part of him is never going to change. So you just embrace it. Embrace that your divorce led you right where you needed to be. Yes, it sucked. Yes, it hurt. You wanted to hit him. Wanted Scott to hurt the way you did, but now you see the silver lining. You see Andy.

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @seitmai

@smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989

@pandaxnienke @kmm-fluv @rogersbarber @theinheriteddutchess @buckybarnesisdaddy

#two good reasons #andy barber #andy barber x reader #andy barber x fem!reader #andy barber x female reader #andy barber x y/n #andy barber x you #andy barber fic #andy barber fics #andy barber fanfiction #andy barber fanfic #andy barber fanfics #chris evans #chris evans character #defending jacob

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earl-grey-teacake · 21 days ago

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The Heart Remembers- Baby!Loscar AU WIP

It’s been so long since I have written a fic for Baby!Loscar and this is one I fully intend to get out in the next week or two. So enjoy and let me know what you think

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Retrograde amnesia: The inability to access memories previous to a traumatic brain injury

That’s what the doctors at the hospital told him as he sat in the hospital bed. However, George couldn’t think of a single thing in his life he might have forgotten. He was an F1 driver. He drove for Mercedes. He lives in Monaco. What else was in his life?

He had thought it was an elaborate prank until he realized that even Alex would not go so far with his pranks, nor have the ability to drag doctors and medical professionals into it. Alex, seemed the most shaken up about the whole ordeal. They were still friends after all their years racing together, he made sure to confirm that when Alex came rushing in. It seems they had even gone as far as to get matching rings, no doubt a cheap thing, an inside joke he must have forgotten about. They might have gotten it to spite the FIA and whatever strange ban they were trying to implement.

Then there was the little, blonde haired boy that Alex had come running in with when he had first woken in. The kid had run up to him shouting “daddy” and given him a hug. He thought it was a joke, a kid Alex had bribed to play a joke on his amnesiac friend.

“I’m not your dad. I’m not even married.” He had replied laughing as the color drained out of Alex’s face.

After an hour of tests and questions and poking and prodding, they diagnosed him with retrograde amnesia. Apparently, he had forgotten major milestones of the last five years. He forgot he was married to Alex, that they even got married and had a wedding in the first place. He also forgot he had a child, a son that Alex said was named Logan.

He didn’t even see the child since that incident in the hospital. “He’s on summer break and so are we. However, he still had karting so Max has been taking him to practice.”

“Oh, is he good?” George asked. Alex hasn’t smiled much since he’s been in the hospital which made George’s heart feel a certain way, but he always smiled when talking about his kid.

“Yeah, really good.” Alex smiled, clearly hoping that George’s asking must be a sign. “Max says he has strong pace.”

“Is Max hard on him?” George was very familiar with Jos’s treatment.

“No, nothing like that. Max is a big softie when it comes to Logan, he can’t bring himself to yell at Logan. Not that anyone else would even let him.” George smiled a bit, it’s good the kid had kind adults supporting him.

“Would you like to go see him race?” Alex asked.

“Uhm,” George paused. “I’m not sure. I don’t think I can provide anymore advice than what Max and the others are giving.”

Alex stared at him wide eyed before something in him seemed to retreat back, and he started to play with his ring. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Lewis, Nico Rosberg, and Jenson are all at the track today to cheer Logan on. It would be pretty crowded.”

Alex kindly left out the fact that Logan had cried the whole week for George, talking about how his dad had promised to go see him race today. But George wasn’t cleared to leave the hospital yet, that his brain needed to get acclimated to the info of having a husband and kid and that he was missing memories of all 4 years of his kid’s life. Alex wanted so desperately to tell George about how Logan was such a kind and gentle kid. How he begged Alex to “stay with Dad, he might be lonely” and that he wasn’t disappointed because Uncle Max and Uncle Uncle Charles and Uncle Carlos and Uncle Lando, and Oscar would come out to cheer him on. That he’ll be okay since Uncle Lewis, Uncle Nico, and Uncle Jenson would be coming by to see him race and they rarely get the chance to see him race.

**********

I hope you liked it! Let me know what you think ❤️

#f1 rpf #f1 rpf fic #logan sargeant #galex #alex albon #george russell #baby!logan #Baby!Loscar AU

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cassiabaggins · 5 months ago

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Too Bitter, Too Sweet (part one)

A chance encounter gives you a once in a lifetime opportunity: the chance to reunite with your first love, Leon Kennedy.

Fluff and Angst

Words: 4k

Warnings: none. Just Leon being awkward. NO SMUT

(April is an oc, she is VERY briefly mentioned because I couldn't resist)

Reblogs and comments appreciated! Cross-posted on ao3.

You can hardly believe what you're seeing. He's older, with longer hair and a hardened look, but you'd recognize him anywhere. Leon Kennedy, your first love and college boyfriend.

You're approaching him before you can think about it.

“Leon?”

He freezes, startling a little like no one has called his name in forever, and turns to stare at you. There is no spark of recognition in those baby blue eyes.

“Uh, hi?”

“It's me, Leon. Y/N. From college? We… were close.”

Close is an understatement. The two of you had dated for almost a year, but he doesn't seem to recognize you or remember. You suppose you can't blame him. It's been nearly ten years and you've both changed quite a bit.

A beat. Another.

Then his eyes widen and a soft, shy little smile blooms across his face. “Y/N,” he murmurs, then laughs, running a hand over his hair. “Wow. Hi! You look… different.”

You giggle. Oh Leon. He's really not changed at all. “Different?” You ask.

“It's a good different!” He hurries to say.

“It's good to see you again,” you tell him.

He nods vigorously, his hair falling into his eyes. “You, too.”

He looks around the area, as if trying to figure out what you're doing here. “What are you doing in D.C.?”

You adjust the strap of your purse. “I'm here for work,” you explain.

Leon puts his hands in his pockets. “Work, huh? You passed the bar, then? That's amazing.”

You feel your cheeks warming. “How'd you know I was a lawyer?”

“Because that's what you were studying in college,” he replies. “It wasn't that long ago. You think I forgot? Besides, how many different jobs are there to be done in a courthouse?”

You laugh softly, and Leon grins, clearly pleased that he made you laugh. His smile is exactly the same as you remember it, slightly lopsided, sweet, and genuine. It makes you remember easier times and how he used to kiss you. You shouldn't be thinking about him like that… it's been almost ten years, there's no way he doesn't have a girlfriend.

“Are you still in law enforcement?” You blurt, desperate to distract yourself.

Leon shifts in place, and you think his smile falters slightly.

“Something like that,” he says ambiguously.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It's hard to explain,” he replies, scratching the back of his head. “Uhm… it's government stuff.”

He's clearly uncomfortable, so you stop pushing.

“Do you like it?”

“The people I work with are great,” he says.

Not exactly an answer.

“Well, that’s good,” you say, adjusting your grip on your purse. Leon opens his mouth to reply, but is interrupted by the sound of a jaunty ringtone.

“Shit,” he mumbles, quickly pulling a cellphone out of his jacket pocket. He frowns when he sees the caller I.D. “Uh, one sec, I have to take this.”

He steps away to answer the phone, and you watch him for a bit, wondering if you should leave. But you can’t bring yourself to. You’ve only just met him again, and just like in college, he fascinates you. But this time, a little over a decade later, there’s so much more to him. Not just physically, though he’s certainly bulked up a bit over the years, but there’s a darkness and mystery to him that excites you. Besides, what woman hasn’t fantasized about reconnecting with the one that got away?

You’re shaken out of your thoughts by Leon approaching you again. He looks apologetic. “I have to run,” he says. “I’m sorry. But it was really nice to see you again!”

You don’t want him to leave! You want to keep talking to him! You want to know if he’s happy, if he’s got a wife or a girlfriend, if he still likes listening to metal, if chocolate icecream is still his go to flavor.

But he’s already walking away.

“Leon, wait!” you call. “Before you go!”

He turns and you reach into your purse and pull out one of your business cards. He takes it with his left hand and peers at it. There's no ring on his finger.

“What’s this for?” he asks

“Just in case you need legal advice,” you joke. “Or if you just want to catch up.”

He smiles and fishes his wallet out of his pocket. You catch a glimpse of some sort of badge as he tucks the card carefully inside. “I’ll do that,” he says, and then he's gone.

You settle into your temporary office and log into your computer to begin going through case files. It's humdrum work, but necessary for the success of your client's appeal. But, not five minutes into this, your work phone starts ringing.

Expecting either your boss or a paralegal, you pick it up and introduce yourself by name.

“Uh, whoa,” says the person on the other end. “That was fancy and professional.”

You'd know that voice anywhere.

“Leon?”

He laughs awkwardly. “Yeah, hi. How're you doing?”

You lean back in your seat and twirl the phone cord around your finger, a bashful smile spreading across your face. “Well, not much has changed in the last 20 minutes, to be honest. But it's nice to hear your voice again.”

You can hear the smile in his voice when he replies. “You, too. I hope I'm not interrupting something.”

“You're not,” you assure him. “Although I'm not technically supposed to take personal calls on this line.”

“Yeah, I figured that,” he replies. “But this is the only way I could really contact you.”

“Oh yeah?” You bite your bottom lip, trying to fight a smile. “And what was so urgent that you just had to call me?”

There's rustling on the other end, Leon must be switching the phone to his other ear. He takes a deep breath and lets it out, like he's nervous. Your heartbeat speeds up in anticipation.

“Well,” he says. “I was just thinking how nice it was to talk to you again. I was hoping we could do that again. Soon. Maybe over coffee?”

It takes all your willpower not to squeal like a teenager. But you're a professional.

You clear your throat and try to act nonchalant. “Coffee sounds nice.”

“Great!” Leon sounds thrilled. “It's a date!”

“A date?” you tease.

“Uh… I mean… only if you want it to be,” he hurries to clarify. “You still have your maiden name on your business card and I didn’t see a ring, so I assumed— fuck, do you have a boyfriend?”

He meant a date date. You feel a thrill of excitement.

“No,” you say quickly, “no boyfriend. No fiance or husband either… I’m single.”

“Oh, good,” he says, and you almost laugh at how relieved he sounds. “I don’t have any of those either.”

“You don’t have a boyfriend or husband?”

“No wife or girlfriend, either.”

Oh, so he’s got jokes now. You giggle again. God, when was the last time a man had you laughing like this?

“I'm only in D.C. for the summer,” You explain. “Just until the case is over. I don't know many places to get coffee.”

“Well, you're in luck,” he says. “Because I do! I know the perfect place!”

The coffeeshop he recommends is a tiny, hole-in-the-wall place with the best espresso you've had in years. You and Leon plan for only an hour at most, but stay there chatting for nearly two. He even walks you to your car, and as you drive away, watching him wave goodbye in the rearview mirror, you realize that you had done most of the talking. At first, you want to shrivel up and die from embarrassment. Everyone always says that you talk too much, and there you went, yammering away…

But Leon had asked me out again, the other half of your brain pipes up. And he never disliked you talking in the past!

Emboldened by this realization, and determined to eek more information out of Leon next time, you continue on your way.

And so, one coffee date turns into two, then three. Reconnecting with Leon is… it's just amazing. He's older now, hardened by life in a way you can't quite fathom, but he's still so handsome and sweet and attentive. You can forgive his slightly awkward mannerisms and weird schedule and how cagey he is about his job. The first point is nothing new, of course, it's part of what charmed you in the first place, all those years ago. The weird schedule you chalk up to his job, and if it really is government stuff, you can understand why he's so secretive.

Of course, he can't stop you from daydreaming about what his job is, and your imagination thinks up all sorts of dashing occupations. Secret Service, CIA, FBI, Homeland Security… It's fun to imagine him as the dashing hero, leaping in to save the President himself from an assassination or single-handedly stopping a foreign spy organization. He probably looks hot as hell in a fancy suit, sunglasses, and an earpiece.

Coffee dates are nice and all, but you find yourself wanting more. You hint at it a fee times, Leon is oblivious as ever, so you ask him directly.

“We should get dinner,” you say, pausing by your car. Leon has walked you out to it, just like he always does after your coffee dates. “Somewhere romantic.”

You raise your eyebrows at him expectantly. He's quiet for a second, staring back.

“I thought you liked coffee?” He asks, looking like he thinks he's seriously misjudged the situation. You just laugh, putting your hand on his arm.

“I do!” You assure him. “But I also like pasta and wine.”

Leon looks relieved. “Oh. Well, I do know a good Italian place!”

You beam. “Yeah? Is it nice?”

“Very,” he assures you. “Very hard to get into, but I can pull some strings.” He winks. “Perks of the job.”

You aren't sure if he's joking or not, but you like the idea of it, at least.

“Exciting,” you giggle, leaning close to him. “Should we go this weekend?”

Leon's face falls. “I can't do this weekend,” he admits.

“That's okay!” You're quick to reassure him. “We can do next! Or the one after.”

“No, next weekend is perfect,” he says, looking relieved. “I'll have to make a reservation, but I'll call you, okay?”

You let out an excited squeal and throw your arms around Leon's neck, kissing him before you can think.

This is the first time you've kissed since— well, since you broke up the first time. You almost pull away, but Leon cups the back of your neck and kisses back.

He's a better kisser than he used to be, that's for sure, and the whole thing leaves you breathless and weak-kneed.

He grins at your dazed expression, licking his lips and looking very pleased with himself.

“Next weekend, then?”

You reach up to wipe away a smear of your lipstick off the corner of his mouth.

“Next weekend,” you agree.

Leon promises to pick you up at 7 PM on Friday night. The two of you text back and forth almost nonstop as the night approaches, exchanging phone calls whenever possible. You're so excited that you even pick out your outfit days in advance.

Then, one day, the communication from Leon just… stops.

It's a day before your date, so you try not to worry too much. Something probably came up. But you find yourself checking your phone almost obsessively. No reply.

You push down your worry and get yourself ready for the date. You choose your favorite set of lingerie to wear under your little black dress, just in case, and probably spend way too long on your makeup.

Nonetheless, you're ready a good hour before he's scheduled to pick you up. You wait nervously for an hour, pacing your hotel room, then snap a picture of yourself to send to him. No answer. By 7:20 PM you're furious with him. By 7:45, you're in tears.

At 8 PM, you're pissed AND crying and a knock sounds at your door. You tear it open, ready to give Leon a piece of your mind, but stop in your tracks.

Leon looks like shit. He's wearing a rumpled suit and his hair is a mess. Deep shadows show under his eyes, a bruise is forming on the left side of his jaw, and his chin is covered in three day old stubble.

He thrusts a bouquet of flowers into your arms.

All your anger drains out of you, all at once, replaced with concern.

“What *happened*?!” You blurt. Leon flushes.

“I'm sorry,” he says. His voice sounds hoarse, like he's been yelling for twelve hours straight. “It was a work thing.”

He scratches the back of his head and the movement raises his rumpled shirt, allowing you to see the ugly yellow-purple of a bruise on his hip.

“A work thing?” You prompt.

He winces. “I can't… tell you.”

What the hell?

“What do you mean you can't tell me?”

“I mean I can't tell you!” He snaps, his eyes darkening for a second. “Okay?”

You can't help but flinch and Leon's shoulders slump when he catches it. “I'm sorry,” he whispers. “I just… can't.”

You wonder if he can't or won't… but you don't press it.

“You want to come in?” You ask softly.

“I thought we had a dinner reservation?” He asked, glancing at his watch.

“We did,” you say. “But you're an hour late. We missed it.”

Leon, somehow, looks even more forlorn at those words. “I'm sorry,” he says again. “I was in a different timezone, I didn't reset my watch and—”

“Leon.” You interrupt the beginnings of a spiral with a firm voice. “It's fine.”

You step back from the door and wave him inside. “Come on. I want to put these flowers in water.”

Leon shuffles in after you. He stands there, in the tiny entryway, and looks around your hotel room, shoving his hands in his pockets. You don't really have a vase for the flowers, come to think of it. Fancy hotels like this come with all sorts of amenities, but vases are not one of them. You waver for a moment, before grabbing the complimentary ice bucket and filling it with water from the bathroom sink.

Leon watches silently as you arrange the flowers, before speaking up.

“I should have brought a vase, too,” he says. “Sorry. I didn't think—”

You smile at him. “Hey, don't worry. It seems like you have a lot on your mind.”

He cracks a wry smile. “You're telling me.”

With the tension leaking away, you lean forward and smell a rose.

“Are they still your favorite?” He asks.

“I'm sorry?”

Leon gestures toward the bouquet. “Pink roses. Are they still your favorite flower?”

Honestly, pink roses haven't been your favorite flower since college… but the fact that Leon remembered that they were immediately bumps them up to number one once more.

“Yeah,” you whisper.

And Leon beams.

You don’t notice him approach you until his hand smooths down your back. You turn to look up at him, taking in his tired eyes and apologetic expression. You wonder again what his job is, and then wonder if you really want to know. Maybe ignorance is bliss.

“I’m sorry for missing our date,” he says softly. “Let me make it up to you.”

“We could try again tomorrow,” you murmur, turning fully to face him. “Or next week, if that doesn’t work out.”

“Sure,” he replies, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head. “But I was thinking of doing something a little more… immediate.”

He bends to kiss you, tender and slow, and you let yourself lean into it. Leon always kisses you like you’re the most delicate, precious thing in existence, he touches you like he’s afraid you’ll break, and you know he means it. You know that you matter to him.

You’re breathing heavily when the two of you finally part. Leon pulls back slowly, his eyes searching your face, looking a little shy but also a little proud of himself. He licks his lips, glances past you at the bed, then meets your eyes again.

“Wanna move this over there?” he asks, gesturing toward it with his head. Your heart skips a beat with anticipation.

“Sounds good,” you breathe.

That night, you fall asleep in Leon’s arms, well and truly satisfied in a way you haven’t been in a long time. He’s clearly more experienced and more confident than the boy you slept with in college, but he’s still him. Still adoring, still attentive, still a little shy.

He pretty much lets you take the lead the whole night and while he doesn’t say it outright, you get the impression that he just wants to be taken care of. If you notice tears in his eyes at the end, you don’t comment on it and neither does he.

He drops off soon after you finish, lying on his back like a soldier. You watch him for a few minutes, admiring the curve of his jaw and the slope of his nose, the dimple in his chin and the moles on his neck. There’s a scar on his cheek that you didn’t notice before, a thin white line nearly hidden by his stubble. You wonder how he got it. Probably doing something heroic, knowing him. You fall asleep entertaining little fantasies of Leon being a hero and saving the day.

You're awoken by Leon stirring in the bed next to you. You don't worry too much. You're a light sleeper after all.

You puff your pillow and get comfy again. Behind you, Leon stirs again, a soft groan escaping him.

You roll over, a little concerned. He has his arm slung over his face, but you can see a frown on his lips. He's breathing heavily, but you don't want to wake him up if you don't have to. He looked so exhausted when he came here earlier. It's probably nothing. You close your eyes again, but another soft groan from Leon has you opening them again.

You push up on one elbow, a little frown on your face. He's probably dreaming about something, but you can't tell if it's good or bad. His arm drops off his face, his fingers balling in the sheets.

“No…” He mumbles. “Please…”

A nightmare, then. You sit up fully and reach for him, but before you can touch him, Leon flings out his arm, inadvertently smacking your hand away, and cries, “Ashley, no!”

Ashley? Who the hell is that?

You shake your head. Now is not the time for that, not with Leon in the midst of a night terror.

You reach out again, grabbing his shoulder and giving him a harsh shake.

“Leon!”

He doesn't wake right away, his head tossing side to side and his face screwed up.

You try again.

“Leon! Wake up!”

Leon jerks upright and the world spins sideways, your back hitting the bed with a thump and all the air rushing out of you. A weight presses down on you, arms pinned above your head.

You glimpse Leon above you and faintly register that the force across your neck and shoulders is his forearm. He doesn't seem to see you, even though his blue eyes are wide with terror.

“Leon?” You croak out.

“Fuck,” he gasps, suddenly seeing you. “Shit. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

You're able to catch your breath again as Leon scrambles off you and through the ringing in your ears you hear him stumbling around the room. You sit up just as the bathroom door slams closed.

Behind it, you hear retching.

You don't know what to do. You sit shell-shocked in the bed, surrounded by rumpled blankets and pillows and stare at the thin strip of light shining from beneath the bathroom door. You rub your hand over your sore clavicle.

What on earth was that? Why would Leon react like that after being woken up from a nightmare? And who the hell is Ashley? It was like Leon didn't even see you when he woke up, like he was stuck somewhere else, living through something horrible. What has he gone through in these ten years you've been apart? Does it have anything to do with his beat up appearance earlier? With the scars you noticed on his body? Did this Ashley have something to do with it?

Bzzzzzzzt-bzt-bzzzzzzzzzt-bzt-bzzzzzzzzt

You're torn out of your that's by Leon's cellphone, vibrating on the bedside table. Jesus Christ, who calls at— you check the alarm clock next to the bed— 4 AM?

You untangle yourself from the covers and pick up the phone. Should you answer it? Leon doesn't seem to be coming out anytime soon and it seems urgent enough that the caller is attempting to reach him in the middle of the night.

You lick your lips nervously and flip open the phone, raising it to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Where's Leon?” The voice on the other end demands. It's female. “Who are you?”

You want to ask the same thing, but you're the one answering a phone that isn't yours. You introduce yourself and the woman on the other end blows out a sigh.

“Oh,” she says bluntly. She clearly knows who you are even if Leon has never mentioned her to you. “Well, can you give Leon the phone? It's urgent.

She doesn't have to sound so annoyed!

“Sure,” you say, sliding off the bed. “Who should I say is calling?”

“April.”

Not the mysterious Ashley, then. That makes you feel marginally better for some reason.

You pad over to the bathroom and knock on the door.

“Leon? Your phone rang.”

“...Let it go to voicemail,” he mumbles hoarsely from the other side. Oops.

“I already picked up for you,” you reply sheepishly, feeling for all the world like you've made a massive blunder. “It's someone named April?”

“Goddammit,” he mumbles, and the door swings open. In the harsh fluorescent lights he looks like a fucking mess, far worse than he did earlier than night. You can clearly see the bruises, cuts, and scars on his naked torso. His hair is rumpled, his hairline beaded with sweat. He barely meets your eyes, just takes the phone ever so gently from your hand and raises it to his ear.

“Hey, April…” He says tiredly.

You can't hear what she says in reply but you don't want to leave Leon alone, either. He looks like he's about to fall apart for God's sake. You lean against the doorframe and study him.

You can't stand the way he's hunched in on himself like he's trying to make himself look smaller than he is and the exhausted, defeated tone in his voice makes your heart ache.

“Okay,” he whispers into the phone. “Okay. I'll be there.”

You're pulled out of your contemplation as he snaps the cellphone shut, looking up into his eyes.

“Is everything okay?”

He grunts noncommittally. “I gotta go.”

Go? At 4 AM? Where?!

“What?!”

Leon scoots past you cautiously, not even meeting your eyes.

“Work,” he mumbles.

You turn, staring at his back incredulously as he pulls on his pants and shirt. “What do you mean work?” You challenge.

“Something came up.”

He doesn't turn toward you so you're left staring at the stiff line of his shoulders as he buttons up his shirt.

Some random woman calls him in the middle of the night and he's immediately running at her beck and call? Something like jealousy rears its ugly head.

“Who's April?” You ask, not liking the nasty tone in your voice.

Leon doesn't react. “A friend,” he says vaguely, pulling on his suit jacket.

“A friend calling at 4 AM about work,” you say disbelievingly. “Right.”

That gets a reaction. Leon turns to face you fully and the defeated look on his face immediately tosses all your jealousy and anger out the window. He looks like a kicked puppy.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers. “I wish I didn't have to go.”

You cross the room and pull him into a hug, resting your head on his chest. Leon clings to you, nuzzling his face into your hair, and rocks you side to side. The two of you stand like that for a few minutes, then Leon lets out a long, exhausted sigh.

“I have to go,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to your hairline. “I'll call you as soon as I can and I'll make it up to you, I promise. Anything you want, I'll do it for you.”

You tilt your head back to meet his eyes. “I want you to be careful.”

He nods. “I can do that.”

“And I want you to take me out on a proper date when you're back,” you add, smiling a little to show you're not too serious. But Leon nods determinedly. “Got it. One proper date, coming up. It'll be awesome.”

He cups your face in his hands and ducks his head to capture your lips in a searing kiss.

“See you soon,” he promises, then he's gone.

You watch him walk down the hall, away from you, and can't help but feel like he's walking out of your life, too.

Taglist: @hiya-itsamber

#my writing #leon x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil #resident evil 4 #re4 remake #re4r #leon kennedy

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atleastpleasetelephone · 26 days ago

Text

Kinktober Day 20 - Facesitting

Pairing: 56!Elvis x reader

Word count: 1.8K

TWs: Age gap (reader is about 15 years older), reader is a soft dom, reader calls herself Mama, facesitting (obv), oral (m receiving) and a little bit of suffocation.

Kinktober masterlist

The front door opens and Elvis blinks in confusion. He’d been expecting to see Sherry standing there, but instead it’s you. It takes a beat for him to realise that you must be Sherry’s mom. You look far too young to be Sherry’s mom, but she told you she didn’t have any siblings, so it’s the only solution. All the same, he doesn’t want to offend you so he doesn’t make any assumptions.

“Good evening, ma’am.”

You blink at him. “Sorry, who are you?”

He extends a friendly hand. “Elvis, ma’am. Elvis Presley. Come to pick up Sherry for a date.”

“Oh. Hang on.”

You turn around and shout for your daughter up the stairs. She’d told you she had a date but she didn’t tell you who it was with. Or just how handsome he was.

“Down in a minute!” Sherry yells back.

You turn back to Elvis. You have to admit, he’s sort of shaken you up a bit. He’s ridiculously attractive and he’s staring at you like he might try to eat you for dessert.

“You must be Sherry’s sister,” he tries, with his best winning smile. You’ve got a good poker face so he has no idea he doesn’t need to charm you.

You snort. “I’m sure you know that’s not true. She’s my daughter.” You keep him out on the step because you don’t think you can trust yourself with him indoors.

Elvis’ smile grows wide. “Surely that ain’t true. You don’t look anywhere near old enough.”

“Oh, you’re a real charmer.” You still don’t smile so he can’t tell if he’s getting anywhere with you.

“You think so? You wanna go out sometime?”

You feel like your heart actually skips a beat. Then you hear your daughter’s footsteps as she makes her way down the stairs, and see his reaction to her pretty little outfit. He must’ve been joking.

“Don’t be silly,” you reply, firmly, walking away from the door and turning to Sherry, telling her when to be back by and not to do anything you wouldn’t do. Which isn’t much at this point, but luckily she doesn’t know that.

Elvis smiles when he sees Sherry. She does look very pretty in that pink dress, and he’s looking forward to the date. But when he walks away from the house with her on his arm, you’re all he can think about.

***

Elvis and Sherry don’t last long. She tells him she’s not interested after a few dates, and although he’s surprised he’s not that disappointed. His heart wasn’t really in it. Every time he went to pick her up he hoped you would answer the door, and every time you did he tried to charm you again. Having no idea that you were already charmed the minute you laid eyes on him. You keep your cards close to your chest though, barely cracking a smile when he talks. You don’t expect him to come round again, once Sherry tells you they’ve broken up. So the night when she’s at a girlfriend’s house having a sleepover, you’re surprised to hear a knock on the door. You’re not expecting anyone. It’s even more shocking when you open the door to find him standing there.

“Sherry’s not here.”

He leans against the door frame, looking down at you through hooded eyes.

“I’m not here for Sherry.”

You’re not entirely sure how you end up in the bedroom, tongues tangled in one another’s mouths, hands all over, and neither is Elvis. He doesn’t care one bit though, he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about you and having your warm body pressed up against his is better than his wildest dreams.

You feel him press himself against you and moan into his mouth. He pushes you a little and you stagger backwards, falling onto the bed and pulling him on top of you. Rolling his hips against yours, enjoying the friction, he starts to do what he always does with a girl - rubbing until one of you cums. He likes doing it, and it’s safe. He had a bit of a scare with a broken rubber once and he’s been ultra-cautious ever since. It doesn’t occur to him that you might be expecting something else, being that much older. His hard-on feels good, rubbing against your clothed pussy, but you keep wondering when he’s going to move on. Then you realise maybe he isn’t. Maybe he doesn’t know what else to do. Maybe you need to teach him.

“Elvis?” Your lips against his neck.

“Mmmm.”

“Have you ever been with a girl?”

His hips abruptly stop their movements and he looks down at you, a blush spreading on his cheeks.

“Y-yes ma’am.”

You can’t help smiling, bringing both of your hands up to hold his face. Your thumb runs along his lower lip, plush and red and shining a little with a combination of your saliva.

“Don’t you be calling me that. You’re making me feel old,” you tease.

He blushes even more. “S-s-s-sorry, honey, ah-I…”

You put your fingers over his lips to stop him talking. “Let me on top.”

He rolls over obediently, pulling you with him. You sit up, settling on his hips and holding his hands in yours.

“Do you know how to make a woman feel good, baby?”

He nods eagerly.

After the dry humping you’re not convinced so you don’t let him try without further questioning.

“You know how to use your tongue?”

Unbuttoning your blouse and tossing it onto the floor, and then removing your skirt so you’re just in your underwear, his eyes are like saucers.

“M-my tongue?” He stutters.

His friends were always talking about going down on girls and he thought it sounded disgusting, who would want to put their mouth there? But you’re on top of him, and you’re nearly naked and you’re so pretty…

You smile gently. “You want Mama to teach you?”

“But I-I-I-I… girls… girls always say I’m g-good with my hands…” he stammers back.

“I’m sure you are baby,” you lift one of his hands to your mouth and start to kiss the back of it. “They’re gorgeous, your fingers are so long…” sliding one between your lips and making him gasp. “But I wanna teach you something new.” You bend at the waist, lying down on top of him and pinning his hands above his head, your lips hovering just above his. “Then girls will say you’re good with your hands and your tongue.”

He whimpers as you kiss him, grinding your hips against his erection.

“You want me to?”

“Y-yes… yes please…”

“Good.”

You remove your underwear and to his surprise shift forwards so that one of your knees is on either side of his head. He suddenly feels nervous. Is that what usually happens?

“Mama?” He whispers.

You look down at him and smile. “It’s okay baby. I’m not gonna suffocate you.”

Slowly lowering yourself, you bend your knees until you’re close enough for him to lick you. The smell of you is all around him, and he breathes it in deeply, his hands going to your ass to hold you in place as he cautiously sticks his tongue out. You gently move to rub yourself against it and he gets his first taste of you. It’s exhilarating. He’d expected to hate it, but he immediately tries again, this time moving his tongue instead and he’s bolder, a firm lick right down the centre of your pussy. You moan.

“Is it good?” He asks, eager again.

You nod and bend your knees a little more to get a little closer. “So good, baby. I want more.”

His hands grip you and pull you onto his face as he licks again and again, making you grab on to the headboard to keep yourself steady. He starts to use his tongue like he’d usually use his fingers - as far up inside you as he can get - and the noise you make makes him think he’s on the right track. You start to roll your hips to get more contact, bumping his nose with your clit over and over. He moans into your pussy as his dick gets harder and harder, it’s almost painful now. Struggling to breathe as you push against him more, your promise not to suffocate him going completely by the wayside now as you chase your high. His fingers digging into your flesh even further just spurring you on, you throw your head back and moan, riding his face as you feel yourself getting closer and closer.

“Oh fuck!”

Grinding down against him somehow even harder you cum on his face, crying out in pleasure. Fuck. He did not need a lot of instruction.

Elvis gasps for breath when you finally get off him, red and covered in your arousal. You lie down next to him for a while, panting and trying to recover.

“Can I wash my face?” He asks, quietly.

You grin and gently kiss his lips. “Sure, honey.”

When he comes back he looks at you almost sheepishly, biting his lip. “Mama?”

“Yes, baby.”

“Can you…?” He looks down at where his erection is extremely obvious through his pants.

“Take them off for me.”

He quickly pulls his shirt off and then unbuttons his pants before stopping. “It’s… it’s not like other ones…”

“Show me.”

His obvious need overwhelms his usual nervousness about showing women his uncut dick and he pulls his pants down quickly, looking at you intently.

“Oh baby, you’re beautiful,” you coo, staring at his big, hard dick, red and shining with precum.

“Yeah?”

“Yes. C’mere.” Patting the bed next to you.

He kicks his pants off and moves towards the bed.

“Lie down, baby. I’m sure plenty of girls have done this for you before.”

Once he’s laid down, you slide his dick all the way into your mouth so your nose pushes into his skin at the base. He moans uncontrollably at the feeling. No woman has ever done this for him before. Plenty had told him he was too big to get more than just the tip in. His fingers ball into fists, grasping the bedsheets as you start to bob your head up and down on him. Softly whining, he knows he won’t last long. He got far too excited when you sat on his face.

“Shit,” he mutters, still not comfortable being that vocal in bed, his orgasm shooting through him as he cums down your throat.

You let him pump his hips into you a few more times and then lie down next to him and run your fingertips over his bare chest.

“Mmmm.”

“Was it good?”

He slowly opens his eyes and stares at you. “No-one ever did that for me before, Mama. Felt so good.”

You lean over and kiss him gently. “You enjoy making me feel good too?”

“I loved it.”

“Good. Now you’re good with your hands and your tongue.”

Taglist:

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed:

@vintagepresley @arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @another-identityofmine @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @cattcb @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @ccab @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978

#elvis #elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #elvis fic #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley fic #elvis smut #elvis fanfic #elvis presely smut #elvis imagine #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #elvis x reader #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley x you #elvis presley x reader #kinktober #starsandskieskinktober

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i-spaced-sorry · 9 months ago

Text

Followed

Hey! I've had this idea floating around in my head for a little while now and finally got it out on paper. Halstead! Sister is followed while trying to go to a coffee shop. Hope you enjoy reading and stay safe out there y'all, it's a wild world we live in unfortunately.

“What are your plans for today?” asked Jay the minute you walked into the kitchen.

“Well good morning to you” you sassily replied while walking to the fridge to grab the milk.

You were off from work and had been looking forward to this day since last Monday.

“Hmm, I was thinking of maybe going and visiting an old friend from the old neighborhood and then maybe get coffee from my favorite spot before returning home and lounging and doing nothing” you answered while sinking your spoon into your cereal.

“Solid plan. Remember if you need me for any reason and I don’t answer, call Al.”

“Al?” you questioned when you swallowed your cereal bite. “Usually you tell me to call Hailey.”

Swiping his keys off the counter, Jay looks at you and says, “Voight switched up the partners this week and I’m with Al while Hailey is with Kevin, so I repeat call Al if you need me and I don’t answer”

“Okay” you mock saluted.

“Pick up. Pick up. Come on pick up” you muttered while your phone was up to your ear and you looked over your shoulder while picking up the pace a bit.

“Hey this is Detective Jay Halstead, I can’t come to the phone right now. Leave your name and number after the beep and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible” the familiar voice mail message spoke out into your ear.

“Fuck!” you muttered while ending the call and picking your pace up a bit more after looking behind you and still seeing the person who had been following you for the past 3 blocks behind you.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing out and bout?” asked the man while also picking up his pace.

You ignored him and kept walking. Wondering when the hell you were going to hit 35th street.

“Are you headed to work or school?” the man asked when he got shoulder to shoulder with you.

You ignored the guy again really wishing your brother would have picked up.

Gripping your phone in your sweatshirt pocket you picked up your pace again, walking slightly more ahead of the guy.

Pulling your phone out again, you quickly ran through your contacts and clicked on Olinsky before letting it dial.

“You’re really pretty you know that?” the man started again while finally keeping his distance from you but still following you.

‘36th street… 36th street place… 35th street! Finally!’ you thought while reading the street signs. Al’s phone also went to voicemail. Meaning they must be at a crime scene or in the car or something.

Turning right onto the street you notice the guy who had been following you for the past 5 blocks is no longer following you but of course you don’t get far enough away before you hear, “Have a great day sweetheart! You're gorgeous!”

Visibly shuddering you honestly feel disgusting and don’t even want coffee anymore. Mainly because you're shaken up but also because it means you have to be in the area for longer.

So you quickly pull your phone out and call a number you didn’t exactly want to call.

“Trudy?” you sniffled when she picked up.

“Kid, what's wrong?” she asked on the other side.

“Is my brother and Al on a call right now?”

You hear some rustling and then the sound of a buzzer and heavy footsteps before someone speaks again.

“Y/N? Are you okay?”

“Jay!” you all but shout!

“What’s wrong?”

“Why didn’t you pick up when I called you? Why didn’t Al pick up when I called?”

“I’m sorry, we were doing an interrogation. What’s up.”

“Uh, can you come get me?”

“Why? Can’t you take the bus? I thought you were visiting a friend and getting coffee?”

“I visited with my friend, it was a good time but I uh got followed and cat called and feel dirty and just want to go home”

“Cat called? Followed? For how long? Al and I are on our way! Where are you?”

“Uh from 37th street all the way to 35th street. I’m walking up 35th right now. I can wait by that school that’s right there if that’s easy enough of a landmark for you guys to find me.”

You hear the car start and doors being shut before you can hear your voice echo.

“Kid, we don’t care where we pick you up. Wherever makes you feel safest is good enough for us.” you hear Al say.

“Uh, uh, yea the elementary school should be good. I’ll be on the sidewalk.” you stuttered out while running a hand through your hair.

“Sounds good, we should be there in 20” replied your brother.

“Hang in there kid” added Al before the call ended.

The next twenty minutes were the longest twenty minutes of your life. You still felt really dirty and uneasy and just wanted to be in the safety of your brother or even better the safety of your own bed.

“Hey Y/N, get in” you heard. You looked up to see Al’s Dodge Magnum car in front of you and your brother’s window rolled down. Quickly shuffling to your feet you scramble into the back seat and audibly let out a sigh.

“You okay?” your brother asked while turning in his seat to face you.

Nodding, you reply, “now I am, thank you for coming and getting me. I’m sorry you had to leave work.”

Al pulled into a parking space near Scoops ice cream and stated reassuringly, “Kid, you’re family. Meaning you're important to us. No case will ever be too important to come and get you”

Smirking, you asked, “Let me guess, are you just saying that cause the guy you guys were interrogating was jamming up and you weren’t getting anywhere with them?”

Shaking their heads, Al and Jay looked at each other knowingly.

“But we are being honest kid, if you ever have a problem or encounter again like today you call anyone in intelligence and they will have your back!”

“Copy! Can we get ice cream now?” you chuckled.

#chicago pd #al olinsky imagine #jay halstead #jay halstead imagine #al olinsky #one chicago #chicago pd imagine #one chicago imagine #jay halstead x sister reader #jay halstead x reader #al olinsky x reader #halstead sister #halstead!sister #jay halstead fluff #jay halstead x sister!reader #jay halstead x y/n #jay halstead x you

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whalesforhands · 1 year ago

Note

What would satosugu do if Mc had another lover?

HAHAAH I WENT IN A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT DIRECTION

“I think I fell in love recently…” Your eyes are glazing over with infatuated lovesickness. Your chocolate bread long abandoned as your hand rests upon your heated cheek, the lovely thoughts of your object of affection flashing through your mind’s eye. Shoko pokes a finger into your free cheek, watching as the flesh squishes beneath her skin before leaning forth to steal a bite of your lunch.

“What?!” Gojo’s strawberry cheesecake had all of its initial interest stolen，the metal spork he had stolen from Geto’s home-made lunch bouncing off of his lap and clattering onto the classroom floor, just as Geto’s chopsticks pause midair, face starting to turn pale as he pounds at his chest to prevent the cherry tomato he had swallowed from going down the wrong pipe.

The look in your eyes is still far away, dazed and enraptured with the thoughts of your mystery crush, hearts basically emanating from you as the afternoon sunlight casts a gentle glow on you through the translucent curtains.

(Since when was there a breeze flowing through your hair, indoors…?)

It’s Suguru that barely manages to avoid choking through a mouthful of his fruit, a napkin to his mouth as he spits it out, hastily downing some water.

“When—“ He coughs to better swallow the drink that refuses to go down. “Did you both meet?” Satoru’s still struck with too much surprise and flabbergasted by your sudden news, his lower jaw hanging open as his sunglasses fall onto the turn of his nose.

Just when did they ever have another competitor?!

(Suguru closes his mouth for him.)

“We met when Shoko and I were out-“ Your fingers twiddle with the newly bought scrunchie inbetween your hands, the soft material making you reminisce the feel of fluttery feelings your mystery person gave you. “He was so soft and cuddly, with just a bit of attitude…”

Your eyes close in smitten devotion, your gait growing shy as your head swirls with images of him.

“Black and white hair…” A delinquent?! With dyed hair?! When was that ever your type? (“Seriously?! That’s what you’re into?!”)

“The sharpest brown eyes…” (“Suguru has sharper eye— Ow!”)

“The cutest upturned nose, and the softest hands…”

(“I’m cuter! And my hands are way softer!”

He holds out his hands to the group, placing them atop the desks that were pushed together for lunchtime.

“Shoko! Suguru! Feel and tell her!”)

“Could this be… What others call love at first sight?” Your trance is broken once you’re grabbed by your shoulders, being vigorously shaken back and forth as Gojo gets all up in your face, leaning diagonally towards you. “No! No, it’s not!”

Shoko is absolutely losing it, barely holding herself together whilst sneakily trying to muffle her snickers as she takes another bite of your chocolate cream bun that was now in her possession.

(You don’t mind. You still have the vanilla bean, azuki bean and dark chocolate flavours to try out.)

Suguru’s still baffled, holding his head in his hand as a finger taps anxiously on his forehead. A surge of fear going through him.

(Why? Why another person? What did he have that he or Gojo didn’t? They can’t possibly be lacking, can they? Shoko may call both of them trash but…)

“Do you mind if we meet them?” It comes out even before he could process his words, even Suguru himself is taken aback by how calm, how normal his voice had sounded, how it lacked all the anxiety and anger that coursed through him.

——

You agreed. Of course you agreed.

“I don’t think he will mind at all!” The smile on your face is absolutely radiant. “Ah, he’s just a little shy though.” You grow timid once again as your face alights with another grin. Does the mere thought of him make you blush and falter like a lovesick schoolgirl…?

“But I’m sure you will all love him!”

No. Suguru decides that he absolutely will not. Not when you’re practically skipping in excitement down the path, Satoru’s arm around you as he openly glares at each and every teenaged individual that seemed to match your description.

(“Hah?! What are you looking at?!” Gojo’s glaring at another man that dared to breathe in your general direction.

“(name), I don’t like how that guy looks.” He’s whispering into your ear as you giggle, telling him to knock it off with a light tap to his nose, his whining barely ceasing.

“I bet your friend isn’t much to look at anyway!” You tilt your head to the side, a contemplative hand under your chin as you stare at Satoru head-on, from his personality to his looks. “Hmm… I think you’re both around the same level.”

“Me?! Compared to him?!”)

Suguru’s following closely behind you both with Shoko at his side, the girl lackadaisically sipping at the coffee you had gotten for her as she maintains her silence, enjoying the sights and sounds of the busy street.

As if she knows something they don’t.

“You look awfully calm. Is there something you want to say?” Suguru’s look towards her is placid, a look of feint serenity, smile stretched just a little too wide, eyes clenched a little too tight.

He’s nervous. And Shoko can tell.

From the way he’s been blowing that strand of his bangs out of his face, taking just a few minutes more to brush out his hair before heading out today, walking so close to you earlier that distance was practically a myth between the both of you.

He’s jealous. And wasn’t trying to make it as obvious as Gojo did.

(Can you even tell either of them are jealous?)

You blink when Geto assists you in clasping your necklace, his warm hands pressing against your nape as you melt into his gentle touch. How nice of him. You were just about to ask him for help. “Don’t let others do this for you, okay?”

You recoil slightly when a napkin is slapped onto your face to wipe the cream off, Gojo’s hand enthusiastically helping you as you try your best to stay still, his free hand holding your cheek to prevent you from moving too much. “Only we can get this close to you, alright?!”

Okay…? You’ll always listen to them is what you have decided.

(Unless Shoko has an input too. You’ll let hers override theirs.)

She twirls a strand of her hair as she finishes the final sip of her coffee, taking a chance and trying out Gojo’s half-drunk bubble tea.

She makes a face before she replies, the sugar on her tongue making her grimace. “Not much at all.”

Geto pins his gaze onto her, laughing lightly as his fists start to unclench. “I think I would know. I’m your friend after all.”

The girl stirs the straw within the cup, smiling. She’s satisfied with that reply as she pulls out her phone, hiding away the lock screen from his view. “Then you have nothing to worry about. I promise on our friendship.”

Geto Suguru is at ease. (Only just the slightest.)

(“(nameeeeeeeee)!!! That guy looked at you suspiciously! Is that him?!”

“He doesn’t even have black OR white hair…”

“I don’t like how he stared at you! Suguru! Stand at the other side! Shoko, you’re on front duty!”)

——

“We’re here!” You’re standing before an alleyway, shaded just enough to protect the inner area from the sun.

“Ruruko! Are you here?” You jog deeper in as the trio quickly go after you, thoughts flying through a particular duos’ brains.

Ruruko? What kind of man that has you so enamored has that name? What kind of gentleman makes you come meet him in an alleyway? Why is Shoko so calm?!

(And why is she recording this?)

Satoru’s crossing his arms, puffing his chest out as he surveys the area, waiting for a group of rabid teenagers to jump out and attack as Suguru’s watching with careful intent, stance ready to take on a sudden fight before—

“Ruruko!” You’re squatting, lowering yourself down as you start cooing. Scratching inbetween the cat’s ears and under its chin as he meows, purrs into your hand.

“See? Isn’t he just the cutest?!” You’re practically squealing when the cat nuzzles back up to you, allowing you to pick it up and hold it, letting it’s furry front face the SSS trio as you bring his furry face next to yours, nuzzling your cheek into his and showing off his shiny black-white mottled coat and pretty brown eyes.

It only meows as it stares at them, licking his paws and using it to flick at his ears.

“A cat?!” Satoru’s gasping as he falls to his knees, dramatically holding his head in his hands. As Suguru plants his hand against a wall, his other covering his eyes.

“It was a cat all along?!”

masterlist

Notes:

Both Gojo and Geto have a new lock screen photo of you holding Ruruko now. Shoko already has one.

Ruruko. satoRU, suguRU, shoKO. RURUKO.

Shoko knew all along, if you couldn’t already tell.

Gojo buys bubble tea with 100% sugar. Less ice.

nvy’s aftertalk:

to tide my non-kofi readers over since i haven’t fed y’all in a while haha

#dyf au #geto x reader x gojo #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #whalewrites #satosugu x reader #geto suguru x reader #jjk fluff

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